#after taking the ibuprofen and lying down for an hour my soul stopped trying to escape | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dalamjisung · 4 years

Text

it’s an emergency! ❊ mark tuan

word count: 5147

genre: hospital!au, fluff

member: ER doctor!mark x clumsy!reader

description: what happens when a clumsy artist (literally) falls for the handsome ER doctor?

“We have three from a car crash coming in!”

“Help! Someone help my husband please!”

“He’s crashing!”

The voices screaming around you mashed into one loud noise and you can’t help but flinch, holding your friend’s hand as tight as possible. You didn’t quite understand why you were at the Emergency Care Unit, but your friend insisted– you had taken quite a fall at your building’s stairs and although your felt fine, you hit your head hard enough to worry her. You also think this is her using you as an excuse to meet the people she refers to as her “future bosses.” As a med student, her dream was to work with the Emergency Surgical Team, and this might just be her chance to put her name out there.

“I don’t need to be here,” You whisper, flinching when someone else shouts. “Look at these people, Sora, they really need help! I’m fine! I can just sleep it off–”

“You’re not fine,” She says calmly, looking straight into your eyes, and you know she’s examining you. “You are dizzy and you vomited on your way over here. Chances are you have a concussion; and if I’m correct, which I always am, the last thing you can do is sleep.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Someone calls from behind you and you try to move fast enough to the nearest wall, but your body feels heavy and you are pretty sure you are sweating. You kind of walk, kind of fall on the wall and smile to the doctor that rushes past you, offering you a nod and nothing else.

“This is ridiculous,” Sora mutters. “We’ve been here for hours! Excuse me, my friend needs medical attention!”

“Everyone here needs medical attention, babes,” You chuckle and you start feeling sick with the atmosphere. The noise, the lights, the people; you just wanted to leave. You look at the old lady behind you, and she is oddly quiet for someone who looks like they’ve been crying. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

She shakes her head and points to her shoulder. “I fell.”

You nod, and you wait. It takes another thirty minutes until someone finally walks to you, clipboard and gauze in their arms.

“Hi, how can I help you?” The nurse asks, already pulling out her pen to start taking notes.

“Can I you check on that woman first?” You choke out. “I just heave a headache, but I think she’s in a lot of pain. I can wait.”

“Ma’am,” The nurse looks at you surprised. “I don’t–"

“I’m fine, really,” You mutter. “I can wait ten more minutes, it’s not a pro–“

Just as you are about to finish your sentence, a wave of nausea hits you and you have just enough time to lean over to the trash can, emptying anything you had left on you.

“She hit her head,” You friend states firmly. “She needs help.”

“Nurse, go check on the other patient– I’ll take care of this one.”

You look up to see the same doctor as before. Blue scrubs, white coat, dark hair. He nods at you again, and proceeds to shine a light on your eyes.

“What happened?” He asks, and as your vision returns to normal you look at the embroidery on his coat pocket. Mark Tuan.

“She fell down the stairs,” Your friend says. “She seems to be okay besides the hit she took to the head.”

“How hard?”

“Hard enough that I could hear it.”

Dr. Tuan nods once again and you feel yourself getting anxious. Your breathing picks up and he notices it, but still no smile. No reassuring words. No nothing.

“We’ll have to get a CT scan,” He says to a nurse passing by. “Prep her and send her to me after you’re done.”

It all happens a little too fast for you and the cold and dark imaging room freaks you out enough that you have a mild panic attack. You don’t know what is happening and no explained it to you, simply throwing you around as if you were nothing much, an object. The nurse can’t calm you down and when she offers you a sedative, you hold it in– the panic, the helplessness, the fear, everything. Scared that she’d refer you to the Psychiatric department, you comply silently to everything she says. You know you are not being rational; you know she’d never forcibly drug you unless you are a danger to yourself or others, but they have things to do and you feel incredibly intimidated and alone and you think that cooperating will make everything go faster.

“It’s only a concussion, Y/N,” You whisper to yourself as you wait in another cold and dark room, your friend somewhere around the hospital looking for some food. “Stop being a goddamned coward.”

“Miss Y/L/N?”

Your turn your head too fast and it hurts, but you push it down too. “Yes?”

“Follow me,” Dr. Tuan squints at you and, as he notices your struggle to get yourself moving, offers your his arm as support. You walk to a nearby office, where a nurse and another doctor wait inside. “This is Nurse Han and Dr. Park. He is from the Psychiatric department, and I called him here because there are some things I needed to clarify before proceeding with the diagnosis.”

“S-Sure,” You gulp. “What’s up?”

“It shows here,” Dr. Tuan says pointing to your file. “That this is the fourth time you’ve been here. This month.”

“That is correct,” You offer him a small smile. “Sorry about that– I know they are all minor injuries but–“

“No need to apologize,” And for the first time, you feel at ease, mainly because Dr. Tuan widens his eyes and something about it just makes him look soft. “No need to apologize at all. We just wanted to make sure that these injuries happened... naturally.”

“Uh, what do you mean?” You frown, confused.

“What Dr. Tuan is trying to ask,” Dr. Park steps in, eyes piercing into your soul, looking for the slightest falter in your body language. “Is if you are having some trouble at home– with whomever you live with. We have resources at the hospital to help in cases of abuse and–“

“Abuse?!” You shriek. “No, no no no, not at all! I live by myself, I don’t even have a boyfriend! I’m just really clumsy.”

They all just stare at you, surprised with your outburst.

“I swear I’m okay,” You smile. “I promise. It makes me really happy that the hospital cares for its patients like this, but I’m not suffering from any kind of abuse. I just can’t seem to be able to get the hang of basic human functions like walking down the stairs.”

“Well, in that case,” Dr. Park smiles and he looks relieved. “I’ll get back to my patients. See you later Mark. Miss.”

“Now that we got that cleared out,” Dr. Tuan coughs uncomfortably, his cheeks slightly blushed and you giggle a bit. “You’ll have to stay here for a few hours, Miss Y/L/N. We need to check on you from time to time just to be sure that your condition is stable. During that period, we’ll just ask that you stay awake and in case of pain we’ll give you some Ibuprofen. Thankfully, this is your first concussion and it was a mild hit, so you should be fine in a couple of hours. Nurse Han will take you to a a resting room, and we’ll let your friend know where you are. Any questions?”

“No, thank you,” You sound calmer and more relaxed now that you understand your situation. “Thank you Dr. Tuan.”

“Just doing my job,” He nods, and you nod too, understanding that you won’t get anything other than this. “I’ll check on you soon.”

—————————

The resting room has many beds and you feel slightly uncomfortable in there, trying your best to not make any noise so that you wouldn’t disturb other people. Your friend, on the other hand, chats the time away with some of the other patients, making them laugh their worries away.

“You’ll be a great doctor one day,” You tell her once she’s done her round of jokes and is back by your side. “I am sure of it.”

“I hope so,” She smiles.

“You calm people down,” You tell her. “I really wish someone would’ve calmed me down earlier.”

“I still can’t believe that nurse didn’t help you,” She grumbles. “She’d bad at her job.”

“Don’t say that,” You chastise. “She’s probably tired and overwhelmed with patients.”

“Everyone is, but that doesn’t mean you can slack on the job,” You find gives you a pointed look. “Dr. Tuan seems great though, even if he’s a bit too serious for my liking.”

“He is, isn’t her?” You giggle. “But that’s okay, he’s been really good to me.”

“Oh, I’m sure he has,” Sora wiggles her brows and you slap her shoulder playfully. “What? You can’t deny he’s handsome.”

“Never said he wasn’t,” Now you’re the one wiggling your brows. “But let’s all be professionals here. He is your future boss, after all.”

This leads Sora to talk about medial school and the hospital for a couple of hours, and she barely notices Dr. Tuan coming to check on you a few times. As time passed, you found yourself drawing on the back paper your found next to your bed. As an artist, this is a habit you developed during your college days, when you had to practice still life and movement for drawing class. Doodling makes the time pass faster and before you know it, you are being released. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t dying to get some sleep, but you were glad that you had proper medical attention, or else you’re not sure what would’ve happened.

“Miss Y/L/N,” Dr. Tuan calls as you as putting your shoes. “Here; these for your headaches. You can’t take anything that contains Aspirin, but you should be good with just Ibuprofen. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to contact the hospital.”

“Thank you so much, Doctor,” You smile at him as your friend made sure to listen to every word carefully.

“No problem,” He nods and looks at the bed you just got up from. “Wait, is that your chart?”

“My chart?!” You look back at the paper sheet you left on the bed, completely unaware of the similarities in between the man and the drawing. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even realize it was something important!”

And you finally hear it– a laugh. Dr. Tuan’s eyes shine as he looks at the drawing, laughing in the process.

“This is certainly something I want on file,” He smiles and you finally understand why he didn’t do it before.

Mark Tuan just has one of those smiles that when it’s directed towards you, it makes you feel special. One smile from him and you already felt invincible.

“Can I keep this?” He asks, giggling and oh my god you giggling too. You nod, smiling wide. “Can you sign it?”

You laugh at this and you feel as if the room stops, everyone looking at you guys’ interaction. Nurse Han has surprise written all over her face, and so does your friend. You give him the paper back and thank him once again.

“Well, goodbye then,” You mumble. “I’ll make sure to contact the hospital in case I feel sick.”

“Please do,” He breathes out and is that a blush? “Goodbye.”

The drive home is ridiculously silent and it’s only after you enter your apartment, with your friend in tow, that she starts.

“What the fuck was that?!” She laughs out loud. “There was so much tension in that room, what the actual fuck?”

“You think so?” You ask nervously.

“I know so!” Sora smiles, pointing at you. “You like that, huh? You have a crush on the doctor!”

“I mean…” You try to come up with an excuse but you know that there is no lying to her. “I mean, who doesn’t?! Have you seen him? He is so beautiful– and his smile! Oh my god, his smile, Sora–“

“Ha!” She exclaims. “I knew it! He is totally your type…”

“But am I his type?” You bite your lip, frowning over your childlike behavior. You just met him and you already have a crush on the cute doctor.

“Why don’t you call him and ask?” Sora winks and runs away before you can hit her with a pillow.

Laughing, you go to your room to rest and finish some work.

That wouldn’t be such a bad idea, though…

—————————

You call him three days later but not for the reason he thinks you are calling. Nurse Han runs around the Emergency Unit after him but what she doesn’t know is that Mark is running late because his alarm broke. So you sit in the waiting room, your friend panicking and it all feels weirdly familiar.

“I am so sorry, but I think he’s not here yet,” She says looking around the empty room. Today is a very mellow day at the ER and it feels much better than the last time. “Ah, what should I do?”

“Uh, I am sure any doctor could help us,” You smile tightly, feeling your hands being crushed by your friend. “She’s in a lot of pain.”

“Where is the pain?” Nurse Han asks already testing for head injuries and finding none. “What happened?”

“Goddamned biker,” Sora says through gritted teeth. “Hit me.”

“She was crossing the road and a person riding a bicycle wasn’t paying attention and hit her,” You explain better. “I think she messed up her shoulder when she fell, so I brought her here.”

“Oh my,” Nurse Han inspects the bruises forming on Sora’s skin already and frowns. “Yeah, I think I can call our Physician if you’d like…”

“Nurse Han, what’s going on?”

You turn around in time to see Doctor Tuan walking in the room and there is something about seeing him in casual clothing that made you want him even more. His blue sweater made his hair even darker and you don’t think you’ve ever been this attracted to someone before.

“Y/N?” His shock is visible– and audible, since he doesn’t call you by your first name out of politeness. “Is everything okay? Are you experiencing any side effects? Headache? Dizziness? Let me take a look at you–“

“Wrong patient,” You smile, chuckling. “This time I’m here with my friend, she’s the one hurt.”

“Oh, thank god,” You hear him muttering before he’s composed again. He nods at her and you hold in your laughter. “I mean, not thank god, but I’m glad you’re not hurt... you get me. What’s wrong?”

“She had a collision with a biker and her shoulder seems to have been dislocated,” Nurse Han says and it takes him only some prodding and poking to nod in that familiar way. “Should I call Dr. Wang?”

“Please do,” Dr. Tuan says and then looks back at Sora. “I’ll pop your shoulder back, but you will need physical therapy after. Our attending physician is really good, so I’ll redirect you to him.”

“Oh my god this will hurt so fucki-“ Before she can finish her sentence, the shoulder is back in its place and you think she might have broken your hand. “Shit!”

“I’ll take you to Dr. Wang,” Nurse Han says and looks at you. “Would you like to accompany her?”

“Yes, please,” You smile and get up. Before leaving, you turn back to Dr. Tuan. “Excuse me, doctor?”

“Yes?” He asks eagerly.

“Technically speaking,” You mutter, too embarrassed to look him in the face. “I’m not your patient anymore, right?”

“Uh, n-no,” He says, eyes wide. “Technically speaking, you’re not.”

“Oh, good,” You feel your palms starting to get sweaty and you rub them on your jeans. “Then–“

“GODDAMN IT!” You hear your friend screaming in pain and you jump from the scare, sighing in defeat.

“Then I’ll see you later,” You smile tightly, knowing that you missed your chance.

“Wait, Y/N,” He extends his hand, stopping you before you can turn around. “My lunch time is in a couple of hours, and I know that Jackson– I mean, Dr. Wang– takes his time examining his patients, so would you like to grab something to eat? I know the food here isn’t the best, but it’s better than not eating at all, y-you know? And as a recovering past patient, nutrition is very important so that you can maintain a healthy condition and have a smooth rest… and I could also check for any remaining side effects! I think–“

“I’ll see you then,” You laugh, winking at him as you leave to find your friend. “Dr. Tuan.”

Turns out Dr. Wang not only is best friends with Dr. Tuan, but he is also extremely attractive, and you wonder is it’s something about this hospital specifically– if you remember correctly, Dr. Park was also someone you’d call “attractive.”

“Okay, so this is not as good as it could be,” He smiles widely and you think you are blinded by his light. The contrasting personalities are crazy, considering how shy Mark’s smile is. Mark, you think, getting all giddy inside. I like calling him Mark. “But it’s also not as bad as it could be. We’ll have to work on it for about a month, twice a week, but you’ll be good as new once you’re done.”

“Sounds good, Doctor,” Sora smiles.

“Just to be sure, I’d like to get an X-Ray,” You nod, listening carefully. “It’s already lunch time, so I’m sure it’ll be quick. Nurse Kim can help you and bring you back.”

Then he looks at you.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Dr. Wang asks in a teasing tone, and smiles. “Dr. Tuan asked me take you to his office first, he wants to make sure you are well recovered.”

“Oh, you don’t have to, I’m sure I can find my way,” He nods and you wave goodbye. “I’ll be back to pick her up after.”

“I promise that I’ll take good care of your friend,” He laughs. “Now go.”

Finding Mark’s office was a little too easy and you blush a little as you enter, seeing him behind his desk, immersed on something on his computer.

“Ah, Y/N,” He smiles that shy smile and you are so happy that he’s now comfortable enough to do that. “Come in, I’m just finishing some work.”

“I can come back if you want?” You hope you didn’t sound as disappointed as you feel.

“Not at all, just give me a minute,” He motions to the chair and you sit in comfortable silence. “Okay, let’s take a look at that head.”

You recognize the procedures from before and he nods approvingly, tongue peeking out from his lips and you almost coo at how adorable he looked.

“Everything looks great!” His eyes smile with him, this time, and you smile back. “You are officially recovered.”

You chatter animatedly in his office and lunch hour flies by. You feel a little guilty once you realize that you’ve taken all of his time to eat, knowing that hospital shifts are usually hectic and they don’t have much personal time, if any, so you insist you two walk to the vending machine where he can at least grab a snack.

“I’m really sorry, Mark,” You say for what feels like the millionth time. “I really don’t know what happened and–“

“Time flies by when you’re having a good time,” He says. “I’d say we were having a good time, Y/N.”

You are shocked with his boldness, but you nod, nonetheless. Just as you reach the machine, you see Sora and Dr. Wang talking and you wave them over.

“Y/N,” Dr. Wang says excitedly. “Sora just told me about Saturday! You must be excited!”

“Uh,” You are taken aback with how friendly this man already was with you, but you smile anyways, enjoying the casualty of it all. “Yeah, I’m really excited…”

“What’s happening this Saturday?” Mark asks confused.

“You guys talked all this time and you didn’t mention?” At that, you look at Sora with eyes that promised a lecture after. “It’s her art expo, dude. Sora invited us.”

“Did she, now, Dr. Wang?” You smile dangerously.

“Oh, please, call me Jackson,” He laughs. “You’re not my patient.”

“You’re an artist?” Mark asks and you see the wheels turning in his head. “Actually, that makes a lot of sense… that drawing you made is really good.”

“The one on your desk?” Jackson asks with innocent eyes and mischievous smile.

“That one,” Mark deadpans.

“I’m glad you like it,” You chuckle. “And yeah, I’m an artist. I hope you guys can make it to the exhibition, if you are not too busy with medical things…”

“We’ll be there!” Jackson promises and Mark nods. “Even if we’re late.”

“Promise?” You joke.

“Promise,” Mark says, and you know there and then, that he has no intention in breaking that promise.

—————————

The week passes without you seeing or even hearing from the handsome doctor. Sora, on the other hand, would see him every week, whenever he walked by to say hi during her therapy sessions or when Dr. Wang– Jackson– would talk about him. How those two think they are smooth goes beyond you, but with the exhibit coming up you couldn’t really accompany Sora to the hospital like she wanted you to, and you had to focus on the upcoming event.

“Are you nervous?” Sora asks as you two arrive at the gallery. This isn’t your first exhibit and she knows, having been there for all of them– you know what she’s talking about.

“Yes,” You laugh, looking at around to see your work in every wall. It filled you with pride, to this day, every time you successfully finished a collection. “Oh my, I never felt this nervous before.”

“He’ll love it,” She whispers in your ear.

“How’d you know?” You ask, freaking out. “What if he’s not into art?”

“I doubt that,” Sora laughs and turns you around, to where Mark is standing with Jackson, pointing at the large painting. With them, two other men stand to the side, observing one of your few drawings. “Hey guys!”

You shush her as people start looking at you, them included. Their smiles could light up the room, and you think you might just tell your single friends to attend that hospital.

“Y/N, congratulations!” Jackson shouts excitedly, hugging you tight. His friend, taller than the rest, face palms himself, pulling the doctor away from you.

“I’m sorry for him– sometimes he gets too excited and forgets about personal space,” His friend laughs. “Nice to meet you, I’m Yugyeom. I work with these idiots.”

“Oh, so both of you are doctors, too?” You ask impressed.

“Yeah,” His friend nods. “I’m Jaebeom. I work in the Neurosurgery department, and this big baby here is with Pediatrics.”

“I’m Y/N, and this is Sora,” You shake their hands. “I hope you enjoy the exhibit!”

“Everything is beautiful, Y/N,” Mark finally speaks up. “Thank you for having us.”

“Thank you for coming,” You smile, inching closer. “It means a lot.”

Everything works out wonderfully; you sell a few paintings, the boys stay until the end, and you all end up in a bar nearby, celebrating a successful night. After a few drinks, you and Mark were flirting shamelessly. You both sat in front of each other and, ignoring everyone else, you two talked as if there wasn’t other four people in the table; and they also let you be, poking fun in between them, but never interrupting your chat.

“You know,” Mark says taking a sip of his beer. “There was this one painting I saw tonight, and I was wondering if it had been sold.”

You laugh. “You want to buy my painting?”

“I do!” He defends himself, chuckling a bit. “It was colorful and peaceful at the same time; I loved it. Working in the Emergency Room can be, and usually is, a lot… you lose your faith in the world a bit. I think that if I have that painting in my office, it can help me relax and remember that there is a lot of good out there, too. You know which one I’m talking about? The one with light pink and dark blue and–”

“When’s your birthday?” You ask, suddenly.

“In a couple of weeks, actually,” He squints at you. “Why?”

“Nothing,” You shrug, already texting the gallery’s manager to take that painting off the wall. She tells you she reserved it for you and you relax, knowing you can do something for this man that’s done a lot for you.

“Did you just–“

“We gotta go,” Jaebeom calls. “There was a crash nearby and they need everyone on shift. Did everyone drink?”

They all nod, but get up anyways.

“I drank a third of a beer, I’m good,” Mark says and his face is hard as stone. You sigh, knowing he’s back at doctor mode. “Were there kids involved?”

Jaebeom nods and Yugyeom pushes his cup away, putting his jacket in record time.

“I’m really sorry,” Mark whispers to you as you all rush to pay the bill. “I wish I could drop you home but…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” You promise. “I completely understand; here, give me your phone.”

He does and you give him yours.

“Text me when you get home,” He begs, eyes sad.

“I will,” You smile, hoping to lighten the mood before he has to face more tragedies. “And you text me when you’re done, Doctor.”

“Will do,” He kisses your cheek and winks before running after his friends.

Sora walks with you and promises to let you know once she’s home. Disappointed but overall happy, you change out of your fancy outfit in favor of your oversized sweatpants and sweatshirt. The TV is on but you can’t seem to focus on anything, always glancing at your phone in hopes of receiving a text. You understand that he’s probably really busy, being the head of the ER, so you try to not expect much, deciding that it’s better to not hope for anything then to get disappointed in the end.

It’s around midnight that your phone shines, illuminating the dark room. Luckily, your insomnia kicked in and you were wide awake, replaying the events of the night over and over again, sometimes cringing at something you remember having said, or giggling at a face Mark made. Once the light of your phone washes the room, though, you forget all about the past hours and focus on the present, quickly unlocking your phone.

Mark: you promised you’d let me know once you were home >.<

He used an emoji. You couldn’t believe Mark Tuan, the stone faced doctor of the ER, used an emoji.

You: I’m sorry! I completely forgot!

You: Did you get off of work just now?

Mark: Yeah… I’m sorry if I woke you up

You: It’s okay, I wasn’t asleep

You: You must be really tired right now…

Mark: Not at all! We can talk more

Mark: If you’re not tired, that is!

You: Can you come over, then?

You: It’s an emergency!

And you are very aware that there are a thousand better words to use rather than “emergency,” especially with a doctor that spends his days performing surgery on emergency patients, but you couldn’t help but laugh at the irony.

Mark: Emergency??? What happened?

Mark: Are you feeling alright?

Mark: Send me your address, please!

Mark: Y/N!

You send him the address and for a second you almost feel guilty for setting him on a panic driven mission, but you console yourself with the hope that he’ll like the reward. It takes him exact seven minutes to make it to your house and you worry about him a little, knowing that on a good traffic day, it usually takes fifteen; however, you forget all about it when you see him at your door, hair messy and eyes wild. He is still wearing the clothes he had at the exhibit and you chastise yourself for changing into your sweats.

“Hey–“ You open the door a little bit but he gently pushes the rest of it open, walking in, and closing it with his feet. His hands are on your head instantly, searching for an injury.

“What happened?” He asks and asks you to follow his finger with your eyes. “Do you feel sick? Did you get hurt again? How are you so clumsy, Y/N?”

Laughing, you hold both his hands and put them down, letting it go only when his arms are limp next to his body.

“I’m okay,” You say taking a step forward. It was now or never; you had to be brave. “It’s another kind of emergency.”

“W-what kind i-is it?” His stutter makes you smile, knowing you can break his stone face down.

“Hm, the urgent kind,” Your lips graze his as you speak, and you think he stopped breathing.

“If it’s that urgent why didn’t you call me before?” You can feel his confidence growing as one of his arms goes around your waist, and the other hand grabs the nape of your neck.

“You were busy,” You know you sound lame but it’s true– you were afraid of messing up his work.

“Never too busy for you,” And then he kisses you.

You think his kisses can be compared to his smiles; they are shy and gentle in the beginning, but once he gets comfortable, they are languid and familiar. They claim you in the most delicious of ways– your body, your mouth, your heart,– and all you can do is give; give everything he wants, even if that means giving your whole self. The things about Mark, though, is that although he takes it all, he gives his all, too; and you feel it, through the kiss, how much he wants to be yours. How much he wants you closer, and closer, and closer, until you’re pressed against your wall, trapped in his body.

You pull away first, laughing as he follows your mouth with his.

“It’s late,” You whisper in between pecks. “Why don’t we go sleep?”

“Sleep?” He asks, blinking as if he never heard those words before.

“Or not,” You wink already walking to the bedroom. “Your choice, though you look like you have… an emergency.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” He groans and runs after you. “Get back here!”

Safe to say, you trip on your way down the hall. But it’s okay; you have your stone faced doctor with you.

------------------------

hello lovelies! This is the first story of the General Hospital Series I’m doing for GOT7! How’d you like it? I have been falling in love with Mark more and more each day ❤️ leave your thoughts in the comment section, it means the world to know what you thin of my story :P love you all and thanks for the support!

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stevesnailbat · 4 years

Note

50. “How drunk was I?” from the prompt list !!! :-)

warnings: underage drinking, the slightest angst

word count: 1.7K

The pounding headache that Steve endured as soon as he woke up on Sunday morning was well-deserved, considering the amount of alcohol he remembered drinking. He knew he’d continued to pound back shots after the last one he remembered, but he couldn’t remember how many. The bed next to him was empty, but it was warm, like someone had just gotten up. There wasn’t really much to panic about, though.

Steve and Y/N had been best friends for years, so sharing a bed on a drunken night was never out of the ordinary for them. The sound of dishes clanking together from downstairs was a telltale sign that she was in the kitchen, maybe searching desperately for something to cure her own hangover.

“Good to see you survived the night and it only took you twelve hours of sleep this time!” she said as she heard Steve trudging down the stairs; she wasn’t looking in his direction, but she knew he was rolling his eyes at the back of her head. “The water and the ibuprofen on the counter are for you.”

“How is it that I’m always the one who gets shitfaced and you never do?” Steve questioned, watching as she poured two cups of coffee from the pot she’d just brewed.

“I can handle my alcohol, unlike you.” she teased, finally whipping around to see the hangover apparent in his eyes.

“How drunk was I?” he asked, catching the coffee mug as she slid it across the counter to him.

Her heart sunk at his words. He had been so drunk that he couldn’t even remember the words he whispered to her as they laid in his bed the night before. It kinda stung, honestly. The thought of Steve having to get absolutely plastered to spill his guts to her about everything was painful, but she’d keep it to herself. Their friendship was more valuable to her than something that Steve whispered to her in the dead of night while drunk off 10 shots of vodka. So, she let it go and decided lying was the best option.

“You really don’t remember anything from last night?” she chuckled, playing off the burning sensation she felt creeping up on her cheeks while he shook his head at her. “I don’t know if you wanna know what you did if you really can’t remember anything.”

“It was that bad?” he asked, watching her nod and roll her eyes at the thought of the night before. “What the hell did I do?”

“That’s a secret for me to know and for you to never find out.” she giggled, Steve groaning in frustration as his reply.

“That’s not fair!” he protested.

“Oh but it is fair!” she argued, choking back a struggled look with a fake smile. “Drunk Steve made me promise I wouldn’t tell a soul, even yourself. So, sober Steve can’t know.”

“So you’re saying you’ll tell me if I get drunk again?” he implored, she shook her head rapidly. “Hair of the dog, right? The perfect way to cure my massive hangover, just get drunk again!”

“Steve, you’re ridiculous. And you’re crazy if you think you could stomach any alcohol right now.” she said, narrowing her eyes as she cringed at his desperation.

Maybe he knew? Maybe he knew that he’d admit something like that to her when he was drunk eventually. Maybe he didn’t want her to know how he felt, because he didn’t want to act on it.

Steve persisted in his arguments for a while, putting her even more on edge. She was being pushed deeper into her thoughts of doubt with every protest he flung in her direction, each only only telling her that he was embarrassed of what he might’ve confessed to her. Eventually their conversation travelled to another topic, but her mind was elsewhere. Her mind was on Steve’s lips, how they felt against hers last night, how he tasted of vodka and coke, how surprisingly soft his lips were. She couldn’t take her mind off of them, and she was staring now.

“Hello? Earth to Y/N!” he called out, waving his hand in front of her face after she had failed to answer his question about some project for English. “What’s with you today?”

“Nothing, just hungover.” she lied, rolling her eyes at him once more while trying to look at anything but him.

To avoid his gaze and him in general, she started to make her way back to his room. She knew he’d follow her, but she’d try to make some bullshit excuse about helping her mom with something at home to get out of hanging out with him anymore. She didn’t know how she’d handle things if she stayed any longer, she felt like she might snap. To day the least, Steve was utterly confused about her sudden change of attitude.

“Seriously, what’s your deal?” Steve asked as he followed her to his bedroom, watching as she gathered her clothes from the floor to shove them into a backpack. “Did taking care of drunk me really piss you off that much?”

“Maybe so.” she mumbled in annoyance.

“Oh really?” he scoffed. “Like I haven’t dealt with your drunk ass too many times now—“

“Steve, please. Just—Just stop. Please.” she snapped, something in her eyes had changed and tears were pricking the corners of them. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Why are you crying? Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to make you upset. I thought you were joking—“ he started while stepping closer to her, his expression softening as he saw her dewy eyes.

“You’re fine, Steve.” she mumbled, rolling her eyes to blink her tears away. “I have to go, I have to help my mom make dinner.”

“I’ll call you later?” Steve called as she started towards the door, but only got a mumble in response.

—

Reese’s cups were her favorite candy, Steve knew that. White wine was her drink of choice, Steve knew that. Grease was the movie she loved to watch any time she could, Steve knew that.

He came to her window that night fully equipped with her favorite things, prepared to cheer her up from whatever was making her so upset. It seemed she had already beat him to the punch, though. Before he knocked on the window, he looked inside to see her in the middle of her bed with her own bottle of white wine, tears staining her rosy, flushed cheeks. He contemplated leaving for a moment, but knew he needed to at least try to console her.

The knock on the window made her nearly choke on a swig of wine. She knew who it was as soon as he knocked, nobody else would be sneaking—like a ninja, as he said—into her bedroom at 1 in the morning. She contemplated ignoring the knock for a moment, but knew he would be persistent.

She swung the window open like she’d done a thousand times before, but didn’t glance in his direction as he climbed in. Steve watched as she wiped any remnants of tears away, trying to act like nothing happened. He could tell something was really hurting her, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“I brought Grease and Reese’s. Thought you might need some cheering up.” Steve said to break the silence, giving her a small smile. “And I brought some wine, but it seems like you’ve beat me to the getting drunk part of feeling better.”

“Thank you, Steve.” she said quietly, only looking at him for a split second before staring at the rim of the practically empty wine bottle in front of her.

“Listen, Y/N.” Steve started, sitting next to her on the bed. “I’m sorry for earlier, I wasn’t trying to be mean or press you or anything. I was just curious about what I told you last night.”

Her heart sunk once more when he mentioned the night before, dreading it already. She knew the conversation was inevitable, but she didn’t want to face it yet. As much as she didn’t want to, she was being forced into it, partially by Steve and partially by the bottle of wine she finished off as he was talking.

“Do you really wanna know that bad?” she slurred, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes.

“You don’t have to tell me, I just wanna help fix whatever I did or apologize for what’s bothering you—“

Steve’s rambling was one thing she always loved about him, but she couldn’t handle it in the moment. He looked so upset about hurting her feelings and it hurt her to see him like that. Her feelings were conflicted and she was lost on how to even tell him about the night before.She needed to know if what he told her the night before was true, and there was only one real way to test her theory. Before Steve finished his sentence, she cut him off with a kiss. It was quick and sloppy, but it was enough to stop his rambling.

“Drunk Steve told me not to tell anyone that we kissed last night and that he likes me, but it looks like I’m not very good at keeping promises.” she said slowly, gauging his reaction to see how he truly felt. “But I think I might be okay with telling you the truth.”

It was Steve’s turn to be distracted by her lips now. His mind was on her lips, how they felt against his mere moments ago, how she tasted of cheap white wine, how surprisingly soft her lips were. Her lips curled up into a small smirk as he stared at them, she was well aware of what he was doing. Before she could open her mouth to make any remarks, his mouth was back on hers. This kiss was more heated, filled with more passion.

“How drunk am I right now?” she murmured in disbelief after pulling away for a breath between kisses, pressing her forehead against hers.

“Drunk enough to finally confess your feelings for me.” he chuckled against her lips, pulling her back in for another kiss.

“You can’t mention this to sober me.” she teased, giggling into the kiss.

“I don’t think that’s a promise I’m willing to keep, I’m gonna tell sober you all about this in the morning.” he joked.

tags: @sourapplebaby @jxnehxpper @harringtown @charmed-asylum @a-magey @queenofthehairharrington @heart-eye-harrington @lemonypink @daddystevee @igotmadskills

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington angst #stranger things 1 #stranger things 2 #stranger things 3 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things imagine #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington one shot #stranger things x reader #stranger things fluff #stranger things one shot #stranger things angst #joe keery

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crinkled-emotions · 5 years

Text

Sam and Dean/Cas

THIS IS NOT WINCEST. Wincest makes me grossed out, sorry, so instead I revamped this and made it Dean/Cas with Sam being seriously injured an battling an infected wound, so Dean’s worried and Cas is figuring out what to do to help.

It was late in the bunker when Sam woke up, pulling his sorry ass to the kitchen. He had stitches all over his body in various places from the previous day’s hunt, including on his lower torso where his belt usually rested so he was now wearing elastic sweatpants everywhere. He tracked down the hallway, the fever running through his entire body telling him something was wrong. His head hurt and his entire body ached with nausea finishing off the perfect warning signs of an infection.

In the kitchen Cas was snuggled into Dean, kissing and nuzzling. They were so obviously in love that it almost hurt Sam- a constant reminder that whenever he finally plucked up the courage to sleep with someone, nine times out of ten they died. It was a little soul crushing at this point. Cas captured Dean’s cheek and kissed him squarely, capturing the moment until they broke apart when they heard gagging.

“Sammy?” Dean bellowed. He turned around and spotted Sam curled up at the breakfast bar retching and dry heaving, trying to keep his dinner down.

“Shit, Sam.”

Dean rushed over, helping his little brother up and over to the sink. Cas grabbed a bucket since it would be easier and Dean thanked him with a nod, holding Sam’s shoulder with a strong grip, making him hover over the bucket.

“Breathe Sammy, let it out,” Dean spoke calmly, nudging his head at Castiel.

“Wait for me in the living room.”

“Okay?”

Castiel disappeared (okay, he walked) to the living room, and Dean turned his full attention to Sam who was dry heaving still.

“Dude you need to relax.”

“It hurts,” Sam complained, and Dean frowned.

“The stitches,” Sam explained, and when he turned to face away from the bucket he buried his head into Dean’s shoulder. He whimpered and Dean put the bucket down to support his brother’s lanky frame.

“Hey Sammy, you need to stay with me okay? I’ll take you to bed, c’mon.”

With steady hands Dean hefted most of Sam’s weight down the hallway to Sam’s room, kicking the door open with his socked foot as he practically dragged Sam into the room. He took in the bedroom and his eyes widened.

“Cas?”

“Dean, I… I know you told me to go and wait for you in the living room, but-“

Dean just shook his head.

“Thanks, babe. I’m sure if Sam was functioning he would really appreciate it.”

“Sam ‘snot here right now.”

Sam’s voice was hoarse from the nausea he’d been having on and off since he woke up, so Dean got him lying down as fast as he could. He noticed Sam immediately lay on his good side to avoid hurting himself further by the stitches, groaning into his pillow. He noticed how Cas hesitated, before taking a seat on the bed and reaching to brush a hand through Sam’s hair.

“Sam, I can’t heal you, I don’t have any grace to spare,” he spoke with hints of sympathy in his voice, and when Sam met his gaze he felt ten times worse.

“Sam-“

Sam threw himself over the bed to hurl all over the wooden flooring, Cas making a noise of complaint.

“On my shoes Sam, really?”

Dean watched with wide wide eyes as Cas took on the caretaker role, holding the bucket for his brother and rubbing his back in slow movements. He looked up and met Dean’s eyes, sending him a smile Dean recognised as his own. He too smiled, before going over to help Sam. He set him back up on the bed on his good side, nodding at Cas to empty the bucket when they were confident Sam was done for now.

Once Sam was calmed down as much as he could be Dean pulled his sleep shirt off, running his hand over the large adhesive bandage protecting Sam’s stitches from any chafing or rubbing. However, Dean now saw it hadn’t stopped an infection. Just one look at his brother, feverish and shaking furiously, he felt awful and responsible for Sam’s injury- he’d been the one who hadn’t wanted to be bait and Cas was busy, so he’d sent Sam out. It was just a second too late that he shot the Wendigo, and would probably be a huge regret of his for a while before he moved on. Dean set to work, working on taking off the bandage. He slowly peeled it off, rubbing Sam’s shoulder the entire time. Cas had gone to get some hot water and a cloth- the best way to calm an infection down was to keep the wound clean but let it run its course. Oh, and lots of ibuprofen for Sam, but that would be dealt with later.

When Dean managed to get the bandage off completely he wanted to gag at the sight of the stitches- all red and inflamed, oozing yellow pus in some places, it was no wonder Sam hadn’t gone down sooner. The older Winchester took a pair of surgical scissors from the box of medical supplies Cas had brought in, focusing on undoing the knots to release the pain. Sam was panting the whole time, his whole body tense, and even a couple local anaesthetics couldn’t help him. Dean made the decision that it had to be done fast and cut everything open, peering into the deep wound. Sure enough; there was an infection, but it wasn’t too severe yet so Dean wasn’t super worried. While Dean treated the infection Cas had been setting up an IV drip, not inserting it into Sam’s hand yet for fear of distressing him further. Sam when he was awake was a pain to treat, but when he was feverish and nauseous he was unbelievable. When Dean gave the nod Cas took Sam’s hand, feeling for a decent vein and pushing the needle in. Sam groaned, trying to pull away but Cas held him still. When it was steady Cas taped it down as he’d seen Dean and Sam do numerous times, letting Sam relax. Dean had managed to flush most of the infection pus out of the wound and he was now wrapping Sam’s middle with large bandages, making sure the wound was covered with an adhesive dressing beforehand to prevent chafing or other issues.

Within the hour the infection began to wear away, allowing Sam to rest peacefully. Curled up in bed he was finally calm and sleeping soundly, and Dean held his hand up for a high five in the doorway. Castiel stared at him and Dean sighed, showing him how to do it.

“C’mon babe, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

“After what I saw come out of Sam… my appetite has greatly decreased even though I didn’t need to eat in the first place.”

Dean grimaced.

“Thanks Cas, you’re just so helpful.”

“I’m assuming that’s sarcasm.”

“Right. Let’s get out of here.”

As they walked down the hallway toward the staircase that led to the library Cas hooked an arm around Dean’s waist, Dean smiling as he felt a kiss pressed to his temple. He kissed Cas back, and they walked together to the library where they were going to, uh,

Study.

Yep.

Study.

#Sam Winchester Bingo 2019 #Supernatural #Sam Winchester #Destiel

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ravenwritesstuff · 7 years

Text

Repetition

Fandom: Timeless - Set during episodes 1x10-1x11 Pairing: Lyatt (Lucy x Wyatt) Rating: Very M (SoooOoooOOooo not for kids. Go away, children.) Warnings: Violence; Language; SSEeX; messy feelings; angst; time travel is complicated; having feelings while time traveling is even more complicated; I have only watched the season once and this is probably full of errors but oh well; Lucy is a mess; Author uses super convoluted logic to get two characters to bang A/N: This is what happens when I binge watch a TV show where I spend the entire time yelling “JUST BANG EACH OTHER ALREADY. STOP WITH THE GOOGLY EYES AND JUST FUUUUUCK!”. So. This is my unapologetic porn with accidental kind of plot. Do with it what you will.

History repeats itself.

She knows that fact better than anyone, which is why she absolutely will not let her heart (or her hormones) or whatever the hell is going on inside of her come up with a victory. The only time people who lead with their hearts end up in history books is always accompanied with the footnote of horrible tragedy. Marc Antony and Cleopatra. Napoleon and Josephine. Héloïse and Abelard. Adolf and Eva. Don’t even get her started on Bonnie and Clyde. She is not about to add Lucy and Wyatt to that list.

It is stress, she tells herself. The urges, the desires, that always make her blush when he catches her eye across the room or helps her out of the Lifeboat are all just because of stress. She is cracking under it. She remembers the words he said to her in Germany about knowing what she is fighting for as a way to keep from falling apart, but she does not exactly know what to do when she is fighting against something.

Like her own damn hormones.

“Lucy.” Her mother’s voice cuts through the fog. “Your tea!”

She snaps back to reality to see her mother pointing at the screaming tea kettle. How long had it been whistling? Her hands shake as she cuts the gas on the stove and brings the kettle to pour herself a cup. The scents of chamomile and lavender fill her nostrils as she pours and she wonders how long she has to wait before she can drink it without burning her mouth to oblivion. This stuff is supposed to be calming, but she has the feeling that it is not even going to take the edge off.

Maybe she can figure out a way to inject it directly into her neural system.

“You okay?” It is her mom again and she all but jumps out of her skin again.

“Huh? Yeah. Sorry.” She wraps her hands around her mug to keep it from sloshing.

“What is going on with you?” Her mother sits on the stool across the kitchen island from where Lucy stands. “You haven’t been yourself in weeks.”

“I just -” She has a lie for this. She has practiced it in the mirror, but it still feels wrong saying it to her mother. “You know. I just am trying to figure some stuff out. It has all been so sudden with my new position -.”

Her mother frowns and cuts her off with a cluck of her tongue. “They work you too hard there. Who has ever heard of a historian working such bizarre hours?”

“Yeah. Well.” Lucy just shrugs. Her mother’s indifference is familiar territory at this point, but she still does not quite know how to field it. What she wouldn’t give for a little backup right about now. If Amy were here - “I’m just thankful to have a job in my field.”

“A job that is so stressful you can’t live with your fiance? Noah is going out of his head about all of this.”

It’s a low blow, especially considering her recent train of thought (and the fact she has to think hard to remember who Noah is) and Lucy looks down at her tea.

“It’s complicated, mom.”

“Oh. I know it is, babydoll, and I’m not pressuring you. You know you can stay here as long as you need.”

The sound of the phrase babydoll sends a braid of guilty pleasure so tightly down her spine that there is no way Lucy knows there is no way she can continue this conversation right now. She’s gotten better at lying, but she is nowhere near good enough to cover the blush that is spreading like wildfire across her skin at the recollection of a kiss that should mean nothing.

“Thanks mom.” She fakes a yawn. “I’m going to head to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She is on her way out of the kitchen, tea in hand, before she is even done speaking.

“Anytime you want to talk - you know where to find me!” Her mom calls after her, and Lucy feels bad for her hasty exit.

But she would feel even worse if she spilled the beans about the real reason why she had to leave.

It is only five seconds after she turns out the light before her fingers dip below the waistline of her panties. She thinks of a kiss that meant nothing and everything at the same time. She thinks of him and sighs.

Wyatt.

….

She has no idea where he lives.

She has traveled, cumulatively, hundreds of years with the man, fought nazis, forged history, bested serial killers, but she has no idea where he sleeps at night. It is probably safer that way. If they don’t know where the other people in their team lives there is no way they can lead Rittenhouse to them, not that Rittenhouse would need any of them for that.

It seems they know everything anyway.

….

Trysts don’t make history.

Well - for the most part - they don’t if you are just a regular person. History making one-night-stands are reserved for movie stars and she is just a lowly historian so she is fairly certain she is not on any radar large enough to cement any kind of legacy. What she is more interested in is erasing the diary Flynn has in his possession.

Maybe, just maybe, she can alter the line of her life just enough that the book ceases to exist. Maybe, just maybe, she can work her way out of this. Maybe a tryst is just what she needs.

….

Lucy pops out her earbuds as she enters the house, winded and flushed. She’s taken up running, and she is bad at it, but she has heard it is a good stress reliever and boy howdy does she need some of that. She makes her way back to the kitchen to grab a drink of water to wash down the entire bottle of ibuprofen she is going to need after that extremely long (maybe she actually hit a mile this time) torture session when it happens.

“Noah stopped by. He left these.” Carolyn Preston points to the lush arrangement of peonies and roses on the kitchen counter. “Honestly Luc, you need to go talk to him. The poor boy is going nuts.”

And just like that, all the stress is back.

She grabs a glass and goes to the fridge.

“There’s nothing to talk about, mom.” She is tempted to put back in her ear buds and keep running. Always running. Never getting ahead.

“Nothing to talk about?” She can hear the disbelief in her mom’s voice, will see it in her face if she looks. “Lucy.”

Carolyn uses that special tone on her name. The ones that only mom’s can use to convey the fullness of their disappointment, and she cannot deal with that right now (which makes her feel guilty because there was a time not too long ago when she would have given anything to hear her mom say her name like that - or at all).

“I’ve got to take a shower.” She says, running from the room but not escaping.

“Call him, Lucy!” Her mom’s voice follows her up the stairs but she doesn’t want to call anybody.

Not Noah.

Not Rufus.

Not Agent Christopher.

And sure as hell not Wyatt (except for the fact that that is exactly what she wants).

She turns the shower on cold and jumps right in.

….

Flynn is in 1780 and Lucy knows their objective before Agent Christopher even finishes the briefing. It is Benedict Arnold. Flynn is going after the man who almost single-handedly lost the Revolutionary War for the colonies, and she knows she should be horrified. She should be outraged at Flynn’s nerve, and she is. She is, but Wyatt is there too looking tousled and irritable and she wants to kiss him with her fist for being so distracting.

What is his deal anyway?

She knows the answer. Love of his life murdered and he feels responsible and she feels for him. She does. She isn’t a monster, and if Jessica were still living there is no way she would even entertain these thoughts, but Jessica is gone just like Amy is gone so she knows it is awful to lose someone you love beyond your own life.

She knows.

She’d do anything to get back Amy, but the annoying thing is that the while the whole tortured backstory normally wouldn’t get much more than a sympathetic sigh from her (seriously. She does not go for bad boys with chips on their shoulders. Her insanely wonderful, understanding fiance is proof of that even if she can hardly remember his name.) Wyatt’s history has her rethinking the merits of a good old fashioned tormented soul.

And now she is going back in time with him. Again. Always. Racing against the odds to try to save the world and she cannot help but wonder when they ever get to save themselves.

….

She doesn’t want to change all of history, just hers.

She wants to change what she wrote in that journal. She wants to have her sister back. To do that, however, it is clear she will have to do something against the very fiber of her being. She is going to have to disrupt the flow of time. She is going to have to do something that will alter her course and hopefully the course of her journal and her sister’s existence.

She knows she is justifying.

She knows she is doing the thing she hates, but if that means stopping herself from becoming the same as the monster they are fighting then - yeah okay.

She respects the butterfly. She doesn’t want to step on a lot of them - just one. Just hers.

She knows that there is no change that she can make in only her life that will not ripple out and touch the world, but that is a risk she is willing to take. It is a risk she has to take, because she is not going to let Flynn win.

And that is what this is about. Not about how she is sitting in the Lifeboat flushed from head to toe because Wyatt looks nice in his period clothes with his hair brushed for once or how one piece has slipped over his forehead and she wants to brush it back or how she has to squeeze her knees together to ignore the fact that she is wet. No. It is not about those things.

She is taking back control over her life and she is going to do whatever it takes to make that happen, and it just so happens that that course correcting thing seems to be Wyatt.

….

She always liked playing dress-up as a child. She would imagine wild fantasies of her favorite historical figures all dressed in ill-fitting clothes, but nothing could prepare her for the intense discomfort of the real thing. Well she is experiencing it now and she is not impressed. The level of compression she is feeling at the hands of her authentic corset is making it difficult to breathe - to think - and that is dangerous. Especially with Flynn nearby.

He has been better and better at spotting them. Better and better at using his head start to set traps for them. Blending in with the time period is not enough anymore which always proves to more difficult than any of them anticipate. She may be hellbent on changing her own history, but she will not compromise the whole of America’s existence just because she needs to get laid.

“You’re awfully on edge ” Wyatt says as they shake off the post flight nausea and unbuckle after the jump.

“Yeah. Well. None of us are prepared to go back to a world that does not have the United States in it and that is one of the worst case scenarios here and we seem to be really good at landing in at least one worst case scenario each time we go on these missions.” Lucy hisses under her breath and she blames her corset for her additional nausea and testiness at his concern. Yeah. Her corset.

“Whoa there.” Wyatt is already unbuckled reaches across to touch her knee. She is forced to look into deep blue eyes that she absolutely has not thought about while pleasuring herself. “Breathe. Everything is going to be okay.”

But she cannot breathe. Not with him so close and her corset so tight and the crease between his eyebrows so deep with worry that she wants to smooth it with her fingertips, her lips. Instead she redirects her attention to unbuckling with a tense nod.

“I’ll relax when we are back in 2017 and the USA still exists.” She fumbles with the final fastener. She deflects further to distract from trembling fingers: “What about you, Rufus?”

“I always breathe better when I am not in a time period where I have to provide papers to prove I am not someone’s property on demand.” Rufus says from the control board and Lucy and Wyatt both tacitly agree that he has them both beat.

…..

If she were a different person she would not do this. She would not take advantage of Wyatt coming over to her to press her case for sex while they wait on Flynn and Benedict Arnold. She would focus on the mission - except this is kind of her mission too - and not just for the orgasm. She wants Amy back, wants that journal gone, and it is becoming increasingly clear that if she wants that to happen she will have to take matters into her own hands.

“You doing okay?” He has that voice that he uses when he is uncomfortable and trying to hide it. So every time actual feelings come into play about anything.

Lucy looks up to him, casts a fleeting glance over to where Rufus stands a safe distance away, and she looks back at Wyatt and she cannot believe she is about to -

“I think we should sleep together. For history.” She blurts on a hard whisper and the instant the words are out of her mouth she replaces them by worrying her cuticle.

He blinks, frowning that infuriating crease back into place, and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You think we should what now?”

Her entire body is on fire. Her mouth works but no words come out, her mind scrambling for a way out of this, but she cannot think with him looking at her the way he is. Like he thinks he misheard her. Like he hopes he hadn’t

Rufus breaks the silence and intrudes into their private world.

“Can someone please explain to me how the hell we got here and what the hell we are going to do now?”

Wyatt’s eyes never leave Lucy’s face, trying to read between her lines, and maybe that butterfly is squashed now. Maybe now nothing else has to happen between them but somehow that idea brings more disappointment than excitement.

“I - I don’t know, Rufus.” She stutters. “I don’t know.”

….

She is such an idiot.

She never should have said anything. She should have trusted the process and let Agent Christopher arrange a way for Amy to return but now she has just made everything awkward. She can feel Wyatt staring at her, trying to work the puzzle she’d laid out in front of him at the same time as he is trying his damndest to not just shoot Flynn in the head.

Flynn. Who is doing his damndest to get them all killed but she is perversely glad he is there because otherwise she would be alone in David Rittenhouse’s lair with Wyatt after she basically threw herself at his feet.

What is wrong with her?

Maybe if she had had her head in the game instead of her heart or - you know - her vagina, David Rittenhouse would not have a gun pointed at Wyatt’s head. Maybe if she didn’t absolutely embarrass herself and objectify her teammate that is helping to save, basically, the world as they know it, they wouldn’t be in this spot in the first place.

Her entire job is time, knowing what happened and when and how it shaped the world, so you’d think she would have a better sense of timing.

….

She could have struggled more, could have fought harder, and she knows that but there is something sickly comforting about being kidnapped by Flynn right now. He may be the villain of this story, but she is not the hero. That is for sure.

So when she gets aboard The Mothership, she buckles herself in without complaint. She knows he will have the pilot take off if she is ready or not, and in some ways she is just so fucking ready to be anywhere but here. Just as the world begins to take on the eerie green-blue haze of time and space shifting around them, Flynn looks across to her from where he buckled with a knowing smirk.

“Isn’t it interesting that you have two partners - and yet you only called out for one of them?”

He is so damn smug about it, too. Like he has her all figured out (which he kind of does if the journal is even half true and she did kind of leave out Rufus in her cry for help but there no way in hell she is going to come to close to admitting that to Flynn ever) and she hates him for it. She sets her jaw, juts out her chin, and looks him dead in the eye.

“Go to hell.” She says.

He chuckles.

“I’m afraid I’m already there.”

….

1893 Chicago is everything she imagined it would be. The city is abuzz with ideas and innovation and she wishes she could just lay out and bask in it, but as she listens to Flynn’s agenda she realizes she is going to have her hands full.

I mean - history doesn’t just name a building The Murder Castle without good reason. But she has good enough reason to get into it. Which is probably the only reasons she doesn’t make a total fool of herself when she meets Harry (OMG) Houdini and helps Flynn rope him into his scheme.

She needs her team back as much a they need her.

Now is not the time to lose her head any more than she has already lost it. So she keeps it cool. She whispers and smiles and laughs and schemes with until Harry is unlocking the door that holds both Rufus and Wyatt behind it and - gods - when she finally does see him again, when he wraps his arms around her like he won’t ever let go, she wonders how she ever thought it could be okay to be anywhere but here.

….

When she has nightmares, this is what she dreams. She dreams of inescapable, close spaces. She dreams of death and pain and inevitable doom. She dreams of dying alone, but she knows she isn’t.

He is here, somewhere, close, and he will save her. She knows he will, but first she has to save herself.

So she breathes, focuses, and tries to bring everything she can remember about H.H. Holmes into focus. She remembers, it seems, just enough to set him on edge. She remembers speaking the word: I have seen your past, and I know your future - and she wonders how much of that is just wish fulfillment on her end.

She does not know her past, she wishes she could see her future. Then, maybe, then she would be able to take the pieces of her life and arrange them in the way she sees fit. Maybe then she would be able to make sense out of the mess that is now her existence.

At the end of it though she cannot say she is upset when Wyatt lodges a bullet in H.H Holmes’ sick, sadistic face.

She may not be one for stepping on butterflies, but she is all for crushing that sonofabitch.

When they make it out of the house of horrors and back to the lifeboat she realizes she has not actually looked at Wyatt this entire time. Not really. Not in anything more than a frantic, thank-gods-you’re-not-dead way. Now that they are out of imminent danger (well - as much as they ever can be when you are playing chess against a homicidal maniac and a ruthless secret society) she meets his eyes and the air goes out of her lungs.

She sees him - and he sees her and she feels all of the stress of the last two adventures fall from her mind.

They don’t lose each other’s gaze until they touch back down in present day. By the time she goes to loosen her buckles her cheeks are flushed, her legs and weak, and she is so sorry for whomever has to clean her historical undergarments because honestly this is ridiculous. They haven’t even touched, haven’t even readdressed her premature proclamation, and maybe he had forgotten. Maybe he really hadn’t heard what she said. After all it was hundreds of years ago.

Kind of.

Not really.

She let’s Wyatt get out first.

Rufus looks at her on the way out. “You okay?”

Her eyes go to where Wyatt is walking away to start his mission debriefing before coming back to the other member of her team.

“Nothing that a little time won’t fix.”

She says and she wishes it was true.

….

“I think you’re right, you know.” Wyatt says as she hangs up her clothes on the appropriate racks and she startles. She hadn’t heard him approach.

“Wh - what -” Her heart jumps into her throat - starting a question she already knows the answer to. “What are you talking about?”

He meets her eyes in that unsettling way that leaves her in knots, the way that makes her feel like he sees her every thought, but there is something else in this too. There is something dark and wild in his eyes that she only sees when he is about to go in for the kill and that should not make her wet, but it does.

(And that is only the beginning of the reasons why she is going to have to invest in a shrink the second she gets back to her proper time stream.)

“You said we should sleep together - for history - and I don’t know what that means but yeah. We should.” This time he is the one who is edgy, a bit too tightly wound, and she wonders if he is slipping like she had been in World War II. She wonders if he is always this edgy but now, for some reason, it shows.

Maybe it is the Murder Castle.

Maybe it is because of her kidnapping or that Flynn has gotten away again because for how much that grates on her she knows it grates on him tenfold.

Or maybe he just has a hundred-year-old itch like she does that needs to be scratched.

So she nods, stupidly, unable to find the words to confirm her own diagnosis of the situation.

For how much she thought about this, she really underthought it.

“You got anywhere you gotta be?” He asks and this time she shakes her head, alternately entirely sure what is happening and not believing it. “Your place or mine?”

This is happening. She stiffens her gelatin knees.

“Y-yours.” Of course she would stutter.

Of course he would do that stupid half-grin.

“I’ll drive.”

She follow ten steps behind him all the way to his car on wobbly legs.

….

They don’t exactly talk on the drive.

He asks if she is comfortable (in regards to temperature - because they both know she is not otherwise) and apologizes for the mess (how much fast food can one man eat?) but that is about it. Unless you count her awkward throat clearing or his incessant finger tapping on the steering wheel as talking.

He drives an automatic, but she thinks for one second that his hand will slip off of the gearshift and land on her thigh. She tells herself that is stupid, but really, how stupid is it? They are going to his place to, presumably, fuck. So why wouldn’t ge touch her leg? But he doesn’t. In fact he doesn’t so much as look at her as he drives them to a side of town she doesn’t frequent.

Uncharted territory in so many ways.

She watches out of the corner of her eye as shadows shift and change on his face passing under street lamps and traffic lights. The lines of his neck, his jaw, are tense. She wants to ask him why. She want to access that dark, hidden part of him that she has only seen peeking through cracks he has led her to.

She knows better than to say anything though it takes everything inside of her to bite her tongue. Instead she reaches out her hand and puts it on his thigh.

He drives a bit faster after that.

….

He lives in a condo, but it has two parking spots he tells her like he is somehow ashamed of where he lives and that makes it better. She lives with her mom because she cannot stand the sight of her fiance, so she has no room to really judge, but it does seem odd. Of all the places she had pictured him living, this is not one of them.

He fumbles with his keys. She doesn’t know if she should chalk his misstep up to nerves or exhaustion or maybe a bit of both. Even if it was over a hundred years ago - he had just killed a man. She doesn’t know how you just come home after something like that.

She remembers Flynn telling her how he would leave his wife and child if they were returned to him, and she wonders if Wyatt would do the same for Jessica. If he could. If she would want him to.

The door pops open and they go inside. He flips on the lights.

It is simple, spartan even. The entry hall opens right into the living area which looks like very little living actually happens there. There is nothing personal about the space, but she supposes that makes sense. Why personalize a space you are only going to live in until the next mission?

She doesn’t like the idea of him leaving, of him not being part of her life, of being only one more member of a never ending series of teams. She looks at him from where he stands beside her.

“Do you want a beer or some water or -”

She grabs his face and kisses him. She can’t do this if he talks, if he makes it feel like anything more than she can let it be. She isn’t the girl who does these kinds of things, and she cannot think about it anymore. She just needs it to happen.

He does not seem to mind her trajectory, seems all too willing to fall into her, and she’ll take it. If she is using him to get something, she really cannot begrudge him the same thing. Can she?

His hands bury in her hair and she is aware that he is leading them somewhere else in the condo. She trusts him, doesn’t open her eyes, tries her very best to not think about the fact that they are inevitably heading to his bedroom.

He presses her back against a wall, filling every gap and curve of her frame with his bulk. He is stronger, harder, than the wall. Her hands fall away from his face and wrap around him, pulling him tighter against her. She arches, clawing into his shoulders, and this shouldn’t feel so good. The way his mouth latches onto hers, hungry and willing, should not feel so necessary.

This is supposed to be simple, but one large hand hitches up her shirt so he can run calloused fingers up her spine and the electricity it creates is not simple.

This is Wyatt. Brusque, reckless, inconsiderate, ruthless Wyatt. Thoughtful, passionate, sensitive, headstrong Wyatt. Wyatt who always operates in the black and white. Wyatt who drives her absolutely crazy with his lack of respect for history. Wyatt who just trusts her when she says they should sleep together for history (whatever that means). Wyatt who’s eyes were a little too sad, a little too desperate leaving headquarters tonight. Wyatt who is spreading her legs with his thigh and abandoning her mouth to work down her jaw, her neck, sending sparks and - okay.

This is not simple, but it is not the worst idea she has ever had.

She does not expect him to lift her, to hitch her legs up around his hips, but he does. Her ankles lock at the small of his back instinctively, arms wrapping his shoulders, and he moves her from the wall so he is bearing her entire weight. He brings his face out of her neck and looks up at her, eyes hooded and disbelieving.

“Tell me to stop - or I won’t.” He says and she realizes that even though she had started this, he will let her finish it. Even though she can feel how much he wants her to stay pressed against the fly of her jeans, he will let her leave. Hell - he’d drive her back to her car and this would be the last of it.

But that will not change her future, her past, her present. That will not somehow shift something just enough that she does not side with Flynn - does not lose Amy. That will not change the fact that part of her, somewhere inside, actually wants this to happen. Not sleeping together will do nothing but keep everything the same, and that will not do.

But she cannot say any of this so she ducks her head down and kisses him harder than necessary. He takes the hint and with hands hooked beneath her thighs he carries her down the hall.

His room is dark as he lays her back onto his bed. His long, thick body comes to rest half over her, half to the side. One hand ventures under her shirt up to the cage of wire and satin and squeezes. She moans and she cannot remember the last time someone did that. Come to think of it she cannot remember the last time she did any of this - wonders when the last time was for him.

If it was Jessica.

She breaks away on a gasp and he freezes.

“What?” She can see the faint illumination of his face from the hall light, can see that furrowed brow, and okay. Jessica is not here. She may never be here again. So Lucy reaches with delicate fingers and smooths the worried space. Her hand slips to this side of his face and he leans into it - turns to kiss her palm.

The sweetness of the gesture takes her breath.

Of all the things she had expected from this encounter, somehow sweetness hadn’t made it into the equation and she is not sure how to handle it. So she doesn’t. Instead she let’s her hand fall from his face to grab at the hem of his t-shirt. He gets the hint and it is gone in a breath.

He doesn’t have one of those fitness model bodies with photoshopped abs and pecs bigger than her breasts (not hard to do, honestly). His strength is functional, firm, and solid. She sees silver outlines of scar tissue in the dark and she wants to kiss each mark.

Her shirt is next.

Seems he is of the I’ll-You-Mine-If-You-Show-Me-Yours mentality and that is fine except she does not remember the last time someone saw her any kind of naked for reasons other than medical ones. She feels her entire body flush as he unhooks the front clasp of her bra and lets it fall away. His breath is deep and uneven as his gaze falls to all that is exposed to him. A reverent glow catches in his eyes and he is looking at her like he thinks she is amazing and beautiful and she doesn’t know what to do with that either so she sits up and hooks a hand around his neck at the same time.

Their lips crash together in cadence with their bodies and the skin on skin friction is enough to make her make all kinds of embarrassing noises. Her fingers explore the expanse of him, the dips and ridges of muscles over his back, the sparse sprinkling of hair across his chest, and it seems he wants to return the favor.

He crashes them back onto the bed and abandons her mouth to worship all of the newly revealed skin. He leaves stinging, biting kisses down the column of her throat that might leave a mark she isn’t going to be able to explain (she really does need to get better at that lying thing) until he reaches the peak of her breast with merciless teeth and lips. Each pull and suck sends a current straight to her groin and she lifts her hips reflexively.

He understands what she needs, needs it too.

His lips travel down the lean slope of her stomach while careful hands undo the fasteners of her pants and hook onto the waistband. He doesn’t draw out the process, is not a man for half-measures, so when her pants come off her underwear come off at the same time. She’d already lost her flats somewhere along the way (maybe when he lifted her to wall like a rag doll? shit) and he is able to pull them off without too much trouble.

And he is on her before she has a chance to be embarrassed.

He covers her with his body, one work rough hand pressing into her folds while his breath teases the sensitive shell of her ear. “Tell me what you like.”

The sound of his voice in her ear, so low and sex-wrecked, triggers an eruption of chills across her skin just as his thumb finds the small bundle of nerves that has been aching to be touched for hours, days.

“That.” She gasps. “I like that.”

He smiles into the curve of her throat and doesn’t let up. Instead he heightens the situation by pressing a finger into that sweet empty place between her legs. His free hand finds her breast and the two work at her mercilessly as he reclaims her mouth. Her hands find purchase on his shoulders as she just holds on.

Distantly she considers that this must all be a bizarre dream - that she will wake up at her desk in her room with Amy coming in the door with toast and tea and they would laugh about how she shouldn’t fall asleep while reading history texts. Then he slicks in a second finger and no - this is no dream. No dream could feel like that.

It doesn’t take long once he does that. She’s been turned on for centuries at this point and when the first wave of clenching ripples wash over her, he pulls back his mouth and just watches her face as she comes. Watches how he makes her come, and gods does she come. It is roll after roll of molten heat exploding out from her center until she is left melted and burned up beneath him.

He pulls away only when he seems satisfied that she is finished and strips off the rest of his clothes with military precision. She can see him then, curving up towards his stomach, and she knows he must be beyond ready. He’s been hard for a long time and despite her post-orgasmic lassitude she can feel her body winding back up just at the sight of him.

She hears the distant crinkle of a condom wrapper and then he is on top of her again, spreading her legs with his. He settles his hips in line with hers and meets her eyes.

“You okay?” He asks and she has no idea how to answer that.

She should be okay. She is the one who suggested this, but she had never expected - never dreamed that the experience would be anything like this. She never thought that it could be something this good - so effortlessly great - that she cannot trust herself to think about it without assigning meaning.

She nods, not trusting her voice, and reaches down and lines him up. He pushes in and even though she is no virgin and she is wetter than she has ever been she feels that age-old burning ache as he works himself in and out until he is fully seated inside of her and just holds.

His arms shake by her head where he braces on elbows above her. His eyes are squeezed closed, every muscle in his body pulled taut, and for one moment she is glad for his hesitation because he feels huge. Then the next she is ready for him to move and she cants her hips against his because she does not need any more time to overthink that this is actually happening.

He moves with a groan. His thrusts are strong and square, rubbing her in just the right places, and she is horrified when she feels her second climax building. She’s never been a multiple orgasm type of girl - but then again she’s never been much of an anything girl. Her history of sexual partners could be summed up on one hand and none of it had been all that stellar. So when she feels the first swell begin to crest and crash over her, she is just as surprised as he seems to be.

He picks up his pace, keeping his thrusts short and rapid so he can grind his pelvis against hers until her spine goes rigid and her head snaps back and he bites the racing pulse-point in her neck.

If the last time had been rolling waves, this is a white hot rocket of blinding energy. She looses track of herself, her body blending together into a kaleidoscope of sensation, but she thinks she hears him murmuring against her skin. She thinks she can feel him lick the teeth worried skin of her throat. She thinks she hears him growl her name as his thrusts turn to jerks and spasms and barely catches himself from crushing her with his body.

She stares beyond his shoulder to his ceiling, waiting for her body to come back to itself, and - holy shit - she does not know about her past but she knows this is something that will unavoidably shape her future and not just in the being-ruined-for-all-other-men side of things. She’s just had sex with Wyatt and they are going to have to go through time still all the while knowing just how the other one feels. As the haze of it all (racing pulses, heavy breathe, spectacular orgasms) begins to fade - she cannot remember how she ever thought this was a good idea.

He pulls out of her and they both inhale on a hiss - over sensitive and a little sore - before he rolls to his side. She flashes back to the last time she lay on a bed with him like this, shoulder to shoulder, in their shared room with Bonnie and Clyde and she is not prepared for that memory. She is not prepared to even think of things like soulmates and true love. Not when everything is as confusing as it is.

She reaches for her clothes, suddenly feeling very exposed, and he doesn’t stop her.

“Bathroom?” She asks and he points to a door in the corner, but he does not look at her - seems as unable to move as she had been a few moments before.

She finishes gathering everything up and darts to the bathroom before he shifts. She shuts the door and turns on the light. It is blinding after the time spent in the dark and she catches her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her skin is red and mottled from neck to navel from his mouth and stubble. Her lips are swollen and ripe. Her cheeks are flushed a bright pink and she is practically glowing.

She turns away and sits on the toilet. She shrugs back into her bra and pulls on her shirt. She stands, flushes, and works her clothes back onto her lower half. Her cheeks reach a new shade of crimson when she feels just how damp her panties are still and how in the hell is she supposed to go back out there now? She turns on the tap and washes her hands before pressing the cold water against her face, her neck, trying to cool the fire inside.

She takes one last good look at herself, now fully dressed, and runs her fingers through her hair. Aside from the series of hickeys that would no doubt darken to a horrifying shade in the days to come, you would never know what had just happened just by looking at her. You would never know she had just gone to war against time by fucking a man she’d come to care for and respect and the idea makes her shiver.

What had she done?

She takes a series of deep, centering breaths and turns back to the door. She breathes again, and then again once she puts her hand on the knob before she opens it again.

He is there, standing there in his jeans and nothing else looking disarmingly disheveled. He’d turned on a lamp on his nightstand and it casts long, strange shadows around the room. He meets her eyes across the room and they both freeze.

He shoves his hands into his pockets and she tries to not let her eyes go to the cut of his hipbones, the fact that she can tell he didn’t bother putting back on his boxer-briefs. The idea that she even knows his preferred cut of underwear is enough to lock herself back in his bathroom for the rest of her life.

He works his jaw a bit before offering a tentative: “Now what?”

“Now...” She swallows against the need to sweep his hair back off of his forehead. “Now we wait and see what happens.”

[ next part ]

#timeless #lyatt #wyatt logan #lucy preston #fanfic #raven writes stuff #raven writes timeless #lol #because what I need is to be writing for another fandom #what is wrong with me #repitition #timeless nbc

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ourdragonflydays-blog · 6 years

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Things that have been essential with a newborn

So, my little poppet is 6 weeks old now and I thought I would write a list of those essential things that we really used/learned the first few weeks of his life! (Please take into account this is from my perspective, you might have completely different views due to you circumstance. That’s fine, you do you boo.)

Sleepsuits. So before he was born I imagined myself dressing him in cute trousers and jumpers with little booties and hats. Now the hats and bibs are needed however lots of the cute clothes are just not suitable for a newborn. Not just because changing a nappy is harder to do (I mean I don’t have much else to do in the day so I wouldn’t mind a distraction) but because for my little bean the trousers were simply too tight for his little tummy and this caused gas. Which brings me to my next point...

Anti-Colic techniques. I naively thought babies slept, pooed, looked around cutely and then slept some more. Did you now sometimes they cry for seemingly no reason at all? For sometimes hours? That you can’t stop? It sounds like a nightmare doesn’t it? Thankfully our child has not been too colic-y but this is a real thing and no-one really knows what causes it. None of the grannies I spoke to in the street mentioned this when I was pregnant!! But we found a few things that seem to work - the first is try to get rid of all gas. This is usually through burping and making sure the baby is upright when feeding and not sucking in air when taking the boob/bottle. (Our son has moved from breastfeeding to bottlefeeding and both created the same amount of gas so I wouldn’t worry about that.) Again, just wearing sleepsuits has really stopped any pressure on his tummy and make sue they have the right sized nappy (you should be able to comfortably fit two fingers under the waistband). We also have set up a nightly routine of bath, bottle and bed at around 7pm which helps with the so called ‘witching hour’. The ‘witching hour’ is a mythical name for colic, the crying at evening time. Babies are crazy and seem like they are in pain for this time - pulling their legs to their chest, getting red in the face and crying regardless of what you do. Now this was very testing (still is) for my husband and I and in the first few weeks this caused me a lot of anxiety when the end of the day rolled around. Following some anti-colic tips have really reduced the amount this happened but when it does there are some medications you can use to help the baby with this. We tried Infacol (which didn't work for us), there is gripe water which is for 3 months onwards but we found our saviour to be... Dentinox Colic Drops!! They seriously work for us but we like to use them as a last resort. They basically work to combine all the small little bubbles in your babies tummy together to work out as a burp or a fart. We use it sparingly because the baby acts like i’ve poured vinegar down his throat and it hurts my soul when he cries like that.

Drugs. No, not those kinds. The medication type. The little sausage got his first cold when he was 3 weeks old and he could barely breathe (somewhat due to the button nose inherited from his father...)! This was a new hurdle for us, especially as my husband went back to work on this week and the cold meant sleeping was very tricky for the babe unless he was lying on one of us. This meant one of us not sleeping to keep an eye on him. Not ideal. We therefore scoured any and every shop and pharmacy for ways to relieve him of his snot! Being so young he couldn’t take calpol or any kind of paracetamol/ibuprofen so we were left with saline drops prescribed from the doctor. Have you ever tried to get a drop of liquid down a squirming newborn, and inherently tiny, nose? Its a lot of fun. We did find in an ASDA calpol saline spray suitable from birth which actually sprays the saline up their nose. This worked well. We also bought a nasal aspirator. Technically we bought two ... initially bought one from mother care which you pushed down and then released when it was in his nose. Don’t buy it! it doesn’t work! I also sterilised outs which rendered it useless so also don’t do that. I did then make another dash to Tescos and bought the type that is a long tube that give you images of sucking up and eating the snot...which worked really well for getting out the snot. My husband was better at it than me because he has the lung capacity of something with large lungs. Quite satisfying as well got to be honest seeing the snot in the tube. We also bought vapour oil to put in a bowl of warm water. Not sure if this did anything. Smelled lovely though.

Money Being 24, and on fairly low income my husband and I want to spend the least amount of money possible. The chick’s clothes are usually secondhand, he has Tescos own nappies, we buy the average formula, Ikea everything, we look out for deals on wipes etc. That being said there are a few things that we ended up forking out for that I think were really worth it. (side note - something that was not worth the £50 was an automatic breast pump which was painful, time consuming and really noisy and impossible to sell secondhand!) Cot - We started out with a secondhand moses basket which was £5 and I thought would be good enough. Here are the reasons why it wasn't: it was really difficult (and painful!) to lower him into from the bed, didn’t rock anyway, was a pain in the arse to clean and he didn’t like because when he flung his arms out in his sleep (newborns do this did you know?) they would hit the sides. We therefore ended up forking out nearly £200 on a bedside crib to co-sleep in the bedroom safely. Here are the reasons why it is better: It doesn’t pull my stitches to put him down into it, I can check his breathing easily, it can adjust to different levels and be raised at one end when he is poorly, he likes it better, it will be easier for him to adjust to his cot as it is bigger and it looks nicer. Bottles - I am not trying to start a discussion, everyone is different and has their own reasons for how they feed their baby. At 3 weeks old we moved from breast to bottle feeding. We decided to buy a perfect prep machine from Tommee Tippee which dispenses the perfect temperature water. It is £100 new and we paid £20 for it on Facebook marketplace and then an extra £10 for a new filter. It is amazing. In the day it works well and saves the hassle of the kettle but I don’t know how I would survive at night without it. I am like a bear - you are brave to wake me. So the 3am feeds are hard for me (but mostly my poor husband because of my vile demeanour). The perfect prep means that I can have a bottle ready in 38 seconds (i’ve counted) and I am usually back to bed in 20 minutes. Side note - I also got a £1 Avent microwave steriliser from a nearly new sale which is a godsend. Pram - I have no way of comparison here with this being my first baby so take this with a pinch of salt but my family has the tradition that the parents (my mum and dad) buy the first born’s pram. I therefore asked for the best and got the SilverCross Wayfarer travel system. it was about £800 (Thanks mum!). I use this thing every day and it never fails to make me happy. It is just so intuitive and easy! The buttons are all where you think they will be, the joining parts all work easily, the car seat is safe and sturdy, the isofix is easy to install, the bassinet is very cute, the raincover is easy to put on, the cup holder holds starbucks etc. There is literally nothing I dislike about it except I wish I could be pushed around asleep and be fed on demand. A Washer/Dryer - What? No not traditional put-on-your-registry baby item but do you know how many times you will be pooed, weed and sicked up on in one day? sometimes all at the same time? this would be fine in the summer but good lord if I didn’t have the capacity to dry the washing we would literally have nothing to wear. Also, fuck the clothes horse. I used that thing for 2 years and it doesn’t dry the clothes and makes the room all damp. The washer dryer was £300 and my dear husbands father got it for us. I love it (and him). A Baby Swing - Do you ever need to poo? Have to eat? Need to put on a bra to answer the door to the postman? These are the times that the baby swing is important. The baby also loves it and sometimes would rather be in it than on me. He loves the mobile that hangs above his head and is a safe place to put him if you need a breather. My mum again got it secondhand for £80. Worth every penny.

Cameras This is pretty self-explanatory but already looking back at him when he was first born is so lovely and they change so much. Take all the photos - awake, asleep, naked, clothed, covered in excrement, crying, at the doctors etc. You will forget in your sleep deprived state and they change before your eyes. I love the photos we have of him and will cherish them forever.

Muslins see - Sick. Poo. Wee.

Baby Baths I love having bath myself so its only natural my son loves it too. We have a little baby bath that fits into the main bath and cradles him safely. I then get in the bath with him and my husband pours water over him (and me!) while I use baby soaps to wash his little body. This is such a special time for us, we are all working together, usually smiling and laughing, with lovely smells and skin-to-skin and calming down after the day. This so far is my favourite part of being a mother.

Patience This is not just patience for the screaming ball of flesh that wakes you up at god-knows when covered in god-knows what. This is patience with the life you have now. You cannot poo when you want to. You aren’t in control of your day anymore girl! All those hours blissfully bored when you were pregnant are a million miles away. You are responsible for this little person and this little person’s needs mean you can’t sleep through the night, or have a whole bottle of wine, or take a relaxing bath, or do the food shop without timing it just right or really have the life you had before. And dealing with that change takes patience. Patience with yourself and the emotions that come with managing the change (fear, regret, longing, exasperation...). Patience with your husband who gets to leave and spend a few hours at work without the baby. Patience with the people in the supermarket who walk in front of you (they don’t know how stressed you are). It is hard. No-one will tell you it’s not hard. Or not to feel those things. But give yourself credit. You’re doing it, you can do it, you have already done it, and with a bit of patience you will learn to get through it. It will get easier.

Netflix Good lord its boring home on your own. There are only so many times I can hoover and clean before I lose my mind. But it is so stressful leaving the house that sometimes it’s just not worth it. Netflix is amazing because there is so much available and I can choose what I want to watch holding the remote while feeding the baby!

Support I don’t mean a good bra (but always necessary)! The people around you make the hard days that bit easier. Me and my mum are very close anyway and she is self-employed and so it’s great to have someone who is available in the day to go and see. My husband and I also try to go for a walk every night to make sure we spend some time talking to each other and doing something other than baby care! I have also found some mother and baby groups to be good - it might be worth looking around though because some are very toddler heavy / not very baby friendly ! My sister also made us some food for the freezer which has been great (especially on those growth spurts!) and my granddad has been very good in giving us tomatoes from the allotment. Reaching out and talking is so important to keep yourself from becoming isolated and its something that I still need to remember.

KY Jelly (or water-based lube) Pretty self explanatory. After the bleeding it is dry down there. I mean sahara dry. And I don’t just mean use it for sex. Some days it was just necessary for daily use. And the last one for now:

Teamwork Myself and my husband are so lucky and thankful for our baby. We know how hard it is for some people and not everyone gets to be parents so we are incredibly grateful. That being said it is without a doubt the hardest thing we’ve done together. The best days have been the ones where we have worked as a team. Unfortunately it is very easy to snap and take your frustration out on the closest person. We have been working hard to make sure we talk explicitly about how we are feeling and work together to make solutions. If it gets hard I try to remember that it’s us against the problem. My husband is my rock and I could not do it without him. I try to tell him this as often as possible and him to me.

Wow, you’re still here? You deserve some kind of award. Thank you for reading, I hope it was helpful.

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