#men medical doctor scrubs

[protectu01]

Best Scrubs and Lab Coats for Men and Women

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[nuluxescrubs]

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[wanders-in-wonderland]

Treatment Plan

Last night was supposed to be harmless New Year’s Eve fun, partying with friends, dancing with strangers, and maybe finding someone to ring in the new year with. I remember dancing and taking shots with a really hot guy at some club where we'd shared a new year kiss. There's nothing else in my memory and I don’t remember when I passed out but I wake up alone in a medical examination room, naked, gagged, and strapped down to a bed with my arms above my head and legs spread wide.

The door opens and four men walk in. The first one I recognize is the hot guy I'd made out with. Except now, he has the look of a doctor, dressed in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope and holding a clipboard. The other three men are wearing nurses scrubs and not a single one acknowledges me as they step into the room and close the door behind them.

The doctor glances down at his clipboard and looks at me, smirking slightly. “It says here you’ve been admitted due to your issues with obedience and self-control. I promise we deliver the best results here, so you, darling, will be in tip-top shape in no time,” his voice is tinged with mockery and I try to shake my head and explain that this is all a mistake, that I have no idea what is going on, and I’m not supposed to be here.

“Day one of this treatment regimen helps us establish a baseline of what we’re working with and involves some sensory deprivation just to enhance the effectiveness but I promise, you’ll enjoy it,” he purrs, coming to stand next to my head before sliding a piece of fabric over my eyes. I struggle uselessly against the bindings, trying to dislodge the blindfold but it’s too secure to move. I feel hands hold my head in place before someone else slides headphones over my ears and suddenly, I’m blind and deaf to the world.

There is nothing to prepare me for what comes next, and no way that I can have any ability to sense what they plan to do to me. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes, absorbing into the blindfold when suddenly, I feel fingers trail along my ribs.

I let out a muted whimper, my body instinctively lurching in response. The feeling is so overwhelming and I’m absolutely senseless and helpless. The fingers linger around my hips and dig in gently, making me jerk uselessly in my bindings. It’s almost too much for my body to handle, the unknown touches, the horrible anticipation and suspense of not knowing anything at all.

Without warning, the fingers dig harder into my ribs, tickling me harshly and mercilessly. I wail behind the gag and thrash desperately, begging for it to stop to no avail. The fingers don’t let up and my entire world has narrowed to the unbearable sensations those fingers are drawing out of my bound body. There’s nothing I can do except endure it.

My wails have died down to little mindless whimpers as the tickling continues to ravage my ribs and hips when I feel the fingers pull away finally. I gasp for air, hoping that this torture is finally going to be over. Suddenly, I feel fingers brush against my underarms and I scream so hard my throat feels raw. I’m yanking and pulling at the straps holding me down but I’m bound too tightly. Tears are flowing freely into the blindfold as my body jerks. The fingers dig devastatingly into my underarms and I’m inconsolable. The tickling feels like electricity going straight into my nerves and it makes my mind hazy.

There’s no mercy and no stopping. The fingers find every vulnerable spot on my body and there’s nothing to stop the wretched tickling that’s making me want to curl into myself and disappear. There’s no acclimation to the feeling or becoming desensitized to it all. Every single movement feels like my body is dancing on a live wire and I have no choice but to experience every devastating feeling.

Another set of fingers finds their way to my hard nipples and I can barely draw in enough air to scream as the stimulation adds to the overwhelming feelings crashing through my body. Flicks against my nipples make me squirm and moan.

Then, my world lights up behind my blindfold when I feel fingers on my clit.

The combination of tickling at every sensitive spot on my body and the focus on my clit shatters me. Every single nerve is pulled open and vulnerable to unforgiving, relentless stimulation and I know I’m dripping wet onto the bed under me. It’s all too much for my brain to process. Every force on my body pushes me closer and closer to an orgasm and it’s unbearable.

A sudden flash of pain hits my clit as someone’s fingers sharply pinch my throbbing button and I wail as my orgasm barrels through my body. None of the stimulation lets up and the fingers on my clit continue to force waves of pleasure through my body while fingers everywhere else drive my orgasm even higher. I’m delirious and barely coherent between all of the different assaults of stimulation that wrack my body.

I feel the fingers on my clit pull away and I’m gasping and shaking. The tickling at my ribs and underarms doesn’t relent and I can barely catch my breath enough to sustain my sobs. Fingers brush against my inner thighs and I can’t help but whine, hearing only my wild heartbeat thudding in my ears.

Suddenly, there’s a vibrator slammed against my clit and my mind breaks. There are too many things going on but my whole being is driven to focus on the horrible vibrator pillaging my clit with no mercy. My next orgasm shoots through me with no warning, no build up, no gentle waves of pleasure. Just pure ecstasy shooting deep through my body, so hard that I can feel it in my bones and it renders me completely broken.

I have no concept of time or place as the torture continues. My body moves on its own accord as it struggles and trembles, futilely trying to avoid every touch. It could have been ten minutes or ten hours when everything finally fades away and all of the hands touching me are gone. I lie there, limp, unmoving, unthinking, barely conscious. It takes me an immeasurable amount of time to catch my breath, my body still feeling phantom aftershocks of pleasure and torment. I vaguely register the feeling of someone pulling the headphones off of my head and I’m able to hear again.

“Oh darling,” his voice is the first thing I recognize, “I suppose I forgot to mention, this treatment regimen has ten levels. And we can’t move on from level one until you learn to control your body and keep still during your treatments. Clearly we’re not going to get there today, but perhaps you’ll do better tomorrow. Otherwise, you’re in for a very long stay here…”

#nsft concept #overstim kink #cl1t torture #cnc overstim #dark fantasy #mind break #rap3 fantasy #tickle content #medfet #restrained

[victoria-grimesss]

Call the Doctor, I'm in Love

masterlist

->Paring: Johnny ‘Soap’ MacTavish x Medic!Fem!Reader

->Words: 2.9k

->Warning: fluff & angst, mentions of injury/wounds

->Summary: Soap has a big ol crush on you, he’s not sneaky or quiet about it. Here are the many times he’s fantasized about you and the one time you answered his dreams.

->A/N: a little something because I love Foap!

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mactavish is a pretty guy, a hunk if you will and he knows it. He has no troubles with the ladies and is highly experienced but he always feels like he’s lacking something, someone. Until you came along, pretty new medic. You’re his favorite. He always goes to you for a patch up even waiting for medical help until you come back from break. Johnny is a saint, he is a patient and giving man. 

But he wants you, desperately. He’s got a big fat crush and he’s not quiet about it. The 141 is exhausted hearing about what you did today and that Soap thinks you looked dreamy today, stitching up his arm. He saw you look at him a little extra that means you want to be with him right? They can’t wait until you either reject the poor fool or take him on a bloody date. Here are the times poor Mactavish has swooned over you:

The 1st Time: Your Introduction

Soap has found himself head over heels for you. He first saw you in the medical tent after him and an enemy went headfirst over a steep rockwall, he was fine of course, seems like that guy can bounce back from anything, you had nursed him back to health and he was done for. Your caring words and gentle hands were all he wanted now. And imagine his surprise and excitement when you became the team's new task-force medic.

“Alright team I hope you read over the file, we got a new member to our team. She's going to be our medic but don’t worry she can hold our own on the field. She’s reliable and damn good at her job. We’ve had too many close calls lately and I don’t want anyone dying of something that could have been prevented.”

Price ends his introduction and you greet your way around the room, everyone is nice enough for tuff military men. You find yourself sitting next to John, or Soap, or sometimes Johnny depending on who you ask. He’s a good looking guy, as are the rest in the room but you have a job to do so you don’t plan on messing up your place on the team by intermingling with one of them.

“Aye lass, do you carry one of those stethoscope things around with ya?”

He’s leaning on one arm, checking out the equipment you had brought with you.

“I usually keep it in the office, why is something wrong?”

You’re looking him over for anything obvious but nothing sounds any alarm.

“Ah no, it’s just my heart… it’s acting funny, beats a little faster when you come around.”

He’s smiling and you laugh not expecting a bad pick-up line but seems like he’s that kind of guy.

“I see. Well might want to try working on your cardio then that’ll improve that heart rate of yours.”

He pauses, thinking of what to say next to lure you in.

“You like bars doctor?”

“Not particularly..”

“Would ya mind joining me, I hate drinking alone.”

You smile, amused.

“Why not one of the other boys, someone you’re more familiar with.”

You’re looking into your bag and he drops his head lower so you’ll look him in the eyes.

“I’d like to be more familiar with you bonnie.”

You stop and put your hands on your hips pretending to think.

“Well I’m not so interesting, just a doctor after all. I’m sure Gaz would love to join you, you two seem the best of friends.”

He seems a little discouraged when you don’t play into his game but he looks at the small smile that plays on your lips and knows he’s just gotta keep trying. You won’t shake him off that easily.

—

The 2nd Time: The Flu Incident

Flu season. Your favorite time of the year, your inner monologue drips with sarcasm as you scrub your hands raw for the sixth time today. It’s late afternoon and the sun dips over the horizon as the rooms are casted with a honey soaked orange glow. The murmurs from the outside hallway peak your interest and you dry your hands and exit to the hall.

“I told you MacTavish I can help you just as easily as any other nurse or doctor, just come into my office and we’ll get you fixed up.” 

An older more seasoned nurse has her hands on her hips, gaze pointed at Soap with a motherly disapproved look at her face. You step out of the room tossing the paper towel into the bin.

“Troubled patient?” 

Soap lifts his head at your voice and he smiles, voice nasally and strained.

“Ah there ya are bonnie, been waiting for you. Think you can fix me?” 

“You’d be in better hands with her you know? Unlike me she knows what she’s doing.” 

Your tone is playful and Johnny stands weakly, hand on the wall.

“Yea but you’re my favorite, can’t feel better unless it’s you.”

The other nurse is called away shooting you a good luck look with her eyes, no doubt happy to not have to deal with the sickly man.

“Alright Johnny whatever you say. Let’s get you to a bed.”

“You’re a real saint hen.”

You place a steady hand on his back leading him to the bed in your office, away from the overflow so he can hopefully get some rest.

“Alright Johnny go ahead and lay down I’ll get your temp and let’s see if we can break that fever alright?”

He groans as he lays down obviously dealing with joint pain from the flu, it’s a nasty one that’s hit the base this time.

You run a washcloth under cool water, grab your thermometer, and sit next to him making sure he’s comfortable. You take his temp and frown, 

“Give it to me straight doctor, am I going to make it?”

He grips your hand dramatically and you laugh while patting his hand.

“I think you’ll just scrape by, it’ll be close though.”

“Oh thank heavens. Guess you’ll just have to take extra close care of me right?”

He’s giving you those stupid puppy dog eyes again as you place the washcloth on his forehead and place the back of your hand on his cheek to feel the temp there as well.

“I guess since I’m part of your team now I’ll have to make sure you live, so yes. I will take extra good care of you.”

You smile at him softly, you don’t like seeing anyone sick but sick Soap reminds you of a kicked puppy.

You miss the way his eyes shine up at you as you chart his info. How the thoughts in his head are those of you and him on dates, what ring he will propose to you with, where you’ll honeymoon and various other daydreams he has swirling around. He would do anything for you to be his, he would capture the stars for you.

You get up from your chair to put his info into the computer and he looks at the sad flowers on the side table, shriveled and needing to be tossed.

“These flowers aren't lookin so good.”

You glance over and frown.

“Oh yeah, it’s been so busy lately I haven't had a chance to replace them yet.”

He hums and you walk back over to him and give him some painkillers and electrolyte drink mix.

“Take these and get some rest please, it’ll do you good.”

He sits up, eyes on you as he takes the pills, handing you the little cup back.

“I’ll get you some new flowers, take you out too.”

You’re facing away from him, a smile gracing your features.

“Johnny, I-”

“You don’t have to say yes now lass, just please, for the sake of my well-being think on it.”

You move over to him and dab the cloth onto his cheeks and cool down his pulse points, heart growing slightly as you reply.

“Sure Johnny, I’ll think about it. Now sleep, doctor's orders.”

He sleeps quietly next to you as you finish your charting. The sight of him so calm warms your heart and it scares you a little bit, you wouldn't want to throw off the balance of the team or make any weird power dynamics by falling for him but he makes it harder and harder. 

The next week fresh flowers are left on the side table.

—

The 3rd Time: Award Ceremony Ball

Dressed to the nines each of you are. A very successful mission rewarded the whole team with a variety of medals and everyone was looking very nice all cleaned up.

Your dress was a floor gown with a slip up the leg and your back was exposed, the dress felt so silky and it was nice to not be covered in blood for once. Although you did manage to spill some kind of fancy jam on it and you were frantically dabbing at it with water when you were interrupted with Soap meeting up with you.

“Well don’t you look nice.” 

He’s lively tonight, eyes bright with optimism after the job and sporting brand new chest candy to show off.

Your eyes drift up from the new stain on your dress to him and he, well he looks damn good. A new pink scar graces his jawline but it looks good on him, he can wear scars well.

“Thank you, you clean up well yourself too.”

“Ah bonnie don’t make me blush now.” 

The rest of the team is chatting at a nearby table, Price is nursing a short glass of something dark, Gaz is going to town on the amazing food, and Ghost is engaged in conversation with the two of them.

“You wanna head back to the table?”

You offer, he shakes his head and offers his hand.

“I ask the fine lady to a dance.”

You blush, never asked to dance before, the ballroom floor filled with experts, couples swirling to the melody in the air.

You stew on it for a moment, and put your hand in his.

“Ok but if I fall you fall with me okay?”

“Always.”

Your hands are intertwined, one of his is on your waist and yours is on his shoulder. You both try to copy what the others do and the messy dance combined with the flutes of champagne you both consumed makes for quite the site. The mess of bumping feet and unsteady movements.

“For a sergeant you’re rather uncoordinated MacTavish.” Your laugh is light.

“I didn’t go to fuckin dance school, certainly didn’t learn this in the marines that’s for sure. What, did they teach this in medical school?”

“Does it look like they did? I can stitch up a bullet wound but lord help me I can't dance for shit.”

You bump into him again and his grip tightens slightly.

“I got ya bonnie.”

He could be living in a dream right now, you in such a pretty dress adorned in your well deserved medals, him with his. You’re gripping his shoulder and he’s got you in his arms, he can smell your perfume and see the small hairs out of place as the two of you spin but he loves it all the same. He wants it all the same.

“Johnny. Can you hear me?”

He blinks harshly, really sinking back in. You’re not his right now, he can’t take you back to his place after this and kiss each part of you, unzip the dress and let his fingers graze over the skin that's revealed to him. Watch how you move under the moonlight as he touches you just as he imagined. Not yet.

“Yea?”

“I said I think Gaz just devoured his fourth bowl of that dip I wanted to try.”

“Must be good then, should we head over before he finishes it all?”

You laugh and agree.

“Thank you for the dance MacTavish, you made me feel less silly for not knowing what I’m doing.”

His eyes sparkle at your admiration.

“I’m always happy to help.”

—

The 4th Time: Yes

This mission could not have been more fucked up. Shrapnel flies and bullets whiz by. The air is cold but your body is so hot, on fire from the adrenaline. 

The coms are staticy and choppy but you can make out the team. 

An undercover mission with Soap had you outside a pretty nice villa at dusk. It was meant to pose as a couple on a retreat to gain intel from an organization nearby but all hell had broken loose. You're cornered and Soap had been down to three bullets and you at two until you were able to take down someone else and gain the upper hand.

Communication with the team was hard, they had sent for backup now you just had to wait.

And Soap is shot.

He has taken a bullet for you and you’re frantic. 

“Fuck Johnny, shit.”

He grimaces as you rip your bag off of your back to grab for first aid. It’s not enough though, you had to pack light and it’s not enough.

“Stupid ass job, told them to find a way to get more equipment.”

You’re more muttering to yourself, ripping things out of the small bag you were allotted to patch him up.

“You’re cute when you’re frustrated.”

Johnny laughs and it sends him into a coughing fit, the bullet is in his side. You pray it hasn't done permanent damage but the gravel in his cough scares the hell out of you.

“Hold on Johnny, I’m gonna get you fixed up alright, just stay still.”

A bullet nearly misses your head and he shoots back hitting the guy before clutching his side again.

“You think that’s all of them?”

“Fucking hope so, I need- I have to clean it.”

He’s strong, so strong and sweet and kind and nice and charming and you can’t lose him. 

Not when you know you want him now. That you need him now. 

“Gonna lift your shirt ok? Just watch your breathing.”

“Aye, not even going to take me to dinner first.”

Your eyes are blurry as tears slip down, first one the two.

He wipes them away, his blood smearing onto your face and you choke back a sob.

“C’mon bonnie, don't cry. I hate seeing you cry.”

His voice grows weaker the more he speaks and you beg him to stop, but he rambles. 

He talks about how each morning he wakes up to see if you’re up yet. He waits for you at the gym, always goes to you when he feels unwell, gushes to the rest of the team about you when you’re not around. 

He flirts openly with you and what a fool you’ve been to not reciprocate fully, to reel into him.

The needle breaks his skin and his eyes grow heavy, the blood is still flowing freely and you almost feel it rushing out of you as well.

“I’m so sorry Johnny.”

You stitch and wipe and repeat. It’s a gaping wound and it makes you sick seeing it on him. 

You’re so focused on stitching him you don’t notice when his eyes close. His breathing is shallower now. 

Your eyes race around his face, head now slumped to the side.

You wipe the wound, it’s not good but it should be ok. Heavy on should.

Your hand, coated in blood cups his cheek, shaking.

“Johnny?”

You move his head, it's heavy in your hands and your breathing hurts now.

You get closer, enough to press his forehead to yours and you inhale his smell. 

You hold cloth to his wound to try to stop the bleeding and you whisper promises to him if he will just pull through. 

Your lips are so close to his that when your tears roll down your face they roll off your nose onto his lips.

The hand that cups his cheek feels his pulse on his neck and it’s quiet and slow. It’s so silent here now.

“I’m so sorry Johnny. I love you. Fuck I love you so much I just didn’t want to mess anything up. Please don’t leave yet. 

You lips touch his softly, like if you pressed any harder he would shatter.

“Could have- could have told me all that before I was dying yea?”

He laughs weakly, his smile cracking the corner of his lips. You cup his face fully now, careful to remove your hand from the wound but you applied enough pressure by now the blood has coagulated some. 

“You mean all that?” His eyes are heavy but he still looks at you with that same shining he always did.

“Yes, god yes. I just didn't want to mess up the team dynamic but I don’t care anymore, you just have to pull through alright then let's go out.”

“I like the sound of that.”

Blades of the helicopter sound nearby cutting through the silence.

“Just hold on Johnny we’re gonna get you patched up. Then I want to see you in that suit again.”

“Anything for you bonnie.”

—

He recovered well with you by his side of course. You dressed his wound properly and gave him a kiss to make it heal faster he would say. Then two weeks later he showed up in a suit with flowers at your office door. The rest is history, but the team is much happier not listening to Soap’s rambling about you but they are happy nonetheless.

#cod fanfic #cod mw2 #cod mwii #john soap mctavish x reader #johnny soap mactavish #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap mw2 #soap cod #mw2 #141 #cod #soap x fem reader #soap x y/n #john mactavish #john mactavish x reader #john mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #johnny mactavish x you #cod angst #soap angst

[iheartyvesss]

boyfriend joel miller hcs

joel miller x younger!reader

i love southern men with my whole heart - a texan w a thing for her own accent ♥︎

this was very rushed bcs im working on a bigger joel and miguel fic right now so i just wanted to put something minor out while i did this

sfw & nsfw hcs! mentions of: breeding, dumbification, age gap (reader is 28, joel’s 34), pussy eating & fingering, that’s all i think?

post outbreak hcs here!

boyfriend!joel who feels his pretty young girlfriend is too good for him. he sees the way your eyes light up at the most miscellaneous of things and simply adores the way you’re the sunshine to his rainy day. he feels that you should have a chance to get settled and be happy, not be with your neighbor that just-so-happens to be an old man in need of a break. his feelings don’t matter, though, because everytime you come back from work you’re immediately at his house, smiling sweetly at him and pressing the softest of kisses to his lips.

boyfriend!joel who can’t take his eyes off of you while you take care of his sarah. the way you cook breakfast for her in his shirt and some shorts and dance around with his little girl while listening to “hey ya!” by outkast. sarah dances while mixing the pancake mix you’d ask her to, and you take care of the eggs and bacon. joel’s heart hasn’t felt this full since sarah was born. it’s on this day that joel realizes he wants to marry you. give you the kids you wistfully speak about while watching sarah fall asleep between the two of you. he wants to give you the family you deserve.

boyfriend!joel who glares at sarah’s soccer coach that keeps ogling you everytime you come to watch his little girl play. he doesn’t care what you wear, the short shorts and replica of sarah’s jersey are the least of his concern. it’s the eyes of the coach, amongst other fathers attending the game, that pisses him off. he knows not to make a scene because sarah would kill him, probably wouldn’t speak to him for days, but he can’t help the way his fist clenches and his teeth grind together. his anger clears when your sweet giggle floats through his ears, and your free hand that you’d been holding a sprite in tangles with his own. “you can’t possibly be jealous, baby.” you’d purred, grinning up at your boyfriend. “i’m goin’ home with you and my little girl after this. don’t worry about who’s lookin’ joel, they can look all they want.”

boyfriend!joel who takes pride in his girlfriend having a better job than him. you’re 28, fresh out of medical school with a doctorate in orthopedics. you work at the hospital down the street from sarah’s school and joel swears he has never been this attracted to scrubs before. he remembers the time you had to bring him lunch because he’d left it, and he can only presume you were on break or didn’t have any patients because you’d arrived in your scrubs with a happy smile on your face. “joel ‘s that your girl?” “mmmhm, that’s my doctor.”

boyfriend!joel who cannot for the life of him keep his hands to himself. it doesn’t matter what you’re doing, joel is going to have this hands on you! when you’re going grocery shopping his hand is settled on you waist, walking in step with you as you browse the aisles. sarah usually trots ahead of you two while talking about soccer or her school day if you’ve gone afterwards. when you’re at home, even if you’re just watching a movie or cooking, he’s kissing the side of your head and asking you the most miscellaneous of questions. you’ve discovered his love language is physical touch. (as if you could miss it)

nsfw headcanons ↓

boyfriend!joel who eats you out like he’s never eaten before. he’s dragging his tongue through your folds while his fingers busy themselves with rubbing your puffy clit. he’s made you cum once already by ordering you to use him, to move your hips as you needed to cum on his face. now he’s ignoring your cries for him to slow down, your soft cry of “‘s too much” only fuels him further, makes him eat your pussy like a madman. joel knows what makes you tick, he knows what spots to hit to make that pretty cunt clench and he does it for you every. single. time.

boyfriend!joel who can’t help but to fuck you dumb. he’s never trying to overwhelm you, to make you go stupid on his cock. no that’s never his intention. but he can’t deny how pretty you look with your eyes glossed over, fingers digging into his back, and your lips parted in nothing but ecstasy. he enjoys the way his smart girl loses all her senses with a little dick. he enjoys knowing his smart girl is just a slut with a degree, and it makes him harder the more he thinks about it.

boyfriend!joel who couldn’t control himself after you mentioned wanting kids. you’re talking with your friends that’d come over for a bit, and the statement comes out soft and sweet. “i want kids, i just don’t know if joel wants to start over.” you’d hummed, smiling softly at your friend’s 6 month old daughter. the evening passed quickly after that, and with sarah gone with her friends, joel has the entire night to make sure you have that baby you want so badly. it isn’t long before you find yourself in full nelson, pussy gushing and tears falling from your eyes. “joel- oh-” you gasp out as your eyes roll and your pussy tightens around your boyfriend’s dick. joel groans from above you, pulling his hips all the way out to snap them back against you. “aht, baby, you gotta take it all. you wanted a baby, i jus’ gotta give it to you. take it pretty mama, take this dick.”

boyfriend!joel who talks you through every orgasm. either the sweetest of phrases leavehis lips or the nastiest. joel likes to watch you fall apart with a satisfied grin on his face. “that’s it, my good girl. mmhm, let go f’me sweet girl. that’s it- jus’ like that baby.” and he’s leaning over to kiss you softly while your body shakes from your orgasm, your eyes are closed to prevent them from rolling and he finds it cute because he can still tell. he knows how good he makes you feel. it’s his pride and joy.

boyfriend!joel who knows how to use his accent. he knows you aren’t originally from texas and that southern accents simply do something to you. you believe it to be the huskiness of his voice mixed with the deep rumble of the sheer power of his voice, it all melts over you like a blanket. joel likes to whisper in your ear, deep and low. “thas’ my pretty slut, hm? takin’ this dick like she’s a professional.” and you’re moaning, clenching the sheets as he presses down on the middle of your back. his voice only becomes clearer with each stroke, and he’s practically splitting you down the middle while whispering in your ear. “come now, darlin’. there’s no way you’re cumming offa listening to me.” he laughs this low and raspy laugh that is so sexy to you. you can only whine in response, glancing over your shoulder with a little pout decorating your puffy lips. “can’t help it, baby.” you whimper out, not a thought going through your mind save for joel joel joel.

back to the website !

#joel miller #joel miller smut #joel x reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #tlou fanfiction #tlou smut #tlou fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal joel miller #joel the last of us #joel tlou

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The Only Truth... | Part Two

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

John "Bucky" Egan x POW Flight Nurse!Female Reader

Once rested, Bucky proves to be a rather difficult patient, but it's nothing you can't handle. Once he's discharged, however, the man still finds a way to remain close, even when he's no longer the one in need of medical care.

Warnings: Language, Angst, Nightmares, Detailed Description of Death by Gunshot Wound, Blood, Gore, Reader Scars, Hospital Setting, POW Camp Setting, SS Officers, Mental Health Struggles, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Rating - 18+ ONLY.

Author’s Note: This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the Apple TV+ series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 5001

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April 12, 1945

The light of dawn began to filter in through the murky windows of the hospital and with Bucky once again sleeping deeply, but now with all apprehension about his ability to wake again lifted, you began to carefully shuffle about the space and take care of some duties you had neglected for the last twenty hours. Emptying a few bed pans for those too weak to move, you scrubbed them clean in the meagre washroom before beginning to work on bandage changes, blinking futilely at the bleariness in your eyes. You had made it through two patients when the doors to the hospital were unlocked and Major Chalmers filtered in with Captain Menzies, another British medical officer, clearly just released from their combine.

It had taken several weeks for you to realize that the man introduced to you as ‘Mingies’ was the same as the man whose name was written as Menzies on the charts and not some other doctor who worked mysterious hours. Both men waited for you to finish treating the rather ghastly thigh wound inflicted by one of the ubiquitous German Shepherds – miraculously still not showing signs of infection – before you washed your hands and delivered your report on Major Egan.

“Very good, Nurse. Why don’t you go rest for the morning, we’ll see you around 1300 hours.” Chalmers replied.

Exhaling with a grateful nod, you excused yourself down the hall to your ‘accommodations.’ The former exam room had been stripped of all medical equipment to leave a cot, a small wooden cubby for your meagre collection of belongings, a tiny table for you to eat your solitary meals and write your correspondence, and a rickety washstand with a chipped enamel basin and mirror split with a spider’s web of fractures hammered directly into wall above it. With no interest in anything but sleep, you sat on the cot with a heavy sigh. You pulled the six remaining pins from your hair, having misplaced four throughout the last several months and still not having your confiscated effects returned to you, and kicked off your boots before laying down to sleep for a few hours.

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 The next time Bucky awoke, you were nowhere to be seen. He was plunged back into a world of dull, gritty, pungent masculinity and he was admittedly bereft. The pain in his back seemed all the more acute in your absence, and though there was again a serving of broth, it was tepid at best. Perhaps he could have withstood the continuation of a grim life all painted in the same grey palette, but to have that disrupted by your presence and then have that light and color taken away? It was even worse than not having had it to begin with.

It made him all the more sullen and combative when the British doctor Chalmers informed him that he would have to remain in hospital as a patient another night rather than being permitted to find the rest of the 100th and bunk with them.

“I’m perfectly fine Doc, all rested up, can walk, talk, and piss all on my own. I don’t need to be here a minute longer – the rest of these fellas are way sicker than me.”

The surgeon narrowed his eyes in response, clearly not appreciating his directions being questioned, but Bucky had had more than his fill of taking other people’s orders. He just wanted to get the hell out of here and back to people he knew.

“One night, Major Egan, that’s all I’m asking. The only bunks for new arrivals are in tents, if you’re lucky.  In here you’re warm, dry, and have a bed that’ll feel nicer on those ribs – which are going to take four to six weeks to heal, might I add.”

Bucky was about to open his mouth to reiterate his protests when his eyes caught sight of you appearing from down the hallway, coming to standing behind Chalmers with your arms crossed and a stern look on your face. It was so utterly reminiscent of one he had received from his mother on countless occasions that he was momentarily unable to speak before clearing his throat to concede to the doctor’s request.

“Good.” Was his diplomatic reply before he turned to see you there. “Ah, Nurse, welcome back. In some irony of the universe, we’ve actually received a Red Cross shipment of supplies. Would you kindly catalogue the contents the goons have left for us and add it to our stock?”

Bucky did not miss the exasperation in your expression – it certainly did seem like a cruel joke for supplies to arrive with the end of the war surely weeks away.

“Certainly, sir.” You replied before looking to the large and very much opened and rifled-through box up against the wall essentially opposite to his cot.

Settling onto his stomach, he draped his arms across his pillow, nestling his chin atop his forearms to watch you work. “Don’t get a lot of supplies around here, do ya, angelfish?”

As you glanced toward him, he noticed you had changed your clothes, into equally threadbare ones but fresh ones all the same, and had tidied your hair. He would have taken you to a dance in Times Square looking like that. In a heartbeat.

“No, we most certainly do not, Major.” You shook your head and made a soft noise of triumph as you managed to fish out the packing list – something to compare the remaining contents to, he supposed. “Might mean we got more rations too though, corned beef and liver pate to eat desperately before they go bad.” You gave him a wry smile which he returned.

So the Germans here liked to punch holes in the cans, too. Good to know. Bucky watched as you retrieved a pencil from the central desk and began to unearth boxes of gauze and ointments and all manner of things he was only vaguely familiar with. He drowsily studied your profile, lips tugging fondly at the way you stuck your tongue out slightly in concentration, trapping it between your teeth and grunting in dismay when something you obviously were hoping for was not there. Hovering on the border between sleeping and waking, he jumped slightly as you gently nudged his shoulder, holding out two pills and his mug filled with fresh water.

“Aspirin.” You whispered and he raised an eyebrow before plucking them from your soft palm, tossing the pills into his mouth and chasing them down with a slug of cold water.

“You’re a goddess, angelfish.” He murmured, laying down his heavy head as you moved to tuck him in again.

Your soft laugh in response made him smile drowsily. “No Bucky, just a nurse. Now stop fighting it and go to sleep.”

He was yanked back into consciousness by the sound of your voice some time later, tone flat and impatient.

“Just let me finish changing his bandage, please.”

“Nein, it is lights out and you are going back to your room now schwester.” The rude, clipped reply of the SS guard had Bucky forcing himself up off his cot, gritting his teeth against the screams of protest in his frighteningly unstable ribcage.

His eyes flashed around the room before they landed on the uniformed man grabbing your elbow to usher you from the bedside of a patient and down the hall. Bucky stumbled to his feet, peering around the corner after you to watch the man shove you into the room on the left before pulling the door shut and snapping a padlock into place. Bucky narrowed his eyes, moving over to the patient you had been forced to abandon, supplies still on top of his blanket.

“I’m no nurse but I can give it a shot?” He muttered to the fellow who gave him a small shrug in return. “I’ll be back when the coast is clear, then.”

Bucky slid back into his own cot, watching the guard stomp his way out of the building before slamming the last set of doors shut, the lock snicking into place behind him before the lights all went out. Blinking against the darkness to force his eyes to adjust more quickly, he made his way down the hall, feeling his way along the rough-hewn wood of the wall and over to your door before knocking softly.

“Angelfish? You alright in there?”

“Bucky?” Came your muffled answer shortly after the sound of your footsteps approached.

“Damn they lock you up like in here like some kind of fairytale princess.”

There was a soft snort and Bucky could not help the smirk that pulled from him. “Anything I should know before I try and finish that guy’s arm?”

There was a pause before you cleared your throat and responded with, “no it’s pretty straight forward but…but if it smells anything like cheese would you mind letting me know?”

“Cheese…” He replied slowly.

“The smell of infection, Bucky.” You sounded amused and he wished more than anything he could take in your facial expression then.

“Got it. I was born in Wisconsin, raised for this.”

“And then you’re going to immediately put yourself in your cot and rest, Bucky.” You said firmly.

“You got it angelfish. You, too.”

“Night, Bucky.”

Gathering his courage and putting on a mask of cool, level-headedness, he returned to his fellow patient’s bedside, removing the old bandage and bowing his head to take a deep whiff. Thankfully, for everyone’s sake, there was definitely nothing cheese-like about it. He then bumbled about in the dark of the room, applying perhaps the ugliest bandage known to man, but a bandage nonetheless, and returned to his cot as instructed.

It was not easy to drag the blanket up over his body from behind, especially with the newly aggravated soreness from his careless activities, but Bucky managed to settle down and fall into an uneasy sleep, exhaustion still dwelling deep in his bones and sucking him under. It did not take long, however, for his dreams to be haunted once more by images of deadly accurate shots burrowing their way between Buck’s shoulder blades on the other side of that wall. Of his friend’s blond head falling into the mud just shy of the treeline, just shy of freedom. Waking with a start, he glared around the dark, unfamiliar room and looked to the floor, frowning as you were not there for him to hold onto this time.

He had not fully woken the night before, but he had sensed enough of your calming presence to return to a deeper plane of sleep. To chase away the darker voices that threatened to fill his mind. Leveraging himself to a seated position, he grabbed his blanket and shuffled his way down the hall once again in search of your soothing influence, even if there was the interfering barrier of a door. Bucky’s descent to the ground was less than graceful, his ribs protesting fiercely and as he settled on the floorboards, he was filled with a sudden doubt in his ability to rise from this position. But then he heard your voice.

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When Bucky had not immediately bustled back down the hall with tales of an arm wound stinking of ripe cheese, you had relaxed somewhat into your nightly routine, stripping to your long underwear for a proper night’s sleep…that did not really present itself. It was honestly not that surprising given the way you had pushed the boundaries of night and day, your body really was not sure what to make of it. You were just on the cusp of finally falling asleep when there was a commotion outside your room, the door rattling in its frame, the padlock jostling slightly.

Hearing a slightly familiar grunt, you sat up. “Bucky?” You called you softly.

“M’fine, angelfish, just sleeping out here.”

Your eyes widened and you practically leapt from the bed, crossing the room in record time. “Are you really ok? Sleeping…. on the floor?!”

“Yeah, I’m fine, just needed company.” He muttered from below and you slid down to lay on the floor, peering through the gap at the bottom of the door with one eye.

It was surely flush with the floor when the building was initially built, but as the hospital settled into the ground, about an inch-and-a-half had opened up below the door, allowing you to glimpse his face not far from yours.

“You had plenty of company in your comfortable cot, Bucky.” You whispered and the eye you could see flashed open, face turning to meet yours through the gap.

“Not yours, angelfish.”

“I don’t suppose I’m going to be able to convince you to go back to bed? No idea how the hell you’re going to get off this floor anyway…” You sighed, cheek pressed tightly against the floorboards to see as much of him as possible.

“I’m down for the count, I’d say.” He huffed with a poor show of playfulness.

Frowning, you looked over the visible portion of his face slowly. “You have another bad dream?”

He grunted noncommittally and averted his gaze, essentially confirming your suspicion. Sliding from your spot on the floor, you fetched your blanket and pillow before laying them down to rejoin him. “I get ‘em too. Stuck on that crashing plane and I can’t get off. Or the chute won’t open. Or I can’t…” your throat clenched, and you swallowed to clear it. “Can’t get my flight jacket off and I just burn up.” Your voice refused to come out any louder than an exhale, but you still managed to speak the last few words.

His eye slowly met yours once more though the thin opening halfway through your confessions and his brow furrowed. “Flight nurse?”

“I was, yeah. Just a kriegie nurse now, I guess.” You laughed wryly, trying to find a comfortable position on the uneven floor, the nail heads poking up into your shoulder.

There was a long pause as he seemed to weigh the pros and cons of unburdening himself to you before exhaling slowly. “I sent my best friend to his death. Least that’s what my dreams tell me. He didn’t want to run, I convinced him and then…well they almost caught him until I distracted them…”

“And got the shit kicked out of you.” You sighed, slipping into your ways of foul language on the edge of sleep, in the dark of your room.

Thankfully, by the twitch of his lips, he did not seem terribly put out by it.

“Basically.” He heaved a great sigh and you nodded, sliding your fingers under the door, as far as your knuckles would allow.

“No matter what happened, Bucky, he’s not in a place like this anymore. And that is a mercy.”

“Hmmm.” He hummed, unconvinced and you swallowed.

“What kind of man is he?” You lined up for another approach.

“Smart, too damn smart of any of this – built a radio out of a list of random junk I collected for him. He’s got the sweetest girl back home who writes him like clockwork. They were gonna get married if he got back. Was gonna be his best man.”

Taking a deep breath to summon your façade of brave optimism once again, for his sake, you nodded firmly. “When he gets home, you will be his best man.”

He looked to you hopefully, slowly sliding his fingertips to brush against yours beneath the coarse wooden bottom of the door. “Yeah?” He breathed.

“Yeah, Bucky. Yeah.” You nodded again, offering a smile, hoping it somewhat reached your eyes. “Now. Let’s try and get you some sleep.”

“Didn’t hear anything ‘bout you in that statement, angelfish.” He murmured sleepily and you hummed with drowsy laughter.

“I’m just about there, but not until you give in first.”

After a few beats of silence, you cracked your eye to check on him, pressing your lips together to smother your laugh as you caught him quickly squeezing his eye shut. It was not long, however, until his breathing evened and deepened, his mind at last surrendering to the sleep his body desperately needed. Swallowing tightly, heart throbbing slightly at the way his face softened, and the way his fingertips remained pressed stubbornly against yours as tightly as the door would allow, you tucked the pillow under your head, sliding your eyes shut to try and get some rest as well.

Despite the wildly uncomfortable position, you somehow managed to remain asleep until the next morning when Bucky began to shuffle and shift, soft noises of discomfort escaping him as he tried to find his way back to his feet.

“Roll onto your good side.” You coached through your drowsy state, and he stilled a moment before appearing to obey. “Bend your knees, then push up to sitting.”

There were still some grunts, but fewer overall, and the whole endeavour sounded a lot less like a fish flopping against the door.

“Then use the handle to pull yourself up with your good hand.” Holding your breath you waited until you saw two sock feet, firmly planted and steady on the floor, before rising on your side of the door. “Well done.”

“Still have a bit more time to sleep, angelfish.” He rumbled and you bit your lip fondly at his sleep-roughened voice.

“You, too.” You replied, pressing your forehead against the rustic wood, listening to his footsteps retreat down the hall until only silence remained.

You managed a few more hours’ sleep before the morning guard unlocked the door, delivering your morning pitcher of frigid water for your facsimile of a bath with a sliver of soap and rough wash cloth. Enjoying a breakfast of crackers and margarine, you reported for duty just as Chalmers was discharging Bucky, finding it suddenly difficult to meet his eyes in the light of day – the entire encounter in the dark feeling too intimate to recall in such a crowded, public space.

“Take care, Major Egan.” You smiled friendlily and followed Menzies out to the tent to assist with the removal of a set of sutures.

“You got it, Nurse.” He replied, the marked absence of the quirky nickname born of his inability to speak the day of his arrival halting your steps as you involuntarily glanced back over your shoulder to make sure he was really all right.

A grin slowly unfurled across his face, lighting up his exhausted features before he shot you a playful wink. You swallowed roughly as the day suddenly felt altogether too warm for your oversized sweater.

“Made ya look, angelfish.” He teased and you pressed your lips together desperately trying to smother your responding grin, conceding the fact that he had indeed made you look with a nod, before hurrying after Menzies when he barked your name from further into the canvas extension of the hospital.

Bucky’s discharge, unlike every other patient before him, did not mean that he dissolved into the general population of the camp. Somehow, he still managed to find reasons to make an appearance, dropping off bits of scrap wood to burn that he and his friends had collected to make the time pass faster, or arranging a crew of his men to deliver the hospital’s broth allotment to alleviate that burden from Chalmers and Menzies. He always appeared to be obeying his discharge orders and not hauling anything himself, at least when he arrived with his deliveries. Whether he was behaving out of sight was another question entirely.

Not only was the assistance greatly appreciated, but you found yourself looking forward to his visits as a break from the monotony of grim tasks of which your work consisted. Somehow, despite his worn-down spirit, he still managed to leave you feeling notably lifted by the time he was inevitably shooed out for getting underfoot or distracting you a little too long. Chalmers and Menzies were patient – indulgent even – but even they had their limits.

Four relatively peaceful days passed under this new routine, with no new arrivals in camp but, sadly, a few of the weaker patients in the hospital giving up the fight, until the sound of shots rang out mid-morning on the 18th. A great clamor arose among the patients indoors and the general population beyond the canvas walls of the tent, before a group of prisoners were rushing inside, Bucky at the fore, with an injured prisoner strung across their collective shoulders.

“Lay him here.” You gestured quickly to the cot you had been stripping after the death of its occupant sometime in the night, having succumb to infection and lack of food.

You did not miss the wince that crossed Bucky’s face as he maneuvered the injured man – no more than a boy, really – to lay where you had instructed. At the sight of a deep red stain, rapidly growing in circumference on the boy’s side, your eyes shot wide, and you looked to Bucky sharply.

“Find me Chalmers and Menzies immediately.” You stressed the need for expediency before turning back to begin rapidly pulling at the boy’s clothes, trying to locate the source of all that blood.

The shocking white expanse of his belly finally exposed, you found the gaping wound left by a large calibre round near his belly button, casting about frantically for your basket of fresh bandages to press against it, desperately trying to staunch the flow. What you would not give for a packet or six of sulfa right then. The pressure you put on his tender abdomen drew a yowl of pain from the boy and you frowned up at him sympathetically.

“I know, son, I know. We’re going to get this all fixed up alright?”

“Can’t b, b, believe they shot me! I just…just wanted to see the flowers poking through the fence and they just…Fucking war’s almost over anyway…” He was beginning to shiver uncontrollably, a sure sign of shock and you glanced towards the hospital doors, relieved to see Chalmers and Menzies rushing out to help.

“I’ll bet those flowers were beautiful.” You gulped as the bandage in your hand was rapidly soaked through and grabbed a few more to wipe the area clean, trying to permit the surgeons to inspect the wound itself.

No sooner would you swipe away the rapidly welling crimson fluid, than the hollow below his ribs, carved out by months of hunger, would accumulate a fresh pool of blood. There were noises of dismay before the pair of surgeons rolled the boy to check for an exit wound. They shared a dark look as there was none to be found, shaking their heads at one another. Your patient erupted into a panic, thrashing about, kicking you squarely in the thigh and knocking you back into Bucky, who thankfully stopped your rapid descent toward the muddy floor.

“I don’t wanna die! I don’t wanna die!”

“Nurse! Hold him!” Menzies barked and began to fish around in the boy’s wound to see if he could find the bullet.

Shrieking filled the tent as you lunged forward to press down on his shoulders, trying your best to soothe him even as his shirt grew damp with his own blood, transferring to the fabric from your fingers. He was stronger than he looked, the panic only amplifying what little strength he had left, and you sent a grateful nod to Bucky as his much broader palms took over pinning the boy’s shoulders while you collected his flailing hands between yours.

“Easy now, easy. Docs are going get you right as rain, just hold still now.”

“I’m gonna die and there’s not gonna be a heaven and there’s gonna be nothing!” The boy’s wild eyes wheeled on you, fairly punching you in the gut, and you shifted his wrists to grip in one hand against your chest while the other stroked at his hair tenderly with the other.

“Come now – you’re going to be alright. Besides, I’ve met the Pope. You think they’d keep that man in his fancy house and fancy clothes for nothing?”

His lips were growing a frightening shade of white from the blood loss, the rest of him the unsettling grey pallor of imminent death, but he seemed greatly calmed by your papal revelations. His hands shifted to grip at yours and his brow furrowed earnestly, the only movements of his body now were the echoes of the desperate attempts of the surgeons below.

“I want my momma. Tell my momma that I…tell my momma…” He trailed off into a whisper, the light slowly dimming from his eyes until there was nothing, his hands going limp, and he was gone.

Swallowing brutally, you carefully shifted your fingers to his throat, checking for a pulse and turning to Chalmers and Menzies when you found none. A simple shake of your head was all it took to communicate that you had lost the boy. Chalmers let out deep, aggrieved sigh while Menzies threw down a blood-soaked bandage with a wet slap and stormed back into the hospital. Gently setting the boy’s lifeless hands across his chest, you straightened slowly, feeling Bucky eyeing you from the other side of the cot.

Something ugly was welling up inside you, desperately trying to claw its way out, and you took a step back.

“Angelfish?” Bucky’s voice was low and cautious.

Your only response was to shake your head violently before stepping clear of the end of the cot, then breaking into a run. Following in the footsteps of Menzies, the words of the Army Nurse Corps pledge rang through your mind, the words you had sworn to serve by as a Nurse.

‘I shall approach him cheerfully at all times, under any conditions I may find…I shall appear fearless in the presence of danger and quiet the fears of others to the best of my ability.’

Reaching the end of the hallway, you stared at the door to your quarters and nearly choked on the idea of facing that stuffy, windowless room. You needed air. Needed to breathe. Turning sharply to the left, you continued along past the utility room and out the backdoor into the small courtyard between the hospital and the barbed wire fence that separated the Russian side of the camp.

‘…I will remember that, upon my disposition and spirit, will in large measure depend the morale of my patients.’

The flight nurse’s creed came flooding back to you next as you sought refuge between the back of the hospital and the bowed lines of laundry, stained sheets and bandages hung in the weak April sun to dry. What a different person you had been when you had spoken those damn words at your graduation from Flight Nurse Training.

Taking short, sharp gulps of air, each inhale was used to forcefully shove down the scream that was bubbling perilously in your throat. You paced to-and-fro, bloody hands planted on your hips. Surely you looked nothing short of mad when Bucky rounded the corner of the building, using that aggravatingly soft voice again as he spoke your name, making your head snap towards him.

“You’re not supposed to be back here.” You choked out, turning from him, fixing to flee once more.

“Too bad.” He ground out as he continued coming closer, clearly intent on comforting you, but if he got too near, you were terrified you were going to shatter entirely.

“Patients aren’t supposed to see me like this.” You could barely speak, hiccoughing and shuddering breaths intersplicing your words awkwardly as your grip on your emotions began to slip through your bloody fingers.

“Not here as a patient.” He muttered and slid his arms around you, pulling you close and you buried your face into his chest to let out a wail of agony – for the man who died in front of your eyes, for the horrid situation you found yourself in.

Somehow, you managed to maintain the wherewithal not to grab at him with your filthy hands, arms sticking straight out behind him awkwardly as you squeezed his sides with your elbows, knees threatening to give out as you found yourself not having to be the strong one for the first time in quite a long time. Bucky’s grip only tightened on you, fingers curling into your shirt to hold you up patiently as you cried yourself hoarse against him. Eventually there were no more tears to cry, the self-pity and grief you had stored up over the past few months running dry. Pulling back slightly, you wiped at your face with your sleeves, accidentally exposing a portion of the angrily scarred flesh on your left forearm.

Not missing the way his eyes flicked to it immediately, you sharply pulled your cuffs down and straightened fully. “You should get out of here before some goon puts a hole in you…”

It was supposed to be a joke, but your voice wobbled threateningly in abhorrence at the thought of losing someone else today, and Bucky promptly pulled you close again.

“Easy angelfish, not gonna get myself shot now. Not after you went through all the trouble of bringing me back.”

Sniffling affectionately against him, you pulled back to meet his eyes. “Thank you, Bucky.” You patted his chest fondly. “But please don’t go around carrying any more people with those broken ribs.” You gave him a stern look, finding it difficult to deliver as he smirked with a soft laugh in return.

 With a soft sigh, you moved to return inside and assist with the clean up.

“Bucky?” You stopped and turned back to him suddenly.

“Yeah, angelfish?” He glanced over his shoulder, halfway to the other side of the building.

“What’s your first name?”

He raised an eyebrow. “John.”

Nodding slowly, you swallowed tightly. “Thank you, John.” You repeated firmly before pulling open the door and heading inside to the utility room to fill a bucket with some water to rinse out the bloody cot.

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Read Part Three

The Only Truth I Know Is You Masterlist

Tag list: @gretagerwigsmuse, @luminouslywriting, @softspeirs, @sunny747, @storysimp, @slowsweetlove, @httpsmoon, @buckysegan, @justheretoreadthxxs, @precious-little-scoundrel

#john egan x reader #bucky egan x reader #major john egan x reader #john egan x you #john egan fic #john egan imagine #john egan #mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction

[carolmunson]

wish i had a river (part two)

here it is, the part two i said i wouldn't write. if you missed it, here is the first part - wish i had a river this is very much an eddie munson fanfiction, it's mostly from his perspective and follows his story through his eyes and actions. 'you' are mentioned and seen in this fic, but for the most part, it's all eddie all the time. cw: minors dni, adult themes, some smut references. angst. hurt/comfort. lots of mentions of poverty/hunger, sleep deprivation, all around eddie having a bad time. cigarettes/mild drinking but nothing inherently like -- bad? idk. unpopular ship mentioned. i did NOT proof read this.

The alley behind Macy's was a safe haven. Cold, a blue black, poorly paved, with nothing but the dumpters of other stores and the rats to keep him company. Eddie nursed a cigarette on his third smoke break of the night, two bad customers away from a total nervous breakdown. His anxiety built higher every day, every rush, every icy road report -- more people yelling, more people stressed out, more car accidents he'd have to clean up. Wayne's been in an out of the doctor's office more often and it's looking like he might have to retire early. The cigarette loses it's flame and he curses under his breath when he goes to light it again, the nicotine soothing his lips and tongue with a slow steady burn.

You never got to decorate cookies together on his impromptu 'sick day', you hadn't returned any of his calls. Not that he thought he was off the hook or anything, but he did basically write you a fifty two page love letter. If he had the time he'd come by your apartment to apologize in person but at this point exhaustion had started to over stay it's welcome. He could barely make it to the pharmacy on his nights off to get Wayne's medication. The guys at the auto shop could tell something was starting to go very left, 'cause why was the youngest guy there the one who couldn't keep up anymore?

And Eddie really couldn't keep up anymore.

At least his commission in the shoe section was doubling daily.

The cold bites his cheeks while he finishes his cigarette, tossing the butt on the dirty, uneven pavement and crushing out the flame with his work shoes. He rubs his eyes, heavy and swollen with lack of sleep, with scrubbed fingernail hands and sighs. Just another hour and he can go home, just another hour and it's not a closing shift, he can go home at seven like normal people with regular jobs.

He drops his coat off in the cubby area upstairs, stopping in the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face. He inspects himelf, eyes half closing in disappointement while he does -- he looks like a shell of himself. He hadn't picked up his guitar in months, didn't turn the radio on anymore -- opting for silence since it was so rare for him to hear between Macy's, the shop, and Wayne's breathing machine at night.

He takes his hair down, shaking out the curls that had at least dried into waving perfection last night, and gives it a shake before putting it back up in a neat ponytail. His bangs sit on his forehead, a few strands framing his now gaunt face. He practices an awake smile in the mirror before he completely deflates -- one bad interaction, one rude look, one snap from a boss, and he'd lose it. The rawness sat in a lump in his throat, a grenade of tears ready to blow if the pin is even so much as nudged.

The door to the back rooms squeaks open on its hinges, revealing the never ending click of boots, heels, sneakers, and men's shoes on the sining tile of Macy's walkway floors. In the beginning, the scent of the perfume section across the way and the bright lights of jewelry used to be an assault on his senses -- but as Wayne says 'You can get used to anything.'

"You good, Ed?" he hears, and turns his head -- it's Angie. Angie is his favorite coworker because she makes the best and meanest jokes about people. If it wasn't for some nights closing with Angie he would've left this job a long time ago. He'd been keeled over in laughs with a duster in his hand so many times that it almost seemed wrong to abandon her there.

"Yeah," he furrows his brow at her, "Should I not be?"

"Some pretty boy's been looking for you," she says, nodding over to the boots section, "You got another business I don't know about?"

A grin stretches across her frosted red lipstick'd lips, crinkling her overlined and spider lashed eyes. She's what Eddie and the guys at Forest Hills would have called 'trailer park pretty' if she was thirty years younger.

"They would be so lucky, wouldn't they?" Ed smirks back, eyes following her nod and landing on a head of beautifully coiffed chestnut hair, "Harrington?"

Steve's eyes perk up like a golden retreiver, a winning smile spreading across his face with a flash of white teeth in it's wake, "Hey, Ed!"

Angie gasps when she realizes who it is, "Oh shit! Is this the guy that --"

"Shh, shut up Ange," Ed huffs, waving her off while Steve comes up to approach him.

"Hey dude, I was hoping you were here. I uh, got a pretty big collection to get tonight so I figured -- you know, I'd come say hi and ask for your help." It's frustrating how pleasant Steve is. How warm his demeanor radiates to others, his candor, the way that he stands. It's annoying that a denim button under a cozy green sweater looks good on him. It makes Eddie sick that he can pull off wire-rim glasses and still look his age, that he smells like spice but not in a cheap way. A twinge of fear shook in his chest when a seed of assumption planted itself in his head -- was this why you weren't answering his calls? Was Steve Harrington smothering you with Christmas spirit every night?

"Yeah, man, sure," Eddie responds like the world isn't sitting directly on his shoulders, which -- he observed -- were not nearly as broad as Steve's, "How can I help you?"

"I need like, four pairs of Moon Boots," he shrugs, "Guess they're in style again? My sister's and nieces want matching pairs so like -- two in a size 8 and then, if you have it, two in a size 4 kids?"

"What color? We have white, purple, black, some metallics," Eddie lists on his fingers, "Well, maybe not black -- those probably sold out already."

"You got silver? Pink, maybe?" Steve shrugs, "I'm just trying to get these wrapped by tomorrow."

Christmas Eve. Ed had almost forgotten.

"Let me see what we have and I'll bring it out," he offers. He wants to ask about you but it seems too obvious. You must have talked about the fight or about him in general, how else would Steve know he worked here? How else would he know to come looking for him.

Moments later, Ed comes out with four boxes, "I have two in silver and two in pink -- so it looks like your nieces will be matching and your sisters will be matching. Does that work?"

"Oh shit, that's perfect," Steve smiles the same winning smile. Eddie wonders for a moment what it feels like to smile genuinely, it's felt like years since he had. He guesses that when you're Steve Harrington, you must get to smile pretty often. Rich, girls love him, former captain of the basketball team, has a masters degree, painstakingly handsome -- no wonder you called him after your fight. Damn, he would too.

"Is that all?" Ed asks, reaching up to run a hand over the five o'clock shadow speckling his chin.

"No, actually, sorry. I need some like, work boots, if you sell those here -- is that okay?" Steve asks.

"Work boots like, how? Like construction?" he asks, "You're a teacher, Harrington."

"Yeah but my uh, my roommate -- he's not in construction but he's on a whole bunch of terrain for work -- desperately needs good shoes for that," he explains.

"What's he do?" Ed asks, guiding him over to the display of Timberlands and Doc Martens.

"He's a photojournalist -- he's all over the place," Steve answers, "He's worn his sneakers down to the sole and like, swears their okay --"

"Jonothan Byer's is your roommate?" Eddie asks, making the connection. He'd only known him from their photography class they shared in Eddie's second senior year, but he knew enough to know he went into journalism shortly after college.

"Yeah," Steve nods, running a hand through his hair.

"Hm," Eddie looks over the shoes and looks up at him, "If I can be honest -- he's gotta be quick on his feet, right? These are gonna be too heavy for him to be walking around in. You might just want to get him some higher quality running sneakers. There's a Foot Locker downstairs if you wanna check that out? A lot of our sneakers are sold out until next week."

"Hmm, shit," Steve clicks his tongue, "Well um -- could I maybe try a pair?"

"Of Docs?" Eddie asks with a laugh.

"Yeah, of Docs -- I can be hip and cool, too, Munson," Steve's faux defense is charming. Eddie wonders what else you find charming about him.

Part of it feels degrading, kneeling down in front of Steve, lacing and relacing each new and different pair of boots he tries on -- but at this point he's buying seven pairs of shoes and the commission alone will cover at least a month of groceries so he's not complaining.

"So you don't hate me, huh?" Eddie asks, slipping a lighter weight Timberland over one of Steve's argyle socks.

"Why would I hate you?" Steve cocks his head, amber eyes catching in the light.

"Oh, did she not talk about it?" Eddie flushes. Why would you talk about him? Your loser mechanic (maybe ex) boyfriend who works at the mall, and at the auto shop, and sometimes sells drugs.

"Your fight from last week?" Steve raises his brows, "Yeah, she talked to me about it. But I woudn't hate you for that."

Ed tightens the laces up his foot to his ankle with care, "Why not?"

"I mean, you're doing a lot right now," Steve shrugs, "I think it can be hard when you're teaching little ones, especially this time of year, to not get caught up in the magic -- you sort of popped her bubble. But y'know, it was sort of a reminder to her that not everyone has it so good."

"She didn't deserve me yelling at her like that, though," Eddie shakes his head, he can feel the threat of the grenade pin tugging on his heart strings. One false move. One shake. One nudge, and he'll blow.

"You're doing the best you can," Steve offers kindly. Eddie swallows hard, offering him a tight smile.

"Thanks. I'm trying, I'm--" he shakes out the tingle of a cry before tying up the laces, "I'm trying really hard."

By the time Steve checks out it's about 7:15 and Eddie wants nothing more than to go to bed. His back hurts, he's gotta make sure Wayne took his medication, he's gotta eat sleep for dinner for the third night in a row.

"Thanks so much," Steve beams, "This is great, thanks for your help."

"Yeah, no problem dude," Eddie sighs, running a hand over his face again, "Have a good holiday."

"You done for the night?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, just gotta y'know -- grab my shit and go," he shrugs.

"You wanna grab some dinner with me in the food court or something?" Steve asks, balancing the many shopping bags he'd collected this evening in his hands.

"I don't know, dude. I don't wanna keep you or anything," Eddie says. His stomach clenches at the word dinner, his body reacting like a dog who just heard the sentence 'you wanna go outside?'

"You're not keeping me," Steve assures, "C'mon, it's on me."

Before he knows it, Eddie's been corralled into a mall food court, sitting slumped over on the sticky table. He tunes out the shreiks of children, the tinny Christmas music playing in the background of the cocophany of noise that is the mall on December 23rd. His forehead sticks to the leather jacket over his forearm, only lifting it up when he hears the slap of a plastic tray being put down in front of him. He surveys the Burger King in front of him and huffs a laugh, it'd been a long time since he'd ventured into the food court. He almost forgot what fast food looked like after the past few months of thin ham sandwhiches or cold cans Spaghettio's.

"So why didn't you try to swoop in?" Ed asked, toying with a french fry before biting off the end, "When you went to her house the other night?"

He savors the oil and salt on his tongue, warm and crispy on the fry disolving in his mouth while he waits for a response.

"Swoop in?" Steve asks, shaking his head, "No, I wouldn't. We just -- we work together. She's my work friend."

"So you never thought about what the kids say?" Eddie challenges, still trying to keep it light hearted, "How the first grade teachers should get married?"

"Her classroom is across from mine and we make lesson plans together," he assures, "What the kids say is what the kids say. They're six, what do they know?"

"Whatever you say, Harrington," Eddie shrugs.

"Munson, seriously -- she's my friend. She's not my type," he offers. The way he says it stings Eddie, what's not his type about you? You're perfect. You're the best person he knows.

"The card thing though? That was cute. I'm gonna put that in my arsenal if I ever fuck up," Steve laughs. Eddie chest rattles when he realizes that Steve was still there for that. He never even knew your reaction.

Eddie clears his throat, "Did um -- did she like it?"

Steve nods with a lazy smile, "Yeah, she liked it."

"Did she say anything?" he asks hopefully.

"She cried," Steve answered, Eddie leans his head on his hands, "I know that might not be what you wanted to hear."

"I didn't wanna make her cry more," he explains, "I wanted to make her happy."

"They were happy tears," Steve encourages with a nod, "She knows you love her. She loves you, too."

"Then why isn't she answering my calls?" he asks, another fry passing his lips.

"I think she's hurt, a little embarrassed. You know how girls are, they never come right out and say it," he shrugs, taking a bite of his cheeseburger. Ketchup drips out onto the paper mat on the plastic tray with a wet plop, Eddie sighs.

"Did you end up getting anything for her for Christmas?"

"No I -- I can't afford it this year," Eddie rubs his eyes again, more swollen and aching than before. Heat beams through his cheeks in embarrassment, tinging pink and then red.

"Well I had an idea," he offers, "If you're up for it."

"Yeah, go for it Harrington. Shoot," he says, the enthusiasm was greatly lacking.

"Well her uh, her class room needs a lot of repairs and the custodial team isn't really equipped for that. The school'll either bare bones it for her or make her pay for it out of pocket if she asks," he starts, "And she told me you're really handy, y'know, working at the garage and all. So maybe you could take care of her class room this week while we're out for break. I can let you in and everything."

He mulls it over in his head, "That's a really good idea, actually. I could um, I could ask the guys at the shop if I could borrow some tools."

"And there's a bunch of wood palettes in the backrooms at Medvald's. Jon said he's happy to get them out of there for you," Steve says with a smile.

"Oh, so you already talked about this?" Eddie smirks.

"Well, yeah, kind of," he blushes, "I was asking around just to see if it was a plausible kind of thing."

"Definitely a plausible thing," he nods, taking a bite of his own cheese burger. He holds back the moan in his chest from eating something warm and mildly filling after such a long time, "Do you think she'd like it?"

"Oh, Munson," Steve shoots him the 'okay' sign, "She'd lose her mind. All she does is complain about how nothing ever works and everything's falling apart. Doesn't even have new chalk."

"Chalk I can definitely handle," he laughs, "I think I can afford chalk."

He feels a moment of calm wash over him when the van rumbles to life in the parking garage. Finally heading home and going to sleep with a full belly, finally with a plan to make you happy, finally feeling like after the new year things can go back to normal. He flicks on the radio and doesn't even change the station when Mariah Carey's 'All I Want For Christmas' crackles through the speakers. He heard it 700 times today, happy to hear it for the 701st.

It was your new favorite song, after all.

Eddie woke up feeling slightly refreshed on Christmas Eve, the dull ache in his back mildly relieved. He fished into his pajama pants for his lighter, flicking it a few times before getting the fuse lit for his morning cigarette. He stood at the open door, bathrobe tied tight around him, and listened to the hum of Wayne's machine from the other end of trailer. The mug of black coffee in his hands had the bitterness cut by the soft sweetness of cinnamon -- that's what you always did this time of year.

'I like making it a little festive for you, honey,' you'd giggle, 'Don't be such a Grinch.'

He wished he appreciated it more, all the little things you did to try to make him happy. The faces in fruit on his pancakes some mornings, making his old favorites for dinner at your place, 'build your own sundae' nights. Scratching his head, scalp massages, hand massages. You'd call them man-icures so he didn't feel weird about you doing his nails and softening his callouses. He didn't care that it was just a manicure with a stupid name, all he cared about was your cute face when you concentrated on his cuticles. He missed your laugh, the way you tap your pen out to your favorite songs when you're grading papers or writing lesson plans, your elaborate schemes to make learning subtraction more fun. The way you're kind to everyone, all the time, constantly. When he first started taking you out he'd get embarrassed by how forward you were with people, how you'd make small talk with cashiers, or grab someone's hand to tell them their nails looked beautiful.

Maybe in a lot of ways, he wished he was more like you to start.

He took a shower and slipped on his coveralls, opting to be one of two guys in the shop today. Him and George. It was George's garage, and for the past six years, Eddie had always volunteered to be the emergency mechanic on deck on Christmas Eve. He got paid time and a half and never had to wait for the check, he'd always get paid at the end of the day.

He laces his boots before trudging down the hall to wake Wayne, taking off his machine and flipping the switch.

"I'm headed out," he whispers, "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Wayne groans when he sits up on the rickety mattress, "I have a new perscription, not sure if the pharmacy'll be open but would you be able to pick it up on the way back. They called last night but I couldn't make it to the phone, it's ready I think."

"Yeah, I'll grab it on my lunch break Wayne," he softens the more he looks at him, "Have some coffee already to go for you on the table, there's a couple eggs left for you too."

"Thank ya, son," his voice is grizzly, but it still feels like home.

Eddie shivers his way into the shop, George in the office organizing some files. The day was always slow, but there were some cars still in need of fixing so he got right to work.

"Hey George," he calls, knocking on the door.

"Hey kid," he calls back, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, round six," he laughs back. He goes back to the break room and drops off his coat and his back pack. Normally he'd have you to look forward to later with a plate of cookies from your family's Christmas Eve party and some left overs expertly packed. You'd drive an hour and a half to bring it down to him and then an hour and a half back to spend Christmas with your family. But not before he gave you a present, or multiple presents, in the break room when George went out to get a six pack.

"Ed," he calls again, "C'mere when you're done dropping your shit."

Eddie heads over to the office, leaning on the door frame, "'Sup bossman?"

"Someone left a message for ya on the answering machine, think it's the pharmacy," he said, "Ya might wanna give 'em a call, s'probably for your uncle."

"Oh, yeah, I think his prescription's ready," he nodded, "Can I use your phone?"

"Yeah, by all means," he said, pushing it toward him, "Want me to give you a minute?"

Ed shakes his head no, "It's fine, just a quick call." He's got the number memorized by heart at this point, clicking the numbers on the grease stained white plastic buttons while barely looking at the machine.

"Hawkins Pharmacy, this is Debbie," Eddie smiles because he knows Debbie. He likes Debbie a lot.

"Hi Deb, it's Eddie, Eddie Munson," he says, "Calling for my uncle, looks like you called my work. I was gonna come by and pick up his meds on my break, will you guys be open?"

"Oh um, about his prescription Ed..." she starts, and he can hear the hesitation in her voice. The clip in the grenade buried in his chest jiggles slightly, he takes in a breath through his nose.

"What's up?" he asks, his voice his short and curt.

"Well, he changed his insurance recently, as you know and -- well there's a lapse in his coverage right now. His new plan doesn't activate until the first," she expains.

"Okay, and what does that mean?" he says, his palms sweat onto the cool plastic of the phone, his ear sticks to the receiver.

"Basically," she says, and then sighs, "His current insurance can't cover it and neither can is upcoming insurance, so the prescription has to be paid out of pocket."

"Um -- uh, fuck -- okay," he says, a chill courses through him, tightening his veins. The pin jiggles again, "H-how much?"

"For the month?" she asks, "For this prescription it's, hold on, let me check...it's looking like it'll come out to around..." she takes a breath of defeat.

"Around three hundred dollars, Ed," she says softly.

"Three hundred..." he repeats back quietly, "Is there like, is there a cheaper version cause he like..."

His voice cracks, the pin rattles dangerously while his eyes start to sting with oncoming tears, "He really needs these pills, Debbie."

"This is the cheapest option," she says apologetically, "I'm so sorry."

"I'll um, I'll figure it out," he shakes his head, "I'll come by and I'll figure it out. Thanks uh, thanks for letting me know Deb."

He doesn't wait to hear her response before he hangs up the phone, quickly leaving the office to go back to the break room. He sniffles in big shuddering breaths, sweat dripping down his back despite the lack of heat in the garage.

"Kid," George says softly, following behind him, "Hey, Munson. What's goin' on?"

He feels George's big hand on his shoulder, the soft squeeze on the muscle under his skin.

"I can't afford my uncle's medication," he says, the pin jiggles, "I mean I can, but like, if I get his medication I'll be late in paying the gas bill, but if they turn the gas off there goes our heat. Or I can delay the electric bill but if they turn the lights out he can't use his machine at night. So maybe I could like, go out tonight after this and shovel some driveways in the rich neighborhoods or -- I could -- I could --"

The pin falls.

He breaks.

He breaks hard.

Eddie's cries turn to wails, his body shaking with hunger and exhaustion and the unbearable heaviness of having to be himself. The tears pour in droves down his face while he tries to catch up with them, trying to find the words to explain to George that he's okay, he'll figure it out.

"Hey, buddy, it's okay, it's okay," George soothes, his aged face crumpling while he watches Eddie break down in front of him. He pulls him in tight, a hand plopping ontop on his mess of curls.

"Why don't you tell me what's been goin' on? You haven't been yourself for months," he says softly, "Talk to me."

George smells like Old Spice and Newports, it's a scent that's always made him feel safe. Like having a second dad -- well, a third dad, if you count his real dad. He never counts his real dad, though.

Eddie sits down at the table while George takes a couple of beers out of the fridge and places them down in front of them. He cracks them open and settles down, two sets of brown eyes meeting each other.

He begins.

"Well if Wayne was sick why didn't you tell me?" George exclaims, "I've known Wayne longer than you've lived in Hawkins, boy. I would've helped you figure somethin' out. Taking shifts at Macy's? At Christmas time? No wonder you're so exhausted."

"I mean, I'm young. I can do it," Eddie shrugs.

"Those bags under your eyes say you can't," he says matter of factly, "And y'know you shouldn't have to. You're -- damn you're a kid."

"I'm like, inching towards thirty George," he laughs.

"And what about your little girlfriend? She not helping?"

"That's..." he sighs, "That's a whole other mess."

Eddie rehashes the story he told Wayne last week and then Steve's visit from yesterday, "So today I was gonna ask if I could borrow some tools and go in tomorrow or something to fix everything up. But now I gotta figure out how I'm gonna make an extra three hundred bucks for these meds."

"How about this," George starts, "You've been workin' for me a long time. You come early and you stay late. You cover for everyone. You know -- damn -- you know more about cars than I do and I've been runnin' this place for thirty years. How about you take this week off to work on your girl's classroom and I'll see you after the New Year."

"I can't. I need to work, George, I need the mo--"

"How about," he interjects, loud and stern, "You take the week off to work on your girl's classroom and get some rest, and I will pay you for the week. It's not like you're just sittin' on your ass."

"I can do that, that's not f--"

"If you say no again, I'm just gonna fire you. Is that what you want?" George challenges.

"No sir," Eddie quickly shakes his head and shuts his mouth.

"And," the older man continues, "I will cover the cost of Wayne's pills. I'll go pick them up at lunch for 'im and drop 'em off. 'Bout time I caught up with that geezer anyway."

The tears build back up in Eddie's eyes, his mouth lets out a sputtered version of a 'Thank you'.

"You gotta stop pretending like you have to do everything yourself," George's voice holds a fatherly fondness when he gets up and tosses their empty beers in the trash.

"C'mere, kid," he chuckles while Eddie tearily gets up out of the chair and back into the dad like embrace of his boss.

"You got ten minutes, but then we got some cars to fix."

Eddie didn't tell Wayne about the insurance lapse or the pills, even though he was surprised to see George at the trailer park that afternoon. Eddie went home with his tool belt from work, his time and a half, and a little extra that his boss insisted he take with him. Wished him luck on his repairs and that he'd see him on the 2nd.

He was warned that if he didn't rest, Wayne would tell him, and it would mean hell for him at the shop.

Eddie'd already been through hell, so he didn't really want to have to do it again.

Christmas morning came and Eddie woke Wayne up to a cup of coffee and some breakfast.

"Thanks, son," he said smoothly, pushing in his chair at the table in the kitchenette, "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he wished back, tapping some cinnamon into each of their cups of coffee.

"What's that for?" he asks before a harrowing cough bubbles out of his chest. He takes a sip of coffee to ease the ache of the rattle in his throat.

"It's just festive, Wayne," he teases, "Don't be a Scrooge."

"Doing anything today?" Wayne asks, eyes casting up to look at the old pictures of a younger Eddie sat on Santa's lap. No longer a holiday where they stayed home and snuggled, where he played with his toys, where there was magic.

"Gonna go fix up my girl's classroom as a gift," he says, picking at his nails, "Thought it'd be a nice gesture."

"She hasn't called ya back, hm?"

Eddie shakes his head, already dressed in the Black Sabbath shirt you got him that he hadn't gotten a chance to properly thank you for. The chain you got repaired hung aroung his neck delicately, the pick hitting his chest in a gentle reminder that you're still here with him. You had to be. He'd know if you just decided to be done with him.

By the time the late afternoon rolled around he hopped in his van after Wayne fell asleep in the recliner. The perk of the holidays was that he could drive around in the rich neighborhoods and no one was out to give him and his car dirty looks. No one was around to be confused that Steve Harrington was hopping into his passengers seat to head to Melvald's. No one was around to be confused as to while they were loading wood from broken down pallets into the ample trunk space.

"Good holiday?" Eddie asks.

"Same holiday it always is," he shrugs, "My parents weren't around so I stayed home. Jonothan went to California with Joyce to go visit Will so he wouldn't have to pay to fly home."

"That's lonely," Eddie mutters, "Sorry dude."

"Don't be sorry, I'm used to it," he looks out the window. Steve looks well dressed for repairs -- a pair of worn in jeans, white on white Air Forces, an Izod half zip sweat shirt -- he might as well look like a father of three, "Have you heard from her at all?"

"No -- I left her a message on her answering machine, but I think she's already up with her family. I don't know what she told them so -- I don't want to bother her parents if they're upset with me," he explains.

"They'd never be upset with you," Steve shakes his head, "They're good people."

"I'm sure they wish on a star every night that she was with you, Harrington," he jokes.

"You'd think, right?" Steve laughs, "No, she told me how much they like you. They think you're so good to her -- you are so good to her."

Steve speaks about you with a fondness that makes Eddie wonder. He softens, looking over at him while he turns down the road to the elementary school, "Do um...do you wish it was you?"

"I already told you, man. I love her to death, but she's not my type," he laughs again, but there's a pain there.

"You keep saying that but like -- are you sure? 'Cause you can tell me it's not weird," he assures.

"She hasn't told you?" Steve asks, brows furrowing.

"Told me what? Did you guys used to fuck, or something?" Eddie asks, his heart hammering, "Did you fuck the other ni--"

"No, no, Ed I'm --" he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"I'm gay," he says quietly, "Like, Jonathan isn't my roommate he's -- he's my partner. I'm gay."

There's a silence there for a moment and Eddie shifts in his seat a red light. Oh, I'm such a fucking idiot. Of course that's why they aren't together. I thought maybe he had a weird dick or something.

"That's y'know," Ed shrugs, "That's cool with me, man. Like, silence equals death and all that."

"Oh, shut up man," Steve laughs and shakes his head, putting his hand up to stop him from talking, "Don't like, do that all shit. I'm just surprised she hadn't said anything."

"If you told her not to, she wont," Eddie's voice drops to something sweet, "She's a good girl like that. Great secret keeper. Great -- Oh, shit..."

When the boys pull into the lot, Eddie's surprised to see a couple more trucks sitting by with their lights on, doors opening at the sight of them. A gruff voice calls out from the dark, a light snow obscuring him and the name on his coverall.

"How long were you gonna keep us waiting here, kid? It's a holiday."

George's gruff voice cuts the silence, a couple of the guys from the shop chuckle in the background. Eddie smiles, a genuine, warm smile -- the kind he envied from a couple nights ago that he saw from Steve. These were people who cared about him, who wanted to help. This was, he guessed, was what Christmas was really about. This was what you were trying to tell him the whole time. His heart breaks all over again, and he swears he can feel the pulse of your heart beat in the guitar pick hanging at his chest.

By the 27th, most of the repairs had been done. The help from the guys was beyond what he could've imagined. They were able to replace part of the roof that had water damage, fix the windows, repair a cracked pane, build a new bookcase, fix the wobble in all of the desks, and yours. Now, he was just adding a new coat of paint after spending the morning chipping off all the shards of it that were falling off. In his backpack was an overflow of new chalk, pens and pencils, markers, crayons, construction paper, pipe cleaners, and glue. The guys went through their kids bookcases at home and donated a slew of new books for the room -- some duplicates, too.

He felt good. He'd gotten two nights of adequate sleep, heeding George's warning that he has to rest. He was able to buy a good crop of groceries and most of the guys from work came by to drop off so many Christmas cookies that Wayne was nervous he'd start losing his teeth too. Now, all he had to wait for was you. For you to come in on Friday and see his surprise when you dropped in for your professional development day with Steve. He wasn't sure if he wanted to leave flowers or gingerbread men with the card but he figured he'd cross that bridge when he --

"Eddie?"

He jumped, nearly falling off the ladder he was on to reattach over head light that had rusted on the ceiling, "Jesus Christ!"

He clutched his chest, letting his heart rate settle down when at the bottom of the ladder, there you stood. His face blushed pink, pulse ping ponging through his wrists at the sight of you.

"Hi, sweetheart," he smiles, "This um...this was supposed to be a surprise."

"Who told you?" you asked, looking around, "About all my stuff?"

Eddie climbed down the ladder carefully, "Steve came to the store, told me that you needed some help. I figured y'know, if I couldn't get you a present I could just -- I could make you one."

"It's not done yet though, I still have to paint and put all your art supplies away," he explains, meeting you in the center of the room. He looks at you and then at the tears in your eyes, the heat rising in your cheeks. You don't say anything, his heart races in embarrassment. Maybe it wasn't enough, maybe you didn't like it. Maybe you wanted to do it yourself.

"And um, the guys from the shop, they uh, they brought books," he says, walking over to the new bookcase, "And I uh, I built this, like, with my hands."

He painted it to match the rest of the decor, a fun bright color that would hopefully draw the kids in to read. You'd mentioned that the got bored with the same ten books and weren't sharing well -- half of the books were falling apart since there wasn't anywhere to put them.

"And uh, I got you some new chalk -- white obviously, but I got you some multi-colored sets cause I know you like to do little sketches on the board during holidays and like, with spring comin' up maybe you could do little flowers or something?" he doesn't realize it, but he's gasping through his rambled sentences. Watching you walk toward him slowly.

"It's okay if you don't like it," he assures, "You can tell me and I can fix it I just wanted to--"

Your kiss feels like a spoonful of summer warmed honey on his cold lips. It trails down his throat and into his chest, down through his fingertips and his toes. He feels your soft hands cup his face, resting against his cold prickly cheeks. He's afraid to touch your face because you haven't given him a manicure yet this week. He doesn't want to scratch you with his rough hands, so he places them around you instead, frowning when you finally break away with a soft click.

"I just wanted to do something nice," he says against your lips.

"This is the best gift ever," you whisper quietly, a little sniffle stifling your cry, "It's very nice."

"Merry Christmas, baby," he smiles, leaning in for another kiss.

"Merry Christmas," you wish between kisses.

He wakes up wrapped up in you, in your sheets, in your scent, peering at you while you sleep soundly next to him. You both had barely made it through the door of your apartment before you both had shed your clothes -- landing on the bed with a mutual 'oof!'

It had been so long since he'd been present. Savoring every soft moan out of your mouth, every shake of your thighs, everything whine, every clench, the way you'd rake your nails down his back, the way you'd pulse when he held your hand. You both laid there together after round one, eating cookies in bed (which you'd allowed just this once), while he told you everything. About how hard it had been taking two jobs, how he'd completely shut down, about Wayne's insurance lapse, about the guys at work, about Steve coming to Macy's, about how much he loved the gifts you got. About how he cried the night he yelled at you but was too afraid to face you after because he felt so awful. He listened when you told him that you just needed some time, but that you felt awful that you weren't there when he needed you.

"Need you all the time," he mumbled between heated kisses, "Never lettin' you outta my sight."

His eyes rolled and his toes curled when you took him in your mouth, letting you take the lead. He gasped and writhed, whining for more when your tongue swirled and sucked, showing him how much you missed him. How you'll always take care of him -- and he made sure to show you how he'll take care of you back.

Round three was long and drawn out, slow and sensual, close and quiet -- your boom box playing low static by the end.

Your eyes opened, stretching out when you see him sitting up in bed.

"You heading out?" you yawn.

"No, baby," he smiles down at you before laying back down, losing himself under the covers with you again, "I have the week off, so I'm intending to spend every moment I'm not with Wayne, in this bed, with you."

#eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie x reader #eddie munson

[multifandomhaven]

A/N: Call of Duty brain rot has set in lolol I hope y'all enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Y/N was a simple woman, or so she liked to think. She went to work, back to her apartment, and sometimes she'd hit the gym. She was what most people would call bland, a wet blanket. Boring.

She was single, with no kids, and no man in her life - it was lonely sometimes, sure, but she liked it. It gave her time to focus on the thing that really meant something to her - her practice.

"Doctor Laswell, the next patient is ready for you," the nurse called into her office.

Y/N rose from her chair, glancing over the chart in her hand before she entered the room with a small smile. "Hello, how are you guys today?"

The young couple looked from the young puppy in the woman's lap and then back to the doctor. "We're doing okay, just here to get Bella's shots up to date."

Taking the squirmy little thing from her owner, Y/N cuddled it to her chest, chuckling when it gave her a few sloppy kisses on her cheek. "You're so sweet, aren't you, girl."

Y/N loved her job. She had always had a knack for taking care of animals - for the most part, all they wanted was a warm place to sleep, some good food, and love. They were simple, easy to read, and never meant you harm unless you gave them a reason - they were with you for life, unwavering and full of devotion.

Y/N quickly administered the medication to the puppy, rubbing the sore spot down with her gloved fingers gently. "You're so brave, Bella. Such a good girl," she cooed.

Giving the nurse the puppy's record to update, Y/N turned and handed the dog back to her owners. "Okay, you're good to go for now. Just stop by the ladies at reception to make sure you get the appointment set up for her final round of shots, okay?"

The rest of the day went by in a blur, animal after animal treated, and, as much as Y/N enjoyed her job, she was ready to get home to her warm bubble bath. She washed her hands and bid her staff goodbye as they filed out one by one until she was the only person left in the office. She turned the lights off, making sure everything was as it should be before she locked the door and walked to her car.

She unlocked her car before she got to it, ready to sit down and give her aching feet a rest. She reached out to open the door when she felt something hard hit her across the side of her head. She fell to her knees, her vision blurring as she crashed to the ground. Her palms and knees burned as the asphalt scraped away the skin. She blinked quickly, trying to clear her sight.

"Laswell?" The man asked from above her, his voice almost a growl. When she didn't answer he grabbed a handful of her hair, pulling her face to look at him. "Are you Y/N Laswell?"

Y/N gasped, pain shooting through her head. "Yes, yes, that's me."

Her sight finally cleared and she struggled to sit up, seeing two large men with masks covering their faces. One had a gun while the other continued to land hit after hit to her, her body, her face, anywhere he could. She was crying now, her arms covering her face as she tried to protect herself as best she could.

"Tell that bitch to make it right," the man sneered at her. "Or you're dead."

She was left in the parking lot by herself, blood coming from the cut on her head and her lip. She dug desperately in her purse, finding her phone and pulling it out with shaking hands. She was still crying, tears mixing with the blood that dripped onto her scrubs.

"Laswell," her aunt's voice came from the other end of the line. "Hello?"

Y/N sobbed into the receiver. "Aunt Kate?"

"What's wrong," Kate asked instantly, her voice tight. "Bunny?"

"There were these men," Y/N explained the situation as best she could through her panic. "Can you call an ambulance to the office? I don't think I can drive."

"They're on the way, Bunny, just stay where you are," Kate told her. "I'm on my way to you. I'll see you in a bit."

A few hours later, Y/N and Kate had finally been reunited in the emergency department of the hospital. Y/N was cleared to go home as soon as the bags of antibiotics and fluid were gone - just as a precaution, they told her. They had given her an injection for pain, but still, she found her head throbbing with every movement.

"Okay," Kate mumbled under her breath, pacing from one end of the room to the other. It seemed like time was in an endless loop - Kate would stop to ask questions, jot them down on a notepad, grumble to herself, and then go back to pacing. At times Y/N could've sworn she could see the older woman looking at her, her eyes filling with tears before she would excuse herself into another room.

Y/N frowned, watching Kate's back disappear into the tiny bathroom once again. She wanted to follow her, to check on her, but the pounding in her head kept her seated. Slowly, she brought the ice pack back up and pressed it against the offending pain, grimacing when the ice pack made contact with the bruise surrounding her eye. The television was on in the background, the volume whisper-low, but she paid it no attention.

It wasn't long before Kate came back out, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. She gave her niece a small, tight-lipped smile. "Allergies."

"Aunt Kate, please you need to sit down and stop worrying. You're going to raise your blood pressure." Kate still paced the length of the room, just a little bit slower. Y/N tried to cut the tension with a joke, "Or walk a hole in the floor. They probably wouldn't appreciate that..."

Kate didn't fall for it and, instead, she came over and surveyed the damage to her niece's face with a grimace. Gently, she turned her face from one side to the other, her fingers grasping her chin. "Oh Bunny," she whispered.

"I'm okay," Y/N tried to soothe her. "Kate, I'm okay."

Kate almost glared at her, no true malice for her niece, purely frustration at the circumstance. "You're telling me that you're not in pain right now?"

"It'll heal," she said softly. "Come on, you've been waiting on me hand and foot since you got here. I haven't seen you in almost a year and I've missed you."

"Oh, Bunny, you know I've missed you too," Kate's eyes softened slightly and she nodded, sitting on the bed beside her. "Okay. Do you need anything?"

Y/N took her hand and simply held it - something she'd done as a child that still brought her a semblance of comfort. The older woman rubbed her hand softly, her eyes trained intently on her niece. "This is enough for now."

Kate nodded and sighed. "Okay, okay."

They sat there quietly for the first time since Kate had arrived. Y/N's mind was whirling with thoughts and memories. Most from the attack, but in between the awful there were also some from when she was a child - so she chose to focus on the good ones. She peeked around the icepack and asked, "Do you remember the first time you and Rachel took me ice skating?"

"Oh God. You were a wreck - you looked like the scarecrow from The Wizard of Oz when he first started walking." Kate laughed. The memory curled the corner of her lips - the younger woman's superpower if she had one - and she shook her head lightly. "You know, if it were up to Rachel she'd be here too - you are her favorite person."

Y/N gave her hand a small squeeze, taking her chance to change the subject. "How is Aunt Rach?"

"She's doing well," Kate admitted. "She's at an art show in New York right now."

Y/N had always been envious of her aunt's artistic ability. Sure, she could draw the basics, but Rachel's work was nothing short of beautiful. She wasn't even ten years old the first time she met Rachel. She was tall, thin, and willowy - she looked like something from another planet to Y/N. She was gorgeous. That day she took the time to show Y/N how to draw a rose - something the younger girl kept close to her heart for years to come.

"She's talented and she knows it," Y/N said fondly. "I miss her."

Kate agreed, a flash of pride in her eyes. "She would love for you to come stay with us - for as long as you'd want to. We both would."

"That's very kind," Y/N felt a surge of appreciation for her words but still disagreed. "But I'll be okay back at my apartment. Plus, I don't want to impose."

"Impose," Kate huffed with a roll of her eyes. "You live alone, you don't have any kind of protection. Your building's security is lacking. And plus, you're my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece," Y/N sighed. She knew Kate was right, but she didn't want to place any more worry or guilt on her aunt's shoulders. She was still frightened, though. "How does Rachel stay safe while you're gone? Does she have a gun?"

Kate nodded seriously. "Yes, she does. She carries it in her purse, with a concealed carry permit, of course. I taught her how to shoot when we first started dating, just in case."

"Of course you did," Y/N smiled as best she could, wincing when her split lip seared with pain. "So do you think I should get one, too?"

Again, Kate nodded. "You know my stance on that. However..."

Y/N raised a brow. "What?"

"I think I may have a solution," Kate admitted. "You aren't going to like it, but remember, this would be temporary. Just until I know I have the people who did this to you."

Y/N was curious, sure, but she also knew she likely wasn't going to like what Kate had to offer. She waited, watching as the wheels in her aunt's brilliant mind spun, slowly clicking the puzzle pieces together. She pulled out her phone, tapped some buttons, and finally looked genuinely relieved since the first time she'd arrived. "It's damn near perfect."

"What are you thinking," Y/N questioned. "You look like you've solved world hunger."

"I have someone coming to keep a watch on you," Kate told her. "He'll be the one with the gun, so you don't have to worry about that. He'll stay with you until we get these bastards. Until you're safe."

"Are you talking about a bodyguard?" Y/N furrowed her brows. "Kate, c'mon. I don't think that's necessary-"

Kate cut her off. "I have just the person in mind. I've worked with him for a long time, completely trust him. He's top of the line, Bunny."

"Do I have a choice," Y/N asked softly, the answer already known.

Kate, again, gave her a small smile. "No."

That evening, after she was released from the hospital, Kate helped her back to her apartment. She was scuttling around from one window to another, checking the locks as Y/N was nestled in her chair, her body still aching. She had a tablet in her hands, reading over some of the charts of her patients. She couldn't be at work until she was fully cleared, but she still accepted the simpler cases so people wouldn't have to go to the next town over to keep their animals healthy.

"You should be resting," Kate chirped from the doorway of the kitchen. "But because I know you aren't going to listen I brought you a cup of coffee and a bagel."

Y/N gave her aunt a small smile and thanked her with a nod, taking the cup from her hands. Kate lay the plate with the bagel on the table beside her. "I wonder where I get that stubborn quality from?" Y/N joked.

"Watch yourself, smart-ass," Kate chuckled, shaking her head lightly. "But seriously, don't overdo it, kiddo. I know you want things to stay relatively normal, but you still need to take it easy, okay?"

The younger woman nodded. "I promise."

A knock at the door shattered the silence and Y/N gasped and looked to her aunt. Kate stood, her hand by her gun on her side, and walked toward the door. She glanced out of the peephole and lowered her shoulders, her hand moving from her gun to the doorknob. She opened the door and stepped outside, her voice met by another deeper one.

Y/N strained her ears to hear the conversation outside, but couldn't make out any distinct words. Kate's comfort with the person on the other side calmed her worry, so she sat back and took a bite of her bagel. When she heard two sets of footsteps enter her apartment she pretended like she didn't notice, too absorbed in her work, but in reality, she was hyper-aware of the large figure shadowing her aunt.

"Bunny," Kate's called, breaking the silence. "This is John, he's a friend of mine and a damn good soldier. He's going to be watching over you until we're sure that you're safe."

Y/N glanced up from her work at Kate before her eyes shifted over to the large man behind her. Y/N gave him a tight grin, rightfully nervous about having him in her home. He was a stranger, after all, even if Kate did vouch for him. And she knew Kate was only able to stay for a few more hours - with her important work and all.

John gave her a quick nod, his hands in his pockets. "Nice to meet you, Y/N."

"Thank you for your help, John," Y/N said quietly.

John gave her a wink and it was then she noticed how absolutely blue his eyes were. "Your aunt's told me a lot about you."

Y/N smiled at him. "I wish I could say I've heard a lot about you, but Kate keeps me in the dark about most things."

John chuckled. "Sounds about right."

"Anyway," Kate cut their conversation. "The arrangement is simple - John stays with you as much as possible. Of course, you're allowed your personal space, but he needs to be within arms reach of you if you're out. And always in the apartment with you."

Y/N opened her mouth as if to say something, but her aunt held up a finger, signaling that she wasn't finished speaking. "I've spoken to the landlord of your office, Bunny. As soon as you're cleared you can go back to work, but John will be there with you."

Y/N raised a brow. "Don't you think a random guy, no offense, John, just standing in the corner of my office is going to weird out some of my patients? Make them uncomfortable?"

Kate shrugged her shoulders and frowned. "I don't care about their feelings, Bunny. I care about you staying alive."

"It's my job, Aunt Kate," Y/N sighed.

Kate nodded, coming to sit on the arm of her chair. "I understand that, but your life is more important."

Y/N bit back a retort after seeing the look on her aunt's face - she'd seen that look plenty of times and she knew no one had ever won a battle against it. She sank back against the cushions of the chair, her arms crossed over her chest like a petulant child. "Fine."

Kate squared her shoulders, a grin curling her lips. "I'm glad to see you're taking this well."

"This is well?" John piped up quietly behind her.

Kate turned slightly. "This is her being easy. You've got your work cut out for you with this one, John."

John sighed. "I've taken down entire platoons of highly trained soldiers, Kate. I think I can handle a little woman."

Kate chuckled. "You've only just met Bunny. Don't underestimate her."

"Underestimate a Laswell," John murmured with a smirk. "Never."

#call of duty #cod #john price #captain price #john price x reader #kate laswell

[cariantha]

A Chance Encounter (1/3)

Book: Open Heart (Pre-Series) Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: Teen Category: Fluff Word count: 2.5K Series Summary: Ten years before meeting at Edenbrook, Ethan and Sawyer have a chance encounter during spring break.

Chapter Summary: Ethan comes to Sawyer’s aid after a minor accident.

Part One: The Meet-Cute

July 2022 - Boston, Massachusetts

As Ethan rounded the corner, he saw the woman waiting in the lobby slump out of her chair and hit the floor. Jumping into action, he rushed over and knelt at her side. Placing two fingers on the side of her neck, he checked for a pulse. 

Out of habit, he called out the woman’s vitals. “Pulse is weak. She’s unresponsive.” Quickly scanning the gathering crowd, he spotted blue scrubs - the tell-tale sign of an intern - pushing through the bystanders. When his eyes landed on her concerned features, his heart slammed against his chest. “No fucking way.”

Shaking off the startling surprise and focusing on the blue-faced woman lying in front of him, he pointed a finger at the familiar face and crooked his finger. “You. Rookie. Get in here.”  

If he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him, the electric current that coursed through him when he clasped the nervous doctor’s trembling hand, was all the convincing he needed. 

Once their patient had been whisked away and the crowd began to disperse, Ethan approached the wide-eyed intern, searching for a hint of recognition. He was disappointed when he found none.

“Doctor… that was… absolutely amazing!” she exclaimed.

His ego bruised, he reflexively hardened his demeanor.

She was taken aback when he delivered a harsh critique of her performance. “Amateur?”

The attending wore a look of warning on his face as the intern gave him a once over, sizing him up. 

“Maybe you can give me private lessons,” she finally suggested, cool as a cucumber.

Remembering where he’d heard that line before, he couldn’t contain his laugh. “Ha! I just might, Doctor…” Stepping into her personal space, he reached for her ID card and read the name. 

Sawyer Brooks

Ten years had passed without him ever knowing her name. They had agreed it was for the best to remain anonymous, to be realistic about their circumstances, to avoid attachment and unnecessary complications. 

“Well, so much for that,” Ethan sighed as he made his way to the atrium. 

March 2012 - East Hampton, New York

After a cramped five hour drive from John Hopkins University to East Hampton, New York, Ethan sat in a folding beach chair under a large rainbow umbrella. His toes dug into the cool, white sand as a refreshing Atlantic breeze blew through his overgrown chestnut waves. 

His roommate and two medical school friends threw a football around at the water’s edge, but Ethan was content to sit and read, glancing up only occasionally when one of them dove into the shallows to make a dramatic catch.

Not far down the beach, he spotted two young women struggling against the wind to spread out a beach blanket. Small children skipped excitedly to the wet sand, scooping it up and filling their plastic buckets. 

A short while later, large sets rolled into shore, the loud crashes pulling Ethan’s attention from his book. Giddy laughter called him back to the nearby beachgoers. The brunette woman, who stood knee-deep in the water, kept a watchful eye on the little boy and girl who chased each other with seaweed. At their blanket, the blonde stood and picked up a surfboard. In a cheeky hot pink bikini, her toned physique was on full display as she carried the board over her head down to the water. Her companions waved as she tossed the board over the surf and slid onto it, paddling out to deeper water. 

The kids cheered when Sawyer caught her first wave. The young men playing catch nearby joined in, offering their encouragement each time she caught a wave. “Go, go, go!” They also offered a few fist-to-the-mouth “Dohs!” when she wiped out. After a particular gnarly spill, one of the men ogled as Sawyer stood up in the waist deep water and adjusted her crooked bikini top.

With his eye most definitely not on the ball, Tobias caught the incoming throw with his face. “Oof!”

Too exhausted to paddle out again, Sawyer called it quits. 

As if it were happening in slow motion, Ethan watched intently from behind his Wayfarers as she emerged from the water. The rivulets running down her sun-kissed skin glistened in the afternoon sun. He found it sexy as hell the way she carried her board under one arm and pushed water from her hair with the other. 

Having drifted a ways down the beach, Sawyer started walking back to her claim of sand. “Whoa!” she shouted, jumping back suddenly.

Running backwards into her path, Tobias nearly tackled her as he lept outstretched for the inbound football. “Sorry about that. Are you okay?” 

“I’m good,” she sidestepped the stranger with slight annoyance.

He launched the ball back to his friends and signaled that he was done playing, quickly catching up to her. “Those were some impressive moves out there, Gidge."

"Pardon?" she asked with a furrowed brow.

"You know… Gidge… as in Gidget. The old-timey surf movie?"

"Yeah, I got the reference. I'm just surprised you know it."

He shrugged, "I was forced to watch it a thousand times growing up. My mom and sisters watched it all the time.”

As they walked back, Tobias asked if she was from the island. Sawyer shared that she was in New York for spring break with her best friend, Christian. Christian was the nanny for an affluent family from Los Angeles vacationing in the Hamptons for the week. The family, desperate to have their nanny join them on the trip, encouraged Christian to invite a friend to make the trip more worthwhile.

Sawyer asked the same question in return. Tobias explained that his current stepfather, his mother’s third husband, owned the house where he and his friends were enjoying their own break from medical school at John Hopkins. 

Approaching his group, she saw a couple guys munching on chips and reaching for beers in a cooler. Behind them sat a dark-haired hunk with broad shoulders, strong pecs, and washboard abs. He had a striking profile, though his eyes were hidden behind dark sunglasses. 

Sawyer curiously stared back when Ethan turned in her direction. His head robotically tracked her movements as she walked past.

She was the first to break their staring contest, looking away when Tobias asked, “Do you wanna hang for a bit? Have a drink?”

“I should get back to my friend,” she answered, tilting her head toward Christian and the kids, “but maybe we'll see you around later.”

As she left a trail of footprints in the sand, Tobias called out to her. "See ya, Gidge! Maybe you can give us private lessons tomorrow!”

Spinning around and walking backwards, Sawyer shouted back to him with a teasing smile. "You can’t afford me!” Her eyes were drawn to Ethan again as she turned to face forward. There was an intensity in his gaze, even from behind his sunglasses, that made her pause before finally turning away.

“I’m disappointed she didn’t want to hang,” Tobias told his friends, taking a beer from one of them, “but wooo-weee, I am not upset to watch her walk away.” 

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

The next day, while his friends were nursing their hangovers, Ethan took advantage of the remaining morning hours to get some exercise. Returning from his jog down the beach, he spotted the brunette and children from the day before, building castles in the sand. His eyes searched for the blonde, finding her out on the water. But as quickly as he found her, she disappeared, a rogue wave taking her by surprise. Ethan slowed to a stop when her board torpedoed to the surface without her. He stood in anxious wait for what seemed like several minutes. On this private stretch of beach, there were no lifeguards. There was no one else to come to her aid, and just as he was about to jump into action, her head finally popped out of the water.

Sawyer struggled to find her footing as another wave crashed into her back. Her shoulders slumping from exhaustion, she coughed violently to clear her lungs of the swallowed salt water.

Urging the kids to stay put, Christian ran to the water, offering her friend a steady hand. That’s when Ethan noticed the streaks of red running down Sawyer’s leg as she slowly dragged her board to shore. 

“Oh my god, you’re bleeding!” Christian exclaimed, making her sit down on the board. “What happened?” 

“My leash got hooked on a ro–” She stopped as a towering figure suddenly shaded her from the morning sun. Sawyer’s gaze traveled up his sweaty, shirtless body. When she reached his eyes, they mirrored the sparkling blue ocean behind him. 

“Are you okay?” Ethan asked.

“I–I’m not sure,” she said looking down at her bloodied thigh. As Ethan crouched down to examine her wounds, she was momentarily transfixed by his handsome face, only snapping out of it when he lifted his eyes to hers. “You… you were with the Hopkins guys the other day,” she coughed again.

“I was.”

“Are you a med student, too?” 

“I am,” he answered, returning to his full height. “Did you swallow much water?”

Sawyer shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“We’re staying there,” he pointed to the nearby estate, “If you’d like, I can help you clean and bandage those cuts and scrapes.” 

“Could you, please?” Christian interjected. “I would help her back to the house, but I’ve got my hands full with the kids.”

Ethan nodded and waited for Sawyer’s consent. 

“Okay,” she said, getting to her feet. 

Ethan grabbed for the t-shirt he had halfway tucked into his back pocket. “I promise it’s mostly clean,” he assured, gently wiping some of the sand and blood away for a closer look. “You’ve got a pretty nasty cut here, but I don’t think it will need stitches. You can use this to keep pressure on it while we walk back.” 

A jolt of electricity coursed through her when her hand covered his to take hold of the shirt. Sawyer suspected Ethan felt it too, their eyes flitting to each other as he slid his hand out from under hers.

When she made a move to lift her board, Ethan put his hand out to hold her back. “I’ve got it,” he insisted.

“Th–thank you,” Sawyer stammered, butterflies taking flight in her stomach.

They walked in silence for a couple minutes before Ethan burst the bubble of nervous energy that surrounded them. “You know, if you had agreed to those private lessons, I'd be asking for a refund right about now," he teased.

“Jerk,” she giggled, giving him a playful shove. Ethan returned a small smile, barely flinching when her hand connected with his rock hard tricep. “I never claimed to be a professional. Amateur at best.”

“Where’d you learn to surf?” 

“Growing up I spent summers at my grandparents' beach house in San Diego. My brother and I found some old boards in the garage one year and we just taught ourselves,” she explained.

“Are you from California then?”

“Technically, Arizona. But I’m currently living in Cali for school. Caltech.”

“Caltech? Really?” he sounded surprised.

Slightly offended by his reaction, “Gee, thanks. Is that really so hard to believe?” 

“No! Sorry, I meant no offense,” Ethan quickly apologized. “I meant it more like… damn. Caltech is known as the MIT of the west coast. What are you majoring in?” he probed, his interest peaked.

“Bio with a minor in neurobiology. I’ve been torn between going pre-med or biotech, and I really need to make a decision soon. I’m scheduled to meet with my advisor when I get back, to enroll for next semester.”

If he had not already been smitten by her beauty, her proven intelligence and passion for science would have certainly captivated him.

Before another awkward silence settled in, Sawyer began her own line of questioning. “What about you? Did you complete your undergrad at Hopkins too?” 

Ethan shook his head. “No, I went to Brown. Pre-med.”

“Ivy League. Huh.” There was definitely a hint of prejudice in her tone. 

“Who’s the judgmental one now?” he asked, whipping his head toward her. “I’ll have you know I was on scholarship and it was conveniently close to home,” Ethan defended.

“I was just messing with ya,” she winked. “That’s pretty cool actually. I’m on scholarship too. So, you’re an east-coaster then?” 

“Yeah.” 

The disappointing reality settled over them as Ethan escorted her through the garden gate that led into the private property. He showed her to the outdoor shower and propped her surfboard up against the side of the house. 

“I’m going to grab a towel and a first aid kit. I’ll be right back,” he said, heading inside the beachside mansion. 

Ethan paused just inside the house upon returning with the items. He peered through the large mirrored windows that provide privacy from the outside world. He watched as Sawyer tilted her head back to rinse the sand from her hair, as if she were putting on a private show just for him. The sun backlit her curves as she arched her back, creating a picture worthy of a magazine cover.

Sawyer was wringing out her hair when Ethan reappeared and offered her the towel. Guiding her to a nearby lounge chair, he gestured for her to sit. He knelt beside her and checked her wounds again, making sure all the sand had been washed away. Confident nothing required stitches, Ethan opened the first aid kit. 

The mere thought of his touch made Sawyer’s skin prickle with goosebumps.

"This is going to sting," he warned before delicately dragging an antiseptic wipe over the affected areas. When Sawyer hissed in pain, Ethan gently blew on her skin, his eyes shifting up to hers to see if it eased the discomfort. 

She wasn’t sure if it was his cool breath that caressed her skin or his mesmerizing azure eyes that distracted her from the pain. Whatever it was, the smile that spread across Sawyer’s face suggested that it had the desired effect.

“How long are you guys in town for?” she asked as Ethan applied ointment over her scrapes and bandaged the deeper cut. Sawyer tried hard not to laugh at the serious expression on his face as he concentrated on applying the bandage perfectly.

“Um… we’re heading back to Baltimore… uh… the day after tomorrow,” Ethan finally managed, smoothing down the edges of the large band aid. “You?”

“The day after that,” she shared.

Lacking an excuse to keep her there any longer, Ethan stood, offering his hand to help her up. “You’re all set.”

“Thank you. If your bedside manner is any indication, you’re gonna be one helluva doctor.” 

Ethan’s cheeks blushed a light shade of pink, accepting the compliment with a shy grin. And as if they both realized it at the time, they let go of their still-joined hands. 

Reluctantly, Sawyer tucked her surfboard under her arm to take her leave. “Well, thanks again,” she smiled and turned toward the house next door. 

Ethan watched her take a few steps, feeling optimistic when she suddenly stopped and twisted sideways with her board.

“Hey-” she began to say, only to be interrupted by the sound of bellowing laughter. 

Ethan followed her gaze behind him. 

“There’s our always brooding, blue-eyed beauty!” Tobias called out, tackling his roommate with a provoking smooch on the cheek. “What are you making us for breakfast, bro?” 

Annoyed, Ethan shoved him away. “Get off me, man.” 

When he looked back, Sawyer was gone.  

Part 2: The Hook-Up

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[protectu01]

Scrubs suits, lab coats, nursing uniforms, V-neck scrub | Unisex

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[the-dendrophile-bookdragon]

Remedy

Pairing: Modern!Surgeon!Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warning: description of pulling out stitches, fluff

Summary: Injures heal differently. Yours do slow, but you don't mind

Part 3/9

Series Masterlist

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The week goes by and your stitching heals. Today the thread will be pulled out. “Doc, can’t you let me go to sleep?” Aemond chuckled at your words. “The area around it will be numbed. You won’t feel a thing. Sara is a very competent surgeon. She will do a fine job.”

I nod, not really sure. His student came rushing in. She had a notebook under her arm and looked out of breath. “Sorry, doctor. The last surgery was a bit longer than anticipated.” Aemond stood next to me, unmoving. He nodded over to a table with utensils. “Begin.” The student nodded.

She cleaned the area before she applied a numbing cream. “We will wait now for a minute and then I will touch part of the area and you tell me if you feel anything.” You nod. A minute goes by and Sara touches your skin. “Do you feel anything?” I shake my head.

Sara takes the scissors and goes to work. You turn away, closing your eyes and taking Aemond’s hand. He momentarily looks down at you. Shocked about your reaction. He squeezes your hand and turns back to his top student. She was already finishing pulling out the thread. “Finished!” She declared proudly as she dressed the wound. Aemond nodded, taking notes. “You can take a break, Sara. Thank you!” She nodded and scurried off.

You were still holding on to his hand and had your eyes closed. “No friend of needles?” You opened your eyes and your eyes widened. “So much, doc. I hate them. And I hated this even if I don’t feel anything. I hate medical stuff in general. I fainted once as we had a day excursion to a doctor in school.”

Aemond smirked. “Well you were very brave now.” You smirked back, “Does this mean I get a sticker or candy?” Aemond threw his head back and laughed. He took deep breaths to calm himself down. “I am sorry. I have neither one of those on hand.” You pout jokingly.

--

Aemond came to your room daily. He liked your company. You were funny und not as annoying as his other patients. To be fair his other patients consisted mostly of old, rich men his grandfather knew. And everyone who knew Otto Hightower knew how annoying and arrogant he could be.

Currently he was sitting opposite of you, a chess boar between you. You were good, but Aemond had tricks up his sleeve. But he was debating to let you win. “I think you are rubbing off on me.” You laid your head to the side and looked quizzically at him. “How so?”

Aemond sighted, “I told my student, Sara, she did a good job. I have never done that before. Her look spoke volumes. And I greeted a lot of staff I normally don’t greet.” Your eyes widened. “Oh. My. Gods! I tamed the Dragon Prince!” Aemond was confused, “Dragon Prince?” My eyes widen. So it was a nurse internal rumour. Oops. “There is a rumour going around the nurses station you have a dragon tattoo hidden under your scrubs.”

Aemond’s eyes widen. He became a little defensive. “How did you pick that up even if you don’t work here?” You smirked and made jazz hands. “Magic!” Aemond chuckled. “So is it true?” Aemond just shrugged. “Checkmate!” You groaned, “I want another game! You play unfairly!” The tall doctor just smirked.

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[ay0nha]

The Strange Policy | Stephen Strange

Pairing: surgeon!Stephen Strange x nurse!femme!reader

Word Count: 5K

A/N: I watched When Harry Met Sally and got inspired and in my feels. This is a product of that and it’s also my take on the “there's only one-bed” trope. This is also my first Stephen smut so be gentle....might do an angsty part two, but ZERO promises. Enjoy.

Warnings: SMUT (18+ ONLY), mentions of wounds/cuts/etc, doctor stuff, vague ass stuff, lack of medical knowledge, cringey fluff, etc.

"Did I wake you?"

She hummed briefly, debating lying but sighing out the truth, "You know I don't sleep."

"You sleep more than I do," His laugh was breathy, revealing his fatigue, "What are you doing?"

"Watching When Harry Met Sally."

Her chin was working its way down to her chest as she slumped further into her bed. She filtered through the channels, nothing grabbing her withering attention. But then there it was.

Maybe it was the fall leaves she was desperate to have over the snow that taken over that drew her in or maybe it was the nostalgia tied to it, either way, it filled her with something that she was happy Stephen's call interrupted.

"Really?" There was his superficial judgment she was looking for. In an odd way, it grounded her, always a good reminder to not take too things seriously. That was only when it wasn't getting on her nerves.

Her tone was dull as she answered, "Really."

She could picture him now, his posture slightly hunched to reach the phone while he rubbed his recently discarded cap off his head and through his hair. His mind was probably still in the operating room already critiquing his technically perfect operation.

If she wasn't in the room with her, he'd always call her after. He'd give her the play-by-play of what happened, down to the music choice. She preferred to be in the O.R. with him, no longer dreading it like she once had.

She could appreciate the way he worked. It was clinical for a purpose, but under all of that, she loved the way she'd inadvertently become his good luck charm. It was the first and last time she'd complimented him on his procedure methods. From there forward, he'd offer her a wink before picking up his scalpel. It was a joke at first, but it stuck like honey due to his superstition and genuine amusement.

"Do you agree?"

"With what?" She mumbled, watching as the movie had another five-year time skip. New York was always so romanticized in the movies, only showing the beautiful love-filled parts. Perhaps, that's what it truly did look like for someone in love.

"That men and women can never be friends because the sex part always gets in the way."

He could feel her laugh on the other end all the way down to his toes. That or it was the exhaustion catching up to him.

"You clearly do with that 'Strange Policy' and all," She smiled lightly, loving teasing him about the unofficial rule Palmer had created for Metro-General. One that she knew was in place not for his lack of trying.

"That doesn't answer my question," He tutted softly. She could feel his smirk from the other end, knowing her answer was contrary to his and how he loved to pick it apart. He lived to challenge her but loved when she challenged him as she was one of the few who succeeded in doing so.

"We're friends, aren't we?"

---

They had met years ago, yet if you asked Stephen at the time he would have said he'd never met her. She was his scrub nurse of a handful of years and yet he had failed to learn her name, too concerned over his ego to care.

It wasn't until a fateful New Year's Eve. There was always the press at the door, waiting for the New Year's Eve babies. Along with the numerous alcohol-fueled accidents that fit in just before midnight. Then there were the patients that had been in their beds for months, the ones that needed constant care even during the busiest nights.

Sure, the pay was slightly better, but there wasn't enough monetary compensation to give to make up for what the nurses endured on the holiday. The work was demanding, but the doctors were even more so. The doctors were always on edge, but the holiday brought out a completely other side to them. Accident reports were their worst enemy, but it was the unorthodox olive branch between the doctor and the nurse.

"They got you good," Stephen spoke softly to match the quietness of the room. His headlamp was bright in her eyes as she tried to pull away from him and the utensils he was too quick to pull out.

"It wasn't her fault," Her response held bitterness. Her head was throbbing from the bedpan that had been thrown at her. It was yet another nightmare story to add to her repertoire.

"Shouldn't need stitches," He continued his examination on the small flesh wound above her eyebrow, dabbing it with the iodine swab.

She grew jittery on the parchment paper of the exam chair. The entire thing was uncomfortable from its start. Stephen had walked in on her disinfecting her cut, thinking he was one of the only ones left. She tried to be discreet about it, but he was criticizing her methods before she knew what was happening.

"I know that."

"It's a superficial wound at best-

"I know."

"You seem to know a lot," He hummed while removing his gloves for a fresh pair. He was nothing but thorough. Then he looked down at her scrubs to add, "You're not a doctor on this floor, are you?"

Her laugh was anything but genuine. In hindsight, she could see how his question was actual, but the struggles of the night overwhelmed her and took her sense of humor with it.

She went to speak but his voice was louder, "I work this holiday every year-

"So do I-

"How come I've never seen you?"

"Look, Dr. Strange-

"You know me?" His charm was instantaneous, asking the ego-filled question with delight. He read her face quickly understanding the double meaning of the conversation, "Am I supposed to know you?"

She eyed him, trying hard to give him the benefit of the doubt, but his smugness drove her, "Ask me for a scalpel."

He paused his action for a moment, a confused laugh threatening to break his perfect bandage application, "What?"

She insisted, remaining still until he pulled away from her again, checking his handiwork. It looked seamlessly put back together, some of his best work, "Come on, ask me."

He'd bite.

"Pass me the 10-blade." It depended on the surgery and she hadn't been specific. Therefore, he went for the safe, generic choice. One he rarely used due to the higher-powered tools it took to get inside of someone's head.

"10-blade." Her tone was mocking and he finally understood why.

He hadn't realized she was the hands behind him tying his medical gown. It wasn't a part of his routine to pay attention. He was too immersed in running through the surgery ahead of him trying to push away the feeling of pressure to hold up perfection. There were always more people in his room, all the students pushing and shoving each other behind the glass wall in hopes they'd be able to catch Stephen's free hand something.  

Yet, he never realized she was front row to all of it.

---

She had a love-hate relationship with hospitals. She thought they were always too bright with a bleak atmosphere. There were phones constantly ringing, monitors always beeping, people coughing all of the air out of themselves; everything too overwhelming to the senses. Yet, she loved everything about it even down to the paperwork.

It was therapeutic for her, something to keep her hands busy and give her a breather from the constant social interactions of her position. It was a moment she'd have for herself that she usually spent contently alone.

"You seem tired."

A coffee cup now sat on the line she was supposed to use to record her notes. She followed it up to be met with Stephen, an identical cup in his own hand. This was new.

"We don't have that thrombectomy until 12," Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion all the while ignoring his unintentional insult.

"I know," He took her response as an invitation to join her, pulling the chair next to her away from the table for himself,  "We've got some time to kill."

It took him a few weeks to warm up to the idea he was in the wrong for not recognizing her. But once he did their conversation flowed more smoothly. It remained professional, cordial even, but it was no longer in the nonexistent territory. Something he couldn't stand.

"Did you always want to be a nurse?"

"What is this?" She looked between the coffee and him, suspicion settling instantly. The last thing she wanted was someone else workload passed off on her on mile high stack.

"What? Don't blame me for trying to get to know the person who hands me blades..." He teased only to receive a glare. He copied her squint slightly in further jest to ask, "Too soon?"

It was the first time his humor had caused the smallest of smiles to appear on her face. She wasn't sure what about it let him wedge his way into her life she so desperately wanted to separate from him, but figuring out that she preferred her coffee black with a lot of sugar helped.

It helped start a routine, something both doctors and nurses thrived off of. Usually, Stephen's break would have a slight overlap with hers, not always, but day by day it seemed as if it was happening more frequently. So frequently, Stephen had begun waiting at the nurse's station for her to come out of the last thing she'd been doing.

"Loitering again, Dr. Strange?" Her voice startled him slightly, her hand coming to touch the back of his arm to move past him more easily. It was fleeting, but it was deliberate.

Sometimes their finger brushed in the O.R., but there was always gloves covering the touch. His skin pricked as if she'd shocked him. He wasn't used to touch in that way, let alone accepting it, but it felt different from her.  It was like his senses had become heightened to how closely she was now standing to him. He watched her as she sorted her charts like she always had mindlessly chatting with him about something unrelated.

But Stephen hadn't heard a word, too focused on how she was careless with her movements, no longer thinking or moving away if they touched. It was like they had passed an unspoken milestone. One that made Stephen's confidence falter for just a moment.

"Can't do coffee today," She muttered, but Stephen finally and fully picked up on what she said. He ignored the rest of her reasoning due to simply not wanting to hear it, "I'm going to-

"I noticed on the schedule you get off at eight," He continued despite her still speaking, "I was thinking-

"You do a lot of that," She stopped him before he could start. She'd evaded it skillfully the past few times, not usually one to mix business and pleasure, but Stephen was nothing but persistent.

"Dinner."

"Dr. Strange-

"My treat."

"Dr. Strange-

"Stephen."

If there were lingering nurses near them, they all stopped what they were doing, eyes and ears intended on hearing what was happening between the two. Stephen was notorious for his wit, but not entirely for his flirtatious side. It caught everyone in the room off guard.

However, she wasn't buying any of it for a moment, "What's your motive?"

He couldn't help but smile, "Didn't realize I murdered someone."

---

It was cold out again, a few winters later.

She  had finally gotten a moment to herself where she could strip herself of  the scrubs she had on for over twelve hours, shower to wash off other people's bodily fluids, and get off her aching feet to give her back a  break.

The beds were never comfortable in the on-call room, but they fulfilled their purpose.

She  was fast asleep when she felt the bed dip. She turned slightly,   thinking it was someone else trying to hoist themselves to the bunk   above her. Soon enough, she'd slip back under into slumber. But, she   felt the scratchy blanket being pulled from her shoulders pulling her   further from the state she wanted to be in.

"Move over," The voice was deep, but undoubtedly belonged to the head of neurosurgery.

She groaned lightly, something resembling a disappointed whine, "Get your own bed, I've finally got a break."

"I've got surgery in an hour," He said pushing himself further into the twin-sized space, "And the other beds are taken-

"Fine." She hadn't allowed him to protest further. She couldn't care about anything else, desperate for sleep to chase away exhaustion. However, his sterile smell overwhelmed her quickly, pushing her to whisper once more, "Where'd you come from?"

"Craniotomy," He moved around more, looking for the most comfortable spot to lay.

She could only hum in acknowledgment, barely able to really process what he was really saying.  

He continued, mind still buzzing from it. He thought it was a routine procedure, but once he saw the grey matter, it became much more complicated. He explained every detail to her, his volume increasing slightly with excitement, "You should have been there..."

"Sounds interesting..." Her response was on instinct. She knew he'd be talking about the surgery until the next big one came along and she'd be filled in on the details more than once.

However, what she truly neglected to get from his elation was how much more he was trying, in his own way, to convey to her.

"There's this other case I've been trying to get, I need your help on it," He said, turning on his side to face her better, "Maybe if you talk to the mom she'll sign off on-

"Hey, Stephen," She mumbled straight into the now shared pillow, "I'm going to go back to sleep now."

Stephen. He  melted at the sentiment of just his name coming from her lips. It   usually bothered him when his title wasn't used and he found joy in   correcting people. However, whenever she called out for him. Dr. Strange. It was always so cold, ironically both clinical and cynical.

"Right, right," He apologized briefly.

He shuffled more in his spot, pressed against her with ease. It was just how she was; always a sense of ease radiating from her. Stephen liked to think she heard him. He could say anything to her. He could just be himself. It all felt easy.

"Your watch is digging into my back," Her voice was still soft as she turned back to him. She pulled at his wrist until his arm was over her, creating more space for the two to be more comfortable squashed in.

The complaint was a disguise to take advantage of his warmth. Stephen   loved when it was cold out because that meant her touches always   lingered. This, though, was entirely different as his arms encased her   completely. It was like she could finally shake off the chill on her   bones.

His frame perfectly covered her, his body looking like the only one in the bed. An outsider would have difficulty seeing her in front of him as she was almost to the wall. It didn't matter if anyone saw them, everyone knew by now they functioned as a unit. If there was one, the other wasn't far behind.

"Did you see the snow out?" He all but mumbled into her shoulder. He knew she wouldn't be asleep for a little while longer, maybe not even at all.

"Mhmm," She nodded, her muscles relaxing into him, "We're supposed to get a few inches tonight."

"Did you get your tree yet?" He added before too much of a pause happened.

"Stephen-

"I know you haven't," He continued his thought, "Let's pick it up tonight before we get snowed in and-

"I'll get it on my day off," She groaned, shifting in his arms to face him. Her eyes were still shut meaning she missed how his eyes were studying her face.

It was a bold move on his part to pull her to him, but he was no sense of shyness in the hold. Neither would admit it, but they missed each other throughout the day.

"Let's just get it tonight," He insisted, wanting an excuse to spend more time with her, "I passed a place today they have those scrawny ones you like-

"You're going to wake up the whole room with all your Christmas spirit," She mused, body turning to face him the conversation pulling her completely from slumber. She didn't mind, too focused on how Stephen's fingers became bold as they trailed rhythmically up and down her spine.

His smile was that of a child, "So is that a yes?

Her lips tugged, "Of course."

---

"Did I lose you?"

"Hmm?" Her eyelids were becoming heavy, but she was in no mood to fall asleep. The relaxation was too good to.

"You're not falling asleep are you?" He quipped. He was starting to feel antsy in his spot, ready to leave the hospital but hanging onto her every word.

"Can't," She started, eye focusing intently on the screen in front of her,  "How will I find out if they get together in the end?"

"Don't be ridiculous, they always get together in the end."

"Always a cynic."

"Oh come on now, don't be upset," He wanted to hear her voice once more before their call ended, "...Look, I'll make it up to you...I can pick up some of those noodles you love-

"With the extra sauce?" She asked, falling for the obvious trap.

It was routine at this point, a good way to debrief from the day. It was easy to be sucked into the hospital 24/7. The late-night food after a grueling shift was always the cure and as Stephen put it doctor recommended.

"With the extra sauce," He promised.

From the moment he left the hospital to the moment he left with the warm meal, he was ecstatic. Stephen chalked it up to hunger and seeking warmth. On his way over it seemed everything reminded him of her from the dainty Christmas trees in the shop windows to the people bundled up with warm drinks, making each step he made more assured than the last.

Once he made it to her door, Stephen balanced the food steadily in one hand while the other felt blindly on top of her door frame until he hit her spare key. Entering her home was always a simple action, a ritual Stephen loved.

Firstly, he'd place the key back in its spot for the next time he'd need to use it. Then, there were the dim lights of her place always on in a way that would lead him down the hall to her room. Her home contrasted his in such a clear way. Everything in her home once belongs to someone else but was put together in a way that was uniquely hers. Each piece in his home was custom made to be only his and he paid generously to make sure. Hers was warm and inviting while his was lavish and desolate.

"Good I made it just in time for the end," His sarcasm was palpable as he push his shoes off one by one while announcing his presence.

"For a second there, I thought you might have gotten lost," She joked, sitting up to accept the warm food he passed to her, "...Thank you."

Mumbling a quick you're welcome, Stephen propped himself up just how he'd found her. What Stephen had really come for was her bed. It was smaller than his, but the memory foam was unmatched. His legs were stretched out in front of him, ankles cross while his hands lay comfortably on his chest. In only a matter of moments, his breathing steadied to that of someone in a deep slumber.

Surgeons liked to think they were invincible, that they could fight sleep better than any other person. However, with the perfect concoction of low lights, a comfortable bed, and a working radiator, sleep became instant and irresistible.

She went to speak to him but closed her mouth once she saw how his head drooped to the side. The entire thing felt out of place, but she wouldn't want it any other way. The two had created a bond that she never thought she'd hold so dearly to her heart. Neither of them was blind to how the other grew fonder by the day. But there was always the doubt of lack of reciprocation or the fear of ruining what had taken time to build.

"You crying?" Stephen mumbled as he adjust his spot by moving on his side, palms together and hands under his cheek as he gave her a once over realizing she actually was.

Her head stayed positioned forward, watching how the two protagonists finally understood the other, "Go back to sleep."

"C'mon now, don't cry," He studied her unable to catch her true feelings. Tears from her, good or bad, held his attention. Stephen moved to her quickly as the laughter started to bubble in his chest, "He gets the girl in the end."

"That's not the point."

They both knew what she was talking about, the setting all too domestic to not. He now used his thumb to catch any remaining stray tears, "I think that's the whole point."

Neither could remember how their faces gravitated towards each other, but it was most likely due to how his thumb was to her lip, an eye trained to where he'd just traced. It was a preface to how their lips connected: quiet and barely there, a tender peck as if to console her, and something innocent.  Then he pecked her once more slightly less tentative and less friendly. It wasn't until the third she melted into his touch, reciprocating the same level if not more emotion.

He used his body weight as leverage as he now was pressed above her. He was warm, filling her senses with his scent as he stared at her ear and nibbled his way down to where her shirt had lifted. He was languid in his movements. Giving her every moment to savor the feeling of holding each other this close.

Stephen leaned back, pulling the hem of his shirt over his  head before tossing it aside, giving her the time to do it for   herself.  The two took their time to be settled between each other until Stephen's hands slid down her now bare stomach. One hand went to  grip  her thigh, while the other sandwiched itself in the space between  her  pelvis and his. His fingertips could already feel the heat  radiating  from her clothed core.

"Your hands are always so cold," He mumbled against her neck, feeling how her hands trailed his chest to get to his sides.

It had almost distracted him from the journey his fingers were on. However,  Stephen's eyes were latched to hers, exploring the interaction in every sense as their lips tangled again. He tapped two fingers against the  soaking fabric, happy with the way it caused her to squirm breathlessly.

He pulled away from her lips, but stayed close,  ghosting his mouth over  hers to say, "Will you let me taste you?"

Her stomach tingled at his bluntness, only fueling his conviction.

She'd never felt like this before.  She didn't  know that she  could feel an ache so deep inside her and be so completely  aware that  the only cure for it is the touch of another person.  A  specific  person. At this moment, she felt like he was her person.

But  before she could  reply with anything, Stephen pushed aside her underwear  and pushed his  fingers as deep as he could. The relief she found was   instantaneous.  A  breathless sigh slipped past her lips as he rubbed   over her folds,  delighted with the fluttering breaths she was letting   out.

Despite the  tension building up in her body, this is the most  relaxed she'd felt in  days. The attention he was paying to her body was  like no other. Stephen knew how her core was soon going to  convulse in the most delightfully  sinful way, making him harder than he'd think was ever possible. He  wanted to feel her completely and   wholly, but he needed to see how he  could make her feel with just his   hands. He wanted a taste, he wanted to  hold, he wanted to suck, he   wanted to bite, he wanted to squeeze, he  wanted to do anything and   everything that had to do with her.

She, though, all she wanted was for Stephen to fill her up so completely that she'd be feeling him for days, "Stephen..."

It  went quick, his movements stopping, leaving her empty, and pulling   back. She worried that it was time to come to their senses, but before   she could finish her thought she could feel Stephen's wet kisses on her   thighs. He was craving her at this point, selfishly not being able to   give her what she was asking for. He kissed the inside of her thigh once   more as he gets settled in  between them pulling her underwear off so   his arms  could hook around both thighs to pull her closer.

Her  hips twitched in the slightest movement, and Stephen's eyes darted up to  hers  for a moment before he dove in. He was teasing her and it was borderline painful the way he slowly kissed every part of  her   that ached for him.

Her lips parted, eyes shutting in pure bliss  as he  got to work, lips closing in on her clit to gently suck. Then,  his still  warm fingers returned to work in and out of her like no  tomorrow, she  was sure to be done in minutes. He continued to skillfully work his  mouth and fingers in her heat as she moaned deeply,  beginning to see  stars and feel warm.

As predicted, it didn't take  long for Stephen to coax  her through and down from a powerful orgasm. He coaxed her through it all from the high and back down, settling his cheek against her thigh in a tender hold as he watched her catch her breath.

Once  it was  still again, Stephen smiled to himself; pleased with her pleasure.  He was  ready to dive in for more, wanting to feel again how her  fingers tugged  his hair tenderly. But she couldn't help but beg him  again, "Stephen, please."

Her wish was his command.  Especially when she  said his name the way she did. Stephen got  pleasure in her  pleasure, so now as her legs were spread wide open just  for him, it was  his absolute bliss.

"Let's just go slow," Stephen managed through a confident breath, regaining his composure. Slow. His voice became lustful with his last word, just how she wanted it to. However, he wasted no time  kicking the  rest of his clothes to the side  so he could drag his tip along her slick core.

He guided himself to spread her open, circling around her clit making her walls flutter as he then pressed further. She could feel how his breath fanned against her neck, causing her to shiver. The feeling heightened when Stephen relaxed completely into her, causing them both to groan at the sensation of how her body instinctively reacted with a soft clench.

The moment  he filled her for the  first time, there was a  feeling of   completeness that  she'd been  missing.  She needed this, she  thought.  She needed to be  stretched,  to be filled. She meant to hold  her in her  mewl, but she  only had so  much control when she was  underneath Stephen.

Yet, Stephen based everything on her as he asked,  "This okay? Do you want me to stop?"

"God, no."

Neither  admitted it to the other, but it had been a long time for both to be in the position with anyone.  Their pleasure was quickly building as Stephen began to push his hips towards her finding the perfect rhythm within a few thrusts.

“Right there, Stephen,” She whispered, “Oh, right there.”

Her  tone's softness  was  making  his head dizzy. She'd only imagined this moment, craving to know how it felt to be with him as closely as they were. The moment finally solidified how the two grew exponentially fond of each other. It made all of her previous experience pale in comparison. She had never moved so in tandem with someone who held nothing but her best interests at heart.

She wanted to stay in the moment forever feeling the way he perfectly dragged through her to only return with such fervor.   However, she could feel his tip  pulsate inside of  her as his thrust became sloppy and his breath low. She couldn't help but repeat his name, again and again, each time her voice sounded desperate. He groaned in response as she felt the hum throughout her entire body, vibrations sent straight to her core.

"Stephen," Her voice an octave higher, her hips eagerly chasing his movements.  His forehead dropped to her shoulder, her name leaving his lips in a heavy breath.

"That’s it," He encouraged on her lips. She wasn't sure she could get anything out but moans much to his pleasure. His thrusts were becoming deeper, never missing that spot that was rarely explored. 

Anything out of her mouth resembled a whimper, "You f-feel so good."

Stephen was  trying hard to last as long as he could,  but with one  flex of   her  muscles, he was a moaning mess on top of her as  he  finished inside  of  her. Stephen collapsed on top of her, his heart  pounding out of his chest. He wasn't sure if it was through passion or   embarrassment.

"Sorry I just-

"You're alright," She spoke over his confession with honesty. She loved the   feeling, being able to feel him, and how she now had something of his to hold onto which prompted her to say, "Let's just stay like this for a  moment."

#q #stephen strange #dr stephen strange #stephen #strange #doctor stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange fluff #stephen strange angst #stephen strange smut #dr stephen strange x reader #dr stephen strange fluff #dr stephen strange angst #dr stephen strange smut #doctor stephen strange fluff #doctor stephen strange angst #doctor stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange smut #stephen strange x nurse!reader #doctor stephen strange x nurse!reader #surgeon!stephen x nurse!reader #marvel fic #marvel #fan fic #marvel fanfic #stephen strange fic #smut

[epigstolary]

A New Home

TW: Medical fatphobia and discussion of health issues, sadistic caregiver, immobility

I catch myself nervously fingering the sides of my belly, at the far extent of my reach, wishing I could be anywhere but here. Anywhere but having this skinny doctor, standing at the foot of my bed — one of those reinforced bariatric jobs, which I couldn’t leave without the help of a couple of strong orderlies, even if I could muster the will to try — very clearly disgusted by the sight of me, and lecturing me about what I would have to do if I wanted to salvage my health.

“You realize you’ve gotten yourself into a very dangerous situation, don’t you?” he says, palpating the flesh bulging from my thighs and underbelly, studying the darkening skin spreading from the folds. “You have allowed yourself to become extremely morbidly obese. I can see from the notes on your chart yesterday that you’re not able to lift yourself, not able to reposition yourself without assistance, you become very short of breath from any movement. And your lab numbers are very bad. Your cholesterol is very high, your blood pressure is consistently in the danger zone, and you’re ridiculously diabetic. That’s a very big hole you’re going to have to dig yourself out of.”

I had to scrutinize his expression to see if the double-meaning was intended — no sign of a smirk on that businesslike face, looking at the notes he was jotting on his tablet — but even so, I knew there was more truth in it than just what he meant. Just thinking about my situation was enough to make my blood run cold.

Today is the first day I’ve gotten to rest since I had to leave home. I say “had to,” when what I really mean is that I was made to. The power of attorney my feeder had made me sign — along with the gaining contract, the life insurance policy, and a bunch of other paperwork — had seemed so thrilling at the time, when we were just starting to fatten me up. Now, I wish I’d thought a little more carefully about it. Once I’d passed the half-ton mark, and my feeder had to start spending more time sponging my rolls than getting off to them, my days at home were numbered. I’m surprised he made it almost the full year. But he was well over it by then, and that little piece of paper was all he needed to sign me up for a one-way ambulance ride to this nursing home hellhole, and my bare room with a scenic view of the parking lot.

The ambulance was backed up to our house first thing in the morning two days ago. The first I knew about it was my feeder shaking my belly to wake me up, moments before two burly men in scrubs marched in and pulled off my bedsheets, one of them giving an involuntary whistle at the sight of my body filling the mattress before he recollected himself. I was still out of it, disoriented, and my oxygen wasn’t on yet, but I remember my feeder whispering in my ear that these men were here to help him, that I was going somewhere they could take better care of me, and that he was going to be right behind them. I didn’t even have a chance to protest before they started rolling me around, trying to maneuver some kind of tarp under me and strap a series of harnesses around my body. My bones and joints were sore and aching, and I was winded and out of breath just from the movement of all my weight, by the time they finished with me, trussed up like a Christmas turkey and totally unable to move.

Then a troupe of even more men joined them, the group having to exert all their effort just to slide me a couple of inches at a time, slowly working me closer and closer to the front door, with a heave and a plop each time. The whole thing was mortifying — I knew I was big, of course, but I had no idea I was so heavy that I could barely be moved by a half-dozen men exerting all their effort. I’ve never wanted to disappear more than when one young fireman, red-faced and muscles dewy with perspiration, let out a “Goddamn, that’s heavy” on the sixth or seventh heave through the living room. Nobody had to say it, but I knew they were all thinking about me that way, the person not much older than him who’d gorged themselves up to a quadruple-digit weight and beyond like it was their job.

Which it was; but they didn’t know that, and my feeder was doing his best impression of the dutiful but overwhelmed caretaker to leave them none the wiser. I was big when we met, he said, but not this big; he’d always tried to keep me to a healthy diet; I always found ways to fall off the wagon; eventually he had to give in and just help manage the fallout; I’d finally eaten myself too big for him to take care of me anymore, and he just didn’t know what he’d do without outside help. The lead paramedic was nodding sympathetically, saying obesity cases like mine happen more often than you’d think, eating up the entire sob story. If only he could have seen my feeder literally cramming eclairs down my throat the night before. The hypocrite.

It took the better part of the day getting me hauled out of the house, hoisted onto a reinforced gurney, maneuvered into the back of the ambulance, driven several cities over, rolled out at the nursing home, and hoisted onto my permanent bed. At one point, before the drive, they left me laying just outside the front door, having to watch the crowd of neighbors and other onlookers gawking at me, over 1,300 pounds of helpless flab, all bundled up for transport and barely able to wriggle my hands around. The embarrassment would have been obvious on my face if I wasn’t already beet red from just trying to keep my body from jiggling too wildly every time the team tried to move me. By the time I was settled in and able to catch my breath, it was already close to dusk.

The next day was no less hectic, but this time it was a series of doctors’ visits and tests to measure just how fat and out of shape I was. It took the nurse longer than I care to admit to find a vein he could use for blood testing, giving up on my flabby excuse for an elbow before struggling almost as badly on my fat-puffed hands. A seemingly endless rotation of doctors and nurses came to poke and prod me, doing nerve conduction tests on my feet and hands, taking more blood sugar readings, lifting every roll and checking every crevice for signs of lymphedema or other skin ailments. By the afternoon, I was ready to pass out from the combination of activity, the relentless nagging about needing to take better care of myself, and the (for me) complete lack of food their three conventionally-sized meals constituted.

After everyone left, I could hear the nurses talking about me in the hall, although they didn’t realize it.

“…chill for a couple minutes before we go turn them? Even with the winch, they’re heavy as fuck.”

“You get a feel for it after a while. How to maneuver around and everything.”

“How often do they actually get, you know, the really big ones back walking again? ‘Cause they have to lose, like, hundreds and hundreds of pounds to even get there, right?”

“I haven’t known but a couple who actually lost enough weight to discharge them. At least, not here. Most of the time, they can’t get over the food addiction. Like, you wouldn’t think someone the size of a house who can’t get out of bed could find a way to get food in here, but they always do.”

“Jeez. Really?”

“Yeah. It used to take a little bit of effort, before they could order whatever they want from their phones. But now a lot of them’ll just keep getting garbage delivered and putting it away until they have the big one.”

“Damn. Why doesn’t anyone stop them?”

“Do you have time to check everyone who walks through here, when two people don’t show for their shifts and you’ve got fifty beds to do? Bitch, please. Come on, I want a smoke before we go in.”

It was then that my feeder made his appearance. I saw him slip something to the nurse who showed him to my room. He looked at whatever it was in his palm and smiled before pocketing it, leaving the room, and locking the door behind him. Then I felt something warm land on my bare chest: a huge paper bag — heavy, stained with grease, and bearing the logo of my favorite fast food stop. From its weight, I knew it must contain almost a day’s worth of junk; and from the gleam in my feeder’s eye, I knew every bit of that junk would be going down my throat as quickly as my feeder could get it into my mouth.

“You must be starving, sweetheart, after having nothing but hospital fare for the last day or so. I hope you didn’t think I was actually going to make you start slimming down?” he said with a mocking solicitude. “No, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure you keep gaining, no matter what your doctors may do to try to rehabilitate you. You’re mine, my half-ton prize pig, and I’m making sure you stay that way until the very end.”

It took him the better part of two hours, but he made sure I ate every bite of food I’d usually eat in a full day, accepting no complaints and giving no comfort. He stared gleefully into my eyes as he gently but relentlessly pressed bite after bite into my overworked mouth. After my feeding was over and he’d cleaned the grease and crumbs off my face, I was panting and sweating, barely able to breathe even with oxygen from the pressure of all the food. It was then that he unlocked the door and summoned the two nurses who were outside earlier, telling them I looked really uncomfortable and asking if they could reposition me. He stood in the corner as they rigged up the bariatric hoist, sneaking videos and watching them work my wobbling body, overwhelmed by blubber, into the harness so it could slowly rotate me onto my belly. I could tell he was enjoying every second of seeing me manhandled, moved around more like some particularly bulky freight or livestock than a person. When the nurses finally finished after what seemed like an eternity and left the room, he followed, taking a handful of my chubby jowl and giving it a squeeze. “Same time tomorrow, slim? I guess I know where to find you, haha.”

I was left alone with my thoughts for what was really the first time since the move. I could feel my cheeks burning with shame, a pit of anxiety and embarrassment growing into a widening chasm in my overfull belly. Getting this fat had always been the goal; needing bariatric care was the apex for every extreme gainer and every encourager who tracked their progress. But now that I was here, and it was an actual fact — now that I really was too fat to move on my own, and had no choice but to submit to strangers for even the simplest tasks, no matter how private — the reality was horrifying. I had wrecked my body beyond the point of no return because my feeder and a bunch of random people on the internet that I would never meet found it hot. I had been proud of my gains, greedy for more, and I never really considered the ramifications of the end game. Now my body was choked with fat, pinned to this reinforced bed, with no hope of slimming down and every prospect of being made to balloon even more, all because some strangers wanted to get off. How could they do this to a person? To me?

“But you’re letting yourself off the hook by blaming them,” my conscience chimed in. “You wanted an easy life just as much as they wanted you to gain, if not more. You wanted to be able to graze and gorge, and to have nothing more to think about than your next meal. And you got exactly what you asked for; you got to kick back and compress a lifetime worth of calories into a few short years. It’s nobody’s fault but your own that you only get to enjoy that life for a couple more years, at the outside. Deal with it, fatass.”

And today here I am, getting harangued by an utterly unsympathetic doctor. Being run through the parade of horribles that will happen if I don’t commit to an ordinary diet, apply myself to an exercise routine designed to recover my mobility, attend to a medication regimen. In the back of my mind, I know this is all a waste of time. That I’m going to be pumped full of greasy burgers and fattening pastas and melted ice cream every day while the nurses are turning a blind eye. That my bloated legs and fat-laden arms and belly the size of a mattress aren’t going anywhere. That I’m ending my days here, probably at a weight closer to a ton than not, depending on how long I can hold out.

The fluorescent lights buzz incessantly above me. I can feel the waves of chilling air driven by the ceiling fan wafting across the expanse of my flab. My body wobbles slowly back and forth with each breath, machines trying to drive enough oxygen into me to keep me going. Outside, I can see one of the elderly residents shuffling by, braced against a tennis ball-bedecked metal walker. Slow. Ancient. And far more mobile than my youthful, three-quarter-ton blob body ever will be again. I fucked up big time. I’m too fat to fix it, and my feeder’s going to make sure I stay that way.

I’m never getting out of here.

Thanks to @gaining-at-all-times for suggesting the idea for this one, and providing a lot of the source material

#feeder fiction #gainerfiction #gaining #ssbhm #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #extreme weight gain #wg story #weight gain story #gainer stories

[whynot-tryit]

Angel of Small Death- Preview

John Price x Female! Reader

Warnings: Medical inaccuracies, I have no idea about anything that comes to health care lmao

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

“Any past surgeries I should know about Captain?” The tips of your fingers press into the skin right below his ears, feeling the tension underneath while you slowly make your way down his neck, dotting your fingers into his hair clad skin. 

“No.” You don’t know if its in your head but his reply almost comes out as a whisper, your fingers run back up his neck applying pressure directly under his jaw on both sides of his esophagus. You hesitate for a moment when you don’t feel the usual clump of cells that should be there. You spare a glance at his eyes, taking a second too long to remember the shade of blue you find yourself trying to jot down in your mind. “You sure about that?” Your voice sounds softer, closer to the whisper he seemed to have let out before.

You slowly remove your hands from Price’s head and reach for the pen in your scrub pocket and turn to write something in your manilla folder thats laying on the side table on your left. “I think I would remember going under the knife, love.” 

A small smile graces your lips while you finish writing your notes. “Well Captain, I’m sorry to break the news to you but you don’t have tonsils.” You try to keep a straight face looking at the man sitting on the medical wings cot, barley a foot away. Your knees brushing up against his. “What exactly does that mean?” You hear what sounds like a hesitation of concern laced in his voice and it almost makes you break the stoic look you’re trying to maintain. 

“Either someone drugged you and ripped them out of your throat in your sleep or you had them removed when you were a kid and you didn’t remember and no one ever bothered to check or write it down. Im gonna go with the ladder so you can sleep better at night.” You let out a little chuckle at your imaginative story to pull his leg. Before Price seems to catch onto your joke you ask a follow up question. “Do you smoke?” 

“Does that matter?” He looked like the type to smoke, maybe not exactly a cigarette but maybe a cigar, your eyes flash down to his hands and look at his fingers which are laid out on his knees. Yep, he looks like the type to smoke cigars. Your eyes come back up to meet his.

 “Cigars?” 

Price doesn’t have to answer your question, the look on his face alone answers for you. Before the words reach your ears you’re already back to writing some notes in the folder. Sparing a glance back at the man you notice how out of place he looks. His dark clothes stand out against the pristine whiteness of the blanket laid out on the medical bed, and the slightly off white colors of the walls, the freshly mopped shinny floors. You have the sudden urge to comfort him even though he’s not here for any actual type of medical treatment. 

You can see the questions brewing underneath his lips and behind his eyes. Turning your body back to face him, inching your stool a little closer til your knees are almost back to pressing against his. 

“If you got your tonsils removed as a child you have a slightly increased risk of upper respiratory infection and you smoking, even if it’s an occasional cigar increases that risk even more.” You try to show some sense of empathy through your eyes while they meet his. A sense of understanding seems to cross his face from your words and it causes a warm smile to find its way on your face. 

“Its not that big of a deal but since it’s now in my job description to make sure you and and your men are as healthy as can be I just want to make a note of it incase of anything.” 

“Alright, love.” 

The gruffness in his voice makes you fight back a shiver. “Do you not like doctors, Captain?” You don’t usually make small talk with patients but Laswell had persuaded John into accepting a team doctor for 141, so you would be working along side the man for a while and he doesn’t seem to fond of all the questions and bright lights. “Not exactly, just not fond of the medical wing itself.” You nod, “yeah I can agree with you on that, not exactly friendly.” John smiles, its small but something and you feel a tightness in your chest just from the sight of it. “Well since I’m your doctor now we can always just meet in your office instead of here, as long as I can just bring my supplies when needed.” 

Price doesn’t understand why you’re trying to be so understanding, so comforting. It’s strange, out of the ordinary for the man, especially in his line of work. His eyes rack your face, down to your hands where you’re fiddling with your fingers. “I’m here to help you Captain, thats it.” You can tell he’s thinking, this is one of your first interactions with your new co worker and he was a lot handsomer than most of your other coworkers let on so you’re trying your best but God damn this is getting on to be harder than you thought. 

“You gonna cook me dinner too, love?” He chuckles. You let a small laugh slip past your lips. “Ask Laswell to see if you can upgrade to the doctor deluxe package and maybe I will.” You’re enjoying this, and judging by Prices reaction he seems to be enjoying himself too. 

“Deluxe package?” 

“Yeah, cooked meals, back massages, the whole nine, Captain.”

“Sounds like a dream if you tell me, love.” 

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

Pls let me know what you guys think, Im thinking of making this a multi chapter thing thats eventually smut but I haven’t written in a while so plssssssss comment,  let me know what you guys think. Excited to be back

#john price #john price smut #john price x reader #john price x you #cod mwii #cod men #x reader

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Peña’s Anatomy — Two

pairing: doctor au!javier peña x resident!reader

chapter rating: E (smut, mentions of gore, talk of surgery, unprotected sex)

word count: <6.1k

authors note: since i’m not a medical professional and only know what greys has taught me, the majority of the information on the cases in this series will be taken from Grey’s Anatomy. i’m also aware it’s not super accurate to real life hospital life!

series masterlist

“Do you want me to beg? Because we both know I’m too good for that.”

Javier was following the chief of surgery through the halls of the hospital, attempting to convince the man to remove you from his service.

“Javi, you’re the best neurosurgeon in this half of the country and you’re begging me to remove a third year resident from your service because…?” The old man stopped at his office door and looked at his protege with a scowl. Javier sighed and shrugged.

“First off, I’m not begging. Too good for that, remember? Secondly, it’s…because she’s not a good fit for neuro. That’s it…that’s…yeah, whatever. Doesn’t matter. All I know is that she’s not the right fit, and I can’t do my job if I have to keep checking in on my residents all fucking day. Send her to cardio or trauma or OB, for fucks sake. Neil seemed to love her when she was on his service.” Javier sounded like a whiny child as he pleaded his case.

“Fine. Send her to the ER. Whatever it takes for you to go away and do your job.” He sighed and opened up the door to his office, Javier smiling and nodding proudly at himself as the Chief shut his door on him.

The past week since realizing his attraction for you had been absolute torture for the man. Everything you did filled him with a teenage-boy like desire. Things he never even realized got him going now made him feel like he couldn’t breathe. The way your hand brushed his in the OR while you handed him forceps, the way you yawned when you stepped out of the on-call room with a big stretch, the kindness and attention you paid to every single human who interacted with you—it all made him feel like he was lit on fire from the inside.

This morning, it all became too much for him to handle. He was standing in the hallway with Jessica, trying to gently convey his disinterest in continuing their sexual relationship when you walked into the hospital with Mickey. It was the first sunny day in a few weeks, the early morning light shining on your face as you laughed at something your friend said. Your hair was up for the first time since he’d met you, and the sight hit him right in the chest, his lips parting and ears tuning out whatever it was that the nurse was trying to say to him.

“Dr. Peña, Jessica.” You nodded at him with a soft half-smile as you passed him, his eyes following you until you disappeared down the hall.

“So what do you say?” Jessica’s hand on his forearm brought his attention back to her, his lips parting as his eyes took in her sultry smirk.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you want to meet me in the on-call room.” She began to look discouraged as Javier opened his mouth to reject her. “What’s with you lately? You’re not fucking me, you’re not fucking any of the other nurses that I know. Are you just not…fucking anybody?”

“It’s been a busy few weeks.” He stood up off the counter he’d been leaning on and knocked on it. “I’ll see you around, Jessica.”

•••

“Did you see him all over Jessica? How dare he? After asking me if you were single? Men.”

“Men.” You agreed with Mickey as the two of you changed into your scrubs. “I still don’t believe he actually asked you that.”

“He did!” She insisted with a chuckle, earning another look of disbelief from you. “Okay, the laugh made it sound like I’m lying, but I promise he did.”

“What exactly was his phrasing? Are you sure he didn’t say it sarcastically, like ‘who would possibly date her’, you know? Was it genuine?” You hated that you even cared to know what his intentions were.

“He just said, ‘Is Lucky seeing anybody?’. Not much tone behind it because he was grumpy, remember?” You tried to hide your blush at the sound of the question you’d been making your friend repeat ever since it was first posed.

You knew there was nothing good that would come from you falling down this rabbit hole of wondering what your attending felt for you, or if he even felt anything, but thanks to your upcoming period, that wasn’t really in your control anymore. Your hormones were spiking thanks to your ovulation, and that meant it was much more difficult to be as level minded as you typically were.

“Are you going to go for it?” Mickey interrupted your hormonal longing, nudging your side. You scoffed once you registered her question, earning a look of amusement from the brunette. “Oh, you’re such a bad liar.”

“I’m not—I haven’t lied. I’m not going to do anything about it because it’s not allowed, remember?”

“Oh, so that’s the only thing stopping you?” She chuckled again as your chief resident paged you both for morning rounds.

“No, it’s not the only thing stopping me. He’s also a whore. He’s probably a walking STD.” You knew that she was buying your disinterest. You weren’t even buying it. “Listen, of course I’ve thought about it. He’s…handsome. And talented. And…have you seen how he is with kids? It’s like he becomes an entirely different man. He’s sweet and caring and…”

Mickey gave you a side eye and a smirk as you realized how much you’d been going on and on about this man you supposedly had no interest in.

“Don’t look at me like that, Mick.” You sighed and hung your head. “I’m not going to do anything about it.”

“About what?” You looked over your shoulder to take in the man in question, surprised by the lack of his typical cocky smirk whenever he talked to you. He looked different, less self-assured, perhaps. His eyes hardly met yours as he joined this morning’s huddle.

“Um, my, uh…”

“Her washer and dryer broke.” Mickey spoke up when you couldn’t, your mind making a mental note to buy her lunch today to thank her.

“Oh? And you’re not going to do anything about that, Lucky?” He chuckled, but even that sounded…off. Not as full of amusement as it normally was. “Sounds like something you should probably do something about.”

“Doctors, is our morning huddle interrupting your conversation?” Your chief resident crossed her arms in front of her chest and glared at all three of you, including Dr. Peña.

“It’s my bad, Dr. Thomas. You know how I like to cause a distraction.” He turned away from you to give her a more sincere smile, the action making you feel a bit slighted for some unknown reason.

“Take your residents and go, Dr. Peña.” She rolled her eyes and smiled at him against her will, his trademark charm working its magic on her.

“Alright, kids. You heard the doctor.” He waved his hand and you joined the few residents who had been assigned to his service as they started to follow him down the hall.

“Where are you going?” You looked down at your arm, Dr. Thomas stopping you with her hand.

“I’m on Dr. Peña’s service?”

“No, you’re in the ER according to the chief.” You watched as Mickey stopped in the hall and gestured for you to come along. You sighed and shrugged your shoulders before locking eyes with Dr. Peña. He looked…guilty? Was that it? “Are you going to just stand there or are you going to go down to the pit like I just told you—”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m going.” You sucked up your feelings and turned around, following the lackies of the surgical program down stairs to the Emergency Department.

•••

Javier felt like absolute shit seeing you standing in that hallway looking so…disappointed. How selfish could he be?

It was clear that you had your heart set on neurosurgery, and contrary to what he told the Chief, you really did have a knack for it. But now you were down in the pit with the duds of the program, tending to broken bones and cuts. It wasn’t fair to you to suffer just because he felt ditzy with attraction anytime he was around you.

It seemed like there was no escaping himself now that you were around. You were making him hyper-aware of his faults and flaws, all while looking like that. It was a strange mix of feelings you stirred in him, and those feelings grew more and more unbearable with each passing day.

He wished there was some part of him that could step up and make a decision—do something about it or leave you alone—but either of the choices sounded equally like a bad idea, just another thing for him to regret.

“Alright, good morning, Mr. Levangie. These are my group of surgical residents, one of them will be assisting me on your case.” Javier sighed and exhaled all his personal problems once he walked his small team of residents into this mornings first patient’s room. He was an old man, his body riddled with constant tremors from his late-stage Parkinson’s disease. “Who’s presenting?”

Mickey watched as the nurses helped the man back into bed while Javier scanned his group of residents. With a clearing of her throat, she raised her hand and stepped forward with the chart, Javier giving her a nod.

“Edward Levangie is a 63 year-old man admitted for pain management for dyskinesia. He’s been stable since last night, and is responding well to the Bolus injections.” She looked up at Javier with an intimidated but knowing look, her blue eyes quickly flickering back down to the chart in her hands.

“Dr. Russel, what are the possible treatments?” Javier asked, turning to Michael, Mickey’s sort-of-hookup and the program’s cockiest surgeon.

“For Parkinson’s, um—“

“Not for Parkinson’s, for spinal pain.” Javier turned his eyes back to your closest friend. “Dr. Brown?”

“Uh, an intraspinal catheter. That way he can have a constant flow of pain medication.” He nodded with an impressed look, turning to his patient.

“This is Dr. Brown, she’s going to be assisting me on your procedure, Mr. Levangie.” Turning to the group of residents, Javier nodded and gestured them out of the room.

“Dr. Peña,” Mickey waited behind to walk beside Javier, his neck already burning as he listened to her tone. She was the only person besides Javier that knew about his little crush, and he hoped to god that she’d just pretend he never said anything about it as she began speaking again. “Why’d you take her off Neuro? She’s the best in the program when it comes to this—“

“Dr. Lucky will be just as lucky down in the pit. Besides, any neuro that comes through will be hers for the taking.” He didn’t look at her as he spoke in an almost whisper, speeding up so that he wouldn’t have to be subject to more of this questioning about the thing he so deeply wanted to stop thinking about.

•••

“What do we have?” Dr. Thomas, the chief resident, was running the show down in the pit when a gunshot wound victim came hauled in on a gurney by paramedics. You’d been tending to tiny wounds and “chest pains” for the past 10 hours of your 36-hour shift, your mind far more tired than your body, but both seemed to perk up at the prospect of finally getting a surgical case.

“Um, Juan Medina, 36 years-old. History of kidney failure and diabetes. Took one GSW to the chest and one to the—to the head?” You looked over at the patient who was bloodied and in and out of consciousness, but was completely responsive and very much alive.

“Page Peña and Mann.” Dr. Thomas ordered one of the surgical interns on the same service as you, the young doctor in training running off to the nurses station. You aided the medics in lifting the patient onto the hospital bed in one of the trauma rooms while your chief resident ordered everyone around. “Lucky, push 5 of morphine.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You walked around to the IV and injected the five milligrams of morphine into the drip. While you were shuffling about and assisting with the patient’s intake, Dr. Peña walked in along with the head of Cardiology, Dr. Mann. You had yet to work on his service or interact with him much, but taking one look at him you began to wonder how many more attractive and relatively young surgeons were at this hospital.

“Dr. Thomas,” Dr. Mann walked up to your chief resident and took over for her as she packed the gun shot wound at the patients chest. “Who’s your intern?”

“Not an intern, third year. This is—“

“Dr. Lucky.” Peña half smiled as your eyes flickered to his, his quickly dropping as he held up his flashlight to the patient’s eyes. “Mr. Medina, can you follow the light for me?”

“Am I going to die?” The man groaned as he blinked, his brain fighting to stay conscious through the injuries.

“We’re going to do everything in our power to keep you alive, Medina.” You chimed in as you watched the attendings work, Dr. Mann flickering his eyes to yours.

“You’re a third year?” He asked as he raised the side railing of the hospital bed, you following suit as you stood across from him, nodding in confirmation. “You ever scrubbed in on heart surgery?”

“N-no, I’ve mostly done OB and Neuro.” He chuckled and shook his head as he began wheeling the man out of the trauma room, Peña pushing from the top of the bed as the three of you plus your team of nurses walked the patient to the elevator.

“Once you get a taste of Cardio, that’s all you’re gonna want.” He winked at you, your cheeks heating up as you looked ahead to the elevator.

“Well, as luck has it, I’m apparently not a ‘good fit’ for Neuro, so…maybe a change would be nice.” Your eyes flickered to Dr. Peña’s, his jaw clenched and eyes locked on you long before you ever turned to him. He shook his head in the slightest of ways, so slight that anyone not blatantly staring may have missed it, his eyes rolling.

“Well, Dr. Peña, looks like you just lost a fellowship candidate.” Dr. Mann shot his fellow attending a cocky smirk, Javier’s eyes pointed and jaw clenched so tight you began to wonder if his teeth were in danger.

“How about we focus on saving the patient rather than recruitment, Dr. Mann?” The tone Dr. Peña used both stirred you and scared you, your eyes quickly turning to check the patients vital signs just so that you wouldn’t get scolded as well.

•••

Once you get a taste of Cardio, that’s all you’re gonna want…Looks like you just lost a fellowship candidate…

Javier knew his fellow attending much too well at this point to think that he was just offering his mentor services to you. But you seemed to be at least somewhat oblivious to his advances, which eased his jealousy a bit. Still, the last thing Javier needed was a fellow attending—a fellow department head—to come around and break all the rules Javier was so desperately trying to remind himself he had to keep.

The three of them stood at the sink basins in the scrub room, each of them using their soap to scrub away at their hands and arms while the OR nurses prepped and dressed the patient. Dr. Mann was the first to leave, going inside with his hands held up in the air until his team of nurses could gown and glove him.

Javier turned to you as you scrubbed away at you fingernails, his eyes wandering down your forearms to your delicate fingers, your nails painted candy apple red. He found himself imagining what your hands would look like sliding down his chest to the waistline of his scrubs, taking the time to untie them or simply ripping them off so that you could get to where he needed you most.

“Do you have a problem with me, Dr. Peña?” Your sudden words and sharp tone tore him away from his lustful daydream. His eyes widened a bit in surprise and lips parted just the slightest as he took in your anger? Sadness? No, disappointment. That’s what it was.

“Wha—“

“You bully me like a little kid, give me a stupid nickname that now everyone uses, then you kick me off your fucking service because I’m not a good fit? I carried your fucking service the entire time I was on it while everyone else struggled to even intubate for fucks sake.” Javier noticed your self-control, your volume kept at a low and calm level but your words contradicting it. His lips parted further to speak, head slightly shaking in cluelessness as he studied your frustrated resolve.

“You think the nickname I gave you is stupid?”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew that he should have said literally anything else. You scoffed and shook off the excess water on your arms, ignoring his eyes as you walked behind him to step into the OR. Javier’s eyes closed in frustration as he watched you through the mirror, Dr. Mann’s eyes locked on you as well.

“Fuck this.” He grumbled and rinsed off his arms, joining the two of you in the operating room rather than watching from the sidelines.

“Peña, finally joining us.” Mann called out as Javier got gowned and gloved, his scrub nurse placing his headlamp and magnified glasses over his scrub cap before he could walk over to the patient. “I was just telling Dr. Lucky about my first time…in heart surgery, of course.”

“Lucky her. Scalpel.” He replied blandly, holding his hand out as he got to work. He hoped the adrenaline of surgery would help to drown out his colleague’s flirting, but a part of him knew that was wishful thinking.

•••

“Dr. Lucky, it appears your magic is wearing off on our patient. The bullet missed all of his vital organs. Heart looks good, lungs look good. Just gotta find the bullet and extract it.” You looked further into the chest where Dr. Mann had his fingers buried for the last two hours, the light on his headlamp shining on a bit of metal. “There it is. Forceps.”

“I gotta say,” you watched as the doctor smiled behind his mask and held up the bloodied bullet. “Cardio is nice, but nothing beats looking at the human brain.”

“Oh? Still a nonbeliever? Perhaps I pegged you wrong, doctor.” He dropped the forceps in a metal pan along with the bullet.

“It depends on what you pegged me for.” You shrugged, trying your best not to flirt with the doctor, but he was making it a task with his tone and masked grin.

“Pegged you for someone who liked to have fun. A little fiery. Passionate, perhaps.” He winked at you as he worked on closing the patients chest. Your eyes flickered over to Peña’s for some reason, but he was locked in on his work.

It started to happen again, that attraction to his focus and skill. The cardio-thoracic surgeon in front of you was no doubt good at his job, but he was cocky and talkative—two things that always turned you off in a man. But Dr. Javier Peña was quiet, a bit brooding, perhaps, when he was in the OR. His eyes were laser focused on his work, the high stakes of his field adding onto how impressive he was.

You only wished that he wasn’t a complete asshole to you. Then maybe…

No. The lustful and far too hopeful fantasies had to end. You desperately needed to quit imagining him taking you in some on-call room out of sheer passion and ruining you for all men—the fantasy that had been your favorite as of lately.

“Alright, Dr. Lucky. Looks like we’re done here.” He sewed the last suture and set down his instruments in a metal tray, backing away from the table and tearing off his gown and gloves. You remained by the patient, eyes flickering to Dr. Peña. “Oh, are you going to stay to watch Dr. Peña finish up?”

“If that’s not a problem, sir.” He shrugged and gestured at the neurosurgeon.

“Up to the surgeon. I’m going to go up to the, uh, on call room. Get some rest.” He winked at you again before leaving to scrub out. You breathed in at the pompous proposition, turning your eyes to Peña’s.

“C-could I stay? To watch?” You stepped over to the bin to discard your gown and gloves now that the surgery part of your OR experience was over.

“You can watch from the gallery,” he ended his sentence by using your actual last name rather than his nickname for you, the sound of it making your heart constrict in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I’ll stay out of the way, I just want to be able to see the retrieval process up close—“

“From the gallery, doctor. This is my OR and I decide who stays and goes.” He snapped, lifting his eyes to yours finally, the brown having changed to an unmistakeable black that had you sick to the stomach with intimidation.

“Yes, sir.” You sighed and walked into the scrub room, scrubbing out and fighting back tears as you replayed his tone over and over in your head. It was clear the doctor had it out for you, and if there was any doubt in your mind whether his question about your relationship status was a joke or not, it was now gone.

•••

A few hours after you’d left, Javier finally finished closing the patients skull. He noticed early on that you never went up to the gallery to watch, and he didn’t blame you. He was much too harsh when he told you to leave the OR, but after hearing your obvious flirting with his colleague, he didn’t want to be in your presence a second longer.

That feeling was long gone now.

“Hey…have you seen Lucky?” He approached Mickey as she sat in the cafeteria eating her lunch alone.

“I think she’s napping in the one of the on call rooms.” She replied in a curious tone, Peña nodding and walking away without another word.

His blood boiled and mind raced with images of walking in on you with Dr. Mann, though that surely couldn’t still be happening three hours after your departure from the OR…right?

He whipped open the first on call room with a glare, only to be met by two sleeping nurses he’d slept with before. He quickly closed it before continuing down the hall to the next, whipping it open again and finding Dr. Mann passed out and…alone.

Javier breathed a breath of relief at the sight and closed the door with a loud slam, smirking as he walked down the hall to the final on call room, this time gently cracking it open and seeing your sleeping form curled up on the stiff bunk bed mattress. His lips curled into a soft smile as he stepped inside, shutting the door and locking it behind him just for good measure. Even if the two of you were just going to have a talk, he didn’t want any interruptions.

With a soft but firm voice, he called your name, standing by the door as to not scare you with too much of his presence. He watched your eyes slowly peel open and your head lift from the pillow, groggily taking him in.

“Dr. Peña? I’m on my lunch now, so if you need anything—“

“No, I don’t need…well, I don’t need anything like that.” He chuckled and stepped closer, sitting on the foot of the bed as your eyes fully opened, your mind now aware of the intensity of his presence. Javier knew he looked like a nervous teenager as he turned to you, his lips parting at the sight of you so wide eyed with confusion. “I-I just wanted to tell you why I took you off my service. You deserve to know why, Lucky.”

“Yes, I do.” You nodded and crossed your arms over your chest. Javier wanted to grin at the sight of you attempting to look stern, but knew that wouldn’t be productive.

“I-uh, I asked the chief to take you off, not because I think you’re a bad fit—you’re a great fit, actually. And I’m going to go tell him that after I finish talking to you.”

“So what’s the reason then?” You snapped, your earlier irritation at the man fully returning.

“The reason I didn’t want you around is because…” Javier had never been this nervous to talk to a woman before, and it made him feel sick with anxiety. “Because I guess I have some sort of…attraction to you. It’s stupid, and it was a selfish abuse of power and I’m going to fix it because you don’t deserve that kind of career interference just because I blush everytime you’re around.”

•••

You were absolutely stunned by what you were hearing. It felt like a lucid dream, Peña here in front of you confessing his crush on you? It had to be a dream.

“You’re attracted to me?” You chuckled in disbelief, watching as his face fell a bit at the sound of your amusement. “I’m not a nurse. You know that right?”

“Funny.” He rolled his eyes and stood up, pacing around the room with his hand on his jaw.

“Dr. Peña, are you—“

“Javier. Just call me Javier.” He stopped his pacing and looked down at you with lust blown pupils and a frustrated frown. You sucked in a small and almost unnoticeable gasp at the intensity of his stare, your limbs trembling with nerves as you lifted yourself out of the bunk and onto your feet in front of him. Your mind sounded the “this is a bad idea” alarm as you reached to touch his chest, the firmness not at all surprising. Javier scooped your chin up with his finger, eyes locked on your lips. With a subtle nod, he leaned down, pressing his pout to yours in a soft and testing peck. “Are you sure about this, Lucky?”

“Are you?” You asked as your hands slid up his neck and laced into his dark brown locks, forcing him down against your lips in a more heated kiss. He groaned at the action, his arms wrapping around your waist tightly before his hands started to wander. When he gripped the swell of your ass in his palms, you moaned into the kiss, earning a bite to your lips. “Javier…we can’t let anyone find out about this if we…you know. I don’t want to be looked at like one of your conquests. I’m a surgeon and—“

“You’re not a conquest, this is…you’re more than that.” He breathed against your lips and rested his forehead against yours, your head nodding against his as a silent demand for him not to elaborate any further.

You didn’t need to know what sort of feelings this man had for you because this was a one-off fling. A moment of passion and weakness. It wasn’t going to become some…relationship. It couldn’t.

•••

Javier’s breath hitched as he watched your hands slide down his chest just like he’d been fantasizing about earlier, your red-painted fingernails catching his eye as you took your time in untying his scrub pants.

When he realized he was standing there frozen, he reached for his top, peeling it off his body and tossing it on the mattress while you shucked his pants off. He kicked his shoes to the side and stepped out of his scrubs, letting them pool on the ground as he reached for the hem of your top, peeling it off and letting it lay on the floor with his clothes.

“This is a one time thing,” you breathed out as his lips found your neck, his hands untying your pants and letting them fall to the ground before laying you down on the bunk bed.

“Sure.” He couldn’t be bothered to think about the future of your romance with you underneath him like this, your lips pressing against his collarbone and shoulder as he licked at your pulse. Your hands slid his briefs down just enough to release him, pumping him in your hand as you used your other to slide your underwear to the side, running the bulbous head of his cock up and down your wetness. Javier shivered at the rushed need the two of you shared, desperate to just get right to it due to the time constraint. “Do you have a condom?”

“No,” you spoke breathlessly, looking at him with a look of concern before you started to chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” He chuckled along with you.

“We’re doctors. In a hospital. And I’m considering letting you fuck me raw just because I want you that badly right now.” You chuckled again but this time he didn’t reciprocate, his pupils blowing out with lust again as he listened to your words.

“When’s the last time you got tested?” He asked in a whisper, eyes searching yours.

“When I moved here. There hasn’t been anyone…w-what about you?” His cock twitched as you bit your lip, his mind struggling to string together a coherent response.

“Get tested every month. Clean.” He watched as your lips curled up in a mischievous grin, a moan falling from his lips as you lined his tip up with your entrance, guiding him inside. “Fuck. You feel so fucking…so good.”

His eyes never left your face, watching as your eyelids fluttered closed and brows laced together, a soft moan spilling from your kiss-bitten lips once he became fully seated inside of you. Though he was typically proud of his endurance, he knew this wouldn’t be one of the more impressive times. You felt too good.

“You ready?” He asked you, as he began to draw his thick length out, your eyes opening and head quickly nodding in response. Javier felt his entire body cover with chills as he withdrew himself completely before pressing back into you, steady deep and slow strokes following the initial thrust. With each stroke you grew wetter and more open for him, swallowing him as he punched up towards your spongey ceiling.

“Fuck, Javier,” you panted out below him in a whisper, swallowing the moans he could tell you actually wanted to scream. “Now I know why all the nurses are okay with sharing you. You feel so good.”

“Bebita, need you to touch yourself. Help me make you cum,” he purred in your ear as his head dropped into the nook of your neck. He hummed as you used one hand to snake between your bodies, feeling you circling your swelling clit, the other cradling his head and scratching his scalp. His hands held the back of your thighs, pressing them wide and towards your chest as he languidly slid in and out of you.

•••

Your body felt like it was on a different plane of reality as his cock slid so fucking slowly in and out of your heat, rubbing against every single good nerve inside of your canal like it was put on earth just to please. Your hand tugged on his hair to pull his head back, your eyes locking as you felt your high begin to crescendo.

“You there, bebita? I can feel it. So fucking wet. Squeezing me…I can’t take it.” His brows laced together and you came undone from the sound of the strangled moan that fell from his lips after his words. You struggled to keep your eyes open to watch him as your orgasm hit you hard, your entire body floating through the seas of euphoria like it never had before.

A whine slipped from your lips as you felt him slide out of you and rest the weight of his cock on your belly, hot ropes of his cum coating your skin. You lifted your head off the pillow to watch the sight, your walls clenching in an aftershock of desire as you took in the wet head of his almost purple cock.

“Fuck, bebita. I don’t know if I can take this being a one time thing. Now that I know how good you feel, I’m only gonna want you.”

“Easy to say as an attending,” you joked as you pushed him off you lightly, sitting up and walking over to the en-suite bathroom. You could hear him talking about how he would’ve gotten up and done that for you if you’d given him a second, but you really weren’t paying that much attention. You were already too busy thinking about how absolutely fucked you were now.

The foundation of your ability to not fall for his charm was that you imagined him as being unlovable, no good, and probably shit in bed. Now, at least two of those things were proven wrong.

•••

When Javier stepped behind you in the bathroom, he caught your eyes through the mirror, both of your bodies mostly bare but neither set of eyes drifting lower. With a sinking feeling in his stomach at your sudden distanced demeanor, he began to speak.

“If you regret it, that’s fine. We won’t talk about it. But if you don’t—“

“Let’s just not talk about it.” Your interruption took him by surprise.

Never in all of his womanizing days had he experienced this. You were completely unphased by his skill in bed. He struggled to understand how you could be so casual about what just happened when it was almost life changing for him. You’d just shown him what it was like to fuck someone he had feelings for, and now there was no going back for him. He could never mindlessly hookup with a nurse now that he knew what it was like to make love with you.

“You really want this to be just a one time thing?” He asked, not caring about the hurt in his tone. Though you hesitated for a moment, you soon nodded, your eyes dropping their contact through the mirror as you turned to walk past him out of the bathroom. He ticked his jaw to the side as he followed you, getting dressed alongside you in tense silence. “Can I ask why?”

“Why? Because I’m a resident, Dr. Peña. I still have something to prove, and if Thomas or the Chief get a whiff of something happening between us, I get kicked out of the program. My career would be over before it even started.” He felt his chest pang with sympathy for your situation, also feeling guilty for putting you in the position to deal with this in the first place. “That was great, it really was, but…nothing’s worth risking my career for. I’m sorry if that makes you hate me and you take me off your service—“

“What? No,” he shook his head and stepped closer to you, reaching to grab your shoulders. He quickly removed them when he saw your eyes turn to check out the contact. “I’m not going to punish you because you’re choosing your career. It makes me more proud to have a surgeon like you on my team, actually. You don’t have to worry about that.”

•••

“You know, you’re a lot harder to hate once a person gets to know you.” You gave him a half-smile, making the corner of his mouth turn up as well. “I promise this will stay between us.”

“Me too.” He looked down at his pager as it began to beep, cursing as he read it. “911 to the GSW patient. Come on, Lucky. Looks like we’ve got more work to do.”

“You’re keeping me on his case?” You watched as he poked his head into the hallway, checking for it to be clear before he gestured for you to follow him out.

“Thought you wanted to be back on neuro?” He shot you a smile and a wink over his shoulder as the two of you jogged through the halls to the ICU, a blush sweeping over your cheeks at the sight.

Perhaps he was Dr. Daddy after all.

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal fanfiction #javier pena #javier peña x you #javier peña angst #javier peña fluff #javier peña x y/n #javier peña x reader #javier peña smut #javier peña series #javier peña au

[ash-whimsicalfanfic]

Agent Rushmore (CH 9)

Leroy Jethro Gibbs X Fem OC/Reader

Word Count: 1382

Warning: Mild language, violence, gore, guns, fluff, smut, angst, PTSD, graphic scenes…

Prompt: Special Agent Locklyn Rushmore, a highly trained Russian assassin who is skilled in all forms of hand-to-hand combat, weaponry, negotiating and more. When her cover is blown, she is returning back to NCIS headquarters in D.C…

Locklyn Rushmore

The beeping was steady.

However, that didn't stop my deep hatred towards it. I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling before looking over at the monitor that I so badly wanted to shoot to get it to shut the hell up.

I sit up and the room was empty. However, there were a bunch of flowers and gifts surrounding the room. I let a shaky breath out, my eyebrows furrowing as I move a hand to my chest.

What the hell?

I let another shaky breath out, sucking in a breath before another breath leaves me. The monitor sped up as my chest began to heave violently and I was unable to catch my breath. Tears stream down my cheeks and I let out a sob as the door opens.

Director Shepard rushes forward, sitting beside me as she pulled me against her. She rubs my back, shushing my softly.

"Your okay, Locklyn. Your okay. I promise. You did it. You have ended this once and for all. It's going to be okay. I promise. Breathe. In through you nose, out through mouth. Try to take a breath in for at least three seconds and let it out for three." She soothes.

She guides me through this, until I was calm. My shaky hands reach up to my face where I wipe away the tears.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't know what happened." I whisper.

"You had a panic attack. It's okay. It happens to the best of us. And don't apologize. You have nothing to apologize for." She says.

"Where is everyone? Is Abby okay?" I ask.

"They are in the waiting room. The doctor has been sending me in to check if you'd be awake because we are close. He didn't want you overwhelmed if you woke up to everyone in here. And Abby is okay. She feels guilty, but she is okay." She says, playing with my hair.

"I want to see them." I say.

"Let's get you cleaned up first and redo some bandages before we do that. And lets get some proper food in your stomach. You've been in the hospital for four days. They had you in a medical induced coma and was giving you time to wake up after." She explains.

"What about Tim? And Ziva? Oh! And Tony and Gibbs? They are all okay right?" I ask.

"Everyone is okay. I promise." She says.

"Ducky? Palmer?" I ask.

"Mhm. Them too. They are fine, I promise." She says.

I managed to get some real clothes on. I couldn't stand the gown. So, I was dressed in a pair of scrub pants and a shirt. That's all the hospital had, but they were actually pretty comfy.

I refused to sit on my bed, wanting to pace, so Director Shepard was waiting until I got back in my bed. I grab the IV, dragging it along with me as I walked out of my room.

"Locklyn! Get back in bed! I'll go get everyone!" She says.

I ignore her as I walk to the waiting room. I walk in and everyone was doing their own little thing. Director Shepard sighs, which catches everyone's attention.

"Abby, your okay." I say relieved and she stands.

"L-Locklyn...I'm so sorry." She says quietly.

"Abby, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm so glad your okay. I was worried sick." I breathe, pulling her into a hug.

She lets a sigh of relief out as she hugs me back. I felt relief and I felt a wave of calmness wash over me.

"I should have called Gibbs. This wouldn't have happened then." She says once she pulls away.

"Abby, you did the right thing. If Gibbs showed up, instead of me...you wouldn't be here right now. I know how those men work." I say.

"But, look at you! Your hurt!" She exclaims upset.

"Abby, this is nothing. I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine. I'm a lot better now that I know everyone is okay. It looks worse than what it is. And before you point out I was passed out on the side of the road, keep in mind I had a few hits to the head. And my body was in shock with all that had happened. It was catching up after I got away. I'm fine though." I say.

"Did you eat? And drink some water and take your medications and get your bandages redone?" She asks.

"Yes. Director Shepard refused to let me see you all until all of that was done. I'm okay, Abby. How are you? Are you okay?" I ask and she nods.

"I'm fine. You saved me." She says and my lips quirk up a bit.

"Abby, I was just doing what I would do for anyone I care about." I murmur.

"Alright, let's bring this back to your room. You need to be resting in your bed, Locklyn." Director Shepard says and I roll my eyes.

"I'm fine. I want to move. I hate that bed already." I grumble.

"Lock, come." Gibbs says as he stands.

He reaches his hand out and I look at it confused for a moment before taking his. He lifts my hand to his mouth, leaving a kiss on my knuckles before he starts to lead the way back to my room. He pulls the blankets back, helping me up into the bed before pulling the covers up to my waist. I was leaned up against the pillows and he sat beside me.

I felt relieved as everyone entered the room and we were able to talk and catch up. It was all that I had wanted.

"You broke rule twelve guys." Tony says.

"Rule twelve?" I question.

"Rule twelve, never date a co-worker." Tim states.

"Hm. Strange. Seems like everyone here has broken the rule." I say.

"And what makes you say that?" Gibbs asks with a small smirk.

"Tony and Ziva's body language suggest that they are indeed together, not to mention the looks the two of them share. And the secret hand-holding and sneaky kisses here and there. And let's not forget Tim and Abby. Hm? The same thing, however Tim has also got to sleep in Abby's coffin." I say and both of their cheeks flush red.

"And you guys were trying to give me hell." Gibbs says.

"Boss...I-we can explain." Tim says.

"I don't need one. I broke rule twelve as well. I don't care. I don't plan on going back on it. If I break it, you all might as well." He says.

"Locklyn, you scared the hell out of me." Ducky says.

"I'm sorry." I say.

"Rule six." Gibbs warns.

"I'm just thankful you weren't the one on that table. You are a fighter. And you...you are like a daughter to me. If anything happened to you, I don't know what I'd do." He says.

"I know. This girl is like a daughter to me...you gave us all a scare. But, I knew you would pull through." Director Shepard says.

I listen to all that I have missed the past few days plus random stories. I felt my love for this team grow and I knew that this team was my family, they were home. I'm honestly so lucky and grateful I was placed on this team.

With promises that they'd be back tomorrow, they all left except Gibbs who still sat beside my bed, holding my hand. I look over at him, smiling slightly.

"What were you thinking? You could have told me so we could of put a tracker or something on you." He says.

"Jethro...you and I both know you wouldn't have let me walk out those doors if I had told you." I explain softly and he sighs.

He slumps forward, his head resting on our joint hands. I bring my other hand to his hair where I run my fingers through it.

"What did they do to you?" He asks, lifting his head slightly to look at me.

"Nothing I couldn't handle." I murmur.

"Your one hell of a woman. When your ready, you know I'm here. We all are." He says and I smile slightly.

"Thank you, Jethro. I appreciate it." I murmur.

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