the moons sweet embrace

"the moon made me and she loves me for who I am" eve - 27 - she/they

[croigealai]

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐥𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

𝐞𝐯𝐞 ☆ 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 ☆ 𝐬𝐡𝐞/𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲

𝐚𝐬𝐤 ☆ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ☆ 𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

🌸𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩

🌙 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

[croigealai]

Gardenia, yellow hyacinth, lilac with john shen

(I dont know if its right or no)

featuring: john shen x reader

wc: 2,490

warnings: jealousy, johns a little mean, workplace harassment [resident being inappropriate with reader]

a/n: i'm so sorry for the delay in getting this out, my health as been absolute ass the past few weeks but im slowly getting better and should have more pieces out soon.

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

The PMTC was not a place for romance, for most people anyway, especially the emergency department. The constant chaos of patients and beeping machines, the bright fluorescent lights that stung after a 12 hour shift and clinical white walls that would make you feel like hallucinating if you stared at them too long. 

You had watched many relationships rise and fall to the chaos, lost to long hours and broken promises and the very unique way in which the ED can break a person down. You were lucky.

You had John. Though when you first met him all those years ago you never would have thought you would be here. His laid back attitude in med school had always annoyed you and he seemed to know every single way to pick on your last nerve, and yet, under the low lit lamps in the library with dust covered medical journals you had found yourself falling for him. 

It happened in a quiet, unexpected way. Like being caught in a quick summer storm, the rain starts light and gentle and then the next thing you know you’re soaked to the bone. You hadn’t meant to fall in love but suddenly you were looking forward to his texts and teasing remarks and when he couldn’t make your study sessions you found yourself missing him. Missing his quick wit and gentleness, how he seemed to have perfectly memorised your coffee order from your very first study group, how in a room full of other people he always managed to find your first. 

You could remember lamenting to your friends about the feelings over a bottle of cheap liquor and take away during a girls night, their eyebrows all raising in a teasing exasperation as you talked yourself into pushing the feelings down and ignoring them. You didn’t have time for feelings, you had finals to worry about. 

But then it was the end of year and you were out at some dive bar that was packed with other students desperate to have one last hurrah before they shipped off for summer internships and clinicals. Desperate for some fresh air you had managed to claw your way through the crowd to the smoking area, which wasn’t much better but at least the breeze helped cool your alcohol flushed skin. It seemed John had the same idea, tucked away into the corner with his head tilted up to the sky and a beer in his hand. 

You had stood frozen for 30 seconds, heart beat hammering and blood rushing through your ears as everything suddenly hit you. Every secret smile to show he was listening, every coffee with a corny joke left on your desk before class or in the library, every press of his hand against your arm or back or hand as you walked, every time his eyes would meet yours in a crowded room as if he was checking to see if you were okay. You were fucked. 

Pushing through the crowd, somehow you ended up in front of him and his eyes meet yours with that ever so casual grin

“Hey brainy,” it was a stupid nickname, something that had slipped off his tongue during your first study session and at first you hated it but now you hated the way it made your heart flip. 

“Hey,” your voice is a whisper, barely heard over the crowd and band from inside the bar, and sweet sweet John just tilts his head as concern takes over his features and his hand reaches out to wrap around your bicep.

“Everything okay?” 

You feel like you’re going to be sick, stomach rolling over and over as your heart fights to rip out of your chest. You soften a little at the concern, eyes scanning over his features as you bite at your bottom lips searching for whatever liquid courage you had.

“Yeah, just gotta do something before we finish for break.”

John raises an eyebrow, goes to question what it is but the words don’t get a chance to leave his mouth as you wrap an arm around his neck and pull him into a kiss. Though he’s shocked at first, John is quick to melt into it. His arm leaves your bicep to wrap around your waist and pull you in closer to him. There’s hollering and cheers from everyone around you, but you ignore it lost in the sensation of his lips against yours and his arm against your skin where your shirt had ridden up just enough. 

There wasn’t an explosion or sparks or some massive feeling that they always show in the movies, it just felt right. The last piece of a puzzle slotting into place as if this was how it was always going to end. 

The kiss is quick but passionate and you’re both breathless as you pull apart. There’s a smirk on John’s lips and you’re already proactively rolling your eyes before he even starts to speak.

“I always knew you had a soft spot for me brainy,” you scoff and hit against his chest but don’t deny it, instead you pull him in for another, softer kiss. 

The rest was history after that. Summer was spent with endless phone calls between clinicals and internships and random texts throughout the day, even if they were just random memes or images with the words ‘you’ attached. The first I love you came after a gruelling anatomy exam where you both tumbled into John's apartment, his roommates not even blinking an eye as you both lifelessly stumbled into the bedroom with exhaustion dripping from your bones, and crawled into bed. The words tripped off both your tongues before either of you could catch them as sleep took hold. 

You moved in together at the start of your third year, sick of shitty roommates and splitting your time between one place or another, and though you had small spats and quiet arguments that ended with a kiss and an apology your relationship only seemed to get stronger. By the time match day came in your final year, you were both overjoyed to be matched at the same hospital in the same discipline. Emergency medicine at the Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center. 

When you joined PMTC you had both agreed to keep things low-key, you had seen how the rumour mill in the emergency department operated throughout your student years, how a single comment could break down a relationship, and decided you wanted no part of it. You wanted it safe. Protected. So, it became a secret and only those who needed to know, knew. HR, Dana, Robby, Abbot and Lena, and they protected it just as fiercely as you and John.

Now, it’s five years later and your relationship is stronger than ever. A diamond ring hangs from a chain on your neck and there's a set of heirloom jade bangles stored safely in your home. Not only is you relationship still great, but your careers are soaring. John had bagged the night shift attending position at PMTC and you were finishing up your final year of a joint EM-PEDS with the guarantee of an attending position up in pediatrics. 

Everything was perfect, until the new resident walked in all unearned confidence and a cocky smile that instantly made your skin crawl. You could tell he thought he was God’s gift to medicine despite only graduating, you tried to avoid him whenever you were down in the ED. Unfortunately for you, he had honed in on you like a shark on his very first day. 

Any excuse he could find to work with you he would, even if they were blatant lies like never seeing a certain procedure done or wanting more experience with pediatric patients. You always had your guard up around him, moving back when he got a little too close and giving a clipped response to every flirty word out of his mouth. 

Now he stands next to you at the hub, arm pressing into yours as if he was trying to crawl into your skin and honestly you were at your wits end with him. 

“You know, I’ve never seen a thoracotomy performed that cleanly,” his voice grates against your airs, full of fake gravel and a huskiness you’re sure is putting strain on his vocal chords. You roll your eyes as you look up across the hub to meet John and Abbot's eyes who are already watching with careful eyes. 

Dalton, or maybe Dallas, or Daniel? Who knows, turns to you then, hand reaching up to curl a stray strand of hair around his fingers and you have to stop yourself from physically recoiling and instead take a step to the side so his hand falls limply to the side. Unfortunately he’s still giving you that slimy smile as his eyes trail up and down your body.

“Maybe you can give me some private lessons,” his voice drops at the end and you swear you heard Ellis gag as she walked past you and honestly, you have to push your own disgust down. Instead you plaster a cold, clinical smile on your face - the one you reserve for rude patients and parents who liked to get a bit too close. 

“I’m sure if you ask Dr Robinavitch, he’d be happy to arrange a skills labs for all residents to go over the procedures for a thoracotomy"

He lets out a non-committal hum, stepping closer to you again.

“Why don’t you go check on Mr Reynolds and see if he needs anything?”

Mr Reynolds was a chatter and maybe you’re being petty sending the resident to check on him, but you didn’t care if it got him off your ass for a few minutes. Before he can answer, you’re shoving the chart into his hands and giving a sugar sweet smile, “I’m going to go check on the peds patients, stay with Dr Abbot the rest of the night” 

So focused on the resident you don’t notice the dark cloud that starts forming around John's shoulders. His jaw was clenched and he was gripping so hard onto the chart his knuckles were turned white. John was always proud to see he was not a jealous man, he loved you and trusted you and knew nothing would ever happen. But by god did the way the resident touched you infuriate him, as if he had a right to be in your space. To press against your skin. 

And god bless your fiance, he really tried to keep it professional. To bury the jealousy under his usual calm demeanor and not let it slip, unfortunately he fails. His words become clipped, sharp and jagged things that were meant to sting, laced with barely contained disdain and the kind of professional cruelty that left the resident red faced and embarrassed. 

It's late into a shift, the sun just starting to rise above the horizon line, when it all comes to a head. Danny (as he insisted you call him) was once again crowded into your space as you spoke to Ellis about your patient. He had made an off hand comment about the diagnosis you had come up with, something about how he would never have thought of it with a flirty smile on his face.

“If you’re diagnostic skills were even as half developed as your relationship with hair gel and fake tan you might one day be able to,” the malice in John's voice is clear, its dangerous, “Right now you look more like you walked off the set of Jersey Shore than a doctor.”

There’s a sharp inhale from Ellis and Abbot at the words and Danny looks like he’s just been back handed with the way his face scrunches up in contempt. He goes to retort, to bite back against the words, but you beat him to it. Hand reaching out to lay gently against John's shoulder.

“Dr Shen, a word?”

John deflates a little, shoulder unfurling and jaw loosening as he gives you a gentle nod. From the tone of your voice, the clinical edge that seeped into your words, he can tell he’s in trouble. Very quickly you lead him into a family room and close the door behind you, arms crossing over your chest as you stare him down with a raised eyebrow.

“What the hell was that about?”

In his defense, John at least looks a little ashamed and bashful over what happened. There's a light dusting of pink against his cheeks and he’s awkwardly rubbing at the nape of his neck while he avoids your gaze. There's a moment of silence, and then another, Johns mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he tries to come up with words to explain. 

You let out a soft sigh and take a step towards him, hands unfolding as you instead wrap them around his neck, “Talk to be babe, that's not like you. You’ve been off with that resident for weeks.”

John lets out a heavy sigh, eyes finally looking up to meet yours as his shoulders slump down and he places a gentle hand against your waist. 

“I…” A moment of hesitation, another sigh leaving his lips as glances down towards his feet and back up to you, “I was jealous… not because I thought you would do anything but…”

You soften at John’s words, eyes rolling affectionately as your thumbs start to rub gentle circles into the skin of his neck, “He just makes my blood boil. The way he flirts with you, how he seems to have no regard for professional space. He just…”

“I know but you’re an idiot,” you press a soft kiss against his cheek and then his lips, which he tries to chase, “He’s a lot but it’s being handled.”

John's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion as he tilts his head to the side, looking more like the golden retriever you feel in love with and not the attack dog that's been haunting the ED for the past few weeks. You laugh at the look and gently pat John on the shoulder. 

“Robby and Abbot know, they’ve been watching him for a while apparently he’s doing the same thing to Garcia and Walsh and there is a formal HR complaint sitting on their desk.” 

Another soft kiss, “And as hot as seeing that was, I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. I’m a big girl and I can handle myself.” 

John sighs but nods anyway, “I know, I just…I love you and I guess I got a bit over protective.”

“I love you too, now we gotta get back to work.” 

John smiles but presses another kiss to your lips and when he pulls back he’s giving you that boyish smirk you loved so much, “We’re totally gonna talk about how hot you found me when we get home.” 

[croigealai]

Hi my loves, I just wanted to jump on quickly and say that I am still here and making my way through The Midnight Flower shop requests as well as part three for Over and Over again (as well as other drafts and requests) It is just taking me a little bit longer than usual to write because my autoimmune condition has flared up and is leaving me exhausted but Im starting to feel better and should have the next one or two drabbles for Midnight Flower Shop up this weekend.

[croigealai]

hi loves, I know I said I would have the next drabbles for the Midnight Flower Shop up last week but I had a few family commitments and my health issues are currently kicking my ass and leaving me really fatigued so I havent had a chance to actually write. I promise they are still coming out, theyll just be a little slower than I anticipated.

[croigealai]

Hi my loves, I just wanted to jump on quickly and say that I am still here and making my way through The Midnight Flower shop requests as well as part three for Over and Over again (as well as other drafts and requests) It is just taking me a little bit longer than usual to write because my autoimmune condition has flared up and is leaving me exhausted but Im starting to feel better and should have the next one or two drabbles for Midnight Flower Shop up this weekend.

[croigealai]

Langdon with baby's breath + daffodils + purple hyacinth 🥺?

featuring: frank langdon x wife!reader

wc: 3,871 [i dont know how this happened, i swear this was at 2,000 words when i opened it to finish it]

warnings: angst/comfort,, rehab and addiction, cravings and mentions of potential relapse, arguments, reconciliation, mentions of future/potential kids, i would apologise for the open ended ending but we would all know i was lying

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

It’s quiet in the house. Not the peaceful kind where heart beats sync and breath is shared in the comfort of bed, bodies tangled in fluffy pillows and comforters with limbs haphazardly thrown over the other. No, this silence is alive. Deadly. A current of electricity looking for a flame to bring the whole place down in flames. 

It sits heavy against your chest, a weight that cracks your ribs with the force of it and leaves your heart feeling raw and broken as it drops to the floor below you. 

Your dinner, what should have been a shared thing celebrating a year of sobriety for Frank, sits on the table. Cold as stone. Because he was late. Again. You wouldn’t have minded if he had texted or called or if it had been the first time that week, but he hadn’t and it wasn’t. It was the third time that week, the fifth time in two weeks. When he first got home from rehab in July you had expected it, it was tough transitioning back to the hospital after everything that happened, but it had been three months since then. 

Frank stands at the opposite side of the room, his bag dropping to the floor with a thud that sounds more like an executioner's axe. There’s regret on his face and you can already anticipate the sorry that sits at the top of his tongue, but it’s too late for that.

“Baby…”

His voice is quiet, desperation clinging to every letter as he takes a step towards you. But you just take a step back and cross your arms over your chest.

“Don’t.”

There’s a sudden finality to the word as you say it, despite how your voice wavers and tears well in your eyes as you start to clean up the cutlery and wrap your food up to be kept in the fridge. Frank’s face changes into one of quiet desperation, a man ready to drop at your knees and beg for a forgiveness he isn’t even sure he deserves. 

Your hands drop to the table in front of you, the tears that welled now falling down your cheeks like acid burning through your skin and finding home in your flesh. A defeated sigh leaves you as you look up at him and you can’t help the subtle shake of your head.

“I can’t keep doing this Frank.”

It’s a whisper against the silence but it’s still sharp enough to cut through Frank's heart as he tries to take another tentative step towards you. 

“I…” You take a deep, shuttering breath and still it feels like something sharp is burying itself into the flesh, “I can’t keep dealing with these broken promises. I just-,” your breath catches again and you have to force the words out before you crumble, “I can’t.”

You turn away from him, hand raising to wipe away the tears and Frank steps forward again to chase after you. But he stops himself, fear and doubt mingling inside of his mind until he’s frozen to the spot, as you disappear from view and into the bedroom. The sound of the door closing almost sounds like a gunshot and it hurts just the same. 

He doesn’t follow after you, he’s smart enough to know when you need space and when you need comfort, instead he sinks into the couch. The weathered leather cracking beneath his skin sounding far too much like the cracking of his ribs as his head hangs heavy in his hands. The silence that hangs around him is suffocating, the same weight that had settled against your chest earlier, now rests against his and makes it hard to breathe. 

It’s the moments like these, where the silence is so loud and the guilt so heavy it feels like a weight in his soul that the ghosts of his past start to whisper. That tight, restless itch of cravings start to vibrate at the surface and the thoughts start to swirl. Just one won’t hurt. Just enough to quiet the noise, to numb the pain, to make him feel normal again. 

He shoves his hands into his eyes and presses so hard he starts seeing stars to stop the thoughts from spiraling any further. He can’t go back there. He won’t go back there and throw away everything he had worked for these past 12 months. He couldn’t. What follows after the craving passes is worse. Fear. Deep paralysing fear that takes root around his bones, the same fear that kept him late at the hospital and led to the broken promises. He wasn’t good enough for you, he was a broken man made of haphazardly shoved together glass pieces, rough and jagged at the edges and only capable of making you bleed. 

He takes a deep breath that rattles in his chest as tears fall from his eyes. It’s midnight, the world outside is peacefully asleep and awaiting a new dawn, but yet he pulls up the name of his sponsor and sends a text. I need help. 

That was it, three simple words and yet 20 minutes later Frank finds himself on a cold metal bench under a dim street light that keeps flickering on and off, as if it can’t even decide if he deserves this. His sponsor sits beside him, hands clasped lightly on his knee as he watches Frank with patient eyes. 

“I-” Frank clears his throat, the words are there at the top of his throat but as he goes to speak they jumble against his tongue and warp into something dangerous.  Something vulnerable. Even after rehab and the continued therapy, it was still hard sometimes to let himself be seen. To be heard. He was still shedding the layers of self-protection is had built for himself that made him seem invulnerable but right now, they were holding him back.

“I’m really struggling.”

His sponsor, an older man named Daniel who had been sober nearly 20 years only nodded and let Frank sort through his thoughts himself. 

“I knew coming back things would be different…” He looks up to the crescent moon, its light is dull against the night sky and he somehow feels like he’s being judged by it as he speaks. 

“I just didn’t expect it to be this hard. Not loving her and being with her that's the easiest decision of my life,” his voice starts to fray at the edges, exhaustion and guilt settling in against his throat, “It’s…everything else.”

Frank’s voice is a whisper almost lost to the chilly autumn wind and he can’t tell if the goosebumps that rise against his skin are because of the chill or because of how he’s feeling. His head drops again, eyes casting to the cracked side walk below and he thinks, for just a second, about how it's like a portrait of his life the past year. One crack turning into tiny little fissures that grow and rupture the foundation completely. 

“Watching her heart break every time I’m home late, feeling it through the phone when I send her the text that something came up and I needed to stay at the hospital. Re-integrating back into work itself…” He takes a deep breath and clenches his hand together so tightly his finger tips turn white and if he had been in his right mind he would be worried about the long term damage he was causing.  “It’s watching her carry everything with some much grace and decorum even though it was never hers to carry in the first place, while I’m drowning.”

Daniel is quiet beside him, his arms crossed over his chest. He knows this isn’t the time to speak, but the time for processing. For things kept long buried to finally come to light. There’s another soft sigh from Frank, eyes casting up to the shadowed edges of the park. There’s a slide and a swing set that seems to move gently with the wind, images flit through his mind. 

A child, yours and his, running and playing and screaming. A few months ago it was an image made of crystal, clear as anything and a future he yearned for, now it was fogged and distorted. His face was blurred and twisted into something, someone he didn’t recognise, another man taking his place and he has to take a second to steady his racing heart.

“I keep thinking she deserves someone better.” 

Finally everything cracks, his voice and his heart spilling out onto the asphalt below as the tears he was desperately trying to hold back finally fall. Some of the weight dislodges from his chest, just a fraction, as if speaking the words to the universe somehow made the feelings lighter and more bearable. 

“Better?”

It’s the first words that Daniel has spoken since he arrived, other than saying hi and asking how Frank has been, and there’s a gentleness to them. No judgment of pity hanging onto the end, but the quiet kind of understanding that only comes from a man who's been here before.

A humourless laugh leaves Frank, almost self-deprecating as he motions to himself, “Better than this, than me. Than…a broken man trying to prove to himself that he’s okay.” 

His voice trails off at the end, quiet in a way that speaks volumes and Daniel nods understandingly. 

“I got the help, I did what I had to and still…I hurt her. I broke her trust, I broke us and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

“That’s because you don’t.” 

Frank almost startles at the words, eyes darting to the side to look at Daniel as his eyebrows pinch together in confusion but Daniel is just rubbing at his chin and watching the flickering lamplight above. 

“You did the work, you got sober and you continue fighting every day to get sober, but you keep trying to go back to the way things were.”

There’s no malice or cruelty in the words, just honesty in its truest form. 

“But that won’t happen. You can’t just erase the hurt or rewind time back to the beginning. You both went through a trauma, even if it’s different it’s still trauma. You can’t just fix that.” 

He looks to Frank now, head tilting to the side a little almost as if he’s approaching a wounded animal or child, “You’re different people now, both of you. Maybe instead of ‘fixing things’ you need to learn each other again. Start from the beginning.”

Frank's throat tightens and the tears continue to fall as he looks back to the ground, he notices then in the cracks of the pavement there's a line of daisies starting to sprout. New life spreading through the broken. 

“You need to learn to love these new versions of each other.” 

There’s a moment's hesitation for Frank, the words landing heavy in his chest, one single thought clouding his mind. What if you couldn’t love this version of him? Daniel sees it before it tumbles from his lips, hands uncrossing as he pats Frank on the shoulder. 

“You can only try. You deserve happiness Frank but so does she.” 

The house is quiet when Frank gets home, but it’s not the same as it was before. Not as charged, there’s still the hum of static electricity in the air but it’s not ignitable anymore, more like the air after a storm has passed through. Something fragile and beautiful and new that simmers just below the surface. 

He doesn’t go into the bedroom, instead he pulls out a spare comforter and sleeps on the couch. Truth be told, he didn’t think he was going to fall asleep, Daniel’s words replaying in his mind over and over again until he saw the gentle light of dawn filter through the windows. He must have dozed off then, he can’t really remember. 

When he wakes, it’s with a start. A bang in the kitchen and a curse raising his heart rate and causing him to shoot up, he regrets it almost immediately. Pain twinges through him, something sharp shooting down his spine as his nerves fight to keep up with the movement. He lets a quiet ‘fuck’ slip past his lips as he glances towards the clock, 11am. 

You had let him sleep. Despite everything, despite the night before, you were still caring for him. He doesn’t know if you knew he left last night, he had left a note just in case you woke up and he was gone but it was still in the same place when he got home last night. 

He moves slowly now, hand reaching behind him to massage at the spot that hurt, it didn’t do much but it was still a better reprieve than nothing, and he makes his way to the kitchen. He feels heavy, not the kind of heaviness that comes from exhaustion he was used to the way that lived beneath his skin but the kind that came with fear. It settles beneath his skin and nestles itself between his ribs, turns his heart beat into something thunderous and his breathing just that little bit ragged. 

He finds you there in the kitchen, one of his old college shirts hanging off one shoulder while you run your hand under some water. He moves quickly then, feet carrying him over to you before he can even think about it. Frank’s gentle when he takes your hand out from under the stream, the skin starting to discolour and blister just a little bit.

“Frank I’m…” 

He shakes his head, turning your hand over to make sure he’s getting a look at all sides, “Don’t say you’re okay.” 

You blink up at him almost owlishly, eyes wide and a little shocked at both the gentleness and firmness in his voice. It’s not his usual doctor's voice, not the one he uses when he playfully scolds you for getting hurt. There’s a tenderness there, something raw and unspoken just sitting beneath the surface. 

Frank turns the water tap off and motions for you to sit on the counter, you want to argue, really you do. But then he looks at you, eyes unguarded and cast low for the first time in months and suddenly the words die in your throat and you do as he asks. 

“I’m going to get the first aid kit.” 

“You’re dramatic.” 

It’s almost teasing the way you say it, eyes rolling even though you cradle your hand gently to your chest, but still it’s whispered and sounds strange against your tongue. A long dead dynamic trying to revive itself as you fight to return to normalcy. 

Frank’s gone for only a few minutes before he’s back again, the red first aid kit that lived in the bathroom in his hands. He quickly pulls out some cooling gel, burn cream and some gauze from the pack.

He’s quiet while he works, not because he doesn’t know what to say but because he knows this time sweet words and empty promises aren’t enough. He’s gentle too, almost too gentle like he;s afraid that if he presses into your skin too hard you’ll vanish. 

You let him work, eyes scanning over his features in the pale autumn sunlight. You count his eyelashes and every freckle that dusts against his skin, he looks more human now than he has in weeks like some part of his soul that got ripped from him when everything happened finally returned.

“I’m sorry.”

Frank's words are almost a whisper as he starts to wrap the bandages around your skin. They’re words you’ve heard before, hushed apologies that dripped off his tongue with every late shift and night he was away from you, but they feel different this time. Like they're real this time. 

You have to swallow hard to stop your breath from catching in your throat. Frank continues to work, hands gentle as the run burn cream carefully over the skin but his face is serious. Jaw clenched so tight you can see the muscle jump beneath the skin. You want to run your hand out and soothe it, but you don’t. 

“And I know I’ve said it before, I know I’ve hurt you…” He gets quieter then, voices trailing off into something hushed and wounded as he speaks as if acknowledging the pain has suddenly made it real to him. He clears his throat, eyes darting to yours for half a second before he goes back to your hand and starts wrapping the gauze. 

“Yeah, you have.” 

It’s dangerous the way you say it, no anger in the words, just that quiet kind of pain and tiredness that digs into Frank's skin beside the fear. The silence that settles is daunting, the universe holding its breath because it knows that whatever comes next will make or break you. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you. I-I…I wasn’t staying late because I forgot or because I didn’t want to come home.”

He meets your eyes then, hand sliding from your own to wrap gently around your wrist, fingers digging in just a little to feel your pulse beneath the skin. He takes a deep breath and steadies himself before he continues.

“It was because I was scared to come home.”

Your brows knit together immediately and you almost feel offended at the words, body pulling backwards to get away from him but Frank keeps his grip steady on your wrist.

“What?”

Another deep breath, this one less steady as it shudders from Frank’s chest.

“I was scared of failing again.”

You lean closer now, understanding blooming in the consciousness of your mind. Not fully, not yet, but still some part of you recognised what he was saying. The space between you seemed smaller now, more intimated. The kitchen turned from home and into a sanctuary, a place where sins can be confessed and forgiven. 

“Every shift, every patient, every person who looked at me with weary eyes,” the words caught in his throat, emotions he can’t control welling with the words, “I…I kept thinking about how it would break me.” 

Another deep breath, a small step closer to you as his thumb starts to rub circles into the skin of your wrist.

“Then there was you, your picture in my wallet. A text, dinner plans, a reminder of something important. Next steps, a future we had planned and I…” when his throat catches this time, the tears fall. You stay still and listen. 

“I’d think, ‘how long until I fuck this up too?’” 

“Frank…”

That understanding fully blooms now, lodges itself against your ribs. It’s sharp and uncomfortable but you hold onto the feeling despite the pain.

“It’s stupid and pathetic…”

“No,” the words tumbles from your lips firmer than you thought it would be, “It’s not stupid or pathetic, it’s human.”

Suddenly every piece of the last few months seemed to slot into place. The lateness. The distance. The exhaustion. The way he would stand at your front door, eyes darting around the room like he wasn’t sure he belonged there anymore.  You reach for him then, hand wrapping around his cheek and wiping away at the tears as they fell. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Your voice shakes as you speak

“I’m your husband, I shouldn’t be burdening you with this.”

You let out a humourless chuckle

“I’m your wife, this is the exact kind of thing you need to talk to me about.”

He closes his eyes and leans into your hand slightly, eyes fluttering close for half a second before he catches your gaze again. 

“I thought you deserved someone better, someone stronger”

You blink at him, slowly, confusion and shock registering in your system. Because here was a man who dragged himself bleeding and wounded through hell and back and had convinced himself that surviving wasn’t enough, that he was weak. 

“You’re an idiot.”

He almost laughs at the words, some of the tension leaking from his body and loosening his shoulders. 

“Baby…” 

It’s delicate the way he says it and the tears instantly burn against your eye line. 

“No, you are an absolute idiot.” Your throat catches now, emotions rising like a wave you can’t hold back, “You don’t get to decide that. You don’t decide what I deserve. I love you and I would go into the very fire of Mordor for you.”

You know it’s a silly sentiment, but it’s something meant only for the two of you. A line from his vows, a piece of art that now hangs above your bed. A promise that ran much deeper than ‘in sickness and in health’. He crumbles, his face now digging into the palm of your hand with almost his full weight. 

The tears don’t stop falling, from either of you for a few minutes and the silence that falls is enormous. 

“I love you and I would rather share one lifetime with you than face all the ages of the world alone”

It’s a whisper against your palm, a gentle kiss to go with the words from your vows. There’s no hiding in the words, no doctor voice or a false strength. Just Frank. Your Frank. The man you fell in love with all those years ago, despite how fractured he is now. 

“I want this work, God I want this work more than anything in the world.”

The tears start to blur your vision now and you have to take a deep breath to stop the hiccuping sobs from wretching out of your body.

“Then you need to stop shutting me out.”

“I love you,” he says again. “And I want this to work.” His eyes lift back to yours. “God, I want this to work.”

Your vision blurs.

“Then stop shutting me out.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know but I need you to try with me.”

You don’t know if something breaks then or if something heals but Frank steps closer, he lets your hand fall back to your side as he places his forehead against yours. 

“I don’t know how to do this anymore but I do know I can’t do it without you.”

Truth be told, neither of you do. When he first came home from rehab you would have reached for him without thinking and a year ago you wouldn’t have ever believed you would reach this point, you would have laughed it all away before it got this far. Your chest aches at the revelation because you aren’t those people anymore and maybe you never would be again.

“Okay.” 

You whisper the words, hand reaching up to gently wrap around Frank’s neck. The foundations of you once were maybe cracked but that didn’t mean there wasn’t room for something new to grow. Something beautiful and alive and paved with gold. Something stronger than what you had before. 

“Okay?”

“We try again.”

The words are almost sacred the way they hang in the air, a thing made of hope and belief that feels both terrifying and invigorating for Frank. Suddenly the fear that made itself home in his body starts to dissipate and something much more terrifying takes its place, hope. 

“We try again, from the beginning.”

[croigealai]

Screaming about how amazingly brilliant your Parker fic was!

thank you my love! It was my first time writing for Parker and I had do much fun with it!

[croigealai]

Parker Ellis iris ^.^

featuring: parker ellis x fem! nurse!reader

wc: 2,796

warnings: previous toxic friendships, trust issues [resolved], reader ties her hair up in a nondescript way and parker plays with the ends, parker calls reader 'sweets'

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

Trust was not something that came easy to you. It didn’t live easily in your body the way it once did when you were younger and wore your heart on your sleeve. It had instead become a fragile thing made of crystal that you buried under your skin and layers of self defence, a fortress formed around your bones and heart made of steel and barbed wire that reminded you of the pain and hurt that came when you last trusted someone. 

Sure you trusted your friends, but it was surface level at best. Almost shallow and only the way that society demands we trust people. But there were quieter parts, the darker parts that follow after long nights and tough patients and the heart break that comes with facing death almost every day, that were locked away. Something you shared only with yourself and silvered shadows of the moon. 

It was self-defense, the way you kept people at arms length. Never letting them in close enough to see the broken parts. You had spent so many years acting as a sanctuary for others, the healer with the steady voice and gentle hands, being the shoulder to cry on at 1am when their worlds came crashing down. Supporting them through break-ups and heart aches and job changes and almost every major life event. 

But when you needed that? A hand to hold or even just a supportive word, there was silence. Deafening silence. Which you suppose was better than being called a burden, but the pain was the same. So it became easier to just keep everyone at a distance. It was the only way to end the toxic cycle of lighting yourself on fire to keep others warm. 

But then there was Parker. 

Beautiful, incredible Parker. A smart-ass with a heart of gold in scuffed up combat boots. She didn’t bulldoze your walls, didn’t throw bricks to shatter them down. That would have terrified you, sent you running for the hills and begging to be transferred to day shift. No, she dismantled them. Quietly and slowly, almost intimately in the way she moved around you. 

She noticed things. Always. It had started a few weeks after you started the night shift, a change to allow you to study and attend classes during the afternoons for your Advanced Nurse Practitioner Licence. It started small, a protein bar placed beside you while you charted, a fresh cup of coffee shoved into your hand when she walked passed, a calming cup of tea freshly brewed waiting in the break room after a tough patient. 

As time went on she noticed more, because of course she did, her hand falling to rub between your shoulder blades to ease tension there like it was the most natural thing in the world. Her eyebrow quirking up and a ‘whats up sweets?’ slipping through her lips when she notices the furrow in your brows. It was strange at first, you had never had someone see you quite like she did, and it made something settle in the corner of your ribs. It was an unfamiliar feeling, though not unpleasant, it was warm and light and buzzed with the energy of a new dawn every time she checked in on you. 

“You’re doing it again”

You startle slightly at her voice, hushed against the night air filled with monitors and patient voices, and you’re surprised to see her leaning over the nurses station so close that your foreheads are almost touching when you look up. You roll your eyes at the concern and bite down the smile forming on your lips, she could always see past the defensiveness to the hollow exhaustion of a medical worker. 

“What thing?”

You whisper back, leaning forward just slightly so you can look her in the eye with a raised eyebrow. For some reason, this moment felt sacred, like it was meant for just the two of you and not the prying eyes of staff and patients (though you’re sure you can see Shen watching with an amused smile on his face).

“That thing where you pretend you’re okay.”

It’s gentle when she says it, no judgment or pity. Just an acknowledgement of how you’re feeling and that it’s okay to feel that way. You take a deep breath and lean back again, hands crossing over your chest as if to hide your heart from her.

“I am okay, it’s nearly end of shift anyway.”

She lets out a small hum, pushes a protein bar over the top of the desk and gives you a wink and smile. 

“If you say so, but I’m calling you on the way home so I can make sure you don’t drive into oncoming traffic.”

That gets a laugh out of you and you ignore the way your heart hammers against your chest when she looks at you again before heading to her next patient. Somehow, she always knew how to make the bad days better, a silly comment slipping past her lips or a quiet conversation shared just between the two of you as you charted where she tells you ridiculous stories of her youth (and you would regularly call her out on how most of them couldn’t be true). 

She also knew how to make the good days a little bit easier, sitting beside you and joking like it was only you in the room, her shoulder pressing against yours as you talk about a patient (you’re not sure if it’s for you or her at this point), and food haphazardly shoved in front of you.

“What this for?”

Your voice is confused, questioning as she shoves a portion of a steaming hot pasta bake in front of you, and she just raises and eyebrow.

“Because I know you haven’t eaten all shift and with your schedule outside of here, you probably haven’t eaten since noon yesterday.”

An incredulous laugh passes your lips and you huff slightly at the insinuation, its true, but still she doesn’t need to know that,

“I’ve eaten.”

She smirks, lips tipping up at the edge and you have to steady your breathing because it makes her look absolutely devastating. 

“Stale protein bars and the leftover doughnuts from the day shift doesn’t count.”

Another huff and you roll your eyes before digging into the pasta with a glare, “I hate you,” there’s absolutely no malice in your voice and Parker just laughs at you

“No you don’t”

Then there were the phone calls. Parker kept good on her promise after that first time, your phone lighting up with her name the second you pulled out of the car park. It had been quiet for a bit, the two of you just letting the day wash over you before she started the conversation.

“Well,” her voice is soft against the hum of the engine and the click of an indicator, but it warmed you all the same, melted away some of the stress from the day, “that shift was personally offensive to my mental health”

You laughed at her and the conversation flowed from there. It became a habit after that, every shift shared and even ones you didn’t share ended with a phone call. A moment of decompression where you would pick apart the ugly parts of the day until it became a lighter to carry. Parker called it a mutually beneficial arrangement, you called it looking after each other but you wouldn’t say that out loud to her. 

Somewhere down the line, it strayed from being mutual. Because Parker remembered things, things you wouldn’t have expected her to. Like you’re elaborate coffee order from that one indie coffee shop that you adored but barely had time to go through, you think you rambled about it for all of 30 seconds to Shen one day when he asked you about your Dunkin’ order and then a week later it showed up on the nurses desk for you. You hadn't even realised she was in earshot or that she was listening. 

A cookie, something seemingly ordinary and boring, had shown up in your locker and you vaguely remembered asking Parker the next time her mom made them she had to save you one. What you did remember was her smile and the heat of her skin against yours as she made a pinky promise to hide one in your locker. 

Then there was the movie, one you adored. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, you knew it was old but it was a favourite and filled with childhood nostalgia of cuddling up with your mother with popcorn and chocolate and singing along to the songs. She watched it for you.

“I tortured myself for you.”

A laugh bubbled out of you at that, your hands falling down to either side of hers where she leaned on the hub.

“You loved it.”

She kissed her teeth but still smiled at you, despite the playful glare in her eyes.

“I tolerated it.” 

She laughed as she said it, your brow furrowing into a small glare as you stuck your tongue out. That feeling that had burrowed under your ribs growing like vines as it spread through your chest and wrapped around your heart. 

Days off, which were rare between working and studying, were sacred things you shared. Quiet afternoons filled with artisanal coffees and indie bookstores and walks in the park while you talked about everything and anything (other than work), when you think back on it you think your favourite was the quiet 6am walk you had in the summer after your classes had ended.  You had cursed her for getting you up so early but as you walked through the park, morning dew hanging to the grass like crystal and the sky painted in pinks and orange like a canvas, her hand brushing against yours every few seconds until you felt brave enough to finally curl your fingers around hers you realised how grateful you were she had. 

She showed up, she listened. Quiet conversation in break rooms where you rambled on about something or someone who had pissed you off where Parker would tilt her head with a smile and a teasing lilt, “You want solutions or just to talk?”

“Just to talk” 

Yet somehow she always had a solution, usually her place the next night you had off with wine and cheesy reality tv where you would complain and she would nod supportively. 

You showed up for her too. The quiet conversations in the car continued on as you both got ready for bed because you didn’t want them to end. Long drives without a destination in mind, just loud music and the two of you screaming your feelings into the lyrics. Sitting beside her, shoulders pressed together, when she was in her own head or had a bad case at work, her head resting on your shoulder or her fingers trailing through the ends of your hair.  

Then one day you didn’t text her back. It was the first day off four for both of you after working for two weeks solid, wintertime sickness taking out multiple nurses and Henderson at the same time that meant you were practically living at the hospital. She had sent the text in the early afternoon, just a check in to see if you were up for going to see the new movie, but when she didn’t receive a reply by 8pm she knew something was up. 

By 8: 30, she was knocking on your door with your favourite from the Thai place you liked and a bottle of your favourite wine. 

“You’re alive!” Sarcasm dripped from her lips the moment you opened the door, dressed in cozy pyjamas and absolutely adorable bunny slippers that she tried not to coo at as she gave a soft glare and rubbed at your eyes. 

They were red rimmed and dry and she couldn’t quite tell if it was from tears or tiredness. When you move back to allow her in, she offers a smile.

“You didn’t answer my text, so I assumed kidnapping or murder.”

You huff out a quiet laugh as you help her unpack the takeaway with a small eyeroll, “You’re so dramatic.” 

Her shoulder bumps against yours as she passes you too pull out plates and glasses, like she was always meant to exist in your space.

“You love it.” 

It settles in you then, that yeah, maybe you did. The vines that had twisted across your rips and heart, travelled over your bones and brought light and warmth and joy, started to tear down every single wall you had built until there was nothing but rubble and ruin in their wake. The steel fortress you had built was replaced with a garden of irises and roses and sun. Somewhere along the way, Parker had become home. 

The kiss that comes later that night is soft, gentle. Her hands tangling into the ends of your hair as she pulls you closer on the sofa as you tangle yours behind her neck. It’s not rushed or unexpected, just the final piece of a puzzle slotting into place. The rest of the night is spent curled around each other, hands reaching and tracing against skin with soft kisses pressed to cheeks and necks and lips, like this was the way it was always meant to happen. 

A few weeks later, after a brutal early January shift that hollowed out your bones from the inside, Parker finds you. Car keys in hands and tears in your eyes that you are desperately trying to fight back. Her hand is warm against your back when she pressed into you, lips falling in a comforting kiss against the skin there.

“Do you trust me?”

It’s light, whispered against the skin of your neck as she presses a kiss to your pulse point, hand reaching up to undo your hair because she’s sure it's causing a major tension headache. You turn your head to meet her eyes and your breath stutters for a moment. 

Because here is this incredible woman. Who remembers your coffee order. Who showed up without being asked. Who listened and stayed and loved you in both the quiet and loud ways so consistently.

“Yes”

The answer falls so quickly from your lips that it almost startles you, it had been a long time since you had let someone in like this. Let someone see you so wholly and trust them not to run when they see the cracks. Yet, it was the only right answer. 

Parker gives a smile, one so bright that it rivaled the sun that was just beginning to rise over the horizon, and a wink as she playfully wrestles your car keys from you and forces you into the passenger seat. The engine roared to life when she started it and her hand reached for yours as she pulled out, her thumb rubbing soft circles against the skin as she drove out of the city. 

She stops 30 minutes later, a track of road of the beaten track with a marked hiking trail you hadn’t heard off before. The car park doubled as an outlook, the sun finally reaching over the horizon line and painting the city below in a kaleidoscope of soft colours that almost made it look tender. 

You take a deep breath, hands coming up to wrap around yourself to protect from the wind chill. The air is sharp and clean but it feels so good in your lungs. Reminds you you’re alive. You take a step closer to the outlook, hands now falling to the railings as goosebumps raise against your flesh. The tears rise again now, slowly starting to fall and leave tracks of salt against your skin. A jacket is placed over your shoulders, one of Parkers that she keeps in the back seat, and her arms wrap around your waist and pull you against her chest. 

Your eyes move over the city, watching as the clouds above open and snow starts to fall around you. It clings to your lashes and against the fabric of the coat and your scrubs. But it’s nice. Peaceful. A moment you would commit to memory for the rest of your life. 

You’re still crying, quiet little sniffles leaving you as Parker places a kiss to your cheek and then again to your pulse point. You reach a hand up to wrap around the back of her neck and hold her, she’s cold to the touch but you can feel her pulse jumping underneath her skin.

“I love you,” it’s a whisper against the shell of your air, the wind around you picking up and almost making you miss it, “And I got you.”

[croigealai]

little snippet of something im working on, but who do we wanna see as the love interest? I was thinking jesse or shen

The prompts are also not set in stone and may change

[croigealai]

i'd love love love to see the following all for cassie mckay- gardenia, baby's breath, purple hyacinth, yellow hyacinth. for the 5th flower, trinity santos lilac <3

featuring: trinity santos x fem!reader

wc: 2,683

warnings: homophobia from family members (reader's family), religious guilt, , religious imagery, weaponization of religion, catholic!santos, physical abuse [pulled hair, slapping], mentions of self-harm [nssi], angst [not all angst], maybe OOC trinity

notes: the cassie piece can be found here. i may have unpacked just a little too much of my own catholic guilt in this one

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

Love was never something Trinity had considered for herself. She could recognise it, sure, she had seen friends and family and strangers on tiktok fall into it like it was the easiest thing in the world. But for her? It was a phantom, a ghost haunting her but never truly reaching out. The closest experience she’s had with it was ink on pages, where you are guaranteed a soulmate or lover despite your flaws and misdeeds, or through the flickering light of a screen where romance is scripted and every charged moment is staged. 

She had been in relationships (and situationships if she was truly being honest with herself). But they were nothing serious, barely skimming the surface  and barely deserving of the title ‘relationship’. Her so-called prickly mouth and bad attitude became the perfect excuse for things to end before she could ever fall hard enough to call it love. A part of her thought that maybe it was for the best, not letting anyone get close enough to see beyond the smart-ass comments and sarcasm. It felt safer, somehow, that no one could see the damaged parts of her. 

And maybe, just maybe, buried under the deflection and sarcasm there was fear. Fear that if somebody else could see Trinity so wholly and completely, her soul bare to them in ways it hadn’t been in years, then maybe God would see too.

Not the soft version her mother and grandmother spoke about, who loved unconditionally and was built from gentleness. But the version her guilt had invented. The one where disappointment is carved into his face like marble. The one that tallies every sin and straying thought and cruel, angry words. Weighing up your soul and seeing if it’s worthy of heaven. 

Though she doesn’t believe anymore, Trinity still wonders if she’ll make it. Especially when her thoughts trail to you, the one girl she maybe loved or could have loved if you had been given half a chance. 

You had been a soft thing smelling like lilacs and chamomile with gentle edges that hid a sharp tongue. You had transferred in at the start of sophomore year in high school, got paired up with Trinity in biology and for reasons Trinity couldn’t even name now, the two of you clicked. You were smart and kind and beautiful, a gentle voice that calmed Trinity’s inner turmoil while also matching her wit and sarcastic words with one on your own. Trinity could still remember how her name rolled off your tongue with exasperation as she scolded her about something she said, how it had felt like the first time someone had said her name and found she was worth holding onto.  

The memories were always there, burned into her mind like a brand she never wanted to leave. The late nights were Trinity would wait under the large oak tree at the edge of the property while you climbed through the bedroom window with a blanket tucked under your arm.  The moon and stars a silent witness to hushed conversations about futures and college and careers. You talked about falling in love, and the image of you and Trinity and an unspeakable forever had already carved its way into her mind. 

She remembers how your eyes glimmered, starlight reflected back as if your irises were the cosmos themselves. And your lips, covered in strawberry lip balm and tasting like honeyed sin against her own. The park became a sanctuary then, a place where fingers gently entwined under the stars and friendship transformed into something deeper, something you were both afraid to put a name to. A place where you could be each other’s and each other's alone, God’s eyes cast aside and replaced with the gentle warmth of the moon instead. 

Trinity thinks she was happiest then, her hands finding yours in quiet secret moments and her lips pressed against you in empty hallways and spaces. Where no one could see, no one could tell.  That’s why it hurt so bad when it ended. 

It had been another late night, so close to the start of summer that you could both taste freedom in the air and against each other’s skin. Kisses shared between filling our forms for summer jobs and last minute home work sheets that were due the next day. It had been your father that found you, his hand wrapping in your hair as pulled you off the ground with such ferocity you thought it would rip it out from the scalp. 

Scathing words and cruelty slipping through his lips like a prayer, religion wielded like a knife. She could remember your tears, the way you screamed as he dragged you away and called Trinity a sinful deviant and a manifestation of devilish desires. That didn’t hurt as much as your mother, her hand hitting against Trinity’s skin so hard the red mark remained for hours. She had called Trinity a demon, sent to tempt you into sin and temptation, a taint on your perfect soul. 

The words they said to you weren’t much kinder, she remembers the teary phone calls as they screamed in the background. The whispered I'm sorry that fell from your lips the day before you disappeared, the photos she had of you the only evidence that remained of the relationship. Moving trucks appeared a week later, she tried to speak to you but could only watch in silent despair as you were loaded into the family car, her eyes catching the bruises that decorated your skins, and then you were gone. 

Trinity cried every day that summer. Pain and guilt and fear that she was the reason this happened burrowing deep into her skin until she felt like a hollow thing. She worried your parents were right, that there was something so fundamentally wrong with her soul that she was cursed to a life of sin and devils and pain. That somehow she deserved it, that this was her divine punishment from merciless God. 

She remembered her mother, her arms wrapped around her as she wept after finding her in the bathroom. A razor had become a reprieve and blood dotted her thighs and pyjama bottoms. How her mother had cried because of the pain her daughter was feeling and the words she whispered against her hair about how she was still her. She was still Trinity and God was merciful and his love endless, how every human being was made in his image and if didn’t want Trinity to be who she was he wouldn’t have made her that. 

It made her feel a little better, knowing her soul was damned to hell simply because she loved a girl. But shame and guilt have a strange way of surviving, even after being smothered by love. 

Trinity’s thinking of you, the words I’ve never been in love dancing at the tip of her tongue after Emma asks if she ever had a love like the elderly couple down in South 12, when it hits her. Lilac and camomille, it hits like a freight train and almost sends her physically reeling. It’s so different to the usually antiseptic and blood and sickness that permeated the ER, so out of place and yet it feels kind of like home. 

She spots you then, your hand clasped around a grieving family member’s hand as Robby discusses next steps with them. There’s a ‘staff’ badge hanging from your pocket. There’s no moonlight here, just the harsh clinical fluorescence of the overhead light and the cloud of grief that makes things look a little murkier than they are. And yet, she can tell it’s you. 

You're a little sharper around the edges now, but still so achingly familiar in your gentleness. How you reach out a tissue with steady hands and a calm voice that carries through the thrall of beeping machines and screaming patients. Even under the harsh lights, Trinity can’t help thinking of your eyes as the cosmos calling her home. 

For a single, heartbreaking second, hatred rises in her veins. Hot and ugly, burning against her as her heart beat rises. It’s not true hatred and certainly not a fair one, and she knows this. It simmers down after a second, her eyes downcasting to the chart in front of her as guilt makes its home inside of her. The same guilt from years earlier. It makes her feel small, like she's 16 again and standing at the altar of a church begging God for his forgiveness even if she isn’t 100% certain that it’s something she deserves as your parents words of sinful and wrong echo in her mind. 

The realisation hits a second later, drapes over her like silk. You were just a kid too, suffering under the brutal force of a belief you didn’t choose. She remembered the bruises that decorated your skin the last time she saw you, the physical manifestation of your parents hatred, you suffered just as much as she did. 

Trinity tries to avoid you the rest of the shift, head ducking down when you enter a room as if somehow it would make her invisible. She rushes for the exit or the next patient whenever you step close, emotions she can’t control welling in her throat every time she sees you. It works, until it doesn’t. 

There’s a rare lull in the ER, a moment of calm as everyone waits for results or specialized consults or just to see if the patient stabilizes, and she manages to catch your eye over the hub while she’s charting. You're talking to Robby, a gentle smile on your face as you hand him over some leaflets to give to a patient. When you catch her eyes, the reaction is immediate. 

Guilt over takes your features and it nearly undoes Trinity, it's like a physical weight that smashes against her sternum and cracks open her ribs until all that is left is an aching, beating heart.  

She watches as you say goodbye to Robby, quickly casts her gaze back down to her charting in the hopes you avoid her. But hope is a fragile thing. It’s soft when you approach, almost hesitant as you stop in front of her computer. You pick at the edges of your nails for a few seconds before taking a deep breath and trying to settle your rising nerves,

“Doctor Santos, can I talk to you for a second?”

Trinity looks up at you from her lashes, her breath catching at the back of her throat as her eyes dart around for an excuse, a reason to say no. A patient needing her, Robby calling her into a trauma or even Whittaker to ask some stupid question about dinner or fucking avocados. But it doesn’t come, so instead she clears her throat and pushes her chair back.

“Yeah,” it's almost a whisper and far less confident than what Trinity wants to come out with, “sure.” 

You take her to a family room, its dark grey walls almost feeling like a tomb when the door closes. It’s quiet, the air almost stagnant and verging on being too fresh with the cotton diffuser in the corner and the flowers on the centre table. It’s a place where bad news is shared and hearts are broken as families are irrevocably changed forever. Some part of Trinity hopes what happens here won’t break her forever. 

Your hands wring together, your mouth opening and closing as your thoughts race a million miles an hour as you try to come up with the right words to say. But they all feel heavy and wrong as they sit on your tongue. 

“I’m sorry.”

It’s the only thing you can settle on, the only thing that feels right in this moment because what else do you say to the girl whose heart you held in your hands like something sacred only to abandon it? Your voice catches as the words come out, tears welling in your eyes just a little.

Trinity blinks, confused and a little wary. 

“For what?”

A scoff leaves your lips, light and a little disbelieving as you drop your hands to your side.

“For everything Trinity. For the way things ended, how my parents treated you, for standing up for you. For us.” 

Another weight hits against Trinity’s chest, starts to unravel something she never knew she needed. An acknowledgement of what happened, of the pain, of the cost. 

“We were kids.”

It’s a whisper as she speaks, hands coming up to wrap protectively around herself as if she can withstand the blow she’s expecting to come. 

“I still should have tried.” 

A humourless laugh leaves her, tears now forming on her own lashline as she shakes her head. 

“You did. I remember the phone calls and I remember the screaming, the bruises on your skin the day you left.” 

She takes a step forward, her toes brushing against yours as she invades your space slightly. But it doesn’t feel suffocating, it feels like comfort. An old picnic blanket laid out beneath the stars tying your bodies together. 

“You protected me from them but didn’t protect yourself.”

A tear falls then, slow and dramatic as it tracks salt down your skin. 

“I should have fought too but I was scared.”

It’s an admission she never wanted to make, one she had buried so deep inside of her that it felt wrong to finally admit. 

“I thought something was wrong with me, that your parents were right.”

You reach for her, hand hesitantly hovering over her arm before taking a gentle hold.

“There was never anything wrong with you, not then, not now.”

She’s taken aback by the confidence in your voice and she almost flinches at it but she manages to stay steady as a breath shutters from her chest. Her shoulders drop, just a little and her arms uncross as she gently takes your hand in hers and threads her fingers through giving a soft squeeze. 

“We were kids, we didn’t deserve what your parents did to us.”

Her voice is a little steadier now, that confident edge you knew in high school sneaking in at the corners. 

“And we don’t deserve to torture ourselves because of it.”

You laugh at that, soft and melodic and Trinity realises just how much she missed that sound.

“When did you become so wise?”

It’s teasing and familiar, an old dynamic falling into place with ease as Trinity rolls her eyes and drops your hand. 

“I’ve always been wise, you’ve just never appreciated my wisdom.”

You laugh again, feeling lighter than you had in years, Trinity wants to hear that sound again and again and is sure she’ll hear it in her dreams later tonight. 

“We good?”

Your voice is quiet, hesitant as you ask it and Trinity nods as she rocks back on her feet a little.

“We’re good.”

You smile at her, soft edged and full of a care she thought long gone. Then you’re reaching for the door, hand wrapping around the handle but there’s a hesitation. A moment where you hold on just a bit too long that has Trinity raising an eyebrow at you. A sigh leaves you and you turn to her.

“Listen, you can say no and I will completely understand but…”, you take a deep, steadying breath trying to battle down the nerves that had crawled into your throat, “Do you wanna grab a drink after work? Just talking, no expectations, just us?”

Trinity glances to the ground, her heart stuttering in her chest so much that it hurts. But then something blooms beneath her ribs, something revealed in all the unraveling, soft and gentle and kind. It’s fragile but not entirely new, just a bloom finally seeing the sunlight after a decade buried beneath pain and hurt. 

“Yeah”

You smile at her again, warm and bright, and realisation washed over her. Trinity Santos had been in love, it had never haunted her because it was impossible. It haunted her because it had been waiting. 

[croigealai]

gardenia, baby's breath, purple hyacinth, yellow hyacinth

featuring: cassie mckay x reader

gardenia, baby's breath, purple hyacinth, yellow hyacinth

wc: 2,934

warning: established relationship, you're friends with langdon, sloppy make outs, jealousy, age-gap [reader is said to have been childhood friends with langdon, fears of cheating [but no actual cheating], non-sexual nudity, mentions of rehab and divorce, reader has hair long enough to be put up out of the way

notes: first time writing for cassie, hopefully its okay! i had so much fun doing this. also since we don't know characters actual birthdays, i used the actors for the birthstones. also, if you saw this already, no you didn't. i had to delete and repost because it wasn't showing up in the tags, i had to delete the tw. tags for nudity and non sexual nudity for this to show so just be aware its in the piece

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

The seed of doubt had started off small, barely rooted into the consciousness of your mind. But it was there tucked into the recesses of your mind just waiting for the right moments to grow. It started with a late night text, the tv flickering with the forgotten glow of some random movie you had put on. It had played for only 30 minutes before you ended up draped over Cassie, arms loosely wound around her neck and lips lazily pressing against her. 

Then there was the shrill ding, sharp and cutting, breaking the atmosphere as Cassie withdrew her mouth from yours and glanced at the phone. You try to keep her there, hands tangling at the base of her scalp to pull her mouth back to yours to drown the rest of the world out with a deeper kiss. 

Your teeth graze her lower lip and she lets out a moan made of velvet and honey that trickles down your spine and spreads head through your body, but then she pulls away again. Eyes soft and gentle as she runs her knuckles down your cheek with a chuckle.

“I just wanna check the baby. It could be about Harrison.”

The pout that had been forming on your lips quickly drops as you lose your arms from around her neck, dripping down her body like silk until you’re squeezing gently at  her hips. You place a kiss against her neck, its featherlight and it puts you at just the right angle to see the name ‘Langdon’ at the top of the screen. You don’t see the rest of the message as Cassie flips the phone face down with a jarring finality. Something settles in your chest then, something uneasy and ruinous, but Cassie just pulls you in for another kiss as her hands quietly work their way into your shirt and against your skin. 

The next morning, the seed has turned into a sprout. You're both leaning over the table, your chest pressed into her back as you draw gentle circles into the skin of her hip, there's some adventure weekend on the screen. Something fun you could both do with Harrison that involved pirates and treasure hunts and thankfully no camping. Another notification moved across her phone screen, the name ‘Langdon’ flaring like a gun at the top and the way she quickly locks the screen is the bullet penetrating your skin. 

There’s a rushed excuse about the bathroom as she slips from your arms and you’re left so fucking confused. Frank was your best friend, your person, the one you called when you have a body to bury and want no questions asked except if you want to go grab a milkshake after. And Cassie, she was your everything. Your heart and soul and the reason you believed in love and soulmates, despite having to be quiet about it in the workplace. The last three years with her have been the happiest of your life. Yet, despite that, that little seed bloomed. Bright and ugly and toxic as its nectar spread. 

What had started as secret texts spiraled. There were hushed conversations over the nurses stations and in the lounge that suddenly went quiet when you walked in. Frank's gaze following you through the ER like a ghost, always watching as if waiting for something, it was worse when he was with Cassie. The way he would be totally focused on what she was saying and yet his eyes were on you before they turned away, you thought you saw guilt in them once. 

Cassie had practically become a phantom, secret errands where she gave you a kiss and said she was heading out, no elaboration of what she was doing or where she was going.You were lucky if you got your evenings with her these days, and you think even that is only because you live with her. Then there was Frank, the sudden cancellation of lunch plans with the excuse that Tanner was sick but you knew that was a lie he was your godson and Abby had texted you earlier that day about the two of you taking him and Penny out shopping because he had got some award at school. The ‘rain check’ text became a regular thing and it to the point that you even stopped planning your lunches, instead spending the day Abby and the kids. 

The killing blow was Harrison, sweet, innocent Harrison. With his mothers eyes and heart, he was staying with the two of you over a long weekend and you had gone out to get snacks for a movie night and maybe another throw pillow or two for the fort you promised Harrison you would build. He may be pushing his teenage years, but everyone loved building a fort. When you had gotten home, he smiled at you as you placed a kiss against his forehead and started sorting out the snacks. 

“What movie do you wanna watch honey?”

He considers it for a second, eyes scanning over his tablet at the options. It’s a subscription service you’re pretty sure neither you nor Cassie pay for.

“What’s that?”

He looks up at you, so sweet and shrugs his shoulders, “Frank logged me into his account, said the original Spiderman movies were on it.”

Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion and you freeze from unpacking the bag to fully look at Harrison, “You saw Frank today?”

He just nods, eyes going back to the tablet, “Yeah, he left about 20 minutes ago. Oh I found it!”

That sent you spiralling, jealousy and rage and maybe something even more dangerous simmering beneath the surface of your skin. What had he been doing here? Alone? You look back to Harrison, but he offers no other information and at least you can assume nothing happened in front of Cassie. But you quickly shake that thought from your head, because nothing would have happened. Right? They wouldn’t be that stupid and blatant. 

You push the feeling down, especially as Cassie walks in from the bedroom with that smile on her face, the one that breaks down your defences and makes the room just a little brighter. There’s a kiss pressed to your cheek and movie night begins. 

The hospital made the feeling worse, the lingering stares like knives against your skin that were burning you up from the inside. You had no one to talk to about it, well no one but Langdon and he was currently avoiding you like you had the plague, you had both decided to keep it a secret until you finished residency. You knew the hospital thrived on gossip and rumours and you both already had so much following you around, Cassie because of her age and history and you because someone had called you a homewrecker because of your friendship with Langdon (which was ridiculous seeing as you had known the man since you were 5). 

But Dana noticed how your patience was fraying at the edges and how tension had made its home in your body. After you had snapped at poor Ogilvie for a stupid question, however deserved it was, she had to intervene. You had never been one to snap at students, no matter how much the fuck up because and she quotes ‘they’re like puppies, they need gentle encouragement if we want to teach them’. 

“Want me to kick his ass?”

It was a teasing comment, something off hand to try and lighten your mood. She knew you were seeing something, but that was all the information she had. You snort out a laugh and run your hand over your neck. 

“Not a him but no…I” The truth tastes bitter against your tongue, because you’re being ridiculous. You know you’re being ridiculous but yet jealousy and frustration simmers in your chest, “I’m just in my head.”

She gently bumps her shoulder into yours and offers a kind smile and you lean your head against it, suddenly feeling like a little girl in the arms of their mother after their first playground heartbreak. You let out a humourless laugh as she wraps her arm around you.

“Being in love sucks sometimes.”

She laughs and gives a gentle squeeze, “It does, but it’s worth it.”

Her voice softens at the end, it's almost a whisper. She bumps her hip against you then and unwraps her arm, “Now go change, your shift starts in a few.”

You nod and give a quiet ‘thanks’ before disappearing into the locker room, it’s quiet here. Lucky, you’re early and no on else is around so you can bang your head against your locker without worrying about someone sending you for a fucking concussion check. You do a few times, gentle enough that it doesn’t cause damage but hard enough that you hope it shakes the jealousy from your brain. 

Cassie comes in a few minutes later, just as you're slipping your scrub top on and offers you a warm smile. There’s tiredness lingering in her eyes, her final night shift after a week of covering Ellis who was visiting family, but she livens up a little as she walks up to you. Her hand wraps around your waist and she places a quick kiss against your cheek before pulling away, eyes scanning to make sure no one else has walked in. She leans against the locker next to you, head tipped towards the floor for a second before she's looking at you.

“I was thinking we can check out that new Thai place for dinner tonight, the one Langdon recommended. It-”

Your locker slams shut, Frank's name on her tongue feeling like venom digging into your veins and you simply can’t help it. It makes Cassie jump and her eyes widen as roughly shove your name tag onto your trousers.

“Why don’t you just go with Frank? Seeing how much time you're spending with him, what's one more evening away from me?” 

It’s bitter and full of venom that immediately sinks beneath Cassie’s skin and burns her veins, she turns towards you then. Reaches out a hand to brush away a hair that had fallen stray.

“Baby, it’s…it’s not-”

Her voice is soft, a gentle promise that it’s not what you think dancing at the tip of her tongue but you don’t give her a chance to finish, instead pushing her hand away and turning back towards the doors.

“I can’t do this right now, I have to get to rounds.” 

Regret settles in you as soon as you walk back to the hub, it hits heavy in your chest and you spend the rest of the shift spiraling over an apology and how to do it. You were cruel, you know it and you hated it. Hated how the jealousy had corroded away at your heart and turned it into something gnarled and ugly, you and Cassie prided yourselves on clear open communication within your relationship and yet here you were bottling everything up and lashing out instead of talking it out. 

Hours later you finally make it home, you practised your apology in the car but every word tasted bitter and poisonous as if it just wasn’t right. Your thoughts turn, over and over again, different variations of I’m sorry working their way up your throat. But when you open the door, you freeze. It smells like gardenias and hyacinths and your favourite seasonal scented candle, there’s garlic and ginger and fresh bread as well. Like you’re stepping into a sanctuary and now the war-zone you expected. There’s petals scattered across the ground, white and pink and red, and rows of low lit tea candles flickering like grounded stars. 

You take a cautious step, and then another, following the trail of lights into the kitchen room. Cassies stands there, a book in her hand as she stirs something delicious on the stove, her hair is loose over her shoulders and you want nothing more than to run your fingers through it just for a second. 

When she hears your bag drop, she turns with a smile. Gentle, understanding, like shes already forgiven and forgotten about what happened in the locker room. 

“Hey baby,” her voice is a gentle caress against your skin and something inside of your shatters. Tears well in your eyes and you open up your arms to her, and she immediately drops the book and spoon and wraps you up in her. It’s grounding how she holds you, a gentle kiss against your scalp as her arms give a squeeze, she smells like wine and honey and that vanilla shampoo she loved and it feels like home. 

She holds you for a minute, rubbing soothing motions into your back and offering kisses against skin and hair and anywhere she can reach, just letting your tears fall because she realised just how much you had been holding in. 

“I ran you a bath, it should just be at the perfect temperature now and I put in that lavender bath bomb and salts you like and there’s a faceback sitting on the sink for you.”

Her voice is a whisper against your hair and she pulls back to give you a gentle smile and a kiss to your lips. 

“Can you sit with me for a bit?”

Your voice is hoarse from crying and some part of you feel silly for asking, but Cassie just threads her fingers through yours, placing another kiss against the skin before gently pulling you into the bathroom.

“Of course baby.”

Though you don’t ask her too, she helps you undress. Hands gentle against your skin as she slides your scrubs and underwear off, fingers threading through your hair as she secures it so it won’t get wet. It feels nice, her taking care of you, and you suddenly feel guilty about the thoughts and the jealousy and the fear that maybe she was leaving you for Frank. 

When you get into the bath, she holds your hand over the rim and watches with kind eyes as you sink beneath the suds. The knuckles of her free hand draw gently against your skin, drawing your attention to her and the love and devotion in her eyes makes your heart stutter.

“I am so sorry baby,” her voice is a whispered, sacred thing, something meant for only you and the stars that filter through the window, “I promise you there is and never was anything going on with me and Frank. I’ve been planning a surprise and he’s your best friend and the only one that knows about us.”

Your breath catches and suddenly the guilt feels stronger now, like a monster clawing out of your skin as more tears spill from your eyes. 

“He’s been helping me.”

You hiccup, hands coming up to wipe at your tears but they don’t stop. 

“I-I’m sorry to..” The words come out as a stutter, barely comprehensible murmur, but Cassie only continues smiling and rubbing against your chin. “I shouldn’t have snapped today and I should have spoke to you about how I was feeling.”

She sits up on her knees, presses a soft kiss to your lips that taste like salt and lavender, pulling back only a second later. Far too soon for your liking.

“It’s okay babe, we’re okay. Now I gotta go finish dinner, you take as long as you need.”

Another kiss as you nod and then she’s disappearing from the bathroom. You sit there for 20 minutes, giving the tears time to stop and dry and for the redness to disappear from your skin. When you’re finished, you dress in the silk set she left sitting on your shared bed and join her at the table. 

You don’t talk as you eat, content to sit in the silence of reconciliation for just a bit. But then, half way through she reaches across and weaves her fingers through yours motioning to the side slightly where a small velvet box sits on a red coaster. You hadn’t noticed it before. 

“I love you,” her voice is almost reverent when she speaks, strong and confident as it carries over the sound of the dishwasher, “More than anything in my life. You are by far one of the best things that ever happened to me. After rehab and my divorce and the custody battle, I thought I didn’t deserve to be happy.”

Her throat catches, tears welling in her eyes and you rub soothing circles against her intertwined hand. 

“But you change that. You make life worth living again, being with you and loving you has been the easiest decision of my life. Not only do you make me happy, you make Harrison happy.”

The first tear drops out, uncontrolled and Cassie has to clear her throat again, “The only thing that would make me happier is if you married me.”

She pulls her hand away from you and opens the velvet box. It was gorgeous, obviously something personally made and not something you’d find in a jewellery box. An intricate carving of opal, granite and your own birthstone, a literal entwinement of you, Cassie and Harrison, in the shape of a baby's breath. A flower from your childhood, a memory you had shared on one of your first dates that she had kept safe even all these years later. 

You’re both crying now, your hands rising to your mouth as you choke out a sob. Suddenly nothing matters anymore, not the secrets or the jealousy, everything else was washed away for this one single moment. 

“Yes”

[croigealai]

Hi pls could I order a bouquet of Dr Robby with Gardenia, Daffodils and Lilac! 💐

featuring: michael robinavitch x cardiologist!fem!reader

wc: 2,516

warnings: pure fluff, second chance romance, bad flirting, fem presenting reader (wears), collage aged robby

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

It started simple. The first free Friday night at the end of finals week was supposed to be carefree, fun. The last hurrah before real life came calling - summer internships, projects, work. But things never stay simple for long, especially not at a frat party. 

One of the senior frat brothers, whose name you honestly couldn’t remember, who smelled of weed and alcohol had declared a beer pong tournament. The winner walked away with a full keg and a bottle of expensive whiskey they had swiped from his parents during spring break. You liked beer pong, you were fucking fantastic at it, but had no desire to play that night, all energy eviscerated by the stress of finals. But your friends had other plans, her hand pushing against your shoulder as she shoved you into the running because she wanted the whisky as a gift for her own fathers birthday.  

It was easy the way you tore through your opponents, eyebrow raised with a sweet smile every time you sank the final ball while still having three or four of your own cups. Almost teasing and coy as they cursed you out while shaking your hand. You had no problem reaching the finals against Michael Robinavitch. 

He was all ego and boyish charm, a lopsided grin on his face as stepped up and offered a wink while someone refilled and re-racked the cups. You knew him, you were in the same pre-med course with shared classes and projects. He was smart. Kind, always helping when another student was struggling, but he was also a shameless, unapologetic flirt. Especially when it came to you, all sweet smiles and coy words. Double entendres and compliments slipping off his tongue like whiskey. 

Michael is all calm confidence as you play, that stupid gorgeous grin on his face as if he isn’t losing the game four cups to your seven, like maybe he can still win this. That grin makes you feel light, floaty, and mixed with the alcohol there’s a dangerous undercurrent of confidence that makes its way through.

“You’re making this too easy Robinavitch,” your voice is laced with velvet, a teasing edge that makes him raise an eyebrow as he crosses his arms, “Why don’t we up the stakes a little?”

He eyes you, moving slowly up and down your body taking in the flush of your skin and devilish twinkle in your eyes.

“What you got in mind, sweetheart?”

You ignore how heat floods you at the nickname, instead tapping against your chin as if thinking with a small sigh and flirty pout.

“Dare or drink, it’s simple but makes things a little more exciting”

His grin widens and he leans his arms on the table, your eyes instantly fly to the way the veins bulge and pulse under the dim party lights. He notices and files the information away for later.

“You’re on”

His confidence is insane, and simultaneously hate and love just how hot it makes him. He sinks the first ball and you roll your eyes playfully as you motion for him to dish out the dare. He just smirks, lips turning up at the edge as mischief dances behind his eyes. 

It’s a stupid dare, a mystery shot made of unknown liquids that may or may not have included mayonnaise and you take like a champ offering a wink to Michael as you down it with a small gag. It’s disgusting and you have to take chaser to get the taste out of your mouth but you blow him a kiss afterwards to show it didn’t bother you. 

The game continues on, Michael getting you down to three cups and you getting him down to one, the dares getting riskier and sometimes a little more silly as you. Michael having to tell his most embarrassing story, you having to take your shirt off (which you refused to do), both of you sharing embarrassing stories. 

The temperature in the room had risen a considerable amount, the flush on your face no longer from the alcohol but the flirtation dripping from both of your mouths as you egg the other one. Finally, you sank the final ball and Michael in all his calm confidence watches and waits. The confidence that simmered under your skin was a full blown fire now, it was new and foreign but the alcohol didn’t give you a chance to second guess yourself as you stepped around the table and moved towards Michael.

“Kiss me”

Michael’s eyes widened, shock written into the corners but it quickly disappeared as he cupped your check and pressed his lips into yours. Firm, confident. Deeper than you thought it would be. You could hear the cheers and groans throughout the crowd, the whoops and hollering as Michael’s other hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer into him. He’s smirking when he pulls away but his hands don’t move.

“You know if you wanted to kiss me that badly, all you had to do was ask”

You scoff and roll your eyes, hand slapping lightly against his chest as you go to step away.

“Fuck you Robinavitch”

“Just tell me when and where sweetheart”

Another scoff leaves you and you go to move back round to your side of the table, but Michael simply winks and downs the last cup giving you the win. Before you can question it, your hand is raised in the air by the host and there’s applause and when you look back to Michael he’s disappeared back into the crowd. 

But he finds you, 30 minutes later in the kitchen. It’s quieter here, most people having migrated out to the back when midnight struck so they could watch some fireworks somebody had organised. You have a glass of water in your hand, just something to wash away the taste of the last tequila shot that tasted too much like regret, when you feel a hand snaking across your hip and settling against your stomach, a broad chest pressing into your back. 

“Wanna get out of here?”

His voice is deep, a little slurred at the edges as the alcohol finally hits, but it still slips down your spine like honey. You don’t say anything, just thread your fingers through his and nod. 

With everyone distracted, it's easy to slip out into the night. The streetlights and moon shining down on the both of you as you move through the silent streets. There’s no destination in mind, just an unspoken feeling of not wanting the night to end, but eventually you reach a 24-hour dinner and you stumble in, heels in hands as Michael carries you on his back. The staff just offer a small smile, eyes casting to one another in a secret language over the young lovers that have stumbled in. 

The dinner booth seems more like a sanctuary than anything, curling in at the edges as conversation flows between the two of you like a secret. Voices whispered under the hum of the fluorescence and the distant fryer. It’s here that post-party adrenaline and fading blood alcohol transforms into something deeper, heavier, more intimate.

A seed planted in the garden of your hearts that blooms over months and years of quiet coffee dates and late nights in the library, take-away boxes and sprawling text books as you move through pre-med and med school together, holding each other together through clinical rotations. Hand-in-hand and your hearts belonging to one another, a simple infatuation turning into a love you had never felt before. The bone deep kind that promised forever. 

Until match day came, you had gone through couples match and hope had made its home in your hearts that you would be matched together that maybe lady luck was on your side. Unfortunately she wasn’t. You had both matched with your desired specialities, cardiology and emergency medicine, but it was on other ends of the country. While Michael would remain in Pittsburgh, you would be moving to LA.

You tried to make it work, really you did, phone calls and skype videos between the chaos of your shifts and promises of trips to fly out and see each other. But it quickly became a weight neither of you could carry. It wasn’t just time zones, it was the missed calls because of surgeries and traumas and the flights missed and promises broken. Not in malice,  never malice, but the bone tied exhaustion of two people trying to become the best in their fields while trying to maintain a relationship. 

So, things ended. Not in a fight, there was no anger, just the heart breaking realisation that this wasn’t working. You could still taste the tears on your skin from how hard you cried and now you hated rocky road ice cream because of how much you ate in the weeks following. 

The following years were a mix of sterile hallways and the smell of antiseptic, bodies of people you probably could have loved but that were always missing something. There was one that almost worked, an anesthesiologist from your hospital, it was sweet and kind and funny and made you feel all the right things. He was perfect. You nearly married him, until you found him in bed with one of the oncology nurses. 

It hurt, of course it did, you were planning on marrying the man but yet it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Some part of you recognising you were settling and that you wouldn’t be happy, that there was something missing and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

Michael was no better, he had bodies to keep his bed warm. Relationships passed by almost as quickly as he got into them, there were a few more serious ones like Heather, but yet when things got real. He always ran. He would get scared, some part of him feeling like he was betraying you despite it being two decades since he had last seen you. 

The funny thing is life has a way of circling back, the universe in all her wisdom sometimes decides that it’s not the right time only to throw you right back on that same path when it is. Which is what happens one early summer morning in Pittsburgh. 

The failed engagement and your mothers failing health had prompted a new start, a move out of the city you had called home for so many years, and you had gotten lucky. The Chief of Cardiology position opened at PMTC and you went for it, happily accepting the position when it was offered. 

The first day should have just been paper work and integrating, getting caught up on patient files and information but when the call for a consult in the ER came down you took the opportunity to do it yourself, what better time to introduce yourself after all. 

It was a fairly simple consult, a pacemaker that had moved out of place and needed reattached, surgery was scheduled and you were done. The surgery would take a while, more pressing cases upstairs taking priority and you’re going over a temporary care plan with Whittaker and Santos when Michael sees you.

He doesn't believe it at first, that it’s you. He blinks, then blinks again harder this time, before rubbing at his eyes, convinced his caffeine riddled and sleep deprived mind was playing tricks on him. Dana stares at him like he’s seen a ghost.

“You okay there?” 

Her voice is laced with concern, her eyes moving over his face as he turns her to her with a small nod.

“Yeah, yeah, uh… who’s that.”

She nods unconvinced, “New chief of cardio, wanted to come down and introduce herself”

Then she says your name and everything stops. The world around him freezes, monitors and clicking gurney wheels fading away to silence as his eyes move to you again. Older, more mature, but still you. Still beautiful and gentle and kind, if the way you’re talking to Whittaker and Santos is anything to go by. His heart skips a beat, or maybe it’s just righting itself after suffering from a 20 year arrhythmia. 

He stares, for longer than he should, and you feel his eyes on you as you finish the consult. They were warm, familiar, a secret gravitational pull dragging your eyes away from the chart in your hands to meet his. You know it’s Michael immediately, the dark eyes and unruly hair. He looked older, a little more rugged than you remember with the messy beard, but the way he was looking at you - he was definitely your Michael. 

You say your goodbyes to Whittaker and Santos, giving Michael a small, professional smile as you greet him.

“Doctor Robinavitch? Can I have a word?”

He nods, the shock vanishing from his system as your voice filters through the silence. His arm moves to your lower back as your turn, warm, steady and familiar as his hand is placed there. Dana watches as you disappear through the ER, down towards the elevators, with a curious gaze and then something settles. The familiarity of your name, the one that got away that Michael always talks about after one too many drinks. 

The walk to the elevator is quiet, but it’s a welcome silence. Something warm settles over the two of you, comforting as his hand rubs against your back through your scrubs. Before you can reach the elevator, Michaels redirects you into one of the small family rooms at the end of the hall. 

When you step into the room, he’s instantly wrapping his arms around you and giving you the tightest hug you’ve ever felt. It should hurt, should sting and make it hard to breathe with how close you’re pulled into his chest. But it doesn’t, it feels like the first breath of fresh air you’ve had in years. You stay like that for a few seconds, just feeling each others bodies pushed into each other. 

When you pull apart, you go to talk but end up talking over one another.

“How-”

“When-”

You freeze, then both laugh. Light and airy and suddenly it's like every puzzle piece slots into place. Like the universe had finally pressed play on a scene frozen in time. You sit in silence for a few seconds, just taking each other in. Cataloging the changes that time has brought to your bodies. 

“I-I can’t believe you're here.”

Michael’s voice is soft, haloed with awe and a devastating emotion you refused to name.

“I can’t either, it was a last minute thing. I didn’t even think you were still in the city”

Your voice is just as soft, almost reverent as you speak.

“How ar-”

There's a ding, both of your phones going off at the same time and when you look you’re both needed in your departments. Michael looks to you, eyes soft and uncertain”

“How about dinner, tonight?”

You smile, nodding your head as you go to leave the family room.

“I’d like that, I’ll find you after shift.” 

[croigealai]

Flower shop!! Can I order a bouquet (?) of gardenias and yellow hyacinths with Michael Robinavitch? 🩷

- @science-hoes 🫶🏼

featuring: michael robinavitch x reader

wc: 2,640

warnings: oblivious reader, robby is a yearner, reader is a doctor but it's undiclosed if she's a resident or attending but is robby's subordinate, workplace romance, robbys a little mean to reader but he makes up for it, hurt comfort, a little bit of angst

tags: @science-hoes

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

Robby had always thought love was like a lightning strike. Electricity coursing through your veins until it felt like your entire being was on fire. That it was something wild and alive, coursing through veins like adrenaline. It was how his grandmother described love and when he was younger, freer, that’s what it felt like.  For years he chased that feeling, the rush of hormones and fire because if love didn’t leave him breathless, was it even real?

But this. You, were different. You were all peace and softness, a warm blanket or hug after walking through an endless storm. The world around him could be falling apart, the very seams of reality being ripped apart, and yet if he had you beside him he knew it would be okay. He still felt breathless with you, soft eyes looking up at him like he held the answers to the universe in his hands, he could always feel his breath catch in his throat whenever that happened. Or when your steady hands reached for his over the counter, a fresh cup of coffee and a charming wink being passed like a secret between you and the universe. 

It made him feel steadier, more human. The dark thoughts and demons that lingered at the edges of his mind shrinking away and leaving space for something brighter, the golden hue of your smile echoing in his mind for  the rest of the day.

It was a feeling he kept close, wrapped in a neat little box and buried under his ribs right against his heart. In a place like the Pitt, which feeds on gossip and rumours, a feeling like this was dangerous. Not for him, he had power. A name. Tenure. If something were to get out, it wouldn’t be his reputation and a career that would be ruined, it would be yours. So, he chose to stay silent. 

And maybe it was also because he was selfish. The way he hoarded the feeling as if it was something delicate that he refused to let the world bruise. He lives for the soft moments with you, quiet things tucked into the micro seconds between patients and the chaos of the Pitt. The private smiles passed across the room, the soft brush of your hand as it lingered a little longer than necessary, long enough to steady him. 

There were the small things too. The lingering scent of your perfume as it clung to his hoodie after he’d handed it over because you were cold, he noticed it at the end of a shift. Light and sweet, and just for him. Something he didn’t have to, or want to share. It gave him a reason to come back the next shift, a different hoodie wrapped around his shoulders in the quiet hope you’d ask for it again. 

The quiet conversations, whispered over coffee at the hub or sandwiches in the lounge, voices low and almost conspiratorial even though you were just discussing a movie you both enjoyed. It was soft, sacred. The rest of the world disappears for just a few seconds or minutes. 

All of it was tucked away, buried in a box labelled ‘love’  because the moment someone else saw. Where it turns into something real and tangible and breakable, it would no longer belong to just the two of you. There would be quiet eyes and ears always watching, always listening, every moment and interaction picked apart into bare bones until conspiracies were made and secrets were shared. He wasn’t ready for any of that. He couldn’t lose something so precious.

So, he continues on like normal. Eyes finding yours first in every room, softening at the edges as he watches you work, his hand lingering close to yours or hovering over your lower back as patient care is discussed, the sharp edge of his voice turning into something gentler and more patient. His smile, soft and patient 

Then came the conversation with Dana. It wasn’t something he was meant to hear, he had just happened to walk into the lounge for a fresh cup of coffee when it happened and he tried not to listen, truly he did. Mind turning over patient reports and statistics for his meeting with Gloria in the next half-hour, but then he heard the word ‘date’ and ‘Tanner’ leave your mouth and his mind instinctively tuned in. 

He kicked himself for tuning in when he did, Tanner was some finance bro who was more interested in his Lexus and obviously fake Rolex than he had been in the date. Almost as if it was meant to be a time to show off rather than get to know the other person. 

The jealousy hits Robby unexpectedly.  It’s sharp and warm, something dangerous flaring beneath his skin as it travels through his veins. It was almost a physical sensation the way it stung, something gnarled and ugly digging claws into the soft flesh of his body. He tries to push it away, to ignore it and not let it show on his face. 

But he fails, the flush is obviously noticeable and as he storms away not wanting to hear another word about a man who barely deserved oxygen never mind a date with you, the heavy wooden door slamming behind him, you jump. 

You watch his back as he leaves, see the faint redness in his neck and scrunch up your eyebrows in confusion as you turn to Dana.

“What was that about?”

She huffs out a laugh and rolls her eyes, hand gently reaching for yours as if shes about to drop something earth shattering directly into your lap.

“Oh honey, you are brilliant but so clueless.”

You scoff, eyes widening in mock offense but you can’t even defend yourself as she continues.

“That man looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.”

Another scoff leaves you, eyes rolling all the way to the back of your head,disbelieving her words and you gently push at her shoulder in mock annoyance. 

“Okay, whatever you say,” your voice is dripping with sarcasm and annoyance but she just gives a squeeze of your hand and forces you to look at her again.

“I’m serious kid, you don’t see it? He’s soft for you. Remember how he covered your shift when you were sick? Or how he remembers the very precise way you take your coffee from that one indie cafe that’s 5 blocks away? Or how he always saves the birthday cake protein bars just for you because they’re your favourite?”

You shrug your shoulders, pull your hand back and cross your arms over your chest. Almost defensive in the way you’re trying to make yourself look smaller.

“That’s just… that’s just Robby”

An exasperated sigh leaves Dana as she stands, her hand coming down to squeeze at your shoulders.

“He’s not like that with anyone else.”

Then she’s gone, a wink thrown over her shoulder as if she hadn’t just upended everything you thought you had known. And suddenly you think back on it, every interaction with Robby and how he was with the others. There’s a feeling in your chest, light and airy and new, the edges of the truth blurring in your mind as pieces of a puzzle slot into place. But there’s no time to mull it over as another patient is brought in and you’re rushed back out onto the floor. 

For the rest of the day, despite his best efforts, Robby couldn’t hide the storm in his mind. He snapped at Gloria in the meeting, tongue sharp and unrelenting as he once again brought up bed shortages and ER wait times being caused by lodgers waiting for beds upstairs. He snaps at Santos and Whittaker and Langdon, less sharp this time but just as scathing as they debate the course of action for a patient. Then, he snaps at you. It’s quieter, less public. Pulled into a corner of a trauma room where you had just battled to get an airway and won, but according to Robby you were slow and a little sloppy and should have just gone for a crike. He know he’s fucked up when your face drops and your shoulders stiffen, voice rough and hard when you say ‘thank you for the feedback Doctor Robinavitch’. You never used his full name, he was always Robby or Michael when he was in trouble. 

As soon as he leaves the trauma room, your body disappearing behind the hub and into the locker room to gather your stuff for the end of shift, he’s pulled aside. Rough hands grab his arm and pull him into the lounge, when he finally looks at who’s doing it he’s met with the concerned gaze of Jack and Dana. 

“What the fuck was that Robinavitch?”

Dana’s voice is calm, steady, but he can feel the undercurrent of anger coming from her in waves. He flinches back, hands flying up to his neck as he looks up the ceiling to avoid her gaze. 

“I-I…”

Before he can even get the words ‘I don’t know out of his mouth’ Jack is calling him out.

“Bullshit, now why don’t you put on your big boy pants and tell the truth?”

It’s harsh, but needed, Jack was very rarely one to coddle. A sigh leaves Robby's mouth and finally he looks down and meets the eyes of his two closest friends.

“I got frustrated and I took it out on them.” 

Dana rolls her eyes, crosses her arms and huffs out a humourless laugh.

“You don’t fucking say.” 

Jack steps forward, for fear that Dana might actually reach out and slap Robby across the face.

“So what are you gonna do to fix it?” 

He knows he should fix it, that he should grovel at your feet and beg for forgiveness. But ego stops him, if he does that then he has to admit he was jealous. He would have to admit he was in love with you, and that was a terrifying thought. 

Dana steps forward then fingers pointed into his chest and her gaze stern.

“You love her?”

“I-I,” he hesitates, the box buried in his chest slowly starting to unravel as he realised he wasn’t as discreet as he thought.

“It’s a yes or no question Robby”

“Yes”

It doesn’t come out as confident as he would like, but maybe that was just the fear he was feeling from Dana’s murderous look.

“But-”

Dana shakes her head, already anticipating what was coming.

“It was one date, he was an asshole. Go fix this.”

The tone left no room for argument and the raging jealousy simmered into something quieter, but just as dangerous. Regret. 

“Go, I got handover.”

He nods at Jack, turns out of the lounge and heads towards the lockers with the pace of man on a mission.  He was going to fix this, he had to. 

An hour later, he’s at your door with a bag of takeout, that expensive wine knows you like and a special edition of a book you had been gushing about wanting to read only a few days earlier. Hand trembling as he knocks and for a moment he’s worried you’re not going to answer. It takes a few minutes, the stars and the moon the silent companions of his fear as his heart stutters against his chest, but then the door opens. 

You look tired, sleep tucked into the corner of your eyes as if he had woken you up and suddenly guilt makes a home beside regret in his mind. 

“What do you want?”

It’s almost callous the way the words trip out, and he knows he deserves it.He takes a deep breath, gulps down the fear that had risen in his throat and gently raises the bags in his hands, “Can I come in?”

A part of you doesn’t want to let him, wants to slam the door in his face and wait until you’ve simmered down a bit before talking to him. But there’s the other part, the love-sick fool that wants to listen to their heart and let him. Ultimately, that’s the side that wins as you open the door wider and step to the side. 

He’s quiet as he moves into your space, almost deliberately so as if he doesn’t want to disturb the peace of your sanctuary. He places the bags on the table, takes the book out and presents it to you as a flush rises to his cheeks. It’s almost endearing how bashful he looks as he hands it to you. 

“I know you’ve been wanting it and it was sold out online but I found this indie place a few blocks from the hospital that happened to have a few copies online.”

You try and fight the smile that rises on your face, fingers trailing delicately over the sprayed edges, but you can’t. It rises, slowly at first, the edges of your mouth tipping upwards at how thoughtful it was. You place it down on the counter before turning to him with a finger against his chest.

“I’m still mad at you.”

An affectionate chuckle passes his lips, one he can’t help, as he starts to pull the food out of the bags as you gather plates and cutlery. 

“But you’re smiling, that's a win in my book.” 

You roll your eyes and place them down in front of him, hands coming down onto the table as you lean on them with a raised eyebrow, expectant. He sighs, gentle as he starts to dish out the food.

“I’m sorry for earlier. I was…frustrated and I took it out on you when I shouldn’t have.”

You nod, hand moving up and turning in a playful manner as encouragement for him to continue.

“I…I heard you talk about your date and I-”, he hesitates, the words catching in his throat before he clears them. His eyes roam over you and he knows he can’t do this with this much distance between you. So, he moves around the table and you turn to face him as he places he basically crowds you against it, hands either side of your body. 

“I lost my cool. Thinking of that guy Tyler or whatever his name was,” you huff out a laugh at that, “and how he didn’t deserve your time, to even breath the same air as you.”

You shift then, shoulders softening as your hands place themselves against his chest, moving slowly up until they were on his shoulders. Your eyes are gentler now, understanding settling against your heart and ribs like a weight and you can’t help the teasing tone that leaks out of you.

“You were jealous.” 

He looks away for half a second, clicks his tongue against his teeth before he turns to you with a soft smile.

“Yes sweetheart, I was jealous.” 

You see it then, his eyes. Filled with love and care and admiration, like you had hung the moon, just like Dana had said.  You thread your fingers around his neck, pull him just that tiny bit closer until his forehead is pressed against yours. Robby finally feels like he can breathe again when you do that, his heart slows and something settles deep and low in his chest. A realisation blooming across his ribs, love cannot bloom in secret. It thrives in spaces where it’s seen, where it’s known and nurtured. 

“I love you.”

It's a whisper almost lost against the hum of your washing machine and the steady ticking of the clock, but a whisper is still a declaration and this one was a sacred thing. You pull him closer, lips ghosting over his for just a second.

“I love you too.”

Then your lips are on his and he melts. 

[croigealai]

Hiya, I was hoping to request a bouquet with gardenia and yellow hyacinth for Dana Evans, please <3

featuring: dana evans x reader

wc: 1,821

warnings: secret relationship, jealousy, divorced dana, reader works in the hospital but their job is left non-descript, allusions to an age gap but not specified, hurt/comfort, angst, self-isolation, insecurity

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

There was no doubt in your mind that Dana Evans loves you. It’s written into her every movement and actions. Gentle hands that trail against your skin in the early dawn light as you fight against the noise of the world and having to actually get up for work. In every kiss shared between silken sheets and over cups of expensive coffee in the mornings. In the way her eyes always softened, just a little, when she saw you in the ER. How she always slipped a protein bar in your pocket when you weren’t looking or how she always saved your favourite when lunch was ordered in for the department. 

It was quiet how Dana loved you, the little in between moments when no one was looking and it was just you and her. And it made sense, when you first started dating all those months ago. The ER survive on caffeine and chaos and gossip, there was no such thing as a secret between two people because someone would always over hear or over share, not out of malice or any ill-intent but in a bid to keep their sanity alive in a place that was determined to bury it six feet under. 

It had been new, for both of you. Dana had only been divorced for a year and you had sworn off dating in the workplace after a disastrous break-up with one of the guys in radiology that ended up with him transferring hospitals. But things don’t always go the way you expect them to and the universe always seems to have a way to push you into what you need. So, when a drink on the roof after a rough shift turned into another at the bar and another at her house turned into something beautiful. You both decided to keep it close to your chest. 

It was nice, at first. Kisses in hidden hallways when no-one was looking. Passing glances that weighed heavy against your skin for hours, lingering almost like a brand. Gentle touches against skin that, to others simply looked like colleagues passing instruments or offering comfort after a patient, but to you meant everything. 

But then something shifted. Not loudly, but quietly. A new nurse had joined the team, older, a little more experienced in both the ways of life and medicine and he seemed to be glued to Dana’s side. Which, at the start was understandable, Dana was the charge nurse and her word was law in the ER. 

Suddenly, her attention was him. Where her eyes would drift to you from across the room they now stayed firmly planted on him. The moments the two of you would disappear outside for a ‘smoke’ break and a kiss were non-existent as he followed her out with more questions, some of them more personal than what was truly professional. Then there was the way he stood next to her, shoulder almost deliberately pressed into hers when by her side or his chest nearly pushing into Dana’s back when they read over a chart together.

You never had a moment with her anymore, not alone. And though you spent the nights in her house, tucked against her skin, it suddenly wasn’t enough. Little seeds of jealousy had planted themselves in your heart, roots growing into gnarled and ugly things that sent flashes of white through your veins anytime you saw them together. 

It wasn’t just you that had noticed, others around you had too. Princess and Perlah watched every interaction with an eagle eye, and though you couldn’t understand them when they started talking in Tagalog, you could get the gist of what they were saying. Before long, it had spread among the staff, a secret bet for how long until they hooked up or went on a date. Even Robby, who usually stayed out of gossip, had made a comment about how she deserved to be happy and fall in love again. 

You thought she had. You thought she was happy with you. That was when the doubt started to creep in. When you would look over to Dana and see her smile at him, wide and warm as if she had known him for years while she barely looked at you. Even at home, she was quieter than normal, nights spent with a silly movie replaced with warm showers and crawling into bed before the clock even hit 9. When she did look at you, it seemed off. Nothing noticeable, just different. There was still warmth there, but it seemed almost muted like she was looking through a stained glass window. 

It hurt. A lot. Every gaze was no longer a warm caress but a knife point digging into your skin. So you decided the best thing to do was distance yourself. Slowly at first, invites to join her for a smoke or lunch declined as you bustled about the ER. Disappearing into an exam room or around a corner whenever she approached.

Dana notices almost immediately, of course she did. She was already so observant, picking up the pieces that everyone else misses in the blink of an eye, adding  that it was you and she zero’d on it immediately. The way your eyes dropped to the floor whenever she was close by, the furrow of your eyebrows and downturned shape of your lips when she was near, and the cherry on top the way you would scramble for an exit anytime she walked into the room. 

By the time you declined her invitation to go back home, to her place, after a shift for a second time with a half-hearted excuse of being too tired or cat sitting for your neighbour (who she knew for a fact didn’t have a cat), a heavy weight settled against her chest. The distance became something palpable and dark, sitting heavy against her chest. She decided then she wasn’t going to wait for another ‘no’. 

The knock on your door is unexpected. It’s late into the evening, the moon casting its  silver glow across the space and meeting the muted hue of your reading light. It takes you a few minutes to answer, your brain automatically assumes it's a delivery driver at the wrong address, but then it comes again. Harders this time, more insistent along with a text from Dana saying ‘it’s me’. 

Your eyebrows scrunch up in confusion at the text but you quickly throw your blanket off your legs and go to the door. When you open it, she’s there. The hallway lights are harsh, but they soften against Dana’s features. The sweet smile on her lips and the edges of her eyes. You want to ask her what she’s doing there, but she’s already stepping forward before you can think of a reason she shouldn’t be.

“I got these for you,” her voice is light, almost a whisper as she presents a bouquet of your favourite flowers and a bottle of your favourite wine. You almost cry at the sight of them, tears lining your lash line as you take a step back and let her fully enter the space.  Your turning away from her before she can see them, walking towards the kitchen while she hangs her coat up on the rack. 

Dana just watches as you move around the kitchen, eyes drawn close in concentration as she maps the tension in your body. The stiffness of your shoulders, how your fingers flex and unflex as you place the flowers in a jug of water, the scrunch of your eyebrows and the way there are a hundred different thoughts flowing through your irises. 

Finally she moves forward, wraps her hands around your wrist and gently glides her way up your arms to your elbows and moves them against her waist before she moves further up until she’s gently cupping your face.

“Hey sweetheart, tell me what's going on?”

Her voice is featherlight as she speaks, concern and love woven into every syllable as they pass by your lips and suddenly you feel so ridiculous for ever feeling jealous or like Dana was forgetting you. The tears well up again, water dotting your lashline as you take in a stuttered breath. 

“It…it’s nothing,” another breath, shakier this time, “it’s silly.”

Dana shakes her head, rubs a thumb against your cheek where she catches a stray tear as it slips through.

“It can’t be silly if it’s making you feel this upset.” 

The raw honesty in her voice breaks you and suddenly the tears are falling and you can’t stop them this time. 

“I just..I got worried,” the honesty of it stings against your cheeks, the tears feeling like pins digging into your skin, “I know we agreed to be quiet, to keep things secret but its…it’s not enough anymore”

You stutter out another breath, almost choking on the words as they tumble out of you.

“I want to be able to hold your hand without looking over my shoulder, I want us to go to the park and not have to worry about someone seeing us there. And then there’s him… the new guys, he’s everywhere and I don’t get a moment alone with you…He fits so easily into your life and everyone sees it, even Robby made a comment about the two of you together.”

Dana doesn’t move, doesn’t falter as she looks at you, she gives you the space you need. 

“Then at home, I feel like I don’t even have you anymore because you’re so tired and if I’m being honest, having you only at home isn’t enough anymore.”

Dana’s expression softened, as she pulled you in closer to her, hands moving from your cheeks and down to your waist. She isn’t angry or disappointed, well maybe a little but more so at herself than at you, gods she could never be angry at you for how you’re feeling. 

“Sweetheart,” it’s a whisper, but it's so steady and unwavering that you can’t help the way it lifts something inside of you, “You have nothing to worry about. He’s an old friend from nursing school. That’s all.” 

She squeezes your hip gently, pulls you flush against her and places a kiss to your forehead.

“The questions? The private moments? He wasn’t flirting, he was telling me about his husband and asking about you. Every time we’re alone I am gushing about you, how amazing you are and how much I adore you. We were talking about how I was finally going to ask you to move in with me, how it’s time we stopped hiding.” 

That was your undoing, those seeds of jealousy and self-doubt that had burst into petals withered away as the tears came hot and heavy now. You couldn’t hold back your sobs, the deep heaving breaths shaking your whole body as Dana places her forehead against yours. 

“You’re it for me sweetheart”

[croigealai]

also, asking for a friend, how would we feel if i wrote something for titus danforth? the man has consumed my mind

[croigealai]

hi lovelies, im making my way through the Midnight Flower Shop requests and working on part three of Over and Over Again but I have a thought and just want to gauge interest in it.

How do we feel about a Jack Abbot x reader AU thats kind of The Good Witch meets Practical Magic? A cute little drabble series following Jack in a quaint little town and the apothecary shop owner who's a witch and Jack integrating with their lives while they try and avoid him because of a family curse?

Let me know you're thoughts.

[croigealai]

hi, I love the flower shop idea ^^

can I ask for frank langdon with yellow hyacinth, purple hyacinth and gardenia?

featuring: frank langdon x paediatric nurse!reader

wc: 1,480

warnings: jealousy, divorced! single dad!Frank, brief mentions of rehab, insecure Franke, workplace romance, pre-established relationship, inappropriate patient interaction [flirting], harassment of a nurse

you can find the 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 here

Frank Langdon didn’t think he was a jealous man. He had always been secure in himself, and in his relationships, he was cocky yes but jealous? It wasn’t a word he would use to describe himself. Until it came to you, the pediatric nurse who carried sunshine on the sleeve of your lilac scrubs with a smile so honey sweet he found himself craving a toothache just to be near you. 

He was drawn to you, in some inexplicable way. Like gravity itself had decided you were the sun and he was simply a planet, destined to be close but never truly touch. In those rare times he saw you in the ER, he was always at your side. Close enough to feel the heat of your skin, hear the whisper of your voice as you laugh and joke with just him. For Frank, that had to be enough. 

There was part of him, buried under the shame and guilt of a failed marriage and rehab that believed he wasn’t good enough for you. That he never truly would be. He was a mess of a man, a storm cloud just ready to rain down on your sunny day. So he lingered.

You notice, of course you do, the way he stands that little bit too close. His hands always ghosting against your skin as he moves around you or when you're passing over instruments. His chest almost pressed against your back as you read over a chart at the nurses station, one hand propped beside you as he leaned over your shoulder. Then there was the smile, the quiet one that’s gentle around the edges. When all the boyish charm and ego vanishes and it’s just you, you hold that secret smile close to your chest. 

To those around you, there’s an obvious attraction. The other nurses mapping out the way you always look for him first when you step into the room and the way his eyes soften at the edges when he notices you. The little touches when you think no one else is watching. Your hands lingering around his bicep for just a second too long when you pull him away for a consult. The way you slip a protein bar in his pocket when you notice his trembling hands, giving a kind smile and a teasing wink as a loving sarcasm slips from your tongue. Soon, there's a betting board in Ahmad's office, hidden behind a dozen more so you don’t see it. 

Neither of you make a move, for different reasons. Frank is held back by fear and that deep lingering insecurity of not being enough for you, that in some way he would ruin you. For you, it's fear that it’s too soon. You know about the divorce, how he struggled and continues to struggle, how much he adores his kids. You worry it’s too soon, that you would be forcing him into something he wasn’t ready for because if he was ready, surely he would have made a move by now?

It all comes to a head on a cold Wednesday night. The winter chill had fully set in to Pittsburgh and the city was slick with ice and snow, bringing a barrage of falls and hypothermia cases through the doors. Frank had barely had a moment to breathe all day, never mind actually sit down and chart. 

It was when he sat down that he saw you, eyes slowly dragging up from the computer screen and almost immediately locking onto your figure. You’re with the parent of a patient, a little boy who had been brought in with a fractured wrist after a fall in the ice, but he’s standing a little too close. Touching a little too much, his hand wrapping around your arm in a way that's just a little too friendly for Frank's liking. 

Frank felt it then, white and hot as it courses through his veins. He was jealous. It was a strange feeling, not one Frank was used to in a romantic sense. Sure he had been jealous when other residents got interesting patients in cases, when Garcia would swoop in and take over. But this was different. It was ugly and monstrous. It settled heavy into his chest, sharp claws digging into the muscles of his heart and dragging against his ribs. 

Of course there was a part of him that thought it was ridiculous, jealousy. Over someone touching you, his person, when you weren’t even his to begin with. The realisation washed over him like a cold shower, he was an idiot. You might not have been his, yet, but he was yours and he would be damned if he watched another man touch you like that. 

Especially as he watched the way your face shifts, honey sweet smile dropping into cold professionalism in a single second. How your shoulders stiffened, just a fraction as you took a step back from the man. Whatever had been said or done, it was not good. The man took a step forward and Frank was up without thinking, 

He reached you quickly, the hand that usually hovered now wrapping gently around your wrist as he gave a reassuring smile to you. His eyes flick to the man, who smelled like cheap vodka and a mix of body odour and weed, and his gaze instantly hardened. Rage simmered under the surface now, red hot and boiling and it must have been in the air or in Frank's face because the man shrinks, just a little. Stumbles backwards as he tries to regain the upper hand. 

“We… got a pro-problem doctor?” 

His words are slurred and it takes everything in Frank not to turn round and punch him. Instead, he moves his hand up your arms, light and grounding and you melt into the touch just a little. 

“No sir,” his voice is low, a dangerous undercurrent of lightning that has decided its target, “Just need to talk to my favourite nurse about some labs.”

The man scoffs, goes to place a hand on Frank’s shoulder but he’s already moving before it lands. Frank’s hand moves from your arm, down your back almost a ghost of a touch before settling just between your hips. It sends bolts of electricity and heat through your body as he leads you past the hub and treatment rooms and into the staff lounge. 

You scrunch your eyebrows up in confusion as the door closes behind you, the quiet click loud in the empty space. Frank’s hand drops from your back, and a part of you mourns the warmth of it, as he leans against the counter. 

He doesn’t look at you for a few seconds, his chest rising and falling slowly as he tries to calm the rapid of his heart. You nearly reach out a hand, to try and bring him back to you but decided against it.

“Frank?” 

Your voice is soft, a whispered melody that finally settles the storm inside of him and he finally looks at you. All doe eyed and concerned, hand twitching at your side as if fighting every instinct that tells you to touch him. He notices it then, the way you look at him. The way you see him. Not as some broken man with baggage that's sometimes too hard to carry. But him. Frank. In all his glorious imperfections and strengths. 

Something settles in him then, well more like crashes around him. Walls of ego and what he thought was damage cracking wide open and leaving nothing but vulnerability and truth. You saw him, all of him, and you stayed anyway. 

His heart starts hammering again, for a different reason now, and before he can second guess himself he’s cupping your cheeks and crashing his lips against yours. It’s messy, months or maybe even years of pent of emotion spilling out between his lips. Your hands move in an instant, up his chest and around his neck as you try and pull him as close to you as humanly possible. 

But then he stops, pulls away with laboured breaths and eyes searching yours for any hint that you didn’t want this, that he had pushed a boundary. 

“I’m sorry,” the words stumble out of him, rushed before he can even think about it. But you stop it before it turns into a ramble. Hand moving to cup at his jaw, thumb rubbing gentle circles against the stubble off his cheek.  Your eyes are soft, full of love and care and a  promise that you want this too. 

“The only thing you should be apologising for is not doing that sooner.”

Then you're pulling him down again, pressing his lips against yours. It’s softer this time, two souls finally meeting where they belong rather than orbiting around one another fighting against fate and the universe. 

[croigealai]

Can I ask what the flower shop is exactly? Sorry if I'm dumb lol

You're okay my love! It's an event I'm running to celebrate 400 followers, you request a character and a flower and I will write a drabble based around the character and the flowers meaning!