dr. sunshine

old enough to be your mom but young enough to date her (but seriously i'm 23)

[itisdoctortoyousir]

works of “art”

Alex Blake x Reader:

for want of a little courage 

at the peak of opulence

en sa beauté gît ma mort et ma vie

my (orange) dream(sicle) girl

la vita è più dolce con te

when you take my hand, there is no time

Melissa Schemmenti x Reader:

i wanna go do something kinda crazy

my mom’s a mob boss

we do, but friends don’t

Ava Coleman x Reader:

six billion people - one of them’s right for you

Original Character x Reader:

to seat D13 (in lieu of a name)

[midnightcrisisstuff]

actually no, we're not "dating". we're bound together for infinity. like the stars. so, fuck you, actually.

[the-possibleastronaut]

Just some more Van Gogh style Swarla for these trying drought times

[raylangivins]

[kananikoa1]

Angel - Alexia Putellas x Model Reader

Masterlist

Alexia had always been your biggest cheerleader.

When you first started dating she made it incredibly clear that she respected your career .When you booked your first major Vogue cover, she bought five copies . When you had to fly to Milan for Fashion Week, she never complained about the distance. She just FaceTimed you from her hotel rooms and told you how beautiful you looked.

So, when your agent called you to tell you that you had been selected as the newest Victoria’s Secret Angel, you couldn't wait to tell her.

When Alexia came home from training that afternoon, you basically tackled her in the hallway. When you screamed the news, her face lit up with joy. She had spun you around by the waist, kissed you deeply, and opened a bottle of expensive champagne she’d been saving.

"I always knew it, mi amor," she had whispered against your lips, her eyes shining with pride.

She was a very supportive girlfriend.

Until the promotional campaign dropped.

It started subtly. Three weeks after the announcement, Victoria’s Secret posted the official photoshoot on their Instagram, a stunning video of you wearing the iconic wings and a matching set of incredibly intricate, sheer black lace lingerie.

Alexia was at the training ground when it went live. You knew this because Mapi León had immediately commented on the post: "God bless my captain's heart rate right now."

When Alexia came home that evening, the vibe in the apartment was different.

She wasn't angry, but she was quiet. She kissed your cheek, set her bag down and went straight to the shower. During dinner she was off . She kept checking her phone a unhappy look on her face.

You watched her aggressively cut her chicken deciding enough was enough.

"Okay, spill," you said. "Who annoyed you today? What's wrong ?"

Alexia didn't look up. "Everythings fine."

“Ale."

She sighed pushing her plate away finally looking at you. "I saw the video, Y/N. The Victoria's Secret promo."

"Oh!" You smiled. "You saw it? It was amazing, wasn't it? The photographer was incredible."

"Yes. It was beautiful. You are beautiful," Alexia says with a strange tone in her voice "And apparently, so do the three million people who liked the video. And the celebrities leaving drooling emojis in your comments. And the sports accounts writing articles about 'Alexia Putellas' stunning girlfriend.'"

You stared taken aback. "Are you... jealous?"

Alexia closed her eyes, letting out a frustrated breath.

"I don't want to be," she confessed. "Me odio por sentir esto. I hate myself for feeling it. I promised I would always support you. I know this is your dream, Y/N."

She opened her eyes, looking at you with a fierce, helpless intensity. "But I am cariño. And looking at my phone today seeing millions of people staring at you. Staring at your body in that lace. "

She looks away "It makes me want to fly to New York, wrap you up and glare at anyone who dares to look at you."

You felt your heart melt .

You stood up from your chair, walked around the kitchen island and pushed her chair back slightly. You straddled her lap wrapping your arms around her neck. Alexia’s hands instantly went to your waist.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" you whispered pressing your forehead against hers.

"I know," she mumbled, "I am selfish. I want to be the only one who gets to see you look like that."

"Alexia, look at me."

She lifted her head.

"They get a picture ," you said softly but firmly. "They get a video on a screen. That’s it."

You shifted your weight slightly in her lap, bringing your lips close to hers. "Who is the one holding me right now?"

"I am," she whispered.

"Who is the one who gets to unhook that black lace lingerie when I come home?" Who is the one who wakes up next to me ? Who is the only person in the entire world who actually gets to have me?"

"Me," she answered her voice becoming confident . "Only me."

"Exactly," you smiled, finally pressing your lips to hers. She kissed you hungrily and possessive. Her hands rubbing the bare skin at the hem of your shirt.

When she pulled back a slow arrogant smile on her lips.

"Let them look," Alexia murmured. "Because at the end of the day the i know the most beautiful woman on earth is with me."

You laugh kissing her cheek. "Now, are you going to sit front row at the fashion show, or am I going to have to invite Mapi instead?"

"If anyone else even tries to sit in my seat, I will tackle them into the runway.”

[mellodivine]

I wanna make out and be touchy and giggle into our kisses and look into each other’s eyes amorously and kiss some more.

[cupidchaes]

tbh i was rereading the dana necklace drabble.. 🫠 and the pounding got me to think i lowkey think dana wouldn't want to put in so much work into strapping? very take what's been given to you i feel

this is frying me 😭😭😭 but hell yeah i totally agree.

i can imagine her putting the harness on, lying down & patting her thighs, urging you to just take whatever you want.

it's not just because she's an older woman, she also simply enjoys u scrambling, desperate for any sort of relief but not being able to get it on your own.

her weakly tracing the outlines of your nipples, as you beg and whine for her to move 😵‍💫😵‍💫 dana barely complying, giving a lazy lift of her hips, that makes the silicone hit your gummy walls just right. it's barely anything, but it just makes you want to beg more.

+ painting her whole body in your fluids... riding her thigh, dryhumping her shoe, grinding clit to clit. you've got so much pent-up energy, she just lets you play it out , much to your needy frustration.

+ ANOTHER thought #lol her asking you to clean her up after the mess you made, kitten licking all over her. until she's horny, and drags your head towards her pretty pussy.

[alliewrights]

hi hi hi! i’m OBSESSED with your dana fic (i’ve read it 6 times for uh science)

would you be interested in the prompt: dana x reader where dana is reader’s mentor, kinda like emily, but more like reader comes to work at the pitt (as a resident or a nurse) with some experience and dana likes her and takes reader under her wing. lots of hanging out after work and pining involved and reader is super insecure about dana being annoyed by her. then dana snaps at reader about reader’s insecurity and they kiss (bonus for smutttt)

idk, as a med student myself, i would DIE if my charge was dana. feel free to ignore this if it doesn’t sound fun or it doesn’t resonate with you!

Exactly Where She Wants You

Dana Evans x nurse!reader

Summary: A new job means a new Charge Nurse, and Dana Evans makes it impossible to tell if she’s just assessing you or if she’s keeping you close for her own reasons.

CW: smut, cunnilingus (d!receiving), fingering (r!receiving), face sitting, masturbation, porn-with-lots-of-plot, a little bit of angst, mentor/mentee, workplace power dynamics, emotional insecurity, (non-graphic) patient death (a spoiler if you haven’t seen 2x06).

WC: 8.6k

A/N: I am, once again, posting in the middle of the night. This got away from me a little bit, I had so much fun with it! Thanks @bravewithacapitalb for the idea! Hope you like it!

This is posted before 2x09 airs, so if anything else important happens on the Fourth of July, no it doesn’t for the sake of this fic.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ♠ ━━━━━━━━━━━

When you make your way through the glass doors of PTMC’s ER, it’s thirty minutes early because being late on your first day would be unforgivable. First impressions calcify, they make or break your opinion on someone immediately, and you never get to do them over.

The waiting room hits you all at once.

It isn’t just full, it’s overflowing. Every chair is taken, with bodies angled toward one another in tight clusters. Some are slumped in exhaustion, some sitting bolt upright with rigidity that comes from not knowing how bad the news is going to be. Children are crying and people are coughing, and the phone ringing at the reception desk just doesn’t stop.

You stop just inside the doorway and immediately regret it. People are coming in behind you, trying to get past and bumping your shoulder on the way. You murmur an apology and walk further in, even though there’s nowhere to stand.

This is not Cedarview.

At Cedarview, mornings begin with med passes and scheduled therapy rotations. Emergencies are rare, contained, and handled with an appropriate level of both urgency and staff. You know Cedarview, you could walk those hallways blind.

Here, the flow of people is erratic and chaotic. Nobody in the waiting room, patient or staff, is even flinching as a fresh wave of people file in behind you. It’s like they’re used to it, like this is normal.

You adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder and glance at the clock above reception.

Twenty-eight minutes early now.

Good. Early means you’re prepared, it means you’re responsible. Early is not the nurse who needs hand-holding.

The doors into the ER open as someone is called back and beyond them you catch sight of a stretcher bursting through the ambulance doors with paramedics flanking it at jogging speed. You only catch a glimpse before they disappear as the secured doors close. 

You swallow hard.

You wanted this. You were the one who said you were ready for more intensity, a challenge. You were tired of the routine, you wanted to prove you could handle this.

You can the room for the staff entrance and hesitate, then step toward the reception desk instead, because wandering aimlessly would be worse than admitting you don’t know where to go. 

Behind the glass, Lupe looks up. 

Her eyes flick to your scrubs, then back to your face.

“You checking in?”

Her voice is calm in a way that feels out of place for such a chaotic room. Like she’s learned how to keep her tone level no matter what’s happening around her.

You shake your head quickly. “No, sorry. I’m, um…I’m the new nurse transfer. I’m supposed to be starting today.”

It sounds smaller out loud than it did in your head.

Lupe studies you for a moment, then asks, “Name?”

You give it to her. She scrolls through something on her screen, types quickly, then reaches under the desk. A click echoes through the noise as she hits the release on the doors.

“Go on back,” she says, already reaching for the ringing phone beside her. “Someone will get you sorted.”

The secured doors swing inward with a creak.

The chaos doesn’t lessen on the other side of those doors, it just changes.

The waiting room had been loud in a human way: full of layered voices, restless bodies, and nervous energy. Back here, the noise is different. Monitors chirp loudly, a ventilator is wooshing somewhere you can’t see, orders are being called by multiple voices in different directions around you. 

Cedarview has order. Even on its worst days, there is sequence. You assessed, you charted, you intervened, you reassessed. Over and over and over in a predictable pattern.

Here, you are half an hour early and already feel behind. 

You take a tentative step forward, then hesitate. There’s no clear reception point back here. No sign that says start here! Just constant motion around you.

For just a humiliating second, you consider stepping back outside to regroup, to try and convince yourself that this was not a terrible idea.

But instead, you adjust your bag on your shoulder and scan for someone who doesn’t look like they’re handling a catastrophe right this very second.

You try to look like you belong. You’re not going to look lost on your first day. Even if you feel it.

You make it about three steps into the ER before almost colliding with a supply cart someone is pushing at a rapid speed. You pivot awkwardly out of the way, murmuring another apology that probably nobody but you hears, and press yourself to the wall.

You need a landmark, you decide. A desk. A person. Something.

Instead, the unit keeps moving around you, indifferent to your arrival.

“Hey.”

The voice that calls out to you sounds amused, but in a way that isn’t rude. You turn to catch it’s owner.

She’s small, but carrying herself in a way that immediately reads as capable. Her dark hair is braided back from her face, no loose strands despite the chaos around her. 

“You look like you’re either lost,” she says, glancing at your bag and noting the way you’re standing just slightly off the flow of traffic, “or you’re about to ask someone for help and really don’t want to.”

Heat creeps up your neck.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask, attempting a small smile.

“Only to people who have been there.” She shifts the tablet in her hands, tucking it under her arm, and offers a hand. “Princess.”

You tell her your name. Adding, because you have to clarify before she assumes otherwise, “I’m the new nurse transfer. I was told to report to the Charge?”

Recognition flashes across her face. “Oh! You’re looking for Dana.”

“I -” you swallow. “I guess I’m looking for Dana, yeah.”

Princess nods once, already turning away from you. “Come on, little duckling.”

You blink. “Duckling?”

She glances back over her shoulder with a grin. “You’ve got this ‘first day at a Level One Trauma Center’ look. It’s fine, we don’t bite. Much.”

Despite yourself, you let out a little laugh and fall into step beside her, grateful to have someone to follow. 

Like a duckling.

You get it now.

As you walk, Princess navigates the floor effortlessly. She slips between stretchers, exchanging clipped updates with passing staff, adjusting an IV pump mid-stride without breaking conversation or losing you somehow. Five foot two and completely in control.

“You came from rehab, right?” she asks.

“Six years,” you confirm.

She nods, like that explains your overwhelm, because it does. “You’ll be fine. It’s hard for the first week. Then it’s just hard.”

Comforting. Kind of.

Ahead, near the central board, you recognize her before you consciously realize you’re looking.

Tall. Grounding. Clearly in her element.

There’s no question which nurse at the station is Dana.

She stands with one hand braced on the counter, scanning the board while issuing assignments with a voice that lacks no authority. She doesn’t raise her voice because she doesn’t need to. People are listening when she speaks.

Princess slows a little. “That’s Dana,” she says quietly, as if you couldn’t already tell. “Don’t be scared.”

She doesn’t announce you loudly or dramatically. She steps up beside the nurse’s station and says, “Brought you your new transfer.”

Dana doesn’t look up immediately, instead finishing what she’s saying. 

“North-12 needs labs redrawn, theirs hemolyzed. Move Mr. Ortiz to fast track if his CT is clean and tell respiratory I want eyes on 14 right now, not in ten minutes, now.”

Then she looks at you, and it isn’t a cursory glance. It’s an assessment. Her gaze moves from your shoes to your face in a way that feels like she’s appraising you, especially as her eyes hover for an extra second on your light pink scrubs. The standard at Cedarview. 

You fight the natural instinct to straighten under her stare.

“This is her?” Dana asks, not to you.

“That’s the one.”

Dana’s attention is fully on you. Even up close, she’s steadier than the room around her. 

“You’re early,” she says.

“Yes,” you answer quickly. “I didn’t want to be late.”

One corner of her mouth quirks up - not quite a smile, but close enough to look like one.

“Good.”

She reaches for a clipboard that sits on her desk and flips open the papers.

“You’ve been at Cedarview Rehabilitation for six years,” she says, scanning your file. “Post-surgical and neuro recovery.”

It isn’t a question, but you nod a confirmation anyway. “Yes.”

“High patient continuity. Lower acuity.”

“Yes.”

Her eyes lift again and you do your best to hold her gaze.

“You’ll adjust.”

Not if. Not we’ll see.

You’ll adjust.

She closes the clipboard and sets it back down on the desk.

“You’re with me,” she says. “I want you to shadow, observe how we move. Ask questions when you need to, but stay close.”

Princess bumps your shoulder lightly as she steps away. “Good luck,” she calls, already peeling off toward another call.

Dana doesn’t waste any time. She gestures for you to follow and starts walking, not bothering to look back to see if you’ll keep up. It’s already assumed you will.

You do.

She moves through the unit with certainty, pointing things out as she goes. Crash cart locations, supply closets, where triage overflow tends to bottleneck, who to go to if you need pharmacy to move faster.

Her explanations are concise and efficient.

A stretcher barrels past and, without looking at you, she reaches her arm out in front to stop you from running straight into it. It’s automatic, like she knows what’s going to happen before it does.

“You won’t learn this place standing on the perimeter,” she says as you near a trauma bay. “If you’re going to work here, you need to feel the flow, not just watch it.”

She stops just outside the room and finally turns around to look at you.

“For today,” she says, voice more calm now that it’s just the two of you, “you’re mine. Understood?”

Her words are professional, not meant to imply anything else.

And yet, the certainty in her voice almost feels like it’s settling something restless in you. The chaos feels less overwhelming around her. You trust her instinctively.

But more than that, you find yourself wanting to earn that same trust from her. 

“Yes ma’am.”

Dana pauses. Then - there it is. The smallest crack in her composure, a quick flash of teeth and a sound that’s not quite a full laugh, but close.

“Don’t call me that,” she says, already turning back toward the trauma bay. “You’ll make me feel ancient, and I get enough of that already.”

Heat creeps up your neck again. “Sorry.”

She glances at you over her shoulder, that almost-smile still lingering.

“Dana’s fine.”

She doesn’t slow as she approaches a patient bay.

“This is Louie Cloverfield,” she says as you approach the curtain that cuts off the view from the hall. “He’s one of ours.”

You’re not exactly sure what that means, but you do take note of how Dana’s tone is softer, almost more familiar.

Inside the bay, Louie sits propped up on the bed, a butterfly bandage stretched across a shallow cut on his forehead. 

“Well,” he says when Dana steps in, squinting toward her. “If it isn’t my favorite nurse.”

“Careful, don’t say that in front of the newbie or she might take it as a challenge.” Dana crosses her arms. “You fall again, Louie?”

“Gravity’s got it out for me.”

She checks the monitor as she speaks. “Gravity’s not the one drinking a fifth before noon.”

Louie grins weakly at her. Only then does he take notice of you hovering just behind her shoulder.

“First day?” he asks.

Dana gestures towards you. “She’s a transfer, shadowing me today.”

You straighten. “Hi, Mr. Cloverfield.”

“Louie,” he corrects you. “Everyone here calls me Louie.”

Dana rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite in her expression. “Vitals?”

You step forward, reading the monitor. He’s slightly tachycardic, blood pressure borderline low. His hands tremble where they rest against the blanket.

“Heartrate’s one-ten,” you say quietly. “BP’s ninety-eight over sixty.”

Dana nods. “He’s trending toward withdrawl, we’re just waiting on labs at this point.”

You pull out a small, worn red notebook from the pocket of your scrubs.

Dana’s gaze darts to it, curious, as you flip to a blank page and begin to write.

Louie

Chronic ETOH. Fall w/ head lac. Tachy 110. BP soft. Tremors noted. Familiar w/ staff. Responds w/ humor.

You don’t write full identifiers. No birthdate, no room number, no last name. Just what helps you track context in the moment. 

Louie watches you. “You taking notes on me?” he asks, amused.

You glance up and smile sheepishly. “It helps me remember patterns.”

He nods thoughtfully. “That’s smart. I don’t even remember half of mine.”

There’s a quiet moment that follows, heavier than the joke.

Dana adjusts his IV line with careful hands. “We’ll get you some fluids. And if you’re honest about how much you’ve had, I can keep you from feeling worse later.”

Louie sighs dramatically. “You wound me, doc.”

“Not a doc,” Dana corrects. “Answer the question.”

As they bicker good-naturedly, you scribble one more line:

Dana is direct but gentle.

When you look up, Dana is watching you. Not your notebook, you.

“Vitals again in twenty,” she says.

“Yes m -” you catch yourself this time. “Yes, Dana.”

This time, she does smile.

The rest of your day doesn’t unfold so much as it barrels forward. 

There’s no clean transition from Louie’s room to the next task. Dana steps out, updates the board, reroutes a nurse to triage, and you’re already moving again before you’ve fully taken the last set of vitals.

You stay close.

Not hovering, at least you hope you’re not hovering, but within range. Close enough to hear what she says even when she doesn’t turn around to say it directly to you. Close enough to prove that you can keep up.

She tests you without warning.

“What would you watch for if his pressure drops further?”

“Why are we holding off on benzos?”

“Tell me the first three signs of impending respiratory compromise.”

They aren’t meant to be trick questions. They’re rapid-fire, delivered while walking, while adjusting drips, while scanning charts. You answer as quickly as you can, pulling information from memory, from six years of routine assessment and monitoring that didn’t involve this much chaos.

Sometimes she moves on immediately after you answer, other times she corrects you.

“You’ve gotta be faster,” she says once when you hesitate too long. “In here, you don’t get to think about it, you have to just know.”

By mid-morning, you stop flinching when alarms go off. By early afternoon, you feel more prepared for them. You learn the geography of the floor by repetition - the supply closet near Trauma-2 is where the blanket warmer is, you know the layout of a crash cart that you’ve never had to use before.

You fetch without being asked. You step back when you think Dana needs space. You apologize way too much.

Dana notices.

“Stop saying sorry,” she says at one point, not even looking at you as she repositions a sedated patient’s oxygen mask. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

The hours smear together with constant emergencies. There’s a pediatric fever that spikes suddenly. A chest pain workup that turns into a transfer upstairs and you learn the meaning of ‘Boarders’.” Louie’s labs come back concerning but the least catastrophic thing you deal with all day. A combative intoxicated patient that Dana handles with an incredibly unshakable calm that you’ve never seen on anyone else.

You watch her closer than you probably should, and not just in a professional way.

Not just what she does, but how she does it. From the way her voice lowers instead of rises when someone is panicking to the way she plants herself between chaos and whomever needs shielding. And the way people react to her, the way they defer without resentment.

You want to move like that. You want her to look at you and see someone who belongs in a place like this.

At some point, you realize you haven’t eaten.

There’s a granola bar in your bag. You remember packing it. But you never find a moment to grab it.

By the time the shift board begins its slow transition toward night shift, your legs hurt. Your brain is full, stuffed with information that wasn’t there before.

Dana doesn’t even look tired.

You, on the other hand, both look and feel like you’ve been wrung out and left to dry.

She reviews the last set of assignments with Lena, who you learn is the night shift Charge Nurse, her voice as even as ever. Then she turns to you.

“Well?”

It’s not a hard question, but you still have to search your brain for something articulate. Instead, what comes out is honesty.

“It’s…a lot.”

Her mouth lifts into a smile.

“It sure is,” she says.

You’re dead on your feet. Cedarview never demanded this kind of constant, sustained vigilance. There, you had rhythm and breaks and time to sit. Time to breathe.

Here, breathing feels optional.

But underneath the exhaustion, there’s something else: satisfaction. You kept up, mostly.

Dana studies you for a moment, as if weighing something as she looks you over.

“You’ll sleep well tonight,” she says, and it sounds less like a joke and more like a promise. 

You laugh and it comes out breathy. “I’m not even sure I’ll make it to my car.”

That earns you a fuller smile as she looks at you for another second, and you brace for feedback. A critique. Something to fix before tomorrow.

Instead, she asks, “You eat?”

The question catches you off-guard. “What?”

“Today,” she says. “Did you eat?”

“…no.”

She knows that. She was with you every second of the day, from start to finish. You know she didn’t eat, didn’t go to the bathroom, either.

“Thought so.” She pushes off the desk, grabbing her keys from the counter. “There’s a diner up the road. Nothing fancy, just greasy food and coffee.” She looks at you directly. “Come on.”

You’re certain you’ve misheard her.

“Me?”

She gives you a look. “You see anyone else that looks like they’re close to passing out? Yes, you.”

You scramble to recover your composure. “You don’t have to - I mean, I don’t want to -”

“If I didn’t want to,” she cuts in evenly, “I wouldn’t ask.”

Even though it doesn’t feel like a question.

You nod quickly. “Okay.”

With the invitation, something inside you relaxes a little. Because you’d convinced yourself she spent the entire shift tolerating you, measuring how quickly she could pawn you off to someone else or leave you to go off on your own. 

Instead, she noticed you hadn’t eaten. 

Outside, the evening air is cool, and the day has passed so quickly that it nearly surprises you that the sky is dark. The ER doors shut behind you and the noise drops off like someone hit the mute button.

You walk beside her toward the parking lot, unsure what to do with your exhaustion even as you reach her car.

The drive to the diner is quiet, the passenger’s seat offering you a reprieve from your aching feet. Dana drives with one hand on the wheel, looking far more casual than you’re feeling right now. You steal a glance at her more than once, trying to reconcile the woman who commands a trauma center with the one who’s now insisting on feeding you.

By the time she pulls into the cracked asphalt lot of a small diner with neon lights outside, your nerves have moved out of survival mode and left you to rot in your intrigue over your Charge Nurse.

Inside, the diner smells like coffee and fried food. A bell jingles overhead as you step in. The waitress greets Dana by name and waves you toward a booth.

“You come here a lot?” you ask, surprised, as you slide into the seat across from her.

“I come here enough,” she says simply, reaching for a menu she has memorized by now.

You stare at yours, mostly to keep your hands busy.

When the waitress pours coffee, Dana takes the time to look at you fully.

“You kept up today,” she says.

It almost feels like a compliment. “I did?” You let out a little breath, puffing your cheeks out with it. “I felt like I was hovering, or - or slowing you down.”

“You didn’t,” Dana says, her brow furrowing slightly. “If I didn’t want you there, you’d know.”

The waitress returns to take your orders and you pick something quickly, hunger overpowering your nerves. Dana orders without looking at the menu at all.

When you’re alone again, you risk it. “I’m used to a slower pace,” you admit. “Cedarview was so much more…predictable.”

“And you wanted unpredictable.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

You hesitate. This feels bigger than a casual answer.

“Because…I wanted to feel like I was doing something that mattered in the moment,” you say finally. “Not three weeks from now, right now.”

Dana’s expression changes a little at that to something gentle, almost thoughtful. “That kind of urgency can be dangerous, kid,” she says. “Feeling like you’re making a difference right now means you’re doing something right now, all the time.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work.”

“I know.”

The confidence in her voice does something to you.

You shift in your seat a little. “Princess said I shouldn’t be scared of you.”

That earns you a faint smirk as Dana crosses her arms, leaning back in her seat. “Princess was scared of me at first.”

“Yeah, well, now she says you’re all warm and gooey inside.”

That earns a bark of a laugh, both enthusiastic and surprised. “Did she, now?”

“She did.”

Dana’s head tilts just a little as she asks, “And what do you think?”

You gather up as much courage as you can to hold her gaze this time. “I think you don’t waste time on people who don’t deserve it.”

The way the air changes between the two of you, even across the table, is undeniable. You can feel it in the way the hair on the back of your neck stands up, see it in the narrowing of Dana’s eyes.

“And do you?” she asks.

Your pulse stutters at the intensity of her stare.

“I’m trying to.”

The food arrives before she answers, but her eyes don’t leave yours, even as food is set down in front of you and she waves the waitress off.

“Good girl.”

━━━━━━━━━━━ ♠ ━━━━━━━━━━━

The next few weeks follow a similar pattern.

Your name keeps landing beside Dana’s on the assignment board, and you know it’s her doing. It’s not every shift, but enough that the pattern is impossible to ignore. When she’s there, you’re with her. When she’s not, you’re often handed off to Donnie, who teaches very differently than she does, but even he circles back to Dana’s methods like they’re the standard.

You don’t ask why.

It’s probably just training. Evaluation. A thorough onboarding process for a nurse who’s unfamiliar with a trauma environment.

But sometimes you catch the way she changes up the board to keep you with her, the subtle shift of pieces that keeps you near her at all times.

You do your best not to read into it.

You follow her through trauma bays and overflow rooms and supply closets. You familiarize yourself with the tempo of her stride, the way she lifts her brows before asking a question, you learn to anticipate her questions before they even leave her lips.

She still tests you, but you answer faster now.

The ER stops overwhelming you over time. It’s still loud, still annoyingly relentless, but you stop fighting against it. You’re prepared for needs before they’re spoken, you begin to step in without hesitating. You hold pressure, follow orders, and calm families with a steadier voice than you ever had at Cedarview.

And every single time you look up, without fail, she’s there. Watching you.

It does something to you.

Ever since that first night in the diner, something is different. It isn’t obvious. No lines have been crossed, not by either of you. But there’s a kind of charge in the air when you stand too close to her at the nurse’s station. A hum under your skin when your hands touch when you reach for the same chart. A millisecond too long of eye contact before one of you looks away.

You replay those moments later. In your car. In your bed.

And insecurity takes root.

Maybe it’s one-sided. Maybe she’s just invested in your development. Maybe this is how she treats any nurse she sees a speck of potential in, maybe you’ve mistaken mentorship for magnetism, awe for affection.

You try to catalog her like you would a patient.

The way she stands next to you during cases instead of sending you to observe from the edges. The way she asks for your opinion in front of doctors and doesn’t let you shy away from answering. The way she praises you in public and only corrects you in private.

It’s all professional.

But then there are other moments.

The way her gaze lingers on you when you laugh at something Donnie says. The tight line of her mouth when a patient snaps at you. The way she straightens when someone else stands a little too close to you at the nurse’s station.

You want to believe that she feels…whatever the hell this is, too. That whatever happened in that diner hasn’t gone away.

But insecurity is a stubborn thing. It whispers that you’re reading way too far into professional kindness, that you’re projecting your attraction onto authority. That you want her to look at you differently so bad that you’re making up proof.

So you keep it contained as best you can.

You don’t linger after your shift has ended. You don’t suggest another dinner. It feels like you’re standing near a live wire that you’re not supposed to touch, and you know it could hurt you if you do.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ♠ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Everything blows up on the Fourth of July, both literally and metaphorically.

Fireworks crack somewhere in the distance as you cross the parking lot and enter through the employee entrance, a little irritated that it isn’t even nighttime and the sky is already exploding with color. You’d passed by the ER doors on your way in and seen through the glass that the waiting room is even more full than usual.

Inside the department is worse.

There are already multiple injuries from backyard fireworks, including a teenager with a bottle-rocket burn to his calf and someone else yelling that they’ve “barely had anything to drink!”

Red, white, and blue paper garland hangs crookedly above the nurse’s station, half-assed and already peeling up at one corner.

You fall into step beside Dana automatically.

This is all familiar to you now. You move with her through triage updates and quick assessments. Princess smiles at you knowingly when you pivot in sync with Dana and you roll your eyes, but your mind drifts back to Day 1 when she called you a duckling.

You don’t realize that word is going to haunt you.

It’s near the supply room when it happens, about an hour into your shift.

You’ve ran to grab more saline flushes from a supply closet. The door to one of the consult rooms is half-open and voices from inside it are drifting out into the hallway.

You don’t mean to listen in.

“…I’m just saying,” a voice insists. “She’s always right there. Like a duckling.”

You pause. The voice is familiar, but not enough. New.

Dr. Whitaker’s voice answers, “That’s generally how people learn, James. I mean, you’re shadowing me, doing the same thing she is.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“We’re paired with you, we’re brand new.”

“And?”

“And that nurse isn’t. I heard from another nurse that she transferred, she’s been practicing for years.”

Movement sounds from inside the room, some sort of papers shifting, maybe the tapping of a pen.

Whitaker sighs. “She’s new to trauma.”

“She’s been here for weeks.”

There’s silence for a moment and you stay frozen outside the door.

“All I’m saying,” Ogilvie continues, lowering his voice like he thinks that makes it less obvious, “is that I’d be annoyed if someone was hanging all over me like that. At some point you’ve got to let go, right?”

Your heart plummets.

While painful, he isn’t being overtly cruel, and that’s what hurts the most. He thinks he’s being observational, maybe even casual. It’s thoughtless.

Whitaker doesn’t miss a beat. “Dana is perfectly capable of telling someone if they’re in her way.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then get to the point.”

“I just think it’s excessive.” An exasperated sigh sounds, and you’re not sure if it’s Ogilvie or Whitaker. “Someone else could be learning from Dana, she’s taking up resources.”

“You’re spending an awful lot of time thinking about something that doesn’t involve you.” Whitaker’s reply is much cooler now, an air of finality in his tone. “Unless you’re trying to be the one using those resources, I’d suggest you focus on your own job. Are you studying to be a nurse, James?”

The rustling of fabric tells you Ogilvie has likely just stood straight up. “Of course not.”

“Then stop worrying about what they’re doing and focus on yourself.”

You don’t wait to hear more. Your fingers tighten around the saline flush until the plastic crinkles. 

Heat floods your face, burning your ears.

Hanging all over.

Duckling.

Excessive.

Your brain immediately does something cruel: it begins replaying every shift you’ve worked over the past few weeks. Recalling every time you stood too close to Dana, every step you took just a foot away from her own, every glance you thought meant something.

Had other people noticed? Had they laughed about it?

Worse - had she?

You force your feet to move again, rounding the corner like you were never there.

Dana is at the nurse’s station when you return. 

She looks up immediately, her eyes scanning you the way she does when she’s noticed some sort of change.

You school your expression before she can read anything in it and slide the flushes onto the counter. Then you step back farther than you usually would. 

Just in case.

Because you suddenly can’t stop wondering if you’ve been exactly what that med student described: a nuisance. Some sort of shadow that she’s too polite to shake.

And you don’t know how to ask without making it real. 

You make a conscious effort for the rest of the day to keep some distance. Not far, you’re not trying to be unreachable, but just enough to remind yourself (and everyone else) that you aren’t permanently tethered to Dana. 

You check in on Louie first. You saw him in the waiting room earlier, jaw swollen and tender, a makeshift ice pack clutched in his hand. You jot down notes in your notebook, even managing a small joke under your breath as he shifts in the bed. He chuckles, and you feel a momentary surge of relief at the ease of the exchange, small proof that you’re capable on your own.

Triage is next. A new face awaits you - Dr. Langdon, someone you’ve never met before. You introduce yourself in passing, careful not to linger when you’re needed elsewhere.

You work to make yourself visible, useful, competent. You want to broadcast that you are more than the nurse who follows Dana, you belong here independently. 

All day, you move throughout the department. Every time you see Dana out of the corner of your eye, you resist the instinct to stand close to her, to shadow her as you normally do. You remind yourself that you are doing this because it’s your job, because you’re a nurse. Because you’ve been at this longer than most of the people whispering about ducklings.

Internally, however, the effort is painful. Every time you come across Dana, there’s a tug at your chest. This quiet pull you’ve been trying to ignore since the diner resurfaces. You measure your distance constantly, reminding yourself that you are not her shadow. But it’s impossible not to notice the way she organizes chaos around her, the way it bends to her.

She does not look for you. She doesn’t check on you constantly, almost like she’s giving you space because she can sense that you need it.

You follow your own path today. You step back when she enters a room, move to the next patient when she comes to check their vitals, you take initiative before she can assign it to you. And still, under it all, your chest is still humming with the hint that she knows how you feel. Maybe she feels it too, or maybe she just notices more than she lets on. 

Then you see Dana pull Emma aside - a newly-graduated nurse, fresh and eager and radiant and very pretty. You catch a glimpse of them from across the room and an unprofessional shade of jealousy twists in your gut. 

You throw yourself into your tasks, focused on documenting, staying visible, shuttling between rooms. Anything to remind yourself that you belong here, and not just because of Dana. And anything to avoid noticing Dana guiding someone else with the same smile that makes your brain go fuzzy when it’s directed at you.

You’re not present when Louie’s situation worsens. By the time you hear the call, he’s already gone from a pulmonary hemorrhage. You feel a sting of guilt, even though you know there was nothing you could’ve done. 

The meeting in the viewing room is hushed as people speak in soft tones about their experiences with Louie. Dana is absent. You follow the motions, listening, observing, and looking at the notes on his page in your notebook.

Later, when the computer systems shut down as a precaution against the cyberattack, the department feels hollow and you can’t quite place it until you scan the floor and realize she’s still gone. You ask Princess, who seems to be the acting Charge Nurse, and she fills you in that Dana was needed elsewhere, as the only SANE on duty.

You finish your shift alone. 

The silence behind you where Dana should be is deafening. Even after she returns, she doesn’t seek you out, and you can’t tell if it’s her choice or your own doing.

By the time your shift finally ends, you’re exhausted in a way no physical labor could account for. You’re wiped clean, hollowed out by absence, insecurity, and the memory of Louie, whose absence echoes loudly in your little red notebook.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ♠ ━━━━━━━━━━━

You spot Dana leaving the hospital just as you push through the doors. Something reckless stirs in your chest, and you jog to catch up to her.

“Look who finally shows up,” she says with a playful glint in her tired eyes. “The prodigal child returning.”

You stumble over your words. “Uh…hey. Hi.”

Her eyes narrow as she assesses you. “You want to tell me why you spent the entire day avoiding me?”

You glance at your feet, then back up at her, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. “I - well, I thought…maybe you didn’t need me around. I mean, with…everything today.”

She huffs, exasperated. “Everything today is a long list. You don’t get off easy because you’re cute.”

You swallow hard. “Right…uh…maybe, um, you want to go get a drink with me?”

Dana’s eyes widen and she scoffs. “You want to drink? Tonight? You want me to get a drink with you after today?”

“Yeah. Maybe. Just -” you falter, realizing how ridiculous you sound right now. “I don’t know, unwind, talk, I -”

She pinches the bridge of her nose, a combination of exhaustion and the weight of the day pressing down on her. She’s clearly drained. Her voice drops to a quiet rasp. “I can’t do this with you tonight. Not with all this…everything.”

Your steps slow, your chest tightening. “Oh. Uh..maybe…another time, then.”

Dana sighs heavily. Then she tilts her head, lips pursing, evaluating. “Or,” she says, “you could come over. I have wine, and you clearly need to talk about something.”

You hesitate, surprised by the invitation. “I - yeah. Okay.”

She nods out toward the parking lot. “Good. Let’s go. And no stalling this time.”

The car ride is quiet, and reminds you eerily of the first day that you met her, driving to the diner after the long shift. You steal glances at her, trying to gauge whether her calm exterior hides frustration with you. She drives like she’s done it a thousand times before, eyes on the road, occasionally glancing at you out of her peripheral. 

When you arrive, she unlocks her front door, motioning for you inside. “C’mon, wine’s in the kitchen, sit.” She leads you to the counter, pouring a glass for herself first, then yours. “You’re going to talk,” she says, tired and abnormally serious, “or we’re going to spend the entire night like this.”

You glance at her warily as you climb onto a stool at the counter. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Dana leans her side against the counter, her eyes boring into yours. “Start anywhere. Just start talking.”

You clutch your glass of wine like it’s an anchor. “I…I worry,” you start, hesitant, “that I’ve…annoyed you. Following you around all the time like some sort of…duckling - god, I hate that word - but…maybe it’s gotten on your nerves and you’ve just been polite.”

Dana lifts a brow, taking a sip of her own wine. “You think I have a problem standing up for myself?”

“Of course not,” you rush out. “I mean - I just…I don’t know where the line is between you doing your job and…actually wanting me there.”

Her gaze sharpens on you. “So you think I don’t want you around?”

Your throat tightens. “I…I don’t know what you want.”

She leans forward toward you. “You’re saying you think I might not want you around. And you’re worried about that?”

You nod, fumbling. “Yeah. And…Emma -”

“Emma?” Her head snaps up, her eyes narrowing at you.

You hesitate again, almost tripping over the name. “She…she’s new. She needs the guidance. And you…I don’t know. I just…I don’t -”

“What does Emma have to do with this?” Dana interrupts, cutting you off before you can explain. 

Not that you know how to. You stumble over yourself as you continue. “I mean - Emma needed someone, and she’s new, and…I’m not…I don’t need guidance like that. And I just -”

Dana leans closer, her presence in your face sudden and intense. “You don’t need me?”

You swallow hard. “I…I don’t know. I just - people keep saying things. About me following you around, and -”

Dana cuts you off sharply, her voice snapping through the silence of her apartment. “I don’t care what anyone says.” Her hands clamp firmly on your upper arms as she leans closer, her eyes blazing. “You think I’m worried about some med student’s opinion?”

Ah, so she’d heard people talk, too.

You blink, stunned. “I…I just -”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she interrupts again, her hands sliding to your face, thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “All this tiptoeing around me, all this self-doubt. All these stupid guesses about what I want instead of just askin’ me. I’ve had it.”

You can’t form words. She’s right in your face, composure snapping as she leans in closer and before you can try to speak again, her lips press against yours. 

You gasp into it, hands reaching for her. The kiss is both desperate, and you fist the front of her scrub top, pulling at her until she’s standing between your spread legs. 

When she finally pulls back to breath, she leans her forehead against yours, her eyes closed. “Stop thinking,” she hisses quietly. “Stop wondering if I want you. Because I do.”

Your pulse is wild. Your knees feel weak. Weeks of insecurity gnawing at you, accumulating here, in this moment, right now. 

One of Dana’s hands slides from your jaw to your hip, pulling you to the edge of the stool until you’re pressed flush up against her. Your name is a rough murmur against your own lips as you part your mouth for her. Her tongue sweeps over yours and you subconsciously roll your hips against her. 

The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.

She parts from you, breathing heavily as her eyes search your face, checking, as if she’s assessing your want to make sure it’s real.

You answer the unspoken question by gripping the hem of your scrub top and dragging it over your head, letting it fall to the floor.

Her gaze tracks slowly down your throat, over your chest, lingering on the black bra stretched over your breasts. The smirk that curves her mouth now is less amused, more predatory.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, hooking a finger into the waistband of your scrub pants and pulling you off the stool.

“Where -”

“I’m not fucking you in the kitchen,” she says, her voice dry, teasing undercutting the bluntness.

You follow her down the hall, catching her hand and interlacing your fingers with hers. The softness of it almost makes her pause and she glances down at your joint hands. But she doesn’t let go.

She leads you into the last door on the right. As she shuts it behind her, you decide this is your moment. When she turns back around, you crowd her against the door, pressing your mouth to hers again.

You feel the smirk on her lips, the subtle shake of her shoulders as she huffs a laugh into your mouth.

You pull back, pouting. “Don’t laugh at me.”

Dana’s hands find your jaw again, but her hold is gentle instead of possessive. “If I’da known you were this desperate for me,” she says, brushing her thumb over your cheek again, “I’d have done this weeks ago.”

She pulls you back in, walking you toward the bed until the back of your knees hit it. But she doesn’t let you fall, instead turning you so she can sit. She guides you to straddle her lap as her mouth trails down the exposed skin of your ribs.

You free her hair from the clip she always keeps it in and tangle your fingers in the strands at the base of her skull, forcing her head up so you can dip down to kiss her again. Her hands tighten on your hips and you take the liberty of reaching back to unclasp your bra, pulling away from her to let it fall away from your body. 

Dana’s gaze is hungry as it roams your chest before she leans forward to capture a nipple in her mouth. You pant as she rolls her tongue over it lazily, her hand reaching up to pinch at the other before kneading the flesh of your breast in her palm.

You’re not exactly sure when you started grinding down on her thigh, only realizing you’re doing it when your clit grinds against the muscle just right and you toss your head back with a whine.

The noise has Dana looking up at you through her lashes, the hand remaining on your waist following you as your hips roll over her again and again. You rock faster, your hands at the back of her head urging her closer against your chest.

She comes off your breast with a small pop, pulling back to look up at you as she asks, “You need more?”

Nodding desperately, you allow her to guide you onto your back in the middle of her bed, but push against her shoulder as she leans to hover over you.

“Take this off,” you say breathlessly, tugging lightly at her scrubs. 

“My shirt?”

“All of it.”

Her smile is less of a smirk this time as she sits up to pull off her top, then climbs off the bed just long enough to step out of her pants. The set she wears under her clothes is grey, made for comfort not for pleasure, but she’s stunning in it regardless. 

As she climbs back over you, she’s careful not to trap your legs so she can hook her fingers into the waistband of your scrub pants to pull them down, taking your panties with them. You lift your hips long enough to shimmy them off, and they’re thrown haphazardly behind her somewhere on the floor. 

You’re bare beneath her, wet and flushed everywhere, and Dana swears she’s never seen a prettier sight in her life. Her fingertips trail down your body, starting at the side of your neck, over your collarbones and between your breasts. She squeezes your hip as she passes over it, and finally, finally trailing her fingers between your thighs. 

Seeing how wet you are is one thing, but feeling it has Dana letting out a shuddering breath as she straddles your thigh between her own. The pads of her fingers roll against your clit, rubbing circles gently over the swollen bud.

You moan, your hips shifting, causing your thigh to press up against her core. She lets out a small sigh at the spark of pleasure it sends through her.

Her touch firms, pressing her fingers harder against your clit, working you higher and higher. You gasp, chest heaving as you pant beneath her, rolling your hips desperately to try and match her pace. Dana absently grinds her cunt over your thighs, matching your movements. 

“There you go,” she groans as your moans dissolve into high-pitched whines. “Good girl.”

“Oh fuck, Dana,” you cry as you writhe against her hand, your hips stuttering as you cum against her fingers, walls clenching around nothing. Her fingers slow, but don’t stop until you’re satiated and your body softens underneath her.

Her hips stop their rubbing against your thigh, a teasing glint in her eye as she looks down at you. “Pent up, baby?” she teases, leaning over you to whisper in your ear. “You came so fast.”

You nod furiously, hands clinging to her biceps as you gather yourself. “Can I -”

Dana watches you, waiting for you to finish your question.

“Fuck, can I please eat you?” you pant.

Her eyebrows lift slightly, the playful smirk never leaving her face as it hovers just above your own. “Yeah, you want a taste?”

“Yes,” you say, nodding desperately again. “Please, Dana, please sit on my face.” You let go of one of her arms to reach down and snap the elastic of her underwear.

She chuckles, leaning back to let you pull them down off her legs. You almost toss them off the bed, but hesitate, deciding against it, instead balling them up in your fist as she shifts up your body.

Dana lifts herself just enough to climb over you, her thighs framing your head on the bed, hovering over you so close that you can feel the heat coming from her. You try to lean forward, desperate to get a taste, but she lifts just out of your reach, that teasing predation still filling her expression as she looks down at you. Her tongue pokes between her teeth, poorly disguising her amusement at your want.

You wrap your arms around her thighs from underneath and drag her down onto your mouth. Your tongue finds her folds, wet and hot, and she lets out a sharp breath, the playful expression gone as her head tilts back and her eyes close. 

Your tongue is relentless against her, flicking over her clit and then dragging down to her entrance to thrust inside her. Over and over, you moan into her, drowning in her as she slowly begins to grind against your face. You pull her just a little higher, sticking your tongue up inside her and grinding her clit against your nose.

Dana’s mouth drops open and she gasps, her hips moving faster against your face as her thighs begin to shake around your head.

You’re so lost in her that you almost ignore the throb of your own pussy, almost forget the panties in your hand. You untangle your arm from around her thigh, your fist loosening around the underwear as your hand makes its way between your own thighs until the panties press against your clit.

You let out a moan into Dana’s cunt, both at the taste of her and the pressure of the cotton against your core. You rut up into your hand at the same pace she grinds against your face.

“J-just like that,” she breathes. “Good girl.” 

The tremor in her voice has you keening, doubling your efforts to move in time with her hips, shaking your head back and forth to nudge at her clit. Your eyes flutter open as her pace falters, and the sight of her coming undone above you is addictive, you’re desperate to watch her unravel, you want to know that it’s you that’s making her feel this way. 

Your breath stutters as the coil in your gut winds so tight it’s almost painful, rutting against her dirty panties to get yourself off in time with her. 

Dana cums against your mouth with a guttural moan, doubling over you as her hips stop moving entirely, walls fluttering around your tongue as you’re flooded with her release. 

The sight of her overtaken by bliss is enough to send you over your own edge, and you cum a second time against her underwear, panting heavily as she climbs off you and drops onto the comforter next to you. 

You lay together for a moment, silent and curled up against one another, until -

“Is that my underwear?”

You tense.

Shit. That’s embarrassing.

Dana pushes up on one elbow, her eyes fixed on your hand - where her grey panties are still clenched tight, now soaked with your slick.

Heat floods your cheeks.

She reaches over, taking hold of your chin and tilting your head up to hers.

“Dirty girl,” she says, her teasing smirk returning to her face as she leans down to kiss you again. She hums against your mouth at your embarrassment, like she finds it more endearing than anything else. Her thumb drags slowly along your jaw before she moves, rolling you onto your side as she settles in close to you.

“You think I don’t notice when you’re not next to me?” she asks softly, no teasing left in her voice now.

You hold your breath as her hand settles at your hip, holding you firm.

She leans in close, her mouth brushing the shell of your ear. “You’re not going anywhere,” she whispers, like it isn’t even up for debate. 

Her mouth finds yours again and she kisses you slowly, like she’s devouring you. She nudges her knee between your thighs and settles against you. And when she pulls back enough to see you, so that you can see her, there’s no snap left in her expression. 

The possessiveness in her hand against your hip doesn’t suffocate, it steadies you. Her forehead presses lightly against yours, her breath warm on your cheek. 

And as she holds you like this, you realize something.

You were never trailing after her.

You were exactly where she wanted you.

━━━━━━━━━━━ ♠ ━━━━━━━━━━━

Enjoy this? Check out my Masterlist.

[mottesk]

SANE Dana my beloved

[tenured-yearning]

Good Girl

Pairing: Dana Evans/F!Reader

Rating: E/18+ Minors DNI

WC: 4.3k

Summary: You’ve had a hard shift, Dana wants to help you relax and forget the woes of your day.

Tags: Mommy Kink, Explicit Sex, Oral Sex, Vibrator Use, Multiple Orgasms, Teasing, Fingering, Overstimulation, D/S (Light), Praise, Aftercare

A/N: Okay, I know this isn't everyone's thing. It is all just honorifics and not age play. (We don't kink shame in this household, though) I hope y'all enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

AO3

Song inspo

“Oh, fuck, right there...” 

Dana works harder at the knot in your shoulder, digging her thumbs in just right. You groan again, your face buried in the pillow as you lie face down on your bed. You’ve been stripped of everything, hair still damp from your shower. Dana is insistent on getting you to fully relax tonight— it had been an awful shift today. 

You’d lost a young girl to severe anaphylaxis, having done quite literally everything in your power to save her. You’d texted Dana with two hours left of your shift, asking her to run to the store for comfort food since she’d had the day off today. 

She’d gone the extra mile, of course, worry etched into her features the moment you’d dragged yourself through the front door. She’d led you to the shower, washed the grime of the shift away from you and— with the softest look in her eyes— told you to relax and let her care for you tonight. You’d wanted to be good tonight, to relax, but the weight of her against your thighs, the feeling of her naked flesh against your own, was almost too much. 

Your body involuntarily twitches as she brushes a sensitive spot on your neck, pressing your face into the pillow to suppress a whimper. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” She asks softly, gathering your hair to pull it away from your neck so she can lean down and brush her lips against the bared skin. 

“Nothing-” Your reply ends in another choked sound as your body twitches again at the feeling of her hips pressing forward into the swell of your ass.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing, sweetheart.” She murmurs— her smirk evident in both her voice and the brush of her lips. “Tell mommy what you need.” 

The word alone unravels something in you. You turn your face just enough to breathe properly, cheek pressed to the pillow, fingers curling into the sheets.

"Dana-"

"Mm?" She doesn't stop. Her hands slide from your shoulders, tracing the line of your spine with deliberate slowness, like she has all the time in the world. She knows she does.

"You're not- this isn't relaxing."

A soft laugh, low and warm, vibrates against your shoulder blade where she presses a kiss. "No?"

"No."

"And yet-" Her palms spread wide across your lower back, thumbs drawing small circles into the dimples there. "You're not asking me to stop."

She’s got you there— your grip on the sheets tightens.

She leans down fully, her chest warm against your back, her lips finding the shell of your ear. Her voice drops to something darker, dripping with lust and want.

"You carry so much, baby. Always taking care of me, being my good girl." Her fingers brush your hair back from your face, gentle now, achingly so. "Let mommy take care of you tonight." She pauses, her lips grazing your temple. "Can you do that for me, baby? Just let go?"

The tenderness in it breaks something loose in your chest. The grief of the shift, the weight you'd walked in carrying, begins to soften at the edges.

You exhale slowly and turn over beneath her. Your eyes focus on her face, her blonde hair falling from behind her ears, her hazel eyes sharp and focused solely on you. 

Your hands slide up her outer thighs, where she’s straddled on you, your fingers squeezing a handful softly. “Yes, mommy.” Your voice is soft and yielding, dripping with that syrupy submission.

You watch the shift in her— her eyes grow darker as her pupils widen, lids drooping into that domineering stare that makes your insides turn to liquid, her body language shifting so it feels like she’s looming over you instead of just sitting on you. 

Her hands find your face, cradling your jaw in both palms, thumbs stroking along your cheekbones with a gentleness that stands in sharp contrast to the hunger in her eyes. 

"Good girl." She purrs, and the praise lands somewhere soft and deep in your chest.

She takes her time. That's the thing about Dana— she always takes her time when it matters. She leans down slowly, letting you feel the full weight of her intention before her lips finally find yours. The kiss is unhurried, deep, one hand sliding back into your still-damp hair. You feel the tension you'd been holding in your jaw begin to dissolve beneath her mouth.

She hums as she feels you relax under her, pulling away just enough to speak. “Where ya at tonight, pretty girl?” 

“Seven.” You murmur. You came up with this months ago– essentially a pain scale, but emotional. It helped establish just how far you’d want to get out of your head in the moment— how distracted you needed to be. 

She hums her response again, kissing you once before sitting up again. “Hands on the headboard. Don’t move them.” She climbs off you as you obey, pulling open the drawer next to her side of the bed. She digs around for a few moments before pulling out one of your many silicone vibrators. You know she’s arching her back on purpose, your eyes landing on the curve of her ass and traveling down to the space between her thighs. 

Setting it down next to you on the bed, she taps your thighs, signaling you to part them for her. You’re already slick, your body responding readily to her. Her hands trail up your thighs, pushing them a little wider. 

“Look at you.” She breathes, more to herself, her gaze zeroed in on your pussy. 

You no longer feel bashful around her, letting her drink in the sight of you, your muscles clenching around nothing. She loves seeing you so wrecked, a soft groan leaving her before she’s leaning down, flattening her tongue to run it up your slit. 

The heat of her tongue is a sharp, grounding contrast to the cold numbness that had been slowly curling around the outer edges of your consciousness. Every lap, every deliberate press of her mouth against you chips away at the image of that hospital room, trading sterile white lights with the warm, amber glow of your bedroom. You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening against the headboard, your body arching to meet every one of her teasing touches. 

“I’ve got you, baby.” Dana whispers against your skin, her breath hot and damp. “Nothing matters but this.”

She blindly searches for the vibrator, unwilling to pull herself from the space between your legs. She turns it on, letting the sound warn you before she trails it up the inside of your thigh, the low vibrations somehow radiating directly to your clit. She keeps it there— teasing you even as she continues running her tongue between your slit, collecting the arousal that has begun to drip from you. You’re starting to drift into that weightless headspace, your earlier ‘seven’ starting to feel like a ‘five’ as your thoughts turn into nothing but static and the feeling of her tongue. 

You let out a choked gasp as she pulls her mouth away, replacing it with the vibrator. 

“That’s it, that’s my good girl.” She coos lowly, her free hand spreading your labia a little more. “Does that feel good?” 

You whimper softly, your thighs shaking from the intensity of the vibrations, even with the toy set on low. “Yes, mommy.” Your words are almost unintelligible, already lost in the sensation. 

Dana tuts softly, pressing her lips to your inner thigh as she grins, pressing the vibrator a little harder against your clit. “Already so worked up, huh? Jesus, you look so good right now.” Her eyes flicker back and forth between your cunt and face, her gaze sharp and hungry. 

Your body is her instrument– she knows you far too well. You’re already on the edge– the expert use of her tongue combined with the vibrations has your hips lifting off the bed as you chase your release. You open your mouth to ask, but she’s already there with the answer. 

“Whenever you want, baby. I’ve got you.” She turns it up another speed, pulling a wrecked sound from you. 

Your orgasm is low and slow, burning out from your clit as you choke on a cry. Your body tenses as you crash over the edge, fingers wrapping harder around the metal poles of the headboard. Dana pulls the vibrator away from your clit, replacing it with her tongue as your hips roll, drawing out your orgasm with her warm and wet mouth. Your hands have somehow ended up tangled in her hair, pressing her closer as you writhe through it. 

You finally still, heart beating wildly in your chest as Dana’s hands smooth up and down your thighs. You pull your fingers from her hair, smoothing through the silky threads, giggling shortly as her lips press just above your mound. “Thank you.” You breathe, your eyes cracking open to look down at her. 

“Oh, I’m not done with you, sweetheart.” That cocky and self-assured grin you love so much tips her lips, and your heart somehow hammers faster. 

“What?” You croak, lifting your head and letting it drop again. 

Her grin turns more feral as she sits up, tossing the messy vibrator to the bedside table. “You moved your hands.” She says matter-of-factly. “Told you not to. Something has to be done about that.” 

You groan playfully, letting your head roll back against the pillow. “Dana.” You draw out her name in a whine, though you’re already grinning. The clouds that had been hanging over you seemed to dissipate completely, leaving you relaxed and aching for more. 

You jolt as she climbs up your body, taking you into a messy kiss. You can taste yourself on her tongue, and it sends your body buzzing again, your moan mingling with hers. 

She shifts her leg between yours, pressing her thigh down hard against your sensitive clit, jolting you again. 

"Fuck." You gasp against her mouth, your hips jerking involuntarily at the pressure. Everything is still so sensitive, every nerve ending lit up and raw from your first orgasm.

"Language." Dana chides, though her voice is thick with amusement. She grinds her thigh against you deliberately, watching your face contort with pleasure. "What do we say?"

"Sorry, mommy." The words tumble out breathlessly, and you watch her smile in mute satisfaction.

"That's better." She murmurs, her hands sliding up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. "Now, about those hands..."

Before you can respond, she's reaching up to grab both your wrists, directing them to the headboard with one hand. The position arches your back, pressing your chest up toward her— you exaggerate the arch just a little, offering yourself. 

"Keep them there this time." Her voice drops lower, authoritative. "Or I stop. Understand?"

You nod quickly, fingers already curling around the frame above your head again, determined to obey this time.

"Use your words, baby."

"Yes, mommy. I understand."

"Good girl." The praise sends warmth flooding through you, and she rewards you by rolling her hips, grinding her thigh against your oversensitive clit in slow, deliberate circles. She releases her grip on your wrists, planting her hand beside your head. You can feel her responding wetness against your own thigh, the knowledge of what you do to her making you squirm even more. 

The sensations are almost too much– you're still coming down from your first orgasm, and every touch feels electric, sending sparks through you. Your body doesn't know whether to chase the pleasure or pull away from it, leaving you trembling beneath her.

Dana's free hand maps your body with purpose– tracing your collarbone, palming your breast, thumb circling your nipple until it peaks under her attention. She takes her time, observing your every breath and twitch.

"You're so beautiful like this." She says softly, her eyes roaming over you with something that looks like reverence mixed with hunger. "All spread out for me, trying so hard to be good."

"I am good." You manage, though your voice wavers enough to break through your pout.

"You are." She agrees, leaning down to capture your nipple between her lips, her tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. "You're my very good girl."

The combination of her mouth on your breast and her thigh grinding against your clit has you gasping, your hips starting to move on their own, seeking more friction. Your hands flex above your head, desperate to touch her, to pull her closer, but you force them to stay put.

"Oh, there you go, baby. Take what you need." Dana encourages, releasing your nipple with a soft pop before moving to the other one. "Ride my thigh. Show mommy how much you need it."

You whimper at her words, your hips rolling more insistently now, chasing the building pressure. It's different from the first orgasm– this one somehow builds faster, sharper, your body already primed and sensitive.

Her hand slides down your body, fingers trailing over your stomach, making your muscles jump and contract.

"Where are you now?" She asks, her voice gentle even as her thigh presses harder against you.

"Three." You gasp out, maybe even a two. Your mind is blissfully empty except for the sensation of her– her weight, her warmth, her presence surrounding you completely. The hospital, the grief, the girl you couldn't save– it all feels distant now, like it was days instead of hours ago.

"Perfect." Dana’s voice thrums against your breast, her hand sliding lower, fingers ghosting over where you're grinding against her thigh. "You're doing so well, sweetheart. Can you feel how wet you are? Soaking my thigh."

The filthy observation makes you moan, heat flooding your cheeks even as your hips buck harder. She's right– you can feel how slick you are, how easily you're sliding against her skin. It’s obscene and dirty, yet you can’t stop yourself from moaning and pressing harder against her. 

"I want you to come for me again." Dana says, her voice taking on that commanding edge that makes your stomach flip. "I want you to come on my thigh like the needy little thing you are. Can you do that for mommy?"

"Yes," you gasp, your whole body tensing as the pressure builds. "Yes, mommy, I can-"

"Then do it." She leans down, her lips brushing your temple. "That’s it, baby. Let go."

Her hand presses between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and circling it in tight, precise movements that have you seeing stars. The dual sensation of her fingers on your clit and her thigh pressing them harder against you is overwhelming.

"Dana-" Her name comes out as a broken cry, your hands fisting so hard above your head that your knuckles turn white. "I'm- I'm-"

"I know, baby. I've got you." Her voice is steady, grounding, even as she works you higher. "Let it happen. Give it to me."

Your second orgasm crashes over you harder than the first, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your body arches off the bed, every muscle pulled taut as pleasure rolls through you in waves. Dana's fingers don't stop, drawing it out until you're shaking, until you're not sure where one wave ends and the next begins.

"That's it, that's my girl." Dana's voice filters through the haze, proud and warm. "So beautiful when you come for me."

When the waves finally subside, you're gasping, boneless, your body twitching with aftershocks. You expect her to give you a moment to recover, but instead, she's sliding down your body, her intentions clear.

"Dana, wait-" You start, but she's already settling between your thighs, spreading them wide.

"Shh, baby. Mommy's not done with you yet." Her breath ghosts over your oversensitive flesh, making you whimper. "You can take one more for me, can't you?"

"I don't- I don't know if I can-" Your voice is shaky, uncertain. Everything feels too sensitive, too raw.

"You can." She says with absolute certainty, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. "And you will. Because you're my good girl, and good girls take what mommy gives them."

Before you can respond, her tongue is on you, lapping at your entrance where you're dripping wet. The sensation is intense, almost painful in its pleasure, and you cry out, your hips trying to jerk away from her mouth.

But Dana's hands are firm on your thighs, holding you in place as she works you over with her tongue. She's relentless, alternating between broad strokes of her tongue and focused attention on your clit, reading every twitch and gasp to know exactly what you need.

"Too much," You whimper, your hands still obediently above your head even though every instinct is screaming at you to push her away. "Mommy, it's too much-"

"I know what you can take." She murmurs against you, the vibration of her voice sending shockwaves through you. "You're doing so well, baby. Just a little more."

She seals her lips around your clit and sucks, and you nearly scream, your back arching off the bed. The pleasure is so intense it borders on pain, your body not sure whether to chase it or retreat from it.

Then her fingers are there, teasing at your entrance, and you know what's coming.

"Please-" You're not sure if you're begging her to stop or to continue, your mind too hazy to form coherent thoughts.

"Please what, baby?" She asks, pulling back just enough to speak, her fingers still circling your entrance teasingly.

"I- I don't-" You can't finish the sentence, can't articulate what you need.

"That's okay." She soothes, pressing a kiss to your thigh. "You don't have to think. Just feel."

And then she's pushing two fingers inside you, and the stretch is perfect, filling you in a way that makes your eyes roll back. She doesn't give you time to adjust, immediately curling her fingers to find that spot inside you that makes you clench and flutter and melt. 

"Oh god-" You choke out, your whole body tensing.

"Not god, baby." She corrects with a wicked grin you can hear in her gravelly voice. "Mommy."

She sets a steady rhythm, her fingers pumping in and out of you while her mouth returns to your clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming, pleasure building impossibly fast despite how sensitive you are. Or maybe because of how sensitive you are.

"I can't- mommy, I can't-" You're babbling now, words spilling out without conscious thought.

"Yes, you can." She insists, her fingers moving faster, harder, twisting and scissoring inside of you with each thrust. "You're going to come for me again, baby. I can feel how close you are."

She's right— you can feel it building, that familiar tension coiling tight in your belly. But it feels different this time, more intense, almost frightening in its magnitude.

"Mommy-" It comes out as a sob, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming sensation.

"Let go, baby. I've got you." Her voice is steady, anchoring you even as she pushes you higher. "Don’t fight it."

You don’t feel that edge this time, that moment before the crash– there’s no coiling tension, no warning. One moment you’re trembling on the edge of too much, and the next you’re gone. Your third orgasm pulls you under before you can draw your next breath, your hands locking up around the headboard. Your body seizes as it crashes through you, wave after wave, your mind completely blanking. 

You come back slowly, your chest heaving. Dana’s fingers have gentled, but her mouth stays insistent on your clit, her tongue flicking back and forth over the engorged flesh. You cry out as your hips jolt again. 

"Please-" You're blabbering, your mind catching up, your body still shaking uncontrollably. "Please, mommy, I can't- it's too much-“

But she doesn't stop. If anything, her fingers begin to move faster, her tongue more insistent, pushing you past the point of comfort into something that almost feels transcendent. The pleasure is so intense it's unbearable, your body caught between trying to chase it and trying to escape it.

"One more," Dana demands, her voice muffled against you. "Give me one more, baby. I know you can."

"I can't-" You're fully crying now, tears streaming down your face, your body trembling violently. "Please, I can't-" You want to move away from her, to pull your hips away, but her fingernails digging into your hip keep the impulse at bay. 

"You can." She insists, and there's something in her voice— that absolute certainty, that unwavering confidence in you— that makes you believe her.

She adjusts the angle of her fingers, pressing harder against that spongy spot inside you, her tongue relentless on your clit. The pleasure builds impossibly higher, your body wound so tight you think you might break.

"Come for me, baby." Dana commands, her voice firm. "Now."

Your body follows her command without thought, your muscles seizing. Your fourth orgasm tears through you with a force that has your mouth dropping in a silent scream, your vision whiting out as pleasure consumes you completely. You're vaguely aware that your body is shaking so hard the bed is shaking from the intensity, but it all feels distant, like it's happening to someone else.

Dana finally, finally slows her movements, gently working you through the aftershocks until you're boneless and gasping, your body twitching with residual pleasure. She carefully withdraws her fingers, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as you come down.

"That's my girl." She grins, her voice full of pride and affection. "You did so well, baby. So, so well."

You can't respond, let alone form thoughts. Your mind is completely blank, floating in that perfect space where nothing exists except the warm glow of satisfaction and Dana's gentle touches. Your hands are still above your head, trembling but obedient, and you feel a distant sense of pride at having kept them there.

Dana pushes herself up your body slowly, pressing her lips to your lower stomach, then ribs and sternum, over your heart, to your chin, and finally to your lips. She doesn’t rush it, letting you come back to your body. 

She reaches up to gently uncurl your fingers from the headboard, your arms dropping down to the mattress like they’ve forgotten how to function. She chuckles softly, lifting your hand to press her lips to the back of it. 

“My beautiful girl,” she murmurs– the quiet praise feeling different than the earlier ones. A wave of pure adoration washes through you, your lips twitching in an exhausted smile. 

She settles beside you, pulling you into her, your back against her chest. You’re still trembling slightly, tiny jolts of aftershocks making you shiver. She rests her chin on the top of your head until you stop trembling and your breathing has returned to normal. 

You can feel your tears drying against your skin– a reminder of how you’d been taken completely apart by someone who knows you well enough to put your pieces back together again. The thought makes you hum happily, shifting as you press yourself against her, seeking more contact for comfort. 

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, the edge completely gone. “Where are you?” 

You have to think about it for a moment, like invisible tendrils reaching through the haze as you evaluate yourself. “One,” you finally manage. You’ll never be at a zero, but a one is always an achievement. 

You feel her soft smile through the kiss she places on the top of your head, the pride radiating from her, though she’ll never say it out loud in moments like this. 

“She was so young.” You break the silence, not quite meaning to say it. 

Dana doesn’t flinch, and she doesn’t redirect you. Her fingers trail up and down your arm soothingly, calming your thoughts again. “I know, baby.” 

“I did everything right.” You let the defeat show in your words, though you won’t allow yourself to fully feel it. 

“You did.” She presses her lips to the top of your head again. “You’re allowed to grieve her. But give yourself time. Tomorrow.” 

You take a deep breath, knowing she’s right. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. You’re thanking her for everything– for caring for you, for being there, for making sure you’re always okay. For knowing you so damn well. 

She pulls you closer, her face buried against the back of your neck as her arms wind around your waist. “Always. I love you.” 

“I love you too.”

She separates from you once your breathing has completely returned to normal and your body has stopped quivering. She comes back from the bathroom a few minutes later, a damp washcloth and glass of water in her hands. She helps you sit up, handing you the glass of water which you greedily drink from. 

She cleans your thighs gently, taking extra care to be gentle around your still sensitive flesh. You relax back against the pillows, letting out a satiated hum as she tosses the washcloth toward the hamper and slides back into bed next to you. 

You turn toward her, tucking yourself into her embrace as your legs tangle between the sheets, your arm lazily draped around her waist. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Her expression softens as she reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb brushing across your cheek. 

She leans to press a lingering kiss against your forehead, your eyes fluttering shut. It feels like a perfect closing to the turmoil of the day– curled up in the arms of your lover, safe and protected, the muffled sounds of the city outside lulling you into a restful sleep. 

[tempest-ghoulette]

Thinking about Dana’s Glasses

A/N: just wanna say a quick thank you to my pookie @booksooks for reading this real quick even though its just a blurb thxxxxxx

Maybe it’s the lull in the ED that really has you staring at Dana while she has her glasses on. They’re perched on the bridge of her nose like always while she scans the tablet that’s held against her hip, barking out orders to the various staff telling them who needs to go where and what each patient needs. Maybe it’s the way that her hair has become a little disheveled from the bun she wears and is framing her face just right.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts you don’t even realize she’s calling your name, and expectant look on her face as she repeats herself. Muttering apologies to her as you make your way to a patient unaware of the knowing smirk that spreads across her face because she knows exactly why you were staring. 

Going through the rest of your shift like normal but just the thought of Dana in her glasses in the back of your mind. Always when you have a moment just finding yourself staring, unbeknownst to you that she’s also staring while you’re not looking, planning on what to do to you when you both get home.

Both your shifts finally ending after a long day. The drive home is silent, you just staring out the window while Dana has a hand on your thigh.

Coming out of the shower to see Dana on the bed laying against the headboard with a book in her lap. And those damn glasses perched at the end of her nose. She glances up at you, eyes peeking from over the frames and that damn smirk on her face. That’s when you realize she was planning this all day, fully aware that you were staring at her throughout your shift.

Making your way over to the bed, positioning yourself between her legs with your head placed in her lap, looking up at her through your lashes as your hands play with the waistband of her pants. And who is she to deny you when you’re looking at her like that.

Maybe if you do a good job eating her out she’ll let you ride her strap. Glasses on of course.

[michaun]

CORONATION STREET the Connor-Swains

[stargirl-russo]

I can’t

[mindibindi]

[buffonias]

[lunarglowssoft]

she's an older woman AND she's possessive? SIGN ME UP.

[cake-emu]

Coronation Street | Carla Connor + Lisa Swain (3rd March 2026)