A Gay Astronaut

30/Your fave resident doc and lawyer/California

[onegayastronaut]

Masterlist Update

Okay, so it seems like there is an issue with having "too many links" on one Tumblr post, so I'm going to make a Masterlist of my various masterlists.

This can get messy because I have a lot of fics to get through, so please bear with me lol

Masterlist 1

Masterlist 2

Masterlist 3

Masterlist 4

[onegayastronaut]

hi gays and theys are we still using Tumblr I haven't been here for so long omg... what's new

[onegayastronaut]

just stopping by to say helloooo hope you're good <3

I'm doing well bestie!

Hope you're doing well too :D

[onegayastronaut]

been wondering if i should watch the pitt and now that i see you’re considering writing fics for it, i might actually have to 👀

It's much better than Grey's Anatomy in my opinion.

But also unrealistic for having too many hot people working in healthcare lmao

[onegayastronaut]

About to start writing fics for The Pitt

[onegayastronaut]

Have you watched heated rivalry yet?

Me x Amber Glenn cast in the lesbian version when

[onegayastronaut]

Do you have any other social media? Because you're not really active on here anymore

Yeah I'm not really posting on here nearly as much as I used to lmao

Uhhhh...I guess if you want to see what I'm up to, follow me on Instagram @one_gay_astronuat. I'm much more into Instagram and TikTok lmao

[onegayastronaut]

I know you write for Criminal Minds, wanted to know what you think of the reboot

I'm glad to see most of our favorite profilers back, but I'm not a fan of the direction that the show is going.

I'm tired of the whole Sicarius storyline. The best thing about the OG show is that almost every episode we got a new city and a new serial killer. It was very rare that we revisited a killer from previous episodes. I don't like that the show is still spinning its wheels over this one guy

Hotch, Morgan, Elle Greenway, Matt...NONE of them could turn up for the funeral of JJ's husband? Poorly written, and bad job on the show runners.

Other than that, I'm okay with the show.

[onegayastronaut]

Every Language of Love

A little Valentine's Day thing hehe

Valentine’s Day is not supposed to start with a pager going off at six in the morning, and yet....

The sound slices clean through the last thread of sleep, sharp and insistent, and you groan into the pillow without even opening your eyes. For a brief, disoriented moment, you consider pretending it isn’t happening. That if you ignore it long enough, the universe might decide to leave you alone.

Beside you, Carina makes a sound that is half growl, half plea.

“No,” she mutters into the mattress. “Absolutely not.”

You crack one eye open just in time to see her phone lighting up the dark bedroom, the glow outlining the curve of her cheek, the slope of her nose. Her hair is a mess:dark curls spilling everywhere, and there’s a faint crease on her face from the pillowcase. She looks softer like this. Younger. Less like the unflappable doctor everyone else sees and more like the woman who fell asleep with her leg thrown over yours because she insists she sleeps better that way.

“Good morning,” you mumble.

She does not lift her head. “It is not morning. It is a personal attack.”

You smile despite yourself and roll onto your side, propping your head up with one hand. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

She exhales sharply, then turns her head just enough to look at you. One eye opens, bleary but unmistakably fond. “Already with the romance,” she says dryly. “We have not even survived the first crisis of the day.”

Her phone chirps again. She glares at it. “I swear to God.”

You reach out and brush your thumb over her cheek, tracing the crease until it fades. “Answer it,” you say gently. “You’ll feel better.”

“I will not,” she says stubbornly.

Another chirp. She sighs, dramatic and long-suffering, then finally reaches for the phone and squints at the screen. You watch her shoulders relax just a fraction.

“It is not an emergency,” she says with visible relief. “Just a reminder.”

“For…?”

“That I am on call tonight,” she replies, dropping the phone back onto the nightstand like it has personally betrayed her.

You wince. “Ah.”

She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. “I forgot.”

“You didn’t,” you say. “You just hoped.”

She turns her head again, eyes dark and searching now. “I am sorry,” she says, the words coming too fast. “I know we made plans. I know I said...”

You lean in and kiss her before she can spiral, slow and deliberate. She melts into it immediately, a soft sound leaving her throat as her hand curls into the fabric of your shirt.

When you pull back, you rest your forehead against hers. “We knew this might happen,” you say. “It’s okay.”

“It is still disappointing,” she admits quietly. “This day is supposed to be about… intention.”

You smile softly. “Then let’s keep the intention. The rest is flexible.”

She studies you for a long moment, then nods, something easing in her expression. “You always do this,” she murmurs.

“Do what?”

“Make things feel manageable.”

You shrug. “I’m very good at that.”

She snorts, then leans in and kisses you again, lingering this time, unhurried. “Ti amo,” she whispers against your mouth.

Your chest warms instantly. “I love you too.”

That earns you a smile—slow, genuine, a little shy, like she’s still getting used to hearing it.

The morning passes in a comfortable blur. Carina showers first, singing softly under her breath: Italian pop you don’t recognize but have learned to associate with mornings where she’s in a decent mood. You make coffee and toast, moving around the kitchen together with the ease of habit, bumping hips, stealing kisses, exchanging amused looks over the rims of your mugs.

She lingers longer than usual before leaving, straightening your collar, kissing your cheek, your mouth, your forehead. “I will text you,” she promises.

“I know.”

“And we will still celebrate,” she adds, firm. “Even if it is… unconventional.”

You smile. “Looking forward to it.”

When the door closes behind her, the apartment feels quieter, but not empty. Not lonely. Just waiting. You spend the day doing small things that feel meaningful. You clean, but not in the frantic way you sometimes do before guests arrive. This is slower, more intentional. You wash the sheets. You open the windows and let fresh air in. You rearrange the bookshelf because Carina mentioned last week that she couldn’t find her favorite medical ethics text and you suspect it’s been hiding behind a stack of novels for months.

You go to the market. You stand in front of the flowers longer than necessary, debating colors and meanings you half remember. You end up choosing something simple: warm reds and soft pinks, nothing too dramatic. It feels right.

Cooking takes most of the afternoon. You pick something familiar, something you’ve made together before. You chop and stir and taste, adjusting spices the way she taught you, murmuring commentary to yourself like she does when she’s focused. The kitchen fills with warmth and scent, and for a while, it feels like she’s there with you.

When the door finally opens in the early evening, you hear it from the kitchen. “Amore?” Carina calls.

“In here!”

She appears in the doorway, coat half-off, bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair is pulled back, exhaustion etched into the lines around her eyes, but when she takes in the scene: candles, table set, you in your comfortable clothes with an apron tied crookedly around your waist, she stops short.

“You cooked,” she says softly.

You turn, suddenly aware of yourself. “Yeah. I thought, since you might be tired.”

She crosses the room in three long strides and cups your face, kissing you like she’s been holding it in all day. There’s no rush in it, no urgency, just warmth and relief.

“I do not deserve you,” she murmurs when she pulls back.

“You absolutely do,” you say, steady. “Now go shower before you fall asleep standing up.”

She laughs quietly. “Bossy.”

“Efficient.”

She kisses you once more before disappearing down the hall.

Dinner is exactly what you hoped it would be. Carina eats with genuine appreciation, pausing often to praise specific details: the seasoning, the texture, the way you remembered she prefers less salt. She tells you about her day in fragments, animated and expressive, slipping into Italian when she gets frustrated, gesturing with her fork.

You listen, anchored by the familiar rhythm of her voice, the way she reaches across the table to take your hand without thinking.

“At work,” she says eventually, softer now, “they asked me if I had plans tonight.”

“And?”

“And I said yes,” she replies, smiling at you. “Because I do.”

After dinner, you move to the couch, curling into each other with practiced ease. Her legs drape over yours, her head tucked beneath your chin, her fingers absently tracing patterns on your arm.

“Can I give you your gift?” she asks after a moment.

You blink. “You got me something?”

She scoffs. “Obviously.”

She disappears into the bedroom and returns with a small box, placing it carefully in your hands. You open it slowly. Inside is a delicate necklace, understated and elegant. The pendant catches the light just enough to draw your eye.

“What does it say?” you ask.

She leans closer. “Latin.”

“Of course.”

“Ubi amor, ibi domus,” she says quietly.

“Where there is love, there is home.”

She watches your face closely. “I saw it and thought… you make everywhere feel like that.”

Your throat tightens. “Carina…”

She helps you put it on, her fingers brushing your skin, her touch reverent. When she kisses the spot just below your ear, you close your eyes.

“I love it,” you say. “I love you.”

She smiles. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

The pager goes off at 8:42 p.m. Carina freezes mid-laugh. You both stare at it. She groans. “No.”

“Go.”

She looks at you, torn. “I hate this.”

You cup her face, grounding. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

She kisses you fiercely, like she’s memorizing you. “I will make this up to you.”

“I know.”

She leaves in a rush, and the apartment settles into quiet again.

You wait.

When she finally comes home after midnight, exhausted and wrung out, you’re there: necklace warm against your chest, arms open.

She collapses into you with a soft, grateful sound. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” she murmurs, half asleep already.

You smile, holding her close. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Carina.”

And you mean it, in every language you know.

[onegayastronaut]

hi😊, please update 🪑Carina DeLuca mi miss se you 👾👾👾

I know bestie, I’ve been very busy lately.

Planning on getting back into writing this month. Keep an eye out for a Valentine’s Day fic

[onegayastronaut]

Pick Your Trope

tagged by my lovely pals @katescully♥️

| coffee shop or flower girl | au or fix-it | enemies to lovers or childhood friends | angst or fluff | love at first sight or pining | modern au or historic au | break up & make up or proposal & wedding | get together or established relationship | soulmates or unrequited | fake dating or secret dating | obvious pining or domestic fluff | hurt/comfort or crack | meet the parents or meet cute |

[onegayastronaut]

can I ask are still shipping people with characters

Yes...although to be completely fair, I haven't written anything in months lol

[onegayastronaut]

You seem to be the type to treat your gf like a princess

Oh yeah I love giving princess treatment

BUT also…I can’t stand a helpless person, you know what I mean? Leave me alone sometimes, if that makes sense

[onegayastronaut]

Take all the time you need 😭 that's awful. Hope you feel better!

I'm pretty much burying myself in Sabrina Carpenter Tiktoks and work right now hehe

[onegayastronaut]

Take all the time you need 😭 that's awful. Hope you feel better!

Thanks!

My work husband has been coming by every other night "just to hang out", but I'm pretty sure he's coming to make sure I'm still breathing lmao

So I want to say I'm getting better day by day, but there are bad moments so idk

[onegayastronaut]

SHE WHAT?!

Yeah!

Honestly, the world is a worse place without her in it, and it's mainly why I haven't posted even though I keep saying I'll get back to writing.

I've also pretty much started living at the hospital cause it's either that or not be able to get out of bed hehe

[onegayastronaut]

Are you still traumatized from the last girl you posted about?

There's more actually!

I was actually talking to someone new for the last year or so, but she passed away 2 months ago after I caught feelings 🤡🤡🤡