#mc x ethan

[baitu22]

Update some new doodle for my MC & Ethan from dangerous fellows 💙

Here's my mc!!!

[beastlyinstrument]

Since y'all be missin Naveen so much ... ✨

[bluebellot]

Tobias and Leland trying to do a dramatic reveal when the walls of the diagnostic room are literally made of glass

[alwaystiredgal]

Nobody:

Everyone when MC picks a premium outfit :

WoW ArE YoU AlWaYs So GoRgEoUs?

[honourlight]

the glow up is immaculate sir😌

[a-crepusculo]

His Rookie (Ethan x MC)

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x Dr. Marchia Bisognin (F!MC)

Setting: A rewrite or retelling of Book 2 - Chapter 1.

Premise: Back from the depths of Amazon, will Ethan keep fighting his own feelings or choose to give in to it?

A/N: Once in a blue moon, I get some inspiration to write angst. Also, it feels kinda weird that I don’t have any edits to put in this fic? lmao again, please enjoy friends!

A silver-white moon hung across the night sky when Ethan arrived at Donahue’s. It was late, but the beer garden was filled with several familiar doctors; trying to blow off some steam after an intense day.

He wasn’t sure if it was the right choice to come here one day before going back to work—or, more specifically, going back to her. Yet somehow, the idea of downing an entire bottle of scotch at his favorite local dive bar was much more appealing than sitting idly in his own apartment.

Ethan drags himself through the main entrance doors, smell of alcohol fused with oily fried snacks oddly gave him a sense of familiarity and comfort—something that the depths of Amazon did not provide.

As he scanned the bar, his eyes immediately caught the newly promoted resident in her sleeveless silk black blouse; sipping Old-Fashioned like there’s no tomorrow. She had pulled her soft honey golden hair into a high, loose bun with shorter pieces of her hair falling down.

There she was, ten feet away from him. His Rookie in the flesh.

“Fuck,” he muttered to himself.

He can almost feel the walls around him crashing down. All of that distance he had spent two months creating, setting between them with both time and space, had been shattered in a matter of seconds.

Her laughter circled around the room; supposedly responding to a rather charming young man one bar stool away from her. Ethan shifted his gaze to him, observing the medium-build man eagerly trying to allure her.

The mystery guy places a hand on the small of her back, closing the gap between them. His eyes casually wander up and down, smiling at Marchia suggestively. It was rather a surprise that she visibly stiffened at his touch, displaying a small—rather forced—grin as a reply.

Ethan swallowed thickly, his fists clenching tightly. The sickening view was, indeed, more than enough to ignite something fiendish inside of him.

Despite what his logical, sensible mind keeps saying over and over, he had let his feet carry him to where they were chatting.

He crossed the room in four long strides, a volatile anger coursed through him in each step. His pulse had picked up speed, making him lose his train of thought the moment he saw his hand on her.

“...Rookie,” he managed, his voice strained.

Marchia glanced over her shoulder, slightly arching her chest up in surprise. She allowed her eyes to roam him, lips parting in an attempt to answer him.

“Doctor Ramsey,” she replied, her tone was hard and focused.

There was silence for a minute as Ethan’s gaze burned into her. The nameless stranger turned his head to look at the handsome doctor wearing his green leather jacket; ever so surely feeling the tenseness between them.

The tall, well-suited man decidedly stood up, schooling his posture before looking back at Marchia. He bared his teeth in more of a snarl than a smile. “Call me later?” he easily asked.

She nodded, her gaze strolling over his face absentmindedly as he left them alone.

Ethan lets out an irritated breath through his nose; even his stoic features could not hide what he truly felt. “What brings you here tonight?” he asked, forcing her to look back at him.

“A good drink,” Marchia half-lied to him.

Her heart stings as she responded to his question. When he left, anger, shame, and confusion infiltrated her bones. She ran to the ends of her heart seeking answers, exhausting her rationality. How could she admit that she’s drinking away the problems that he has caused?

“Marchia—”

“Do you want to go outside?” she interrupted him, her eyes darted around the room while quickly rising to her feet. She didn’t wait for Ethan to respond, her feet already propelling her through the room.

The windy breeze of Boston greets Marchia as she steps into the outdoor beer garden. Most of Donahue’s patrons have left after Reggie announced last-call, leaving the space quiet as ever.

As Ethan finally caught up to her, she was standing in front of the fireplace, eyes staring deeply at the crackling flames that illuminated her kind hazel eyes.

“Marchia, I—” he tried again.

“No,” she stared back at him, anger that welled up in her chest finally bursts out. “You don’t get to explain yourself.”

“Two months,” The young doctor dropped her voice, mumbling mostly to herself. She involuntarily paced back and forth; cheeks bright with fury. “Without any word from you.”

Marchia stopped in her tracks, whispering quietly to him. “How could you?”

Mere moments ago, he was consumed by his own egotistical anger—maybe, jealousy, to be exact. But right now, standing in front of her, all he can think of is how selfish and foolish it was running away to the Amazon, shutting her out of his life.

“It was cowardly of me to leave you without saying anything,” he admitted, hoping his words could ease her.

Instead, she lets out a humorless laugh; a strange melody to his ears.

“I’m done, Ethan,” she scoffed, eyes looking down at the stone flooring.

“If your intention was to push me away...” Marchia paused for a moment, lowering her voice again. “Then I’m done,” she lifted up her right arm, pointing and pressing her index finger on his broad chest.

The young woman turned away from him, biting down her trembling lips. Regardless of the pain he inflicted on her, she still longs for him, craved him. Idiotic, yes, but Marchia couldn’t lie to herself.

Before she could step away, his hand caught her small wrist. “Stay, please,” Ethan spoke under his breath, stepping closer to her.

"Or what?” Marchia turned back to him after he had let go of her wrist, struggling to hide the rising indignation within her voice.

She didn’t got the answer to her question in plain words.

Without hesitation, he kissed her quickly and forcefully, swallowing her gasp of surprise. His breath was hot, wet against her plushy lips. Like a hurricane stirring her emotions; she got caught in him.

Her free hands reached up, feeling his rough beard against her hands, urging him to come closer to her. He curved over her, bending down, his hands hungrily exploring everywhere he could, insatiable as he traveled her body.

“Marchia,” he whispered and it was reverent; an intimate prayer of his. “How I’ve missed you.”

They gazed at one another, breathing synchronized. Ethan inches closer, gently pressing their foreheads together, letting wisps of their breath mingle in the air for a moment.

“You left,” she blurted in a small voice, her face tucked into his chest now.

There was fear slipped in her confession; an agonizing uneasiness plaguing her mind whether he would leave her again or not. She wanted him, only him, nursing the wound that he had created in her heart.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed weakly, feelings of pain and regret still weighing him down. Holding her tight in his warm embrace, he’s certain of one thing: not to let her slip away again.

“We...” he stopped to take a breath, his hands running through her hair and down her spine. “We’ll make it work.”

Tags (please do let me know if anyone wants to be removed or added into it!): @mia143​ | @jamespotterthefirst​ | @writer-ish​ | @genevievemd​ | @izzyourresidentlawyer​ | @schnitzelbutterfingers​ | @tsrookie​ | @adiehardfan​ | @queencarb​ | @wingedhairstylemusicweasel​ | @chaoticchopshopheart​ | @maurine07​ | @lsvdw-blog​ | @mm2305​ | @headoverheelsforramsey​ | @openheartfanfics​ |

[satrangee-ray]

TRUTH SERUM

AO3 LINK HERE:

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Your favourite OH characters, but on TS, asked to state 5 things about themselves.

For Part 2 with Jackie Varma, click here.

For Part 3 with Naveen Banerji, click here.

For Part 4 with Landry Olsen, click here.

For Part 5 with Bryce Lahela, click here.

For Part 6 with Leland Bloom, click here.

Ethan Ramsey (he/him):

I'm your token doctor smartypants who has too big of an ego for the actual poor amount of self love. Also I learnt the word "smartypants" from MC. Not really versed with millennial language, you know? I'm old. Just like MC says. But I contradict them each and every time, because when half of your childhood only involves processing abandonment trauma, getting your shit together and finally living on your own really feels like starting over from infancy.

I hate incompetence and that's on that. So either you're good at shit, or you are shit. I hold every single person I meet to these impossibly high standards, but again the only person getting the most affected by these are me. At the end of the day, I lose my cool several times, pinch my nose and burn myself out, but that's okay, because it suits my manufactured image of 'The Ethan Ramsey'. I also use the word 'push' several times in a day as a way of referring to helping someone grow as a person. So if I tell you that I want to push you, it doesn't mean I'll do that literally. I hate physical contact anyway, except if it's with MC. 

I love MC, but alas! That last bit should not be there, honestly, but again, I'm a pioneer at creating my own problems, and explaining romance as the "neurochemical responses" shit saves me a lot of effort, like actually having to sit my a** down and figure out what I want from my life. This causes me to expect MC to automatically take hints of my "need" for them whenever I stare longingly, and spring apart the second I bring up my "morals and ethics"; then just casually wait around till the next time my yearning strikes, which is usually well within the following 10 seconds. See, I know all of this is unfair to MC, but I have really no clue why, each time, I try to man up and tell MC "I love you", "dammit" comes out of my mouth. This is indeed a concerning problem.

The other day someone told me that deep down, I'm a good person, but PB is making one entitled a**hole out of me. Now I have no idea who this PB is, but please stop messing with my life. I wanna be a good person for once, for MC, please?

The collar of my grey knitted sweater has an issue. It never sits down, no matter how much I pull it or iron it. Though a high collar is considered a sign of triumph and pride, and as far as I can tell, I have quite a few things to be proud of. Like being Naveen's favourite and managing to not accidentally call him dad over the past five years, leading the esteemed diagnostics team which my said father figure had built from scratch, writing a non-fiction medical book, (beacause somebody had told me I myself am fiction! I had raised an eyebrow), and contributing to the growth of my dearest protégé as a doctor. The same protégé whose green eyes drive me crazy, but don't tell them that, because then they'll kiss me, and I will have to shout "dammit" into the air again, for the 500th time. Yes I'm stubborn, leave me alone.

More character introspection on crack coming soon!

Tagging: @adiehardfan @irisofpurple

[nyikondlovu]

So what Chapter 14 of Open Heart just proved to me is that PB CAN give LIs equal screen time, they just CHOOSE not to🥴