#mcdreamy

[amidtheglitz]

man old grey’s was so fun, there are 27 episodes per season, doctors are sleeping with each other in the on call room, some are having affairs, some are getting jealous for no reason, some are cutting lvad wires, and they’re all failing to communicate like mature adults. oh and there are bombs in body cavities and hospital shootings and car crashes and plane crashes and people not showing up to their own wedding.

no one has ever done it like old grey’s and no one ever will again.

[starlunaee]

i love the genre of men who have sad pathetic puppy dog eyes

[dilfsbaby]

Champagne

Patrick Dempsey x Reader • MDNI •

This story contains explicit sexual content, including rough sex, dominance/submission elements, oral sex, unprotected sex, spanking, hair-pulling, and consensual rough play. It is intended for mature audiences only. All characters are consenting adults.

Main Masterlist | Patrick Dempsey Masterlist | Dr Derek Shepherd Masterlist | Angelo Doyle Masterlist

The premiere afterparty buzzed with energy, a glittering sea of celebrities, producers, and industry insiders packed into the grand ballroom of the upscale hotel. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow over tuxedos and gowns, while waiters wove through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres and flutes of bubbling champagne. You'd weaseled your way in through a connection—a friend from the wardrobe department who owed you a favor after you'd covered her shift last month. It wasn't your usual scene; you felt a bit out of place in your form-fitting black dress that clung to your hips and dipped low at the neckline, but the thrill of being here made it worth the nerves.

You clutched a half-empty glass, scanning the room, when your eyes landed on him. Patrick Dempsey stood near the bar, surrounded by a small group of admirers, his laughter cutting through the murmur of conversations. At fifty-something, he was still devastatingly handsome—his hair a perfect mix of silver and dark waves, those iconic blue eyes crinkling at the corners when he smiled, and a jawline that could cut glass. You'd harbored a crush on him for years, devouring his roles on screen, imagining scenarios far steamier than anything Hollywood had scripted. Tonight, though, he was real, flesh and blood, just a few feet away.

Trying to play it cool, you edged closer to grab a napkin from a nearby table, but in your distraction, your elbow clipped a passing tray. Champagne sloshed out, soaking the front of a white dress shirt right in front of you. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry!" you blurted, snatching up every napkin within reach and pressing them to the damp fabric.

Warm hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping your frantic dabbing. "Easy there. It's just a shirt—nothing a dry cleaner can't fix." His voice was deep and velvety, sending a shiver down your spine. You looked up, and your breath caught. It was him. Patrick Dempsey, close enough to count the faint lines around his eyes, his gaze steady and amused as it met yours. "You make a habit of baptizing strangers, or am I special?"

Your face burned, but you managed a laugh, pulling your hands back. "Definitely the latter. You're... kind of hard to ignore."

He tilted his head, that famous smile spreading slow and teasing. "Flattery will get you everywhere. I'm Patrick, by the way. And you are?"

You introduced yourself, and just like that, the ice broke. He steered you away from the spill, ordering fresh drinks at the bar. Conversation sparked effortlessly—favorite films, the absurdity of red-carpet poses, stories from sets he'd worked on. His hand grazed your arm as he leaned in to speak over the swelling music, each touch lingering a second longer than necessary. You caught him glancing at your lips, your cleavage, the way your dress shifted when you laughed. The air between you thickened, charged with unspoken possibility.

As the party wound down, clusters of guests drifting toward exits, he set his glass down and fixed you with an intent look. "This place is getting too loud. I've got a suite upstairs—quieter, better views. Want to keep talking? Or... see where the night takes us?"

Your pulse raced, but you nodded, the invitation too tempting to refuse. The elevator ride was torture—mere seconds, yet it felt eternal. The mirrored walls reflected the two of you side by side, his broad shoulders filling the space, your reflection flushed and expectant. As the doors slid shut, he turned, crowding you against the cool metal panel. His mouth crashed onto yours, hot and insistent, tongue sweeping in to claim every inch. You kissed back hungrily, tasting the crisp bite of champagne on him, your fingers curling into the lapels of his jacket.

The elevator jolted to a stop, but he didn't pull away immediately, nipping at your lower lip before murmuring, "Come on." His hand engulfed yours as he tugged you down the hallway, fumbling the keycard with one hand while the other stayed locked on your waist. The door swung open, and he kicked it shut behind you, the click echoing like a starting gun.

In the dim light of the suite—plush king bed dominating the room, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline—he backed you against the wall, shedding his jacket in one fluid motion. His lips found yours again, deeper this time, while his fingers traced the zipper of your dress, tugging it down inch by inch. The fabric whispered to the floor, leaving you exposed in black lace panties and strappy heels, the air cool against your heated skin.

He stepped back, eyes darkening as they roamed your body—over the swell of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the curve of your thighs. "Jesus, look at you," he breathed, voice rough. "So fucking perfect."

Emboldened, you closed the distance, your hands working the buttons of his shirt with trembling urgency. They popped free, revealing a chest sculpted from years of discipline—firm pecs dusted with dark hair that trailed down to his belt. You shoved the shirt off his shoulders, palms sliding over warm skin, feeling the flex of muscle beneath. His pants came next; you knelt as you unbuckled him, heart hammering, freeing his cock from the confines of his boxers.

It sprang out, thick and heavy, veins pulsing along the length, the tip already slick with arousal. Your mouth watered at the sight—long enough to make your jaw ache, girthy enough to stretch you wide. You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking slowly, then leaned in to drag your tongue from root to tip, savoring the salty tang. He groaned low in his throat, fingers threading into your hair as you parted your lips and took him in.

You sucked greedily, head bobbing as you worked more of him past your teeth, tongue pressing flat against the underside. Saliva built quickly, dripping down your chin as you hollowed your cheeks, drawing out another rumble from him. "Yeah, just like that—fuck, your mouth is heaven." His hips rocked forward, shallow thrusts pushing deeper, the head nudging the back of your throat. You gagged softly but didn't stop, relaxing to take him further, your free hand cupping his balls, rolling them gently.

He watched you through hooded eyes, breath hitching as you swirled around the crown, teasing the slit. But after a few minutes of your devoted attention, he tugged your hair, pulling you off with a slick pop. Strings of spit connected your lips to his glistening shaft. "As much as I love that pretty mouth on my dick, I need to fuck you now."

He lifted you effortlessly, carrying you to the bed and dumping you onto the soft duvet. Your panties were next—ripped aside rather than removed, the lace scraping your skin. He knelt between your spread legs, inhaling deeply as his face hovered over your core. "So wet already. All for me?"

Before you could answer, his tongue delved in, broad strokes lapping at your folds, gathering your arousal. You moaned, arching off the mattress as he zeroed in on your clit, flicking it rapidly before sealing his lips around the nub and sucking hard. Pleasure shot through you like lightning, your thighs quivering around his head. He pushed two fingers inside, thick and curling just right to hit that sensitive ridge, pumping in time with his mouth's rhythm.

"Patrick—oh fuck—" The words dissolved into a whine as he added a third finger, scissoring them to stretch your walls, his beard rasping against your inner thighs. He hummed against you, the vibration intensifying everything, his free hand pinning your hip to keep you from bucking too wildly. Your orgasm built fast, a tidal wave cresting; you shattered with a cry, pussy clenching around his digits, juices flooding his palm as tremors wracked your body.

He lapped through your release, drawing out every aftershock until you whimpered from the overstimulation. Rising up, he wiped his chin with the back of his hand, his cock bobbing as he positioned himself at your entrance. The head nudged your slick lips, sliding through the mess he'd made. "Tell me you want this. Want me to fill you up."

"Yes—god, yes, please," you gasped, hooking your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back.

He drove in with a single, powerful thrust, bottoming out in one go. The stretch burned sweetly, his thickness forcing your walls to yield, every inch claiming you. You clawed at his shoulders, adjusting to the fullness as he held still, forehead pressed to yours, breaths mingling. Then he moved—pulling back almost to the tip before slamming home again, setting a brutal pace from the start.

The bed frame groaned under the assault, his balls smacking wetly against your ass with each plunge. He captured your wrists in one large hand, stretching them above your head, his other palm bracing beside you as he rutted deep. "Tight as hell—your pussy's squeezing me so good. Like it was made for my cock.

You writhed beneath him, meeting his drives, the friction igniting sparks everywhere he touched that spot inside. Sweat beaded on his skin, dripping onto your chest as he pounded harder, the room echoing with the lewd symphony of flesh slapping flesh, your shared gasps and moans. Your second climax snuck up, coiling low in your belly; he sensed it, grinding his hips to rub your clit with his pubic bone.

"Cum for me again—let me feel it," he demanded, voice gravelly.

You did, shattering around him, inner muscles rippling in waves that milked his length. He fucked you through it, relentless, but as the sensitivity peaked, you squirmed, pushing weakly at his chest. "Wait—too much, I can't—"

He paused, buried deep, his blue eyes locking on yours with a predatory glint. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips as he leaned down, capturing your mouth in a possessive kiss, tongue dominating yours. His cock throbbed inside you, far from spent. Breaking the kiss, he nipped your earlobe. "Oh no, I'm not finished with you yet."

In a blur of motion, he withdrew, flipping you onto your stomach with firm hands. You scrambled to your knees, ass up, face pressed to the pillows as anticipation thrummed through you. He gripped your hips, thumbs digging into the soft flesh, and aligned himself. One sharp thrust later, he was back inside, the new angle allowing him to sink even deeper, the head kissing your cervix.

"Fuck—yes," you moaned, pushing back to take him fully.

His fingers knotted in your hair, yanking your head up as he set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping forward with enough force to jolt you across the mattress. Each impact sent ripples through your ass, the sting of his palm connecting with one cheek adding a sharp edge to the bliss. "That's it—take every fucking inch. Your ass looks so good bouncing on my dick.

He spanked you again, harder, the heat blooming across your skin, syncing with the pressure building anew. His other hand snaked between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit and rubbing in tight, rough circles. You rocked back onto him, grinding down, lost in the haze of sensation—his cock dragging along your walls, the pull on your scalp, the slap of his thighs against yours.

"Harder—don't stop, fuck me like you mean it!" The words tumbled out, raw and desperate.

He growled in response, pace turning feral, the headboard thudding rhythmically against the wall. His breaths came in harsh bursts, control fraying. "Shit, you're gonna make me lose it. Where—where do you want my cum?"

"Inside—fill me up, please!" The plea heightened the rush, the forbidden thrill pushing you closer.

With a guttural roar, he slammed home one last time, cock swelling as he erupted. Hot jets painted your depths, pulsing in time with his final thrusts. The warmth triggered your own release, pussy fluttering wildly around him, drawing out his orgasm until he had nothing left.

He slumped over you, chest heaving against your back, before rolling to the side and pulling you with him. His arm banded around your waist, holding you close, skin sticky and cooling. Soft kisses trailed along your shoulder as you both caught your breath. "Incredible doesn't even cover it," he murmured, voice husky with satisfaction.

You turned in his embrace, smiling lazily. "Best accident of my life."

He chuckled, brushing a damp strand of hair from your face. "Stay the night? I make a mean room-service breakfast.

[sabrinajenre96]

A typical Seattle Grey shift or... Not

Pairing: Derek Sheperd x Sloan! reader This is a sort of a continuation of the one shot "Another day another prank". You can read it as a stand alone if you want. Warning: Contains mention of pregnancy, swearing, childbirth...

Part 2:

The day started like any other at Grey Sloan Memorial. The halls were buzzing, surgeries were being scheduled, and doctors were busy saving lives. You were in your element, despite the fact that you were carrying what felt like a fully grown adult inside you.

At this point in your pregnancy, walking felt like waddling, bending down was a distant memory, and everything—including Derek’s McDreamy face—was mildly irritating. But you pushed through. You had rounds, patients to check on, and a husband and a brother who, unfortunately, still thought you were the same menace who had pranked them weeks ago.

Your shift was going as smoothly as it could for a heavily pregnant woman. That is, until you felt it. A deep, twisting sensation in your lower abdomen. You paused mid-sentence while explaining a case to an intern.

Oh. Oh no.

You inhaled sharply, placing a hand on your belly. Maybe it was just Braxton Hicks. You had been through this before—false contractions, no big deal.

Then another wave hit, and this time, you gritted your teeth.

Nope. This was real.

You immediately started looking for Derek. You needed to tell him. But of course, fate had other plans because the moment you spotted him, he was standing with Mark, deep in conversation, arms crossed, looking like the self-important surgeons they were.

Okay. No big deal. Just walk over, tell them you’re in labor, and let the chaos begin.

You approached them with urgency, but before you could get a word out—

“Oh, come on, again?” Mark groaned, cutting you off. “We’re not falling for it this time, Sloan.”

Derek sighed, shaking his head. “Babe, it was funny the first time. And maybe the second. But—”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

Mark smirked. “Nice try, but you can’t fool us anymore.”

Derek chuckled, placing a hand on your shoulder like he wasn’t completely dismissing your actual labor pains.

You stared at them in disbelief as another contraction gripped you, making you clutch your stomach. But when you winced, all Mark did was scoff.

“Wow. Selling it harder this time,” he noted, unimpressed. “Even got the fake breathing down.”

Derek laughed.

Oh. Oh, these idiots were going to die.

"I Am Going to Kill You Both."

Your eye twitched as another contraction hit—stronger this time. You clenched your jaw, trying to breathe through it, but all you could focus on was the absolute audacity of these two morons standing in front of you.

Mark was smirking, looking far too pleased with himself. “Gotta say, good effort. Almost had me.”

Derek, your husband, chuckled and actually patted your belly like this was some kind of joke. “Yeah, babe, but you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Try harder?

Oh, you were about to end their entire careers.

You inhaled sharply, gripping Derek’s lab coat and yanking him down to your level. “Listen to me, you oblivious dumbass. This is not a prank. This is not a drill. I am in labor. Right now. At this very second. And if one of you doesn’t get your shit together, I swear to God, I will make sure neither of you has functioning balls by the end of the day.”

Derek blinked, clearly still not convinced. Mark laughed.

“Oh, come on,” Mark scoffed. “That’s the same thing you said last time.”

You let out a deep breath through gritted teeth and turned to your husband. “Derek. Shepherd. If you do not help me right now, you will never touch me again. Ever.”

That got his attention. Derek’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, but before he could respond—

A contraction ripped through you so intensely that you bent over with a sharp gasp.

And that’s when the panic started.

Derek’s eyes widened. “Wait. Was that—”

Mark’s smirk immediately dropped. “Shit.”

You gripped both their arms so tight that they flinched. “Finally caught up, huh?! YES, IT’S REAL!”

That’s all it took.

Mark and Derek immediately lost their minds.

“OH MY GOD, SHE’S IN LABOR,” Derek shouted, running in a full circle before turning back to you. “WHAT DO WE DO?!”

Mark, the plastic surgeon, waved his hands wildly. “SOMEONE CALL SOMEONE! DO WE NEED HOT WATER?! TOWELS?! CPR?!”

“WHY THE HELL WOULD I NEED CPR, MARK?!” you shrieked.

But these two were useless.

Derek was still running his hands through his hair, mumbling about how this was happening too fast, while Mark was pacing, eyes darting around as if he expected a baby to just fall out of you.

And all the while, your previously pranked victims were watching from the nurses' station.

Cristina, Meredith, Alex, Arizona, Callie, Jackson, Owen, Richard, and Amelia were standing together, arms crossed, sipping coffee, watching the absolute circus unfold.

“I’m just saying,” Alex said, smirking, “we should’ve placed bets on how long it would take for them to believe her.”

“They still haven’t figured out what to do,” Cristina noted, unimpressed. “Idiots.”

Amelia laughed. “Derek looks like he’s about to pass out.”

“He is,” Callie confirmed.

Jackson shook his head. “Should we… help?”

Owen took a sip of his coffee. “No.”

Meanwhile, Derek grabbed your shoulders. “Okay, okay! Deep breaths! We should get to—”

Miranda Bailey’s voice sliced through the chaos like a hot knife.

“Oh, for the love of God, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?!”

Mark and Derek jumped like they’d been electrocuted as Miranda stormed over.

She took one look at your hunched-over form, the sweat beading on your forehead, and the fact that your idiot husband and equally idiot brother were doing absolutely nothing—and her eyes narrowed.

“Are you seriously just standing here while your wife is in labor?” she snapped at Derek.

Derek opened and closed his mouth like a fish.

Miranda turned to Mark. “And you. Why are you here?! You are not a doctor for this situation!”

Mark panicked. “I don’t know! She’s my sister! I feel like I should—”

“YOU SHOULD MOVE.”

Mark immediately jumped back.

Miranda exhaled sharply, muttering something under her breath before stepping next to you. “Alright, come on, we are not delivering this baby in a damn hallway.”

“THANK YOU!” you shouted, glaring at Derek. “I SAID THAT TEN MINUTES AGO.”

Derek, now completely pale, finally snapped out of it. “Okay! Okay! Let’s go!”

Mark ran ahead, shoving people out of the way. “MOVE! SHE’S HAVING A BABY! GET OUT OF THE WAY!”

“I SWEAR TO GOD, MARK, IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP—”

Cristina, sipping her coffee, turned to Meredith. “I have never enjoyed something more in my life.”

Meredith nodded. “Worth every second.”

.

---

"You. Did. This. To. Me!"

The delivery room was absolute bedlam.

Miranda stood at the side of the bed, completely unfazed, while Arizona prepared for the delivery. Meanwhile, you were seconds away from strangling your husband.

“Alright, take a deep breath,” Miranda instructed.

You gritted your teeth as another contraction slammed through you. “Deep breath? Deep breath?! Miranda, I will shove this entire bed up his ass!”

Derek, looking about five seconds away from a heart attack, swallowed nervously. “Babe, come on—”

“DO NOT BABE ME, DEREK!”

Miranda, enjoying the show, turned to him. “Oh, she is pissed.”

“She’s in pain!” Derek defended.

Miranda smirked. “And pissed.”

You grabbed the front of Derek’s scrub top and yanked him down to your level. “You. Did. This. To. Me.”

Derek winced. “Technically—”

“DO NOT FINISH THAT SENTENCE UNLESS YOU WANT TO DIE HERE TODAY!”

Arizona tried to hold back a laugh. “Okay! Time to push!”

Derek clenched his jaw, offering you his hand. “Here, squeeze—”

You crushed his fingers instantly.

Derek yelled in pain. “Ow! OW! Okay! That’s—that’s very strong—”

“THAT’S WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT YOUR SPERM, YOU MCDREAMY BASTARD!”

Mark, watching through the window, burst out laughing. “Oh, this is beautiful.”

Cristina, sipping her coffee, nodded. “I love this for her.”

Meanwhile, Derek was desperately trying to keep his composure. “Sweetheart, I love you—”

“SHUT UP!”

Arizona, completely professional, nodded. “Head’s almost out. One more big push!”

You screamed, squeezing Derek’s hand so hard that he yelped again—and then—

A baby’s cry filled the room.

Derek immediately forgot his pain. “Oh my God.”

Arizona lifted your baby into view, and you felt tears prick your eyes.

“It’s a girl,” Arizona said, placing her on your chest.

Derek’s face lit up like the sun. “She’s beautiful.”

Your breath hitched as you gazed at her tiny face. “Sawyer Bailey Shepherd,” you murmured.

Miranda froze. Then, slowly, she turned toward you.

“Excuse me?”

You smirked weakly. “She’s named after you.”

For the first time in history, Miranda Bailey looked genuinely speechless.

Mark, still watching, smirked. “Damn, I think she broke Bailey.”

Arizona laughed softly. “Alright, let’s clean her up—”

But before she could, you gasped.

Everyone froze.

Derek immediately panicked. “What?! What is it?!”

Another contraction hit.

Your eyes widened.

“There’s another one.”

The entire room fell completely silent.

Derek’s face went white. “Wait. What?”

Miranda blinked. “Hold up.”

Arizona’s jaw dropped. “Oh my God.”

Another contraction hit, and you gripped Derek’s shirt again. “I SAID THERE’S ANOTHER ONE, YOU MORON!”

Derek stumbled back. “WHAT?!”

“TWINS, DEREK! TWINS!”

Derek stared at you like you’d just told him he was pregnant. “TWINS?! NO ONE TOLD ME ABOUT TWINS!”

Miranda finally snapped out of it and clapped her hands. “Alright! Snap out of it, McDreamy! We got another baby to deliver!”

Derek was still malfunctioning. “T-Two?”

Miranda shoved him toward you. “YES, TWO. HELP YOUR DAMN WIFE.”

As Derek stood there in shock, you rolled your eyes and muttered under your breath, “Jesus, I married an idiot.”

Miranda burst out laughing.

And then, after another push—

Your second daughter arrived screaming.

Arizona lifted her up, still in disbelief. “Another girl!”

You exhaled deeply. “Harper Kai Shepherd.”

Derek, still looking like he’d been hit by a truck, slowly sat down. “Two. Two babies.”

Miranda patted his shoulder. “Congratulations. You just became twice the idiot.”

Cristina, from the hallway, smirked. “I give him a week before he completely loses his mind.”

Mark, also in complete shock, shook his head. “Holy shit.”

Amelia, grinning ear to ear, clapped her hands together. “I HAVE NIECES! TWO OF THEM!”

As you finally relaxed, you glanced at your husband.

Derek, still processing, met your gaze—and despite his shock, his eyes softened with so much love that it made your heart ache.

You smiled. “We did it.”

Derek finally smiled back. “Yeah. We did.”

Mark cleared his throat. “So, uh… since I’m officially an uncle now, I guess that means I get to be the fun one, right?”

Amelia snorted. “You wish. I am the fun aunt.”

Mark rolled his eyes. “Oh, please—”

Derek sighed dramatically. “Can I just process the fact that I have two children first?!”

Cristina grinned. “Nope. Welcome to parenthood, McDreamy. Have fun.”

You laughed, looking at your two perfect girls.

Yeah. This was perfect.

[woso-dreamzzz]

So, I was doing a little thinking about the teens and kids and what they would wear on their shirts

Like Princesse has her first name on her back at club level and Harder-Eriksson when she plays for Sweden (it was Eriksson-Harder for the Denmark youth team) and uses 13 and 1 depending on who she plays for

Sötnos uses Harder at club and country level which is a little confusing sometimes when she and Pernille are on the pitch together

Bug famously uses Williamson-Nobbs even though it's super long because she refuses to sacrifice one last name for another apart from that first match after she got married where she wore Walsh-Bronze

Klumpig did use Rolfö but now it feels tainted so she's using her first name only

Mcdreamy and Sniper both use their first names until they're older and get married and start wearing their shared last name on their shirts

Tontos wears her family name but hates it. She feels like it's already too late to switch to her first name despite what everyone tells her

Nena wearing Engen and one of the numbers Ingrid used to wear because that's what she's always done, even as a kid. Their parents never had to buy new kits to customise for Nena because all she wanted to do was wear Ingrid's old ones

[savemedrabbot]

Being alive during the time of The Pitt and Grey's Anatomy makes me feel like there will be many doctors who are only there because they love Derek Shepherd and Jack Abbot

[jclolz22]

multi bot release

* ˚✧ / Art Donaldson / Vote Smart, Vote Art (actually inspired by the slogan on a poster i saw when driving home from campus yesterday LOL) — this is another one where you'll have to give some longer responses in order for the bot to give longer response as well; not entirely sure why but that's just the case. sorry!

* ˚✧ / Derek Shepherd / (Not) A Gender Reveal — Req.

* ˚✧ / Derek Shepherd / The Face of Neurosurgery

mcdreamy is my actual husband btw

* ˚✧ / Tashi Duncan / Cowgirls & Hay Bales — insp. by @diyasgarden moodboard!! also credit to her for the picture ;) alsoooo if she says anything about tennis i need you to ignore that and swipe for another reply, ok? ok thanks 😄

* ˚✧  / Tashi Duncan / Play Date

* ˚✧ / Tashi Duncan / Polaroid (yes, i did print out a picture with my instax printer and then proceeded to take a picture of the polaroid and put it over a white background. it’s called dedication, ok??)

thank you all for the support and love!! it really means a lot to me and i am so, so appreciative <33

i think it's still being weird where you may have to copy and paste the links for them to work, but these are also all accessible from my profile :)

[tinseltownie]

this is my avengers endgame portal moment