(fluff / established relationship / domestic)
│ dating an athletic trainer means even your paper cuts get professional treatment.
──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────
you barely nick yourself on the knife, but it still stings. it’s small—barely a red line across your finger—but it’s enough to make you wince. you rinse it under the sink, grumbling under your breath about dull blades, and wrap it in a paper towel like that’s good enough.
the front door opens while you’re stirring something on the stove. “i’m home,” iwaizumi calls, voice low and warm with exhaustion.
“hi, baby!” you chirp back, doing your best to sound normal, tucking your injured hand behind your back.
he comes up behind you a few seconds later, still smelling faintly like the gym—clean soap, cedar deodorant, the faintest hint of sweat. his hand finds your waist as he leans over your shoulder, peeking into the pan. “smells amazing,” he says, voice rumbling against your back. “you—”
he stops mid-sentence. his eyes narrow.
“what’d you do?”
“what?” you ask, playing dumb, but he’s already catching your wrist.
“this,” he says, frowning when he sees the small cut. “you were bleeding?”
“barely! it’s nothing—”
“sit,” he says, nodding to the counter.
“haji—”
“sit.”
you sigh but obey, hopping up onto the counter as he opens a cabinet and grabs the small first aid kit. he moves with the same calm precision he does at work—confident, efficient, quietly in control.
“you know,” you tease, watching him open an alcohol wipe, “this feels a little dramatic for a paper cut.”
he glances up, deadpan. “and yet here we are.”
you laugh, and his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.
he steps between your legs as he takes your hand, holding it steady in his calloused palm. “this might sting,” he warns softly, even though he’s already moving with careful precision.
it does sting, but only for a second. he’s so close now, face set in concentration, brow furrowed in that way you love. his thumb brushes along your palm every now and then, absent-minded, gentle.
“you’re very serious about this,” you say quietly, watching him.
“you’re not,” he replies, voice just as soft. “that’s why i have to be.”
you can’t help smiling. “you’re sweet when you’re bossy.”
he scoffs under his breath. “don’t push it.”
he tapes the small bandage neatly across your finger, pressing the edges down with his thumb. “keep it clean for a day or two.”
“yes, trainer iwaizumi,” you tease, wiggling your hand.
his eyes flick up to yours, and for a moment, the teasing fades. his gaze lingers, soft and dark, and then he huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”
“i know,” you say, grinning.
he leans in, bracing one hand on the counter beside you, the other still holding your injured one. “you good now?”
you nod. “yeah.”
“good.” he kisses your finger—right over the tiny bandage—before straightening up.
your breath catches. “that’s very professional of you,” you murmur.
“shut up,” he says, but he’s smiling now, a real one that reaches his eyes.
you loop your arms loosely around his neck, tugging him closer. “thank you, doctor.”
“trainer,” he corrects, even as he leans in to kiss you.
it’s soft, slow, tasting like the faint mint of his gum and the warmth of home. when he pulls back, his voice drops low, teasing. “try not to maim yourself next time, yeah?”
you laugh quietly against his chest. “no promises.”
he rolls his eyes, pressing another quick kiss to your temple before stepping away to grab his bag. “you’re hopeless.”
“and you love me anyway.”
“yeah,” he says, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. “that’s my problem.”
Summary: The grind never stops, especially for reader. Life in a firehouse isn't all that TV shows make it seem. Now, a few too many events lead to more time around Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center and many of the notable staff of the ED. Friend or foe, who knows?
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: Slow Burn, Female reader, MDNI (just in case), Use of (y.n) (l.n), Implied reader is at least taller than 5'4", Firefighter!reader, EMT!reader, Implied reader ~late 20s/early 30s (balanced age depending on pairing), reader has a bit of a blunt personality, injuries, cursing, medical procedures/interventions, some medical inaccuracies (I'm not a doctor), blood, car accident
A/N: So... uh, first time writing fanfiction, please don't hurt me. I am open to advice and would like constructive criticism. I am not a medical professional, I am a firefighter/EMT. So some things may be from my own experiences, but I also don't work in a big city. I was thinking a reader x jack abbot, but I am open to see what the people want. I could try for multiple relationship or make other stories for different characters. Please, let me know. Cross posted on AO3.
Updated: 7/6/2026 - improved writing
Please don't repost my works on any other platform!!
Let the Flames Begin - Paramore
It's not always as dramatic as some make it sound. It's gradual.
Red lights flash to life and the overhead speakers crackle to life.
"Engine 32, Medic 4. Reports of a three-car MVA on Northbound I-279. Mile marker 2.0, Left lane. Possible entrapment."
A soft sigh escapes me as my eyelids slowly open. With a quick stretch, I blink away the tiredness before checking my phone. 03:27 a.m. I quickly reach for the small bottle of eye drops to save my drying contacts. Then my hand grasps for my quarter zip jacket and radio strap hanging at the end of my bed.
"(l.n), (l.n)!"
"I'm up."
My grumble echoes loudly as the sliding door squeaks open. Klara, a close coworker of mine, is already standing there.
"Which truck?"
"We're hopping on the engine. Let's go."
With a small nod, I follow after her. Our footsteps echo through the stairwell as we make our way to the bay. The rest of the crew is pretty quiet, only the rustle of gear being thrown on fills the bay.
Bunker pants. Nomex hood. Radio on and clipped. Bunker coat. Grab your helmet.
The same pattern that has been ingrained into all of us since fire academy and the repeated 2 minute drills always done before starting shifts. With a huff, I pull myself up into the engine and park myself into one of the middle backseats. Klara follows behind, shutting the door. Captain Valerio pulls his headset on before radioing,
"Dispatch, Engine 32, en route."
My hands deftly zip up my coat and secure all the velcro along the zipper and around my neck. Klara reaches behind me and grabs my headset for me. I give a small nod before taking it, the sound of the Q siren and air horn swiftly mute at the head-set's tight squeeze. My hand fiddles with the small microphone as Captain Valerio gives Fulton directions. Even in the dark, I can see Klara's bright eyes meet my tired gaze.
"So it's right after the on-ramp. Perfect. Best hope police learned how to properly re-direct traffic within the last two days.", I sigh before looking out the window.
"Come on, (y.n). At least we get to cut something open. I mean terrible for the person, but we actually get to do something this time."
My eyes roll as I pull out my extrication gloves, tracing the thick material and rubber knuckle guards with my thumb.
"Yeah… Hey Captain, want us to grab cribbing or tools?"
There's a small pause before he glances back at Klara, Tobin, and myself.
"(l.n), grab cribbing and stabilize the vehicles. CAD says at least one rollover, that's probably the entrapment. Gonna need you to evaluate victims as well. Dumb and dumber will grab the other tools."
A low chuckle escapes me as Klara and Tobin protest the nicknames. Mirth fills my voice as I reply, "Aye, aye, Cap'."
Looking out the front windshield, the streets are not as busy as normal day, but busy enough. Red brake lights gleam whilst traffic quickly picks up. Yet it seems no one can hear as Fulton lays on the air horn, trying to get the engine to squeeze between vehicles.
What do people not understand about lights & sirens?
I think to myself as a path finally opens up. Small curses escape Fulton while his head swivels back and forth between side-view mirrors.
Not long after, we pull up to the scene. Captain Valerio radios our arrival on scene. It's a quiet chaos, our hearts are pumping and a sudden alertness buzzes under my skin. Highway accidents may not only mean injury from what's already done. It's a constant threat to us. The engine is positioned diagonally across the left lane before the accident scene, a small barrier to protect us and the victims.
As soon as the air brakes hiss, we jump out of the engine. Distant sirens from the incoming ambulance echo in the night as compartments shutter open. I tighten the chinstrap of my helmet, dawning a calculated look of determination. My gloved hands reach for the handles of thick rubber cribbing.
Well, shit.
My gaze finally fully takes in the scene. A black Toyota Corolla rests against the guard rails with its sides and rear dented and scratched up. Behind it is a dark red SUV sitting diagonally across the lane, yet still bumper to bumper with the Toyota. Then further on about 40 feet ahead, the last vehicle, a gray Ford Explorer resting on the driver's side with all airbags deployed.
My eyebrows furrow as I drop some cribbing next to the Toyota and SUV. Squatting down and wary of the vehicles, I place cribbing behind the wheels as a precaution. Finally, my attention is solely on the Ford. Directions are being given by Captain Valerio, my radio crackling as information is exchanged for an extra ambulance or two. Yet, I'm locked in. Cribbing is thrown down and quickly placed to help prevent the Ford from moving further.
"3206 from 3224, I need the big jacks here." I call into my radio and after a moment, it crackles with Captain Valerio's gruff voice.
"10-4, 3224. I got 3235 bringing them to you."
"10-4, thank you."
I huff softly as I try to look through the cracked windshield. With a click, my flashlight pinned to my coat shines inside revealing what appears to be a 40-something-year-old woman.
"Hey, ma'am, can you hear me?… Please respond. We are stabilizing the vehicle right now. We are going to get you out."
There is no response from inside and I can already feel my chest tighten. Just as I'm about to curse, Tobin shows up with the large jacks. I look up at him with a firm gaze.
"Get those set up now.", my voice comes out with a slight edge to it before I grab my radio again. "Medic 4, be advised, I have one victim in the flipped vehicle, female, looks to be in her 40s, appears unresponsive, blood visible on the head and face." I don't hear the response back as I try to find an easy access point to the woman.
Windshield is the best way, but I need to get her covered so glass doesn't hit her.
The muscles in my jaw tense knowing it might be unavoidable. Just then, Klara appears beside me with a tarp and the circular saw.
"What if we cut the roof closer to the back and work forward?" Her gaze narrows as the gears start turning in her head.
"Too much time. If she's still alive, we need to act quicker."
Just then Tobin sidles up to Klara and I. "Jacks are set and the vehicle is stable."
I give a quick nod before walking to the rear of the Ford. My lips purse before I hold my hand out for the tarp. "I'll crawl through the rear windshield up to the front. Once I give the go ahead, use the glass saw to open the front windshield."
Not the most convenient way, but the best we got for now.
The rear windshield is not as damaged compared to the front. I reach into my left coat pocket revealing a window punch. My free hand then pulls down the small visor tucked in my helmet.
"Breaking glass." The warning is quick before I hit the windshield. The tempered glass explodes into several little fragments. I drop down and take the tarp while squeezing through the roof and the seats of the vehicle. The crunch of glass and other items in the vehicle feels almost deafening as I try examine the woman's condition. Klara and Tobin are already by the front windshield, peering inside.
"Get ready to punch the windshield out." I holler while pulling the tarp over the woman. I rip one glove off and tuck my head down. Her skin is warm, but a bit pale as my fingers find her carotid. A thready, fast rhythm pulses under my touch. The rise and fall of her chest is slower than I like, and blood leaks from a laceration above her right eye. The same red seen staining the steering wheel and its airbag.
"I got a pulse, but it's not great. Low respiratory rate too… Make or break."
I can hear the sirens from the Pittsburgh ambulance finally arriving on scene. Yet, my focus is on getting this woman out of the vehicle for better assessment. I try a sternum rub, but shocker, she's completely unresponsive. My head ducks as the windshield finally cracks open. Klara and Tobin rip the laminated glass, out causing pieces of glass to dance against my helmet.
All at once, voices overlap as two paramedics appear. One pulls along the stretcher and a long backboard, the other sets down the monitor and jump bag full of medical supplies.
"Female, estimated 40s, unresponsive, rapid thready pulse with low respiratory rate. Possible head trauma." My voice is clipped as I focus on getting our victim out of this hell hole. I take the c-collar offered by the lead medic, a middle aged man with short, dirty blond hair, and throw off the tarp. I do my best to keep the woman stable while securing the c-collar around her neck.
Everything moves quicker with more hands available, and after a few long moments of careful maneuvering, we have the woman free. I turn to Klara with a furrowed brow. "See about finding some identification. I'll help the medics." With a sharp nod, she begins looking around and inside the Ford for clues. I stride ahead of the medics and open the ambulance's doors for them. The lead medic has already jumped into the ambulance and began setting up equipment for an IV and airway interventions.
The stretcher buzzes as it lifts up and slides in, the younger medic following suite as I close both back doors. My footsteps are laxed as I move to the side door. The monitor blares while the younger medic attaches the blood pressure cuff, pulse oximeter, and finally a 12-lead. I jump in, removing my bunker coat and swapping my extrication gloves for nitrile ones. Minimal communication is needed with vitals pending reading. I spike a saline bag as the lead medic places an IV.
There's a knock from the side door before Klara peeks in. She holds up a small hand purse before setting it on the side counter. I give her a nod before she closes the door, letting us resume our work.
Stabilization is priority one, then we can get to the hospital.
Simple…
No, it's not. I should've stayed quiet.
The young medic is now trying to keep up with bagging the woman. The lead medic grabs epinephrine while watching the monitor. Klara has found a spot in the driver's seat laying on the siren, and I got a one way ticket to doing compressions.
"Going into V-fib. Are we almost to the hospital?" The lead medic's voice is curt as Klara radios the hospital. "3 minutes out!" Her voice echoes from the front. "PTMC knows we're coming in hot."
"AED pads are on."
I pause and lift my hands as the robotic voice cuts through the alarms.
"Analyzing rhythm… Shock advised."
With a sharp huff, I'm back to compressions as the monitor charges to 200 joules. The screen flashing 30 seconds later.
"Shock now."
My gaze meets the lead medic's as my hands pull back once more, his finger hovering over the shock button.
"200 joules. I'm clear, you're clear, we're all clear."
The woman's body jolts from the shock and tension fills the back of the ambulance. The monitor's screen flashes…
No good.
"Dammit." I growl under my breath before resuming compressions.
Just then, the ambulance suddenly halts. My body sways from the abrupt stop. Klara clamors out of the driver's seat to pull the back doors open. Both medics bail out the back with the stretcher. My feet shuffle while I continue compressions. It's not the greatest way to deliver compressions, but I can't stop.
The sliding doors hiss as we barrel in with the gurney. The medics are giving information and I barely register the doctor grabbing the edge of the gurney.
"Trauma 1 is open."
I glance up to meet a familiar gaze from my many times at Dunkin' Donuts grabbing breakfast after shifts.
"Well, I definitely hoped I wouldn't have to run into ya here, Dr. Shen."
I huff out between compressions. My arms and shoulders are finally feeling the ache from doing compressions for so long. I take a moment to glance up at him as the doors to Trauma 1 swing open. He looks up with a grin tugging at his lips.
"What ever do you mean? You love seeing me." His voice is light before focusing back on the patient. The medics and nurses grab onto the backboard and lift the woman from stretcher to gurney.
"Not at 4:15 in the fucking morning." I grumble when someone taps my arm. With a turn of my head, I find it's one of the nurses. "Thank god, my arms feel like they're gonna fall off."
I pull myself away from the patient and watch as they work on the woman. My eyebrows slowly furrow and my lips dip into the slightest frown.
This isn't looking good… Dammit.
Heavy boots trudge on the clean linoleum floor as I step back and out of the way, watching a second longer before leaving the trauma bay. A long sigh blows through my nose once my mind comes back to me. It felt like I could finally see past the tunnel vision I'd had for the last while. Of course, it couldn't come back to me quick enough to avoid bumping into someone. My body freezes in place, not wanting to take another wrong step.
"Shit! I'm so sorry."
Dark, aged eyes flick down to meet my widened gaze.
Uh, oh… Please don't be mad at me.
But the man merely steps back. He scans over me before noticing the Station 32 insignia on my department shirt.
How does someone make aging look good?
The fleeting thought is quickly interrupted as a gruff voice fills the space between us.
"No worries. Honestly, my fault as well. Who'd you come in with?"
I blink a few times at him before looking towards Trauma 1.
"Medic 4, 40-year-old female, MVA victim, sustained a possible head injury. She entered V-fib when we were only 5 minutes out… Medics gave epi and shocked her."
With a shrug, I turn back to him. "Doesn't look great, but y'all do the miracles."
The man nods his head before stepping towards the room. I just watch him as he steps in and puts on gloves. His calmness is a stark contrast to the hurry of the room.
Okay then…
I wet my lips with a swipe of my tongue before finally noticing Klara by the nurses station. Striding over, I let out an exaggerated sigh and lean against the station.
"I'm ready to go back to bed. And for the record, I don't like these 48 hour shifts." I grumble as she just laughs.
"Don't worry, Cap' is sending Tobin in the spare battalion SUV to grab us."
"Perfect." Now that the adrenaline has worn off, the exhaustion ebbs back in. My gaze drifts back to Trauma 1, where the man from earlier seems to just stand and watch Dr. Shen work the patient.
Just like I said, it ain't looking good.
Then I feel someone prod my side. Straightening up, I whip my head to Klara, who's just grinning. I immediately deflate and meet her mischievous stare.
With a low 'Shut it.', I walk towards the emergency entrance. She catches up with quick strides, almost like she's skipping behind me.
"Come on, no shame in it." Mirth fills her voice while I shake my head.
"For me, there is."
There's plenty of good looking people. Just unfair that this place seems to always have a lot.
i genuinely tried to make the body customisation as expansive as possible and i bit off way more than i could chew. to give you an idea of what i was dealing with, every scene has to account for every possible genital variation a player might have selected, on top of making sure the language reflects exactly what they chose
it compounds fast. and i'm already a little crazy from it
i don't think i could sustain that for 20+ more chapters without completely losing it, and i'd rather be honest with you all now than promise something i can't deliver
i'm really sorry if that's a disappointment. i know it's not the same thing, but you are more than welcome to canonise your MC however feels right to you. post-op trans or any other way that makes the character yours. i'll never tell you you're wrong for it
A Nova Scotia excavation company has been fined $80,000 after a worker died when scaffolding collapsed on one of its job sites.
A Nova Scotia excavation company has been fined $80,000 after a worker died when scaffolding collapsed on one of its job sites.
In a decision released Wednesday, a Nova Scotia provincial court judge in Pictou, N.S., found the failure by Blaine MacLane Excavation Ltd. to ensure scaffolding was properly installed led to the 2020 death of Jeff MacDonald, a self-employed electrician.
The sentence was delivered after the excavation company was earlier found guilty of an infraction under the province’s Occupational Health and Safety Act.
Judge Bryna Hatt said in her decision she found the company “failed in its duty” to ensure that pins essential to the scaffolding’s stability were present at the work site.
