#worked an 8 hour shift to come home to this

[stormyrainyday]

made the mistake of crying in front of my dad and got hit with the

- you're naive for expecting decency from the world around you

- you have everything you could need, why cry about anything

- other people's behavior is not your problem (re: classmates were so loud I couldn't hear the lecture I waited for four hours to attend)

- there is no reason to be tired at your age

[ghost-toe]

rescued this baby from the curb today 🥰😊 yet another restoration project!

here she was before i cleaned up the lacquer. it rained last night and seeped into the old lacquer. i'll see if there's anything more i can do to restore that damage, but i think some of it is straight-up the paint running off and exposing the metal

[sketchy-crafts-4130]

Does anybody have a link to that post challenging people to draw hermitcraft members from memory? Bc I may have fullfilled it and would love to send some credit where it's due.

[robinsnest2111]

my sleep schedule is so fucked up it's not even funny, double sucks that my work schedule only encourages my fucked up sleep schedule

[tony-andonuts]

God i love weed and Im so fucking thankful its legal where i live so i can get it cheap

[nerdie-faerie]

I have got to get worse at my job cus no way can keep letting them rely on me like this

[veone]

my exact expression when my mom suggest I work 32 hours as a cna over the course of three days all the time while I’m at school and the hospital as a full time xray student five days a week.

[orcelito]

Well I've had an eventful day

There was the vacuuming the hood vent, prepping the crepe cakes, doing an interview (which turned out incredibly lackluster)

Someone called in sick so I covered an extra hour and a half... BUT THEN someone came in saying they were there for a 35 drink catering order. That i hadn't heard about. Cue scramble to get that done within 20 minutes. We did it 👍

AND. THEN.

So someone left a review saying our store was weird to international students but very friendly with white people. And we were like "? Who tf is being racist here?" And It Turns Out. It's the problem employee :) who's apparently been bitchy to international students & complaining to ppl about their accents. To Their Faces.

So we are firing her. Immediately :)

Which means we have to kinda scramble to cover her shifts this week & I'm gonna be doing some Unfortunate shifts to make up for it.

But that is Not okay. At All.

Ugh.

[draconicace]

having a job where i don't get sick days and can't call out because of, say, a flat tire, is really garbage. to quote a semi-famous internet personality, it's garbolium

[sinkuna]

୨୧ — 8:45 pm, Nanami notes in his head. Home should've welcomed him hours ago... But his usual clock watching dissolves like sugar in hot tea the second your thighs clamp around his hips and your teeth sink into his lower lip, making time fade to meaningless numbers.

His tie hangs loosely around his neck, shirt splayed open revealing those delicious muscles glistening with sweat- proof of his dedication to work, even if he stays overtime.

However, right now, being a sorcerer is the furthest thing from his mind- especially when you call to him in that honeyed voice that drives him wild, "Ken- hah~ Kento~ n’you feel I-incredible," as he plunges deeper into your slick, hungry pussy, which grips him like it never wants to let go.

The sound of his first name on your lips… you’ve said it before, moaned it and screamed it, but tonight… tonight it rang differently.

"Say it again," he growls, surprising himself with the desperation in his voice. His usual measured control slipping as he drives himself balls deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix, your body and womb welcoming each thrust, "let me hear you say it again…" Your pussy was stretched around his fat length, squelching obscenely with each thrusts. And your poor cervix throbbed in the best way possible as the mushroom head of his cock bullied itself into your womb like he's trying to brand you.

Interlocking his strong fingers with yours, he pins your hands against the rumpled sheets as he continues to sink completely into your wetness. His eyes watching carefully at every flutter of your eyelids, every parting of your lips as he hits that perfect spot that makes your eyes roll back, memorizing your expressions like priceless art.

And just when you cry out his name again, "Kento~ Pleas- AH!!" something shifts in his expression… a pause… his very own eyes slightly widening.

In this moment, Nanami Kento realizes how he wants to come home to your arms, build his life around your smile, create something beautiful together that will force him awake with tiny cries in the middle of the night.

"Look at me." he rasps, sweat dripping from his jaw onto your trembling lips, voice gruff but fucking wrecked, "Everything," he promises, his thrusts growing more urgent as his hands roam every inch of your flushed skin, worshiping the curves that have become his sanctuary, "no more regrets," he pants- pulling you closer until your bodies are slick against each other, "No more wasted time..."

His palm presses against your lower belly, his imagination running wild as he feels his cock moving deep within you, "Going to give you everything..."

The intoxicating vision of you swollen with his baby, of creating a family together, makes his heart pound against his ribs in ways that no career achievement ever could...

"Stay with me forever," he whispers, his vulnerability laid bare in those four words, "and let me come home to you every night..."

This was Nanami Kento’s way of saying I Love You- raw, unfiltered, and embedded in every thrust, every caress, every promise whispered against your skin.

Not with flowery poetry or practiced lines, but with his body atop of yours, his future entwining with yours, and his usual guarded heart finally surrendering completely to the one person who made him want more than just another day at work.

⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱˚｡⋆

[rositxespinosa]

what are some ways you guys decompress after a long work day? I’ve been doing what I call “floor phone time” where I lay on my bedroom floor for an hour (I try not to be longer than that) and check my phone. I’m curious about some ways I can decompress before I shower after a long work day (yes I shower. im just not ready to hop in the shower right away when I get home and im overstimulated from the long day). but yeah…trying to get ideas of how I can wind mentally and physically after a long day.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

Flesh Wound - Dr. Jack Abbot x chef!reader

Summary: 2.5k words. Dr. Abbot's wife's cancels date night after suffering a kitchen mishap. In an effort to avoid adding to his stress, she takes herself--and her bloody hand--to the Pitt without telling him.

Warnings: canon-typical gore, blood, graphic descriptions of wounds, & knives. Colorful language, per usual. Implied age gap. breaking select grammar rules because I can. not beta read.

a/n: This got away from me and is longer than necessary lmao. I’m not in love with it, but I need to get it out of my brain and drafts so it stops plaguing me. Enjoy my first Pitt fic! Divider credit!

“Fuck!” you hissed. The kitchen came to a standstill around you; your cooks, dishwashers, and wait staff suddenly focused on the angry gash on your hand.

Abby’s was your pride and joy. Back in the day, culinary school felt like a gamble and then some. Today, you thank your lucky stars that it panned out well. The restaurant you’d built from the ground up was often featured in local publications and had grown into a neighborhood hub—it was a success from the day you first opened the doors to the public.

On days you didn’t stay at work for the full evening rush—like tonight, when you had your silver fox of a husband waiting at home with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s and the full Netflix catalogue at your fingertips—you at least made sure to come in for a couple hours in the afternoon to help set up and ensure your staff had all the support they needed for a successful night.

Amid prep work for a new dish you were piloting, you looked away at just the wrong moment when your name was called, resulting in the unmistakable piercing feeling shooting through your hand. You’d nicked yourself. Well, more than nicked yourself, because you were now bleeding at a rate that would have Javadi passed out cold on the floor.

This certainly wasn’t your first knife injury and probably wouldn’t be your last. You haphazardly cleaned up your station as best you could while holding pressure to the wound with a towel. Accidents happen to everyone, no matter how long they’ve been in the industry. That didn’t mean it wasn’t embarrassing to slice your palm open in front of the staff who were supposed to look up to you. 

You bit your lip and willed the tears to stay at bay after closing your office door. You tried taking deep breaths as you sat on the edge of your desk. In for 4, out for 8. In for 5, out for 10.

It didn’t help much.

This hurts like a bitch, you cursed through the unrelenting stinging. It was worse than any other kitchen injuries you’d had in recent memory. You remembered your husband rambling about how the hands were one of the most highly vascularized parts of the body. When it bleeds, it bleeds, he said to you. You were acutely aware of that now.

The bleeding wasn’t showing signs of stopping anytime soon, even after you’d soaked through two hand towels. Jack had taught you quite a bit of first aid and then some over the years, but even you recognized that you couldn’t patch yourself up. When a little fuzzy feeling began to sink in, you knew it was time to seek medical attention from a professional who wouldn’t spiral at the mere notion of you being harmed.

Sure, you could’ve called your trauma doctor husband, who seldom went anywhere without his ‘go bag’, but that would make too much sense. You didn’t want Jack to worry about you. He did anyway, but you didn’t want to add to his stress. The salt and pepper hair suited him well–you frequently reminded him when you carded your fingers through his curls–but if he went full-on gray, you might be accused of grave robbing.

“Doctor Abbot speaking,” the man grunted in greeting. The trauma doc hadn’t looked at the caller ID before answering. Or maybe his mind was still filled with the post-night shift sleep haze.

“Hey, honey,” you smiled through the phone despite your barely contained anxiety. The fresh towel you left the restaurant with was quickly turning crimson. The walk to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center was 15 minutes, and you prayed that you’d make it there before the towel was soaked through or before you passed out—whichever would come first.

Your voice washed over Jack like warm honey. His shoulders relaxed and he sighed deeply. Per usual, he hadn’t realized how tense he was until you dissolved his stress.

“Hello, my beautiful wife,” he flirted through the phone, the corners of his lips ticking up into a smile. Several years into your relationship, he could still make you blush.

“I know we planned to stay in tonight and watch a movie, but I’m gonna have to stay at the restaurant late. We got slammed, and I need to make sure the team has everything they need.” That counted as a white lie, right? Jack and his wife didn’t keep secrets. But this time, what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him, you rationalized. You would tell him once you were all stitched up, snuggling at home with him, and not pale as a ghost. You would tell him when you could laugh about it, at how silly the oopsie you made in the kitchen was. Right now you were not laughing.

Abbot nodded, though you couldn’t see it. Your dedication to making sure your staff were taken care of was admirable; you were always so attentive, caring, and considerate. But selfishly, Jack would’ve given his other leg to spend a night with his wife. 

It wasn’t like you both weren’t used to taking rainchecks. Sometimes chefs called out sick and you had to step up, or put out metaphorical and literal fires. Other times, Jack’s pager seemed to be determined to set a record for most received messages.

“That’s okay, sweetheart. We can do something tomorrow.” It was a promise they’d hold each other to.

Years in service to the military and working in healthcare–emergency medicine, no less–meant he was used to change and could be flexible, to say the least. Nevertheless, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to be miserable to everyone around him until he saw his wife again.

Keeping a low profile at the Pitt was damn near impossible given your reputation.

The ER staff were well acquainted with Dr. Abbot’s wife, the pretty lady who brought them food. It started when you brought Jack dinner, and then Dana too. Sometimes Robby if you caught him at the right time. Eventually, you’d occasionally drop off catering-sized orders from Abby’s to be shared amongst the Pitt staff, just because.

A concerning majority of the providers, nurses, techs, RTs, and radiology staff survived 13-hour shifts on protein bars and far more milligrams of caffeine than was considered safe for human consumption. (It was a good thing they had plenty of 12 leads and crash carts full of pharm goodies for when a staff member inevitably developed a caffeine-induced dysrhythmia.) When the smell of Dr. Abbot’s wife’s food filled the Pitt, they knew they were in for a treat.

“You got any food for us, Mrs. Abbot?” Lupe asked as you approached the thick registration desk glass, before her eyes fell to your hand cradled against your chest. Definitely not catering.

Unfortunately for you, the third towel was fully saturated by the time you made it through the lobby’s double doors. The fuzzy feeling from earlier was quickly advancing to woozy.

Lupe and Dana brought you straight back from triage, effectively bumping you to the top of the queue. Maybe it wasn’t entirely according to hospital policy, but they’d never hear the end of it from Abbot if he found out his wife was stuck in a waiting room while she bled out.

“Everything is still attached, but the cut’s deep,” you relayed to Dana, who hummed as she peeled back the towel to assess the damage.

“Your husband know you’re here?” Dana asked, raising an eyebrow at you expectantly. She knew the answer based on the fact that Abbot hadn’t tore through the damn building to get to you. Yet, anyway. She more so asked to give you a chance to reflect on your dumb decision to not inform your husband.

“I don’t want to stress him out. Please don’t tell him?” You pleaded.

“I won’t say anything, but I can’t control what happens when he sees his last name on the wrong part of the status board.” Her emphasis on when made it clear that it was only a matter of time, not if.

Of course he would pick up a shift once his evening freed up. He was a workaholic, but so were you. Birds of a feather.

When Doctor Robinavitch and Javadi pulled back the room’s curtain, Dana did the talking–nausea was setting in along with a wicked headache. You refused to look at the laceration at this point, eyes trained on the ceiling tiles above you.

“BP is soft,” Robby observed. Dana nodded while holding pressure to the wound with gauze. “Let’s start some IV fluids to get it back up; you definitely had some blood loss today.” Not helping, you thought as another wave of nausea rolled through you.

“She said she doesn’t want Dr. Abbot to know, and I’m not about to get in the middle of that. Plus, provider-patient confidentiality,” Robby finished with a shrug to Dana at the nurse’s station.

“Who doesn’t want me to know what?” Abbot asked, cosmic timing seemingly on his side. He was here far earlier than he needed to be for his shift, but he had nothing better to do Better than sulking at home, missing his wife. He’d still miss her while he was working, but at least he’d have an active distraction. His grip was firm on the strap of his camo backpack slung over his shoulder.

Robby groaned and his eyes scrunched shut as he slowly turned to face the night shift attending. Dana answered the nurse’s station phone within a nanosecond of the first shrill ring, leaving Robby to fend for himself.

Abbot looked at him expectantly, his patience quickly waning. Robby shook his head and vaguely nodded his head backwards, simply sighing “room 4” before getting back to work. Jack didn’t press for more info, just crossed the Pitt with long, purposeful strides. His heart dropped and the world around him slowed when he saw his wife laying back on a gurney, hooked up to IV fluids with gauze around her hand.

He didn’t bother to knock before entering, yanking the curtain open with an abrasive tug. He immediately started scanning you head to toe and noted the color drained from your face, a bloody rag in the biohazard bin, and the remnants of a suture kit in the waste bin.

“Baby, what the hell happened?” Jack asked, wild eyes bouncing between the vitals monitor to your tired form. You squeezed her eyes shut and cursed the fact that PTMC was the closest ER to Abby’s.

“I told Robby not to call you,” you grumbled. Your husband grunted.

“He didn’t call me. I picked up a shift.” You knew Jack wasn’t upset with you directly. Seeing you in the same department where patients regularly coded and trauma alerts rolled through at light speed to the trauma bay unnerved him.

You felt a twang of guilt in your chest. Jack wouldn’t have come in on his first night off in a while if you hadn’t canceled date night. And date night wouldn’t have been canceled if you’d just been paying more attention in the kitchen. You extended your unaffected hand to your husband and he grasped it in an instant. 

His tense shoulders and tight jaw gave him away. You hated to see him needlessly stressed, but it also warmed you in an odd way—how lucky you are to have someone care for you so deeply. Someone as weathered and worn as Jack, who has seen his fair share of trauma and then some, loves you to the point of worry. What a privilege that is.

Jack’s shift technically didn’t start for another 20 minutes. He had every intention of spending those minutes right by your side.

Saved by the bell a few minutes before shift change, Robby came back in for rounds, tailed by Javadi (who, to her credit, did not pass out at the sight of copious blood flowing from your hand earlier). “Hey, love birds,” Robby greeted with a grin. Abbot’s lips stayed pressed in a thin line while you smiled weakly back at the attending and the med student who followed him around like a little duckling.

Dr. Robinavitch gestured for Javadi to present the case to Dr. Abbot. The poor girl looked like a deer caught in headlights at the harsh stare Abbot pinned her with. Her gaze bounced from your joined hands back to the attending before she cleared her throat and began. Javadi described the depth of the laceration and the amount of stitches required, topical TXA, IV fluid bolus and subsequent drip for hypotension. Jack forced air from his nose before inhaling again, squeezing your hand tighter.

“Princess will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and home care instructions,” Robby winked as he left you and Abbot by yourselves. Jack snorted. There was no way in hell you’d be caring for the wound yourself, not if he could help it.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Jack’s voice was quiet. He wasn’t mad, but rattled. You twisted your mouth to the side, feeling a bit of shame. This wasn’t how you imagined your evening going.

“Technically, I did… on my walk here…” you offered. It sounded weak even to your ears. Jack deadpanned. It didn’t land well. You sighed and rolled to face your husband fully. “I didn’t want you to worry about me,” you whispered, hoping your voice wouldn’t betray you. Jack pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“I’m always going to worry about you, sweetheart. Because I love you.” His fingers traced your jawline. Jack, who woke up with night terrors well over a decade after the war-torn atrocities he’d seen, gazed at you tenderly. You had half a mind to make a ‘Tis but a scratch joke, but figured that might send him over the edge.

“I love you too.” It wasn’t a reply, it was a promise. Jack kissed the back of your hand, your fingers intertwined until he had to go.

Dr. Robinavitch hung around until he was satisfied with your blood pressure so he could drive you home. Even if you had politely declined, he would’ve stayed. Abbot certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the end of it if his wife had to take a taxi home from the ER. Robby guided you toward the exit, holding your bag and his. Gotta keep our patient satisfaction scores up.

Jack doffed his gloves while he jogged to meet you before you reached the door. He blindly tossed the blue nitrile gloves in the direction of the nearest waste bin, not bothering to check if he made it in. But they had, because of course they would. Cocky motherfucker.

Jack wordlessly pulled you to him, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand holding your head to his chest as he kissed the top of your head.

“Take it easy, okay?” The two of you could’ve been slow dancing in a burning room, but Jack wouldn’t have noticed. He tuned out the constant buzz of the Pitt and focused solely on you. You offered your free hand up for a pinkie promise.

If the med students and interns saw Dr. Abbot go soft—oh so whipped for his wife—and make a pinkie promise, they knew better than to say anything about it.

a/n: Reblogs & comments are much appreciated 🥰

Find more of my writing on my master list.

Turn on post notifications @thesewordsxupdates to get notified when I release new fics.

[nicepersondisorder]

anyway since i remembered what i wanted to say. beware the rant of the (new)barista under readmore

so. we have new types of coffee in the coffee shop and some of them are straight up Weird. like who the fuck came up with americano with coconut butter. like what the fuck is that. it's called "americano bulletproof". the only thing thats bulletproof is a bulletproof guarantee that you'll end up shitting your guts out after that drink💀 or like. cappuccino snickers that tastes Nothing like snickers???? fucking peanut raf tastes more like snickers than snickers cappuccino 😭

also recently someone came in and ordered a raf Only with cream. as a cream-intolerant person that order terrified me. thankfully we're not allowed to spend so much cream so that woman just got a regular raf. get fucked lmao

and also people ask for americano with milk????? isnt the whole purpose of americano - to be on water???? like. if you wanted some milk to your espresso you couldve just ordered cappuccino or latte or even flat white if you wanted a stronger coffee taste. americano with milk is an abomination and i judge everyone who orders it. get a better taste or dont drink coffee at all (<- im becoming a coffee snob /hj)

anyway im a big fan of cappuccino with "peanut in caramel" syrup. it has a really nice smell and a pretty strong but nice&sweet taste. to me. we usually add around 25ml of syrup in the medium sized cups but i personally like to add like. 35-40 ml of peanut in caramel syrup bc i habe a sweet tooth and sometimes im too lazy to add sugar lmao. my second favorite is peanut raf. it has peanut butter in it >:D

[optimisticdad-blog]

When I was in my Emergency Medicine residency many years ago I worked with some of the finest people alive. We do all posses a warped and twisted sense of humor.

This is a fun memory.

As a senior resident my typical ER shift was 4pm to 2 am. This sounds bad, but was nice. My kids were not in school so I could spend time with them in the day, and then work the ER during peak hours.

After my shift I would return home and we took turns carrying the “mommy pager”. The mommy pager was a number that nervous moms could call for medical advice. Usually I just helped them figure out the dose of Tylenol for their baby, or get an appointment with the pediatrician the next day.

One night I got home and quietly climbed into bed next to my sleeping wife. I sat the mommy pager on the nightstand. I had just drifted off to sleep when the pager buzzed. Half awake I called the number. A man answered. He told me that his toddler had been crawling around the floor and had eaten a a piece of fishing line. He was worried and our conversation went like this:

dad: my baby ate some fishing line and I’m worried.

Me: no worries. It should cause no harm and come out in his diaper.

Dad: that is the issue. He has about 8 inches of fishing line hanging out his butt, but he screams if i pull on it.

Me: please don’t pull on it. Was anything connected to the line? Could it have had a fish hook. (Back ground noise is crying baby).

Him: it was just line, but I can’t get it to come out I have been trying to pull on it but baby screams.

Me: (now fully awake). Do NOT pull on the fishing line.

Dad: I figured it might need some lube so I squirted some dish soap up his butt.

Me: please,don’t do that.

Dad: it didn’t help so I tried some honey to see if maybe it would all stick together and come out.

me: sir, I will call the pediatric ER. You should take your baby in and they will see what the problem is.

Dad: I think I can just yank it out. It is hard to grip so I have wound the end around a pencil. I have baby face down on the kitchen table and I am going to yank it. Just like im starting a chain saw.

Me: (panic rising). STOP! Do not do that. Can you take the baby to the ER where my college will help? (In the background the baby screams loudly)

Me: Sir, is your wife at home. Please put her on the phone.

Dad: the doctor wants to talk to you.

Me to Mom. I’m not sure what is going on and think we should get your baby checked. I will call the pediatric ER and they will help us fix this. Can you please take your baby to the ER?

mom: no. My husband is sure he can yank it out (baby screams in background)

Me: do NOT let him. Go to the ER now.

Mom: breaks down in uncontrollable laughter. She confesses she is not the mom. She is the ER nurse and she and my fellow,resident have been prank calling me at 3 am.

I have fallen for this prank call hook, line, and sinker. I am now 100% awake and my wife has woken up and is offering advice as well.

This is the hazard of working with smart people who are bored at 3 am on a slow night. Some day I will share some other bizarre prank calls from the ER.

(No babies were hurt. The crying babies in the background were all there for other medica issues.)

[dellieghtful]

[ZAYNE] LADS: Saying Things They Don't Mean

🍓A/N: Here comes another one >:3 we'll start off with the angsty and then I'll give u guys the groveling & yearning \\( •̀ω•́ )// I'm going to try and write for all the guys before I decide to release a longer series for this

SYNOPSIS: After a bad day, you both end up in an argument and to say the least, some things are truly better off left unsaid.

Masterlist | Rulebook | Tags

📍Character/s: Zayne

Tags: @animegamerfox @justanotherreader658

Xavier | Rafayel

Today just wasn't the day. It was surgery after surgery, consultation after consultation. The work just kept coming non-stop for the entire day and despite Zayne's cool and calm exterior, he was nearing the brink of exhaustion. Working an additional and unexpected 8-hour shift was not in his bingo card for this week. The worst part? He missed out a date with you. The only free day he was supposed to have was spent on another shift because the hospital was short-staffed as of the moment. Despite you, being kind and understanding partner with Zayne and his busy schedule, he couldn't help but feel guilty about not being able to exactly provide all your needs and wants just like any other partner would be capable of providing.

Capable. Was he even capable of taking care of you? At some points throughout your relationship, Zayne would go through the process of self-doubt. Funny, you'd think the man who just has about everything one needs before the age of 30 would doubt himself and his own capabilities?

Zayne would often ask himself if he was deserving enough to be sheltered with such love and kindness. Rubbing his temples, attempting to soothe the ache, he prepares and calls in his next patient to cater for the hour.

Zayne had worked himself to death that day, morning to night. If he'd look out the window right now, he could give out an estimate that it's way past 6:00PM. 6:50PM at most, I should've have gotten home about an hour ago. At home, with you. Zayne could feel himself take in a deep breathe and let out an exhausted sigh as he continued to eye the never-ending pile of documents on his table.

Zayne, choosing to not dwell on it, took out another pile and began skimming through the contents and carefully planting his signature at the last page of the file before tucking it away. Zayne had followed this smooth and gentle rhythm of opening folders, flipping the pages, then signing the documents. Unknowingly being stuck in a trance, Zayne had not realize the soft knocks coming from his door.

You were on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for Zayne's smooth and calm voice to give you the go-signal to come inside the room. You passed by the reception not too long ago, asking for your oh-so busy doctor of a boyfriend. Yvonne, had informed you that Zayne was busy being locked up in his office. You, then decided, to take yourself to his office with a fresh bag of takeout for dinner. You know with Zayne's busy schedule at the hospital, he probably skipped out a meal or two, not to mention you were both supposed to spend his free day to celebrate your 7th month of being officially together as a couple.

It had been a good 5 minutes and Zayne had not yet called out or come to open the door for you. You, then decided to give it another try before touching the knob of the door and pushing it open. You hadn't told Zayne you were coming today because you hoped to surprise him at work and spend the remainder of the night with him to keep him company before going home for the day.

"My love," Zayne called out, pulling himself out of the focused trance he put himself with the documents he had in hand. Sparing not a second longer, he stood up and walked towards you to cup your face and welcome you with such a warm gaze. "You did not tell me you were coming in today," He continued, already-eyeing the bags that you were holding which he presumes are dinner take-outs.

"I wanted to see you today," You started, moving your eyes past him and focusing your gaze towards the growing pile of paper works on his table. You couldn't help but scrunch your brows. "You've been overworking yourself again today".

Zayne already knew where you heading with this conversation. You and Zayne had always had the tendency to argue about his overworking habit that he can somehow never get over despite you always bringing up your concern about his health. You were his girlfriend, it was part of your job description to look after your boyfriend. Wasn't it?

Or does my opinion of him mean little of value to him?

And with that single thought, it made your heart ache a little. But, you quickly pushed that thought away in hopes of spending the remainder of the night in a good mood with a simple dinner takeout with your boyfriend.

"I brought you dinner!" You said, putting up a smile and bringing the bags of takeout in front of Zayne's face, hoping to change the subject and bring a up a better mood into the atmosphere of Zayne's office.

"I was hoping we could spend some time together over dinner. I didn't bother texting about my visit since I knew you'd be swamped with work". You said, going around your 6-foot something boyfriend and heading over to the coffee table near the couches to place the food on the table.

"I really appreciate the gesture but, you really didn't have too." Zayne said, breaking the silence between the both of you as you sat on opposite ends of the table. "Oh don't be like that. You've been working a lot lately, this is the least I can do to support my very hardworking boyfriend". You responded, with a small smile decorating your face as you pick up your meal and shove a spoonful of it in your mouth, happily chewing away your meal.

"No, I mean, you can't keep making unannounced visits here especially during the busier days". Zayne responded, taking off his glasses, and rubbing the curved space in-between his forehead and nose bridge as if attempting to ease an incoming headache. "You know how many people I have to cater from morning to night. I'd appreciate it if you could at least give me a heads-up before you come inside here like it's your second home".

"What are you saying?" You stared at him, as you carefully drop the spoon back into the box of takeout and placing the box onto the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't think I needed to book an appointment to come see my boyfriend after a busy work day".

"Well, maybe it is something to take into consideration the next time you do visit". Zayne had responded. What on earth was going on with him today? You knew where this conversation was already heading yet he chooses to act this way after you spent time out of your day-off to come visit and enjoy a good meal with him? As if the mere idea of seeing you, the mere thought of spending time with you wasn't part of his rigidly-made schedule for the day. Was being here in his presence a nuisance to him?

"Are you really going to pull this up on me now, Zayne? Come on. I just wanted to come see you today."

"Well, I never asked for your company in the first place".

And that was what set off the already-ticking bomb of self-destruction in your heart. "Okay, it's fine I understand. I didn't think being here would bring so much imbalance to your perfect schedule".

Not bothering to pick-up your meal, you quickly grabbed your bag and coat and walked towards the door, already reaching out and grabbing the knob to twist it open. You felt Zayne's presence from behind you and whipped your entire body towards his direction. "Happy first and last Zayne. I hope you find what you need with your work. Good night". Then bang, the door was closed shut, leaving Zayne at a loss for words. He fucked up and he knew that, but why couldn't he move and run out to chase you?

It didn't matter anymore what he chose to do. Your heart was breaking into tiny pieces and your vision, growing even more blurry by the passing second as you picked up your pace, walking further and further away from his office, from him.

Part 2 | Coming soon . . .

[lawboysammyy]

he’s a gentleman — clark kent x sensitive!reader

summary: clark comes home to find his pretty angel baking in the kitchen on valentine’s day

contains: soft and sweet boyfriend clark, suggestive towards the end

The smell of freshly baked cookies and the sound of a faith hill song invaded Clark's senses as he walked into the kitchen. He saw you standing at the counter wearing one of his flannels and a pair of pajama shorts, setting down a tray of what appeared to be chocolate chip cookies on the stove.  

“Hey, angel. What are you baking in here?” Clark's voice caused you to jump backwards into his strong chest as he walked up behind you.  

“Clark! You scared me. I though I've told you not to sneak up on me like that,” you smiled as you turned to face the tall brunette. He had kicked off his work boots by the door, leaving him clad in a dirty, white t-shirt and his typical blue jeans.  

God, how did he manage to make such a simple outfit look so good? 

“I'm sorry, angel. I didn't think you'd be up this early,” Clark replied earnestly. He was right, it was early for you. The clock on the oven read 8:24 and you usually didn’t wake up until well after 9 o'clock when you spent the night at the Kent house.  

You turned to face the counter again, cleaning up the slight mess of ingredients as Clark wrapped his arms around your waist, bending down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “To answer your question, I baked some cookies to thank Lana for letting me pick up some shifts at the Talon.” 

Clark smiled into your neck, inhaling the scent of yesterday’s perfume. “Well, that’s real sweet of you, honey. I'm sure she’ll appreciate it. I hope you weren’t planning on hanging out with Lana all day, though, because I've got somethin’ special planned for you for valentine’s day.”  

You tossed the rag you were using to clean onto the oven handle and turned to face Clark. “Oh yeah? Can I have a little insight into this plan, so I know what to wear? I got a new dress the other day and I wanna wear it out,” you told Clark. While this was partially true, you really just wanted to know what your boyfriend was planning because while he was good at keeping secrets from his peers, Clark just couldn’t help it when it came to keeping secrets from you.  

Clark let out a soft chuckle before answering your question. “i was thinking of going to a movie, then a nice dinner...maybe have a little fun after dinner.” You knew what he was hinting at in the last part of his plan. His parents were out of town for a wedding, leaving the house empty for you and Clark. “How does that sound, angel?” 

You hummed contently, standing on your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to the boy’s lips. “I think that sounds perfect, Clark. Thank you,” you complimented as you took Clark's hand in yours and began to lead him to the staircase. “But what if we had a little fun right now? We've got a couple hours to kill. I told Lana I'd stop by her place at around 10 to drop off a top I borrowed from her”  

Clark’s eyes practically lit up at your suggestion, and suddenly you were in his bedroom, pressed against the door. “That sounds like a great idea,” Clark replied in between kisses.