#Cardiac Reader System

[writing-with-sophia]

Poison list

While it's important to approach writing with creativity and imagination, it's crucial to prioritize responsible and ethical storytelling. That being said, if you're looking for information on poisons for the purpose of writing fiction, it's essential to handle the subject matter with care and accuracy. Here is a list of some common poisons that you can use in your stories:

Hemlock: Hemlock is a highly poisonous plant that has been used as a poison in various works of literature. It can cause paralysis and respiratory failure.

Arsenic: Arsenic is a toxic element that has been historically used as a poison. It can be lethal in high doses and can cause symptoms such as vomiting, abdominal pain, and organ failure.

Cyanide: Cyanide is a fast-acting poison that affects the body's ability to use oxygen. It can cause rapid loss of consciousness and cardiac arrest.

Nightshade: Nightshade plants, such as Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade, contain toxic compounds that can cause hallucinations, respiratory distress, blurred vision, dizziness, an increased heart rate, and even death when ingested.

Ricin: Ricin is a potent poison derived from the castor bean plant. It can cause organ failure and has been used as a plot device in various fictional works.

Strychnine: Strychnine is a highly toxic alkaloid that affects the nervous system, leading to muscle spasms, convulsions, and respiratory failure.

Snake Venom: Various snake venoms can be used in fiction as deadly poisons. Different snake species have different types of venom, each with its own effects on the body.

Digitalis: Digitalis, derived from the foxglove plant, contains cardiac glycosides. It has been historically used to treat heart conditions, but in high doses, it can be toxic. Overdosing on digitalis can cause irregular heart rhythms, nausea, vomiting, and visual disturbances.

Lead: Lead poisoning, often resulting from the ingestion or inhalation of lead-based substances, has been a concern throughout history. Lead is a heavy metal that can affect the nervous system, leading to symptoms such as abdominal pain, cognitive impairment, anemia, and developmental issues, particularly in children.

Mercury: Mercury is a toxic heavy metal that has been used in various forms throughout history. Ingesting or inhaling mercury vapors can lead to mercury poisoning, causing symptoms like neurological impairment, kidney damage, respiratory issues, and gastrointestinal problems.

Aconite: Also known as Wolfsbane or Monkshood, aconite is a highly toxic plant. Its roots and leaves contain aconitine alkaloids, which can affect the heart and nervous system. Ingesting aconite can lead to symptoms like numbness, tingling, paralysis, cardiac arrhythmias, and respiratory failure.

Thallium: Thallium is a toxic heavy metal that can cause severe poisoning. It has been used as a poison due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic other substances. Thallium poisoning can lead to symptoms like hair loss, neurological issues, gastrointestinal disturbances, and damage to the kidneys and liver.

When incorporating poisons into your writing, it is essential to research and accurately portray the effects and symptoms associated with them. Additionally, be mindful of the potential impact your writing may have on readers and the importance of providing appropriate context and warnings if necessary.

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[021894s]

SIMS ANATOMY - JAKE SIM

SYNOPSIS: you, a top cardiac surgeon, find yourself increasingly frustrated by the distraction over the hospital’s new head of neurosurgery, Dr. Jake Sim. Despite your initial annoyance, you can't help but notice Jake's charm and undeniable skills. As you keep running into each other, Jake’s persistent yet respectful flirtations begin to break through your professional exterior.

PAIRING: neurosurgeon! jake x cardio surgeon! reader

GENRE: workplace romance, situationship

WARNINGS: explicit smut, unprotected sex (don’t), oral (m and f receiving), angst, language, MDNI!!

wc: 12k

You step out of the OR, still riding the adrenaline high from the successful triple bypass surgery you just completed. The intricate dance of sutures and clamps still echoes in your mind as you head towards the nurses' station to update your patient's chart. You’ve always prided yourself on your precision and dedication, and today was no exception.

As you settle into the chair, logging into the system, you can't help but overhear snippets of conversation from the nearby nurses. Their voices are hushed but excited, and despite yourself, your ears prick up at the mention of a new doctor.

"Oh my god, have you seen Dr. Sim yet?" one nurse gushes, her voice practically dripping with admiration. "He's the new head of neuro. I can't believe he's not married with kids."

"Seriously, he's so handsome," another chimes in. "I thought doctors like him only existed in movies."

You roll your eyes internally, feeling a twinge of annoyance. These nurses should be focusing on their patients, not swooning over some new doctor. You know the type—charming, overconfident, used to turning heads wherever he goes. You’ve seen it a hundred times. It’s frustrating to think that professional women, who you’ve seen handle the toughest of medical crises with unflinching composure, could be so easily distracted by a pretty face.

"He smiled at me in the break room," another voice adds, dreamy and far away. "I nearly melted."

You resist the urge to scoff out loud. Instead, you channel your irritation into the chart in front of you, updating the post-op notes with meticulous detail. Your patient, Mr. Harrison, came through the surgery well, and you want to ensure there are no loose ends in his care plan. His vitals are stable, and the grafts look good. You make a note to check on him in an hour.

The chatter continues unabated. "I heard he’s a genius in the OR," someone says. "Apparently, he’s revolutionized some new technique in neurosurgery."

"Brains and looks? Not fair," another nurse quips, and they all dissolve into giggles.

You finish charting, your irritation only growing. It’s not that you begrudge the nurses their moment of levity—being a nurse is hard, often thankless work, and they deserve a bit of fun. But the object of their admiration rubs you the wrong way. You’ve had to work twice as hard to be taken seriously in a male-dominated field, and the idea of a doctor coasting on his looks and charm irks you.

Shaking your head slightly, you stand up and grab the chart. There’s still a lot to do, and you don’t have time to dwell on some pretty boy neurosurgeon. If he’s really as good as they say, you’ll see for yourself soon enough. And if not, well, you’ve never had a problem putting overconfident doctors in their place.

As you walk away from the nurses' station, you hear one last wistful sigh. "I can't wait to see him in action."

Neither can you, you think, but for entirely different reasons.

You step out of the OR, mind still buzzing with the details of the successful valve replacement surgery you just completed. you head to the cardiac unit to check on post-op patients, but something feels off. The usually bustling ward is eerily quiet, with only one nurse, Olivia, stationed at the desk.

“Olivia,” you calls out, her voice cutting through the silence. “Where is everyone?”

Olivia looks up, a hint of guilt flashing in her eyes. “They’re at lunch,” she replies a little too quickly, her tone unconvincing.

you narrows her eyes, knowing Olivia well enough to sense when she’s not telling the full truth. “Olivia...” you say in a stern voice, crossing your arms.

Olivia shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. “Okay, fine,” she sighs, her shoulders slumping. “They’re in OR 2’s gallery.”

Confusion flickers across your face. “Why would they be in the gallery?” you ask, your irritation growing.

“Dr. Sim is clipping an aneurysm,” Olivia admits, unable to meet your eyes.

That’s all you need to know, storming off towards the gallery, your footsteps echoing through the hallways. The idea of your nurses neglecting their duties to watch a surgery infuriates your. Jake’s presence in the hospital had already been a source of frustration, and now he was serving as a distraction for your team.

Reaching the gallery, you push open the door and stride in, your eyes scanning the crowd of nurses huddled around the glass, their attention glued to the procedure below. you spot Jake in the OR, skillfully clipping the aneurysm, his focus unwavering.

“What is going on here?” you demand, voice slicing through the murmurs. The nurses jump, turning to face you with wide eyes. “Why are you all here instead of attending to your patients?”

One of the nurses, Carla, steps forward, stammering. “We... we just wanted to see Dr. Sim’s technique. It’s supposed to be groundbreaking.”

your glare is icy. “I don’t care how groundbreaking it is. Your patients come first. Get back to your stations, now.”

The nurses scurry out, their heads bowed in embarrassment. you watch them go, your anger simmering. Jake’s impressive skills might have captivated your team, but to you, he was nothing more than a distraction. you couldn’t afford to have the nurses slacking off, not when lives depended on their diligence.

you turn back to the OR, eyes locking onto Jake. For a brief moment, your gazes meet through the glass, and you see a flicker of something in his eyes—curiosity, perhaps? Or was it amusement? Shaking off the thought, you storm out of the gallery, determined to keep your team on track and your own frustrations with Jake in check.

You catch sight of Jake coming out of the OR, his surgical cap still on and his scrubs marked with the evidence of a long, intense procedure. He’s engrossed in conversation with another surgeon, but as you approach, he looks up and meets your gaze.

“You must be Dr. Sim,” you say, your voice firm.

Jake smiles, wiping his hands with a towel. “Dr. Y/L/N, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“I could say the same about you,” you reply, not missing a beat. “Seeing as you’re the reason my nurses are disappearing during their shifts to watch this so-called groundbreaking technique of yours.”

His smile falters slightly, and he raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t realize my surgeries were causing any issues. I’m sorry if they’ve been a distraction.”

“They have,” you state bluntly, crossing your arms. “My team’s focus should be on their patients, not on observing other procedures or a certain brain surgeon, no matter how impressive they might be.”

Jake’s lips curl into a playful grin. “Oh, so you think I’m impressive?”

You feel a flush of annoyance, typical behavior for a neurosurgeon, always so full of themselves. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it,” he teases, taking a step closer. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

You narrow your eyes, trying to maintain your stern demeanor. “My team doesn’t have time for distractions, Dr. Sim.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, his tone still light but his expression more serious. “I understand, and I’ll make sure to address it with the staff. I didn’t mean to disrupt the unit.”

You study him for a moment, gauging his sincerity. Despite your irritation, there’s something about his demeanor that disarms you slightly. You can’t help but notice his deep brown eyes, plump lips, and the way his Australian accent is way more attractive than it should be. You understand, in that moment, why the nurses might be so captivated.

“Good,” you say, your tone softening just a touch. “I appreciate that.”

Jake smiles again, this time a bit more warmly. “And if it’s any consolation, your reputation as a top cardiac surgeon is well-deserved. I look forward to working alongside you.”

“Likewise,” you reply, giving him a curt nod before turning to leave. As you walk away, you can’t shake the mixture of irritation and intrigue. Jake Sim might be causing headaches for your unit, but there’s no denying his skill and charm. You just hope he proves to be more than just a distraction.

A few days later, you find yourself in the hospital’s busy hallway, reviewing patient charts on your tablet. The hum of activity around you is a comforting backdrop until a familiar voice interrupts your focus.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” Jake calls out, his voice carrying that unmistakable Australian lilt. “Fancy seeing you here.”

You look up, and there he is, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Dr. Sim,” you acknowledge with a nod, trying to keep your tone neutral. “What can I do for you?”

“Just thought I’d say hello,” he replies, pushing off the wall and sauntering over to you. “And maybe ask how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you respond, keeping your eyes on your tablet.

“Busy as usual, I see,” he notes, glancing at the screen. “You ever take a break?”

“Breaks are for people who don’t have critical patients to tend to,” you reply, not looking up.

He chuckles, the sound warm and annoyingly pleasant. “You know, there’s more to life than work. Maybe you need someone to remind you of that.”

You finally look up, raising an eyebrow. “And I suppose you think you’re that someone?”

“Could be,” he says with a confident grin. “I mean, who better to show you the lighter side of things?”

You roll your eyes, but a small smile tugs at your lips. “You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Confidence is a necessity in our line of work,” he says, his eyes locking onto yours. “But I’ve heard it helps in other areas too.”

“Oh really? Like what?” you ask, despite yourself.

He leans in a little closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Like convincing brilliant surgeons to step out of their comfort zones once in a while.”

You scoff lightly, shaking your head. “I don’t need convincing, Dr. Sim. I have my priorities straight.”

“Of course you do,” he replies smoothly. “But even the best of us need a break sometimes. Don’t worry, I’m not asking you out. Just offering a bit of friendly advice.”

You look at him, trying to figure out if he’s serious. “Friendly advice, huh?”

“Absolutely,” he says with a wink. “Think of it as a, professional courtesy.”

You can’t help but laugh, despite your best efforts to stay stern. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he says, flashing that infuriatingly charming smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you get back to saving lives. But if you ever need a reminder of what fun looks like, you know where to find me.”

later that day, the hospital corridors are quieter than usual as you make your way to the elevators, finally heading home after a long shift. The soft hum of the building is almost soothing after the constant noise of the OR. You press the button and wait, your mind already shifting to thoughts of a hot shower and some much-needed sleep.

The elevator dings, and as the doors slide open, you see Jake standing inside, leaning against the back wall, his expression relaxed but alert. He looks up and his face lights up with a familiar, playful smile.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he greets, stepping aside to make room for you. “Heading home too?”

“Dr. Sim,” you reply, stepping in and pressing the button for the ground floor. “Looks like it.”

The doors close, and the elevator begins its descent. The enclosed space suddenly feels a bit smaller with the two of you in it.

“Long day?” he asks, glancing over at you.

“You could say that,” you respond, leaning back against the wall. “You?”

“Same here,” he says, a hint of fatigue creeping into his voice. “But it’s all part of the job, right?”

You nod, a brief silence settling between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s an unspoken tension, a mix of mutual respect and something else you can’t quite put your finger on.

“So,” Jake breaks the silence, a teasing note in his voice. “Any plans for the evening? Or are you one of those surgeons who lives and breathes work even at home?”

You raise an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at your lips. “And what about you? Do you have a life outside the hospital, Dr. Sim?”

He laughs softly, the sound warm and genuine. “I try to, when I’m not dealing with brain surgery. But I’ll admit, it’s a challenge. The job can be all-consuming.”

“Tell me about it,” you agree, your tone more relaxed now. “Sometimes it feels like there’s no room for anything else.”

“Maybe that’s why it’s important to find some balance,” he says, his voice sincere. “Even if it’s just little moments here and there.”

You look at him, considering his words. There’s more to Jake than the cocky, flirtatious persona he often projects. “I suppose you’re right.”

The elevator dings again, signaling your arrival at the ground floor. As the doors open, you both step out into the lobby, the cool night air from outside brushing against your skin.

“Need a ride?” Jake offers, his tone casual but there’s a glint of genuine concern in his eyes. “It’s pretty late.”

“I’m good, thanks,” you reply, appreciating the offer but not ready to blur those professional lines just yet. “But I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Count on it,” he says with a wink. “Have a good night, Dr. Y/L/N.”

“You too, Dr. Sim,” you respond, turning to head towards your car.

As you walk away, you can’t help but feel a strange mix of irritation and curiosity. Jake Sim might be a distraction, but there’s no denying that he’s also starting to become a presence you can’t quite ignore. And maybe, just maybe, that’s not entirely a bad thing.

The next day, you find yourself scrubbing in for a complex procedure. Today’s case is a particularly challenging one: a patient with both a severe cardiac condition and a cerebral aneurysm, requiring the combined expertise of both cardiac and neuro specialists. As you meticulously scrub your hands and arms, you hear the familiar voice of Jake Sim beside you.

“Looks like we’re working together today,” he says, his tone a mix of professionalism and that signature playful edge.

You glance over, meeting his eyes. “Seems like it. Ready for this?”

“Always,” he replies, his confident smile never wavering. “I’ve been looking forward to this case. It’s not every day we get to tackle something this intricate together.”

You nod, appreciating his enthusiasm despite your initial reservations about him. “Agreed. The patient’s condition is precarious. We need to be perfectly in sync.”

Jake gives you a serious nod, his demeanor shifting. “Absolutely. Let’s make sure we give them the best outcome possible.”

You both finish scrubbing in and enter the OR, where the patient is already prepped and waiting. The atmosphere is charged with a mix of tension and anticipation, the surgical team moving with practiced precision. As you take your place on one side of the patient, Jake positions himself on the other, eyes meeting over the sterile field.

“Ready to start?” you ask, your voice steady and focused.

“Ready,” Jake confirms, his expression equally determined.

The surgery begins, and the OR fills with the rhythmic beeping of monitors and the soft hum of machinery. You work methodically, your hands moving with practiced precision as you navigate the complex landscape of the patient’s heart. Jake mirrors your concentration, his focus unbroken as he tackles the aneurysm with equal skill.

“Forceps,” you request, your voice calm and controlled.

“Here,” the scrub nurse says, passing the instrument with a fluid motion. “How’s the heart looking?” jake asks

“Stable,” you reply, glancing up briefly to meet his eyes. “How about the aneurysm?”

“It’s going well,” he answers, his tone steady. “We’re almost there.”

As the surgery progresses, you find yourselves falling into a natural rhythm, your movements synchronized in a way that surprises you. There’s a subtle, unspoken understanding between you, each anticipating the other’s needs and adjustments.

“Nice work on that bypass,” Jake comments, his tone genuinely appreciative.

“Thanks,” you reply, a small smile forming behind your mask. “Your precision with the aneurysm is impressive.”

“Coming from you, that means a lot,” he says, and you can hear the sincerity in his voice.

Hours pass, but the intensity of your focus never wanes. Finally, as the last suture is placed and the patient’s vitals stabilize, you both step back, a sense of accomplishment settling over you.

“Great job, everyone,” you say to the team, who respond with nods and murmurs of agreement.

Jake meets your eyes, his expression one of respect and something more. “We make a good team, Dr. Y/L/N.”

You nod, feeling a surprising sense of camaraderie. “We do, Dr. Sim. Let’s hope the patient has a smooth recovery.”

As you step out of the OR and begin the process of de-scrubbing, you can’t help but reflect on the day’s events. Working alongside Jake, seeing his skill and dedication firsthand, has shifted your perspective. He’s still cocky, still flirty, but there’s depth and talent beneath that exterior.

“Drinks tonight to celebrate?” Jake asks, a teasing glint in his eye as you both head towards the locker rooms.

You laugh, shaking your head. “Maybe another time, Dr. Sim. But good work today.”

“Thanks, Y/N,” he says, dropping the formalities for a moment. “Seriously, it was an honor working with you.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” you admit, giving him a genuine smile before heading off to change.

The next few weeks bring more opportunities for you and Jake to work together, and each collaboration reveals another layer of his skill and personality. Despite his initial cockiness, Jake proves to be a dedicated and talented surgeon, and you begin to see him in a new light. The more time you spend together in the OR, the more you find yourself appreciating his expertise and even enjoying his company.

One evening, you find yourself finishing up some paperwork in the quiet cardiac unit. The day had been long, but fulfilling, with several successful surgeries under your belt. As you look up from your desk, you see Jake approaching, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "You still here?"

"Just wrapping up," you reply, setting aside your pen. "What about you?"

"Same," he says, stepping into your office. "I was going to head out, but I thought I'd check in on you first."

"Checking in on me, huh?" you say with a hint of amusement. "What for?"

"Well, I was thinking," he starts, a bit more serious than usual. "We've been working together a lot lately, and I wanted to say thank you. For trusting me in the OR and for being an amazing colleague."

You feel a warm glow at his words, appreciating the sincerity behind them. "Thank you, Jake. You've been a great partner in the OR. I couldn't have asked for a better neurosurgeon to collaborate with."

Jake smiles, the familiar twinkle returning to his eyes. "You know, I think we make a pretty good team."

"I think so too," you admit, a small smile playing on your lips. "It's been nice, working with you."

"Nice, huh?" he teases, his playful side emerging once more. "I'll take that as a high compliment coming from you."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Don't let it go to your head, Sim."

He chuckles, but his expression soon turns more contemplative. "You know, I've been thinking about what I said the other day. About balance and taking breaks. It's something I'm not great at either."

"a little hypocritical to be giving me advice then no?," you reply, your tone light but teasing. "It's hard to switch off when our work is so demanding."

"Exactly," he agrees. "But I've realized that maybe we could help each other with that. Maybe we could find a way to balance things out a bit more."

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"How about we start with something simple?" he suggests. "Like taking a real break. Maybe grab a coffee together, no work talk allowed. Just two colleagues, taking a breather."

You consider his offer, the idea surprisingly appealing. "Alright, Dr. Sim. Coffee sounds good."

Jake's smile widens, a genuine warmth in his eyes. "Great. Tomorrow morning, then? Before our rounds?"

"Tomorrow morning," you agree, feeling a flutter of anticipation.

The next morning, you find yourself at the hospital’s small café, waiting for Jake. The early hour means the space is quiet, with only a few other staff members milling about. When Jake arrives, he’s carrying two steaming cups of coffee, a smile on his face.

“Good morning,” he greets, handing you a cup. “Thought I’d get us a head start.”

“Thanks,” you say, accepting the coffee and taking a sip. “So, what’s on your mind, Dr. Sim?”

“Just enjoying the company,” he replies, sitting down across from you. “And maybe getting to know the person behind the scalpel a little better.”

You chuckle, feeling a bit more at ease. “Alright, what do you want to know?”

“Let’s start simple,” he says, leaning forward slightly. “What do you do when you’re not saving lives?”

You think for a moment, realizing how rare it is for you to talk about anything other than work. “I like to read, mostly. And sometimes I go for a run. It helps clear my head.”

“Sounds nice,” he says, nodding. “I’m more of a swimmer myself. It’s the one thing that keeps me sane outside the OR.”

“Swimming, huh?” you ask, surprised. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a swimmer.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Y/N,” he says, his tone teasing but with a hint of seriousness.

“Maybe,” you admit, feeling a strange curiosity about him. “But I’m starting to think I’d like to find out.”

The conversation flows easily, and you find yourself genuinely enjoying the time with Jake. As you talk, you see different sides of him—his passion for his work, his dedication to his patients, and even a vulnerable side that he rarely shows.

When it’s time to head back to your respective departments, you feel a sense of connection that wasn’t there before. Maybe Jake Sim is more than just a distraction. Maybe he’s someone worth getting to know.

As you part ways, he gives you a warm smile. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Same time,” you agree, already looking forward to it.

And so, a new routine begins. Coffee in the mornings, shared surgeries, and increasingly personal conversations. The barriers you once held up start to crumble, and you find yourself drawn to Jake in ways you hadn’t anticipated.

Weeks pass, and the connection between you grows stronger. One evening, after another successful surgery, Jake catches up to you in the hallway.

“Hey,” he says, slightly out of breath. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure,” you reply, curious.

“I was thinking,” he starts, looking a bit nervous for the first time. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together, and I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you. I’d like to take you out for dinner. No work, just us.”

You feel a flutter of surprise and anticipation. “Dinner?”

“Yeah,” he says, smiling. “What do you say?”

You consider for a moment, then nod. “Alright, Jake. Dinner sounds good.”

As he walks away, you can’t help but smile.

The evening of your date arrives, and you’re both excited and a bit nervous. You’ve chosen a smart but casual outfit, and after a final check in the mirror, you’re ready. Your heart flutters with anticipation as you hear the sound of a car pulling up outside your apartment.

When you open the door, Jake is standing there, looking effortlessly charming in a blazer and jeans. His eyes light up as he sees you, and he smiles warmly.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” he says with a grin. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sim,” you reply with a smile, feeling a bit flustered. “You look pretty sharp yourself.”

He gestures to the car parked behind him. “Shall we?”

You nod and follow him down to the car. As you slide into the passenger seat, Jake starts the engine and glances over with a playful smile.

“So, are you ready for an evening of fine dining and even finer conversation?” he asks, his tone light and teasing.

“I’m definitely looking forward to it,” you reply, settling into the seat and feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity.

As he drives, the conversation flows easily. Jake talks about his day and a recent surgery he performed, and you share some anecdotes from your own work. The drive is filled with laughter and engaging conversation, making you feel more at ease.

When you arrive at the restaurant, Jake parks and opens the door for you, offering his hand to help you out. The restaurant is a cozy bistro with warm lighting and a relaxed atmosphere. Jake leads you inside and to your reserved table, which is positioned by a window with a view of the city lights.

“This place looks lovely,” you say as you take your seat, admiring the ambiance.

“I’m glad you like it,” Jake replies, settling into his chair across from you. “I thought it would be a nice spot for our first dinner out.”

The evening progresses with delightful conversation and delicious food. Jake is attentive and charming, making sure you’re comfortable and enjoying yourself. As you both talk about various topics, you find yourself opening up more than you expected.

At one point, Jake asks, “What’s something you’ve always wanted to do but haven’t had the chance to yet?”

You think for a moment, considering the question. “I’ve always wanted to take a cooking class. I love to cook, but I think it would be fun to learn some new techniques and recipes.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” Jake says, nodding. “Maybe we could take a class together sometime. I’ve always wanted to learn how to cook Italian cuisine.”

You smile at the thought. “That could be fun. I’d be up for that.”

As the evening progresses, the conversation turns more personal. Jake shares stories about his family and his upbringing in Australia. He talks about the challenges of being far from home and the sacrifices he’s made for his career.

“It’s not always easy being so far away from my family,” Jake admits. “I miss them a lot, especially during the holidays.”

“I can imagine,” you say sympathetically. “My family is close by, and we have our own share of drama, but I’m grateful for their support.”

Jake nods, appreciating your understanding. “Family can be complicated, but it’s important to have that support system.”

You both continue to share personal stories and insights, finding common ground in your experiences. By the end of the evening, you feel a genuine connection with Jake, one that goes beyond professional respect.

When the check arrives, Jake insists on paying. “It’s my treat tonight,” he says with a smile. “Consider it a small thank you for a wonderful evening.”

“Thank you, Jake,” you reply, feeling touched by his gesture. “I really appreciate it.”

. The night air is crisp and refreshing, and the drive home is filled with easy conversation. When you arrive at your apartment, Jake parks and turns to you with a hopeful expression.

“I had a great time tonight,” he says softly. “I hope you did too.”

“I did,” you reply with a smile. “Thank you for such a lovely evening.”

you hesitate for a moment, then look at jake with a warm smile. “Would you like to come up? Maybe just hang out and talk some more?”

he considers the offer, feeling a mix of excitement and curiosity. “That sounds nice. I’d love to.”

He smiles and follows you up to your apartment. As you enter, the space feels even more welcoming with the soft lighting and cozy atmosphere. You both get comfortable on the couch with drinks, and the conversation continues to flow effortlessly.

You find yourselves talking about everything from past relationships to future aspirations. As the conversation flows, Jake starts to open up about his past relationships. “You know, I’ve had my fair share of relationships that didn’t work out. One of the biggest challenges was balancing the demands of work and personal life. It’s not easy to find someone who understands the hours and the emotional toll.”

“I get that,” you say sympathetically. “It’s hard to maintain a relationship when your job takes up so much of your time and energy. My last relationship ended for similar reasons.”

Jake looks at you with genuine curiosity. “What happened?”

You take a deep breath, reflecting on your past. “We were together for a few years, and it started out great. But as time went on, he couldn’t handle the unpredictability of my schedule and the stress of my job. We drifted apart, and eventually, we just grew in different directions.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jake says softly. “It’s never easy to end a relationship, especially when it’s someone you care about.”

“Thanks,” you reply. “It’s part of life, I guess. We both moved on and found our own paths.”

Jake nods, taking a sip of his wine. The easy conversation slows, a new, more, intimate silence settling between the two of you.

Jake shifts slightly, closing the gap between you. his eyes locked on yours. you could feel the heat radiating off his body, and you suddenly felt very aware of your own. He reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face, his touch sending a shiver down your spine.

your heart raced as Jake leaned in and pressed his lips to yours. you responded eagerly, parting your lips to allow his tongue to explore your mouth. you could feel the heat building between you as you kissed, your bodies pressed together.

Jake's hands began to wander, tracing patterns on your back. you could feel his fingers brushing against the zipper of your dress, and you shivered with anticipation.

Jake pulled away from the kiss, his eyes dark with desire. "May I?" he asked, his hand hovering over the zipper.

You nodded, your breath coming in short gasps. Jake slowly unzipped the dress, his fingers brushing against your skin as he did so. You felt a thrill run through your body as the dress fell to the floor, leaving her standing in just your matching black bra and panties.

Jake's eyes roamed over yourbody, taking in every inch of you. You could feel yourself growing wet as he looked at you, his desire obvious and reflecting your own.

Jake stepped closer to you, his hands reaching out to touch you. You could feel his fingers tracing the lace of your bra, you shivered with pleasure. He leaned in and began to kiss your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

a soft moan escapes as Jake's lips moved down your body, his hands following close behind. “you’re so fucking beautiful” He reached your breasts, his fingers tracing the outline of your nipples through the lace of your bra. You could feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, your body begging for more. “been thinking about this since the first day I saw you”

Jake reached behind You and unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the floor. He cupped your tits in his hands, his thumbs brushing against your nipples. You moaned as he touched you, your body responding to his touch.

Jake's mouth moved lower, his lips brushing against your stomach. you could feel his breath against her skin, and she shivered with anticipation. “w-ant you” He reached for your panties, “relax baby I got you”, his fingers tracing the outline of your pussy through the fabric.

you gasp as Jake's fingers slip beneath your panties, his fingers exploring your folds. you could feel yourself growing wetter with every touch, your body begging for more.

Jake pulled your panties down, his eyes locked on your pussy, “shit baby, you’re so wet f’me, such a pretty pussy” He leaned in and began to kiss your inner thighs, his lips igniting the heat pooling in your lower belly.

Jakes mouth moved lower, his lips brushing against your pussy. a loud moan leaves your lips as he began to lick at your entrance, your hand instinctively going between your legs to run your fingers through his black locks. “fuck, jake feels so fucking good don’t stop” he hums in response, the vibration going straight to your core.

he’s practically making out with your cunt licking and sucking, his saliva and your juices combined, making a mess on your couch, but that was the last thing on your mind right now. “fuck i’m c-cuming” your orgasm rapidly approaching. “yeah baby cum on my tongue, fuck can’t get enough of you, you taste so sweet”. at his words, your orgasm hits you like a wave, your body shaking with pleasure.

Jake stood up, his eyes locked on yours. you could see the desire in his eyes, and you knew what he wanted. you reached out and unbuttoned his pants, fingers brushing against his hard cock.

Jake stepped out of his pants, his hard cock springing free. while he wasn’t remarkably long, he definitely made up for it in girth. You reached out and wrapped your hand around it, stroking it gently. “ah shit baby” you could feel him growing harder in your hand, your excitement noticable.

he pushed you down onto the couch, climbing on top of you. “condom?” he asked, stopping in his tracks before he gets too ahead of himself. “it’s fine, just put it in” you reach down between you two, taking hold of his length as you begin to guide his cock into your dripping heat. his cock twitches at the thought of feeling you with nothing in between, “fuck, are you sure?”, “yeah, m’on the pill, just fuck me already please” your walls clench around nothing, needing to feel him inside you more than anything.

without another word he slides in. the stinging sensation quickly turning into one of pleasure. your pussy gripping him tightly as he sets a pace that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “so fucking tight, pretty, you’re squeezing me so good. pussy was made for my cock mhm?” you can’t even find the words to reply, the pleasure all too much to even think straight.

“feels so good jake” your words encourage him, his thrusts growing more quick, chasing his release as well as your own. the room is filled moans and the sloppy, wet sounds of his cock pounding into your hole. “s-so close, faster baby, want your cum inside me” you don’t have to tell him twice, his hips snapping into a pace that has you seeing stars.

“cum for me baby, cum on my cock” his hand reaches between you to rub your clit in quick circles, sending you over the edge “fuck! i’m cumming!” your release consumes you, his following not too long after.

he collapses next to you on the tiny couch, the both of you panting and out of breath as you come down from your high. “that was amazing” you turn your head to look at him, his eyes closed from pure euphoria he just experienced. “amazing is an understatement. it was fan fucking tastic” you let out a laugh at his pure honesty, a comfortable silence settling in the room.

he pulls you in by your waist, positioning you so your back is against his chest, a more comfortable position since your couch is definitely not meant for this. “i had a good time tonight” you can’t help the smile that grows on your face “me too”

as if the universe was against you, a beeping noise cuts through the silence, ending your moment. his pager was going off, they probably needed him back at the hospital, the realization of your jobs hitting you like a truck. “way to ruin the moment” he says getting up to check the pager “I gotta go, i’ll see you at work?” you smile at him nodding. he quickly gets dressed and presses a quick peck to your lips “get some rest” he tells you before rushing out the door to make his way to the hospital.

you can’t help but be a little disappointed. The obligation of your job was one of the many reasons you didn’t date, simply because it didn’t work. why did you expect this to be any different?

you drift off into a slumber, too tired to let your thoughts cloud your mind.

The next morning, the hospital is bustling with the usual chaos as you walk through the corridors towards your office. Despite the busy environment, your mind keeps drifting back to the night before with Jake. The memory of his touch, his kisses, and the intimate conversations you shared fills you with a warm, lingering sense of connection.

As you turn the corner, you see Jake standing near the nurses’ station, discussing a case with a colleague. He looks up and catches your eye, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. There’s a new glint in his eyes that wasn’t there before, a mixture of warmth and mischief.

“Good morning, Dr. Y/L/N,” Jake calls out, his tone playful and a bit louder than necessary, drawing the attention of nearby staff. “Did you sleep well?”

You feel a blush rising but manage to keep your composure. “Good morning, Dr. Sim. I did, thank you. And you?”

“didn’t sleep much, had a lot on my mind,” he replies, his grin widening as he walks over to you. “Must be the excellent company I had last night.”

Several nurses and doctors nearby glance over with curious expressions, but Jake seems unfazed. He stops just a bit too close, his presence commanding your attention. “I was hoping we might catch up over lunch. I’ve been craving some more of those conversations we had.”

You raise an eyebrow, fighting the smile that’s threatening to break through. “Is that so? Well, I’ll have to check my schedule.”

Jake chuckles, leaning in slightly. “You do that. In the meantime, if you need anything at all, you know where to find me.” His voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, “Or maybe I should say, you know where to call me.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, shaking your head at his audacity. “I’ll keep that in mind, Dr. Sim.”

He winks at you before stepping back, returning to his conversation with the colleague but not without a lingering glance over his shoulder.

Throughout the morning, you find yourself running into Jake more often than usual. Each time, he manages to throw in a playful comment or a flirty remark, making it clear that last night’s intimacy has only fueled his interest.

In the break room, you’re pouring a cup of coffee when Jake slips in beside you. “we meet again,” he says, his tone light. “I was just thinking about how good you look in scrubs.”

You roll your eyes but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement. “Really? I’m sure you say that to all the doctors.”

“Only the ones who make a lasting impression,” he replies smoothly, his eyes sparkling with genuine admiration.

Later, while reviewing patient charts at your desk, you receive a text from Jake. It’s a picture of a heart drawn on a napkin, with a message: “Couldn’t help but think of you during rounds.”

You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your face. It’s clear that Jake’s flirting isn’t just a passing fancy; there’s a genuine interest and warmth behind his actions that makes your heart skip a beat.

Weeks turn into months, and your relationship with Jake settles into a comfortable, intimate rhythm. Without any formal labels, your connection grows deeper, rooted in shared moments and unspoken understandings. Lunches in the cafeteria become a regular occurrence, interspersed with stolen glances across the OR and late-night encounters that leave you breathless and wanting more.

You find yourself looking forward to these moments, the thrill of sneaking around adding a layer of excitement. During shifts, Jake’s flirtatious comments become a highlight of your day.

One afternoon, you’re in the break room, reviewing patient charts when Jake walks in, his usual confident stride and easy smile making your heart skip a beat. He leans against the counter, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Hey, beautiful. Busy?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

“Always,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the turmoil in your chest.

Jake walks over, his presence commanding your attention. “You look like you could use a break. How about a coffee?”

You glance at the clock, knowing you have a few minutes to spare. “Sure, why not?”

As you walk to the “coffee shop” side by side, jake quickly takes a glance around to make sure no one is watching and pulls you into the on-call room, the tension between you palpable, you can’t help but feel the thrill of anticipation. The moment the door closes behind you, Jake’s hands are on your waist, pulling you close. His lips find yours in a kiss that’s both urgent and tender, a mix of passion and familiarity that leaves you breathless.

“You’ve been on my mind all day,” he murmurs against your lips, his hands roaming over your back.

“you pulled me away for this?” you let out a slight chuckle. “mhm want you so bad” his lips move down to your neck “jake we’re at work.”

your eyes shut closed, enjoying the feeling of his soft, plump lips on that sweet spot behind you ear that he always found instantly. “doors locked, no one’s coming in here” he mutters out.

you give in, your hands immediately going to his pants and undoing the tie on his scrub bottoms. “well in that case, I wanna suck your cock” you whispered, lowering down into your knees in front of him. Jake's eyes widened in surprise, but then he grinned.

"Fuck, yeah," he said, dropping his pants and boxers. His cock was hard and thick, the tip already glistening with precum, your heart pounding with excitement.

you reached out and wrapped your hand around his cock, stroking it gently. Jake groaned and closed his eyes, his head thrown back. you leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock, tasting the salty precum. Jake's groan grew louder as you opened your mouth and took him in, lips sliding down his veiny shaft.

you started to suck, head bobbing up and down as youworked his cock. Jake's hands were in yoir hair, guiding you as you sucked him off. you could feel his cock throbbing in your mouth, his balls tightening as he got closer to cumming.

"yeah, baby," Jake groaned, his hips thrusting forward as he fucked your mouth. "You're gonna make me cum so hard."

You moan around his cock, the sound vibrating through his shaft. You could feel his cock twitching in yourmouth, his balls tightening even more. you continued faster, fingers digging into his thighs as you worked him.

Jake's groans grew louder, his thrusts more urgent. you could feel his cock swelling, his precum flowing freely. you sucked harder, cheeks hollowing as your mouth got him to his release.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," Jake groaned, his hips bucking as he came hard in your mouth. You swallowed, throat working as you took every drop of his cum. Jake's hands were in you hair, holding your head as he came, his hips still thrusting as he emptied himself into your mouth.

When he was done, you pulled back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Jake's cock was still hard, but it was starting to soften. You stood up, smiling at him.

"Did you like that?" you asked, voice soft and seductive. Jake grinned, his eyes still glazed with pleasure.

"I loved it," he said, pulling you into a kiss. "That was amazing."

As the weeks went on, you and Jake continued the little rhythm you had set in place. He flirted with you every chance he got. The both of you ending up in each others beds more often than not.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, you’re sitting in your apartment, staring blankly at the schedule in front of you. Your mind keeps drifting back to Jake—the way he looked at you during lunch, the warmth of his hand on your back as he guided you through the crowded cafeteria. The realization hits you like a tidal wave: you’re falling for him. Hard.

It terrifies you.

You’ve always prided yourself on being focused, dedicated, and in control of your emotions. But with Jake, everything feels different. The boundaries you set for yourself are blurring, and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications.

The demands of your job loom heavily over you. The long hours, the constant pressure, and the emotional toll of the medical field leave little room for anything else. As you stare at the schedule for the coming weeks, packed with surgeries and patient consultations, the reality sinks in: maintaining a relationship would be nearly impossible. The thought of trying to juggle your career and a growing emotional commitment to Jake feels overwhelming. After much soul-searching, you come to a difficult conclusion. It’s not fair to him or to yourself to continue something you can’t fully sustain. With a heavy heart, you decide it’s best to end things, believing that stepping back is the only way to preserve the little balance in your life.

The next day, you’re in the break room, trying to focus on patient charts when Jake walks in. He greets you with his usual easy smile, his eyes lighting up when he sees you.

“Hey, what are you up to?” he asks, his voice a low murmur that sends a shiver down your spine.

“just charting, the usual,” you reply, trying to keep your tone light despite the turmoil in your chest.

Jake walks over, his presence commanding your attention. “You wanna step away for a bit and grab lunch with me?”

You hesitate, the words on the tip of your tongue. You want to say yes, but the fear of what it might mean if you keep going down this path holds you back. “Actually, I have a lot to catch up on. Maybe another time.”

Jake’s brow furrows, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Everything okay?”

You force a smile, trying to keep your emotions in check. “Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed with work.”

He doesn’t push, but you can see the worry in his eyes as he nods and leaves you to your charts.

Over the next few days, you start to pull back, keeping your interactions with Jake strictly professional. You avoid the on-call room, decline his offers for lunch, and keep your conversations short and to the point. It’s not easy, and you can see the confusion and hurt in his eyes every time you brush him off.

One evening, you’re leaving the hospital when you run into Jake in the parking lot. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, his expression serious.

“Y/N, can we talk?” he asks, his voice a mix of frustration and concern.

You nod, knowing you can’t avoid this conversation forever. “Sure.”

He takes a deep breath, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me, and I don’t understand why. Did I do something wrong?”

You shake your head, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you. “No, Jake, you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About what we’re doing.”

Jake’s expression softens, and he steps closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek. “Talk to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the weight of your decision pressing down on you. “I’ve realized that I can’t keep up with a relationship right now. Our jobs are so demanding, and I’m constantly running on empty. I don’t think I can give you the attention and commitment you deserve.”

Jake’s expression shifts from confusion to hurt. “Y/N, I thought we were making this work. Why now? What changed?”

You struggle to keep your voice steady, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. “It’s not about you. It’s about me and my inability to balance everything. I’ve been trying to make it work, but I can’t keep up with both my job and a relationship. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Jake’s eyes drop to the floor, and he takes a deep breath, trying to process what you’ve said. “So, this is it? You’re just… ending things? before they even started?”

You nod, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “I think it’s best. I care about you a lot, but right now, I can’t handle more than what I’ve got.”

Jake remains silent for a moment, then looks back at you with a pained expression. “I get it, Y/N. If this is what you need, then I respect your decision. But it doesn’t make it any easier.”

You reach out, touching his arm gently. “I’m so sorry, Jake. This isn’t what I wanted, but I need to focus on my career right now. I hope you understand.”

He nods, his eyes filled with a mix of sadness and acceptance. “Yeah, I understand. It doesn’t make it any less painful, but I get it.”

As you turn to leave, you feel a deep ache in your chest, knowing that you’ve made the right decision for yourself, but also feeling the weight of the loss. The break room seems colder now, and the empty space where Jake used to stand feels like a gaping hole in your heart.

Adjusting to life without Jake is more challenging than you anticipated. The hospital, once a place of shared glances and flirtatious banter, now feels strangely empty. The absence of his smile, his reassuring presence, and the warmth of his touch leaves a void that’s hard to ignore.

At work, you focus intently on your patients and your responsibilities, but the familiar routine feels different. The small moments that once brought you joy—a playful comment during a surgery, a quick coffee break together—are now replaced with an uncomfortable silence. Conversations with Jake are limited to work-related topics, and every interaction is laced with a professional distance that feels foreign and awkward.

In the OR, you work side by side, your focus on the patient and the procedure. Jake’s skill and calm demeanor are still impressive, and you find yourself appreciating his expertise even more now. But the casual camaraderie you once enjoyed is gone, replaced by a formality that feels both stifling and isolating.

During breaks, you find yourself missing the easy conversations you used to have with him. You used to share small victories and frustrations, but now those moments are spent in solitude or with other colleagues who don’t quite fill the gap Jake left behind.

Despite your best efforts to maintain your composure, you can’t help but feel the pangs of loneliness. Your personal life remains focused solely on work, and the connection you once had with Jake seems like a distant memory. You remind yourself why you made the decision, focusing on the demanding nature of your job and the need for balance.

Gradually, you begin to adjust, finding solace in the routine of your work and the support of your colleagues. The initial pain of Jake’s absence dulls over time, replaced by a newfound focus on your career and a deeper understanding of your own needs. Though the void remains, you learn to navigate your days with a renewed sense of purpose and dedication.

You’re passing through the hospital lobby, your mind preoccupied with patient charts, when you spot Jake standing near the information desk. He’s engaged in a conversation with Dr. Choi Miyeon, the oncology attending. Your steps slow involuntarily as you notice the easy laughter between them.

Jake’s smile is wide and genuine, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that once made your heart flutter. But today, the sight of that smile, directed at someone else, sends a pang of jealousy through you. Dr. Choi, with her poised demeanor and confident air, seems to be enjoying his attention, and the familiarity between them feels almost too intimate.

You try to focus on your task, but your gaze keeps drifting back to the two of them. Jake’s hand gestures animatedly as he talks, his face lighting up in a way that you haven’t seen directed at you in weeks. Dr. Choi’s laughter is soft and melodic, and she tilts her head slightly, clearly engaged in the conversation.

The sight of Jake looking so at ease with someone else brings an unexpected rush of emotion. You find yourself clenching your jaw, trying to ignore the gnawing sense of loss that accompanies the jealousy. It’s a reminder of the connection you once shared and the void left behind by your decision.

You force yourself to look away, turning back to your work with a renewed determination to focus on your patients. But the image of Jake’s smile and the easy rapport he shares with Dr. Choi lingers in your mind, leaving you with a mixture of regret and longing that’s hard to shake.

As you continue with your tasks, the memory of Jake’s interaction with Dr. Choi lingers, clouding your focus. Every time you glance up from your charts or interact with colleagues, your thoughts drift back to that moment in the lobby.

In the break room later that day, you catch sight of Jake entering, still visibly animated from his conversation with Dr. Choi. He looks up and sees you, his face lighting up with that same welcoming smile that used to be exclusively for you. The sight of it only intensifies the pang of jealousy you felt earlier.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jake says, approaching you with his usual warmth.

“Hi, Jake,” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. You make a deliberate effort to maintain your professional composure, avoiding any mention of the earlier encounter.

Jake seems to sense a change in your demeanor but doesn’t press. Instead, he casually starts discussing the upcoming surgery, his tone light and engaging. You nod along, responding with the necessary professionalism, but your mind is elsewhere. You keep picturing him with Dr. Choi, the way they interacted so naturally, and it’s hard to ignore the twinge of regret.

As you wrap up the conversation and head to your next task, you can’t help but feel a deepening sense of frustration. The realization that you still care about Jake more than you initially admitted weighs heavily on you. The professional distance you’ve maintained seems more like a barrier than a solution, and the void he left behind is harder to ignore than you thought.

Later that evening, as you drive home, you replay the scene in your mind, questioning your decision. You wonder if stepping back from Jake was truly the right choice, or if you were merely trying to shield yourself from the possibility of a meaningful connection. The jealousy you felt is a clear sign of unresolved feelings, and it becomes evident that the emotional aftermath of ending things is more complex than you anticipated.

By the time you reach your apartment, you’re left grappling with the realization that you might have made a mistake. The lingering image of Jake’s smile, coupled with the undeniable ache in your chest, leaves you pondering whether there’s a way to reconcile your fears with the genuine affection you still feel for him.

But it would be utterly selfish of you to go running back to him when he’s seemingly started to move on. This was all your doing after all. He had every right to find what you couldn’t give him in someone else.

The ache in your chest refuses to fade. The image of Jake smiling at Dr. Choi replays in your mind like a loop, and the jealousy you felt transforms into a deeper, more introspective turmoil. You sit in your apartment, the stillness of the room amplifying the thoughts racing through your head.

You replay the conversations and moments you shared with Jake, recalling the comfort and joy he brought into your life. The connection you had felt real and profound, and now that it’s gone, the void seems more pronounced than you expected. The professional distance you’ve maintained does little to mitigate the lingering emotional impact, and the space between you feels even more significant.

The next day, you find yourself in the hospital, struggling to maintain the professional facade you’ve carefully constructed. Every interaction with Jake, though polite and necessary, feels strained and awkward. You avoid his gaze when you can, focusing solely on your patients and tasks, but the undercurrent of unresolved feelings remains.

During a particularly intense surgery, Jake is once again by your side, and the familiarity of working with him brings back a rush of memories. His presence, though professional, is comforting, and you find yourself drawn to him despite your earlier resolve. As you work together seamlessly, the shared glances and brief touches become almost impossible to ignore, reigniting a flicker of the intimacy you once had.

After the surgery, you’re in the on-call room, trying to catch your breath and clear your mind. Jake enters, a small smile playing on his lips, and for a moment, the professional barrier you’ve erected feels flimsy. He approaches you, his tone soft but playful.

“Everything okay, Y/N? You seem a bit distracted today.”

You look up, meeting his gaze. His concern and warmth are genuine, and it only adds to the confusion you’re feeling. “Just a lot on my mind,” you admit, forcing a smile. “It’s nothing.”

Jake’s eyes linger on you, a hint of frustration and worry evident. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here. You don’t have to go through this alone.”

His words cut through the walls you’ve built, and for a moment, you allow yourself to consider what you’ve been missing. The idea of opening up to Jake, of sharing your fears and feelings, feels both daunting and inviting.

As the day goes on, you grapple with the decision to reach out to him. The barriers you’ve erected are crumbling, and you realize that avoiding Jake might not be the solution you hoped for. Instead, you begin to consider whether there’s a way to address your fears and find a balance between your demanding career and a meaningful relationship.

The thought of reaching out to Jake, of possibly reconciling your emotions with the connection you still feel, starts to take shape. It’s a daunting step, but one that feels increasingly necessary as you navigate the complexities of your feelings and the emptiness left by his absence.

The days following your realization feel like a mix of regret and self-reproach. You can’t ignore the growing sense of remorse over ending things with Jake. The emptiness left by his absence is more acute than you anticipated, and the thought of missing out on something meaningful drives you to act.

One evening, determined to make things right, you head to Jake’s apartment, hoping to talk things through. Your heart races as you reach his door, and you take a deep breath before knocking.

After a moment, the door opens, and your heart sinks when you see Dr. Choi Miyeon standing there. Her presence immediately sends a wave of jealousy and discomfort through you.

“Doctor Y/L/N?” Miyeon says, her tone a mix of surprise and curiosity.

You stand frozen for a moment, the sight of her at Jake’s door intensifying your doubts. “Doctor Choi,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady.

Miyeon’s expression shifts to one of mild confusion. “Did you need something?”

The thought of Jake being with Miyeon, combined with the realization that you’re intruding on what feels like an intimate moment, makes your decision for you. The hurt and uncertainty you’ve been feeling come to a head, and you realize you’re not ready to face him under these circumstances.

“I uh actually I’ll come at a better time”. Without another word, you turn and walk away from the door, your heart heavy with a mix of regret and frustration. You can hear Miyeon’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop. The realization that you’ve arrived at the wrong moment only deepens the sense of regret.

As you leave the building, the cool night air hits your face, offering a brief respite from the emotional storm you’re navigating. You’re left grappling with the decision to return, to try again, or to accept the possibility that you might have missed your chance. The weight of the encounter with Miyeon only adds to the complexity of your feelings, leaving you to ponder your next steps in the solitude of the evening.

The following days are a haze of frustration and introspection. Seeing Miyeon at Jake's apartment made you feel even more disconnected from him. At work, maintaining your professional facade becomes more difficult as your emotions threaten to overwhelm you.

One morning, you’re at your locker, preparing for your shift, when Olivia walks in, her usual cheerful demeanor tempered by concern. “Hey, Y/N, you okay? You seem a bit off lately.”

You force a smile, trying to mask your turmoil. “Just a lot on my mind, Olivia. Thanks for asking.”

She nods sympathetically. “If you ever need to talk, I’m here. We all have rough patches.”

You thank her and head to the OR, trying to push your thoughts aside. But every encounter with Jake is a reminder of what you’ve lost. You see him in the corridors, in meetings, and every interaction is laced with a painful awareness of the distance between you.

One afternoon, you’re in the middle of reviewing patient files when Jake approaches you. His expression is neutral, but there’s an underlying tension in his eyes. “Y/N, can we talk?”

You nod, setting your files aside. “Sure, what’s up?”

He leads you to a quieter corner of the hospital. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the other night. I saw you at my apartment, and then you just… left. What happened?”

You take a deep breath, the memory of that evening still fresh and painful. “I came to talk to you, to explain that I made a mistake in ending things. But when I saw Miyeon, I realized I couldn’t do it.”

Jake’s expression softens, a mix of understanding and frustration in his eyes. “Miyeon and I were just going over some research. There’s nothing between us, Y/N. But I get why you’d feel that way.”

The weight of your regret feels heavier now, knowing you misinterpreted the situation. “I’m sorry, Jake. I’ve been struggling with everything, and seeing you with her just… hurt. I felt like I’d already lost you.”

He steps closer, his voice gentle but firm. “You haven’t lost me, Y/N. I care about you. But we need to figure out what we’re doing here. This back and forth isn’t good for either of us.”

You nod, feeling the weight of your emotions. “I know. I’ve been scared, Jake. Scared that our jobs would make it impossible to have a real relationship. But I realize now that pushing you away was a mistake.”

Jake’s gaze softens, and he reaches out to gently take your hand. “We can make this work if we both want it, Y/N. But we have to be honest with each other, and we have to be willing to try.”

You squeeze his hand, a sense of relief washing over you. “I do want to try, Jake. I want us to work.”

He smiles, a genuine warmth in his eyes. “Then let’s take it one step at a time. We’ll figure this out together.”

As you stand there, hand in hand, you feel a renewed sense of hope. The road ahead won’t be easy, but the thought of facing it with Jake by your side makes it seem possible. For the first time in weeks, you feel like you’re on the right path, ready to face whatever challenges come your way.

The days following your night with Jake are a blend of professional decorum and personal confusion. You both agreed to take things one step at a time, but it's hard to ignore the magnetic pull between you. At work, Jake is as focused and brilliant as ever, but there’s an added layer of warmth in his interactions with you, a silent acknowledgment of what you share.

One afternoon, you find yourself in the break room, sipping coffee and going over department paperwork . Jake walks in, his eyes lighting up when he sees you.

"Hey, Y/N," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying hint of playfulness. "How’s your day going?"

You look up, trying to suppress a smile. "Busy as usual. Just finished a tricky valve replacement."

Jake nods, moving closer. "I heard. You did a great job."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his praise. "Thanks, Jake. How about you? Any groundbreaking surgeries today?"

He chuckles, leaning against the counter. "Just the usual brain stuff. Nothing too exciting." He pauses, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "So, dinner tonight? My place?"

You glance around to make sure no one is within earshot. "Are you asking me out, Dr. Sim?"

Jake’s grin widens. "Maybe I am, Dr. Y/L/N. What do you say?"

You pretend to ponder, then nod. "Alright. Dinner sounds good."

The evening arrives, and Jake picks you up from your house. He’s dressed casually but still looks incredibly handsome. The drive to his place is filled with light conversation and laughter, easing any lingering tension.

Once inside his apartment, you feel a sense of familiarity and comfort. Jake leads you to the living room, where he’s set up a cozy dinner with candles and soft music playing in the background.

"This looks amazing," you say, genuinely touched by the effort he’s put in.

Jake shrugs modestly. "I wanted to do something special."

The dinner is delicious, and the conversation flows effortlessly. You talk about your families, past relationships, and the challenges of balancing demanding careers with personal lives. As the night progresses, you feel the barriers between you dissolving.

After dinner, you move to the couch, a glass of wine in hand. The atmosphere is relaxed, and there’s a growing sense of intimacy.

"Tell me more about your family," Jake says, his voice soft and curious.

You take a sip of wine, thinking about your parents and your brother. "Well, my parents are both retired now. My mom was a nurse, and my dad was a teacher. My older brother is a lawyer. We’re close, even if we don’t see each other often."

Jake listens intently, nodding. "Sounds like a solid family. Mine’s a bit scattered. Parents divorced when I was young, so I spent a lot of time between Australia and the States. I have a younger sister who’s an artist. She’s currently exploring Europe."

The conversation continues, each revelation bringing you closer. You talk about your past relationships, the heartbreaks and lessons learned. There’s a vulnerability in the exchange, a mutual understanding of the complexities of your lives.

As the night deepens, you find yourself leaning closer to Jake, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. He reaches out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face.

"Y/N," he says softly, his eyes locking onto yours. "I really care about you. I want this to work, despite the challenges."

You feel a rush of emotions, the sincerity in his words touching you deeply. "I care about you too, Jake. I want us to work."

He leans in, capturing your lips in a slow, tender kiss. The kiss deepens, your bodies pressing closer together. The desire that has been simmering between you ignites, and you find yourself losing track of time as you explore the depths of your connection.

You found yourself crossing the room to stand in front of him, heart pounding in your chest. You'd reached out, hesitantly, and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. And when he'd looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, you knew that you couldn't resist any longer.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that was both gentle and passionate. He'd responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And as you kissed, you felt a surge of desire coursing through your veins.

You pulled back, just enough to look into his eyes. "Jake," you whispered, voice husky with longing.

"Yeah, baby?" he'd replied, his voice low and rough.

And then you stripped, slowly and deliberately, letting him watch as you revealed her body to him. You’d seen the heat in his eyes as he'd taken in the sight of you, and you knew that you had him.

You moved closer, pressing your naked body against his clothed one. You reached down, unbuttoning his pants and freeing his hard cock, dropping to your knees, taking him into your mouth and sucking him deep.

He'd groaned, his hands tangling into your hair as you worked magic on him. “s-shit baby, taking me so good, that’s it” you sucked and licked and teased, driving him wild with pleasure. when you felt him on the brink, you pulled back, smiling up at him.

"Fuck me, Jake," you commanded, voice husky with desire.

He'd obeyed, lifting you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He laid you down on the bed, spreading your legs wide and burying his face between them. You cried out as he licked and sucked your clit, bringing you to the brink of orgasm.

And then he entered you, driving deep and hard. Your wrapped her legs around him, meeting him thrust for thrust as you made love. It had been passionate and intense, a connection that went beyond the physical and was different from the previous times you had indulged in each other’s bodies.

when you finally reached your peak, collapsing in a tangle of limbs, you knew that you made the right decision. You finally acted on your attraction, and in doing so, you found a deeper connection with Jake.

You both lie there, still engulfed in the bliss of this newfound feeling between the two of you. He can’t help what he says next, feeling as if keeping it in was impossible. “i love you Y/N”.

you snap your neck in his direction, maybe it’s the post orgasm haze but you search for reassurance anyways.

His big brown eyes confirming his words. “I love you too jake”.

The next morning, you wake up in Jake’s arms, the sunlight filtering through the curtains. He stirs beside you, his sleepy smile a welcome sight.

"Good morning," he murmurs, his voice rough with sleep.

"Good morning," you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

As you lie there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside seems distant and unimportant. In this moment, you feel a sense of peace and certainty. Whatever challenges lie ahead, you know you can face them together.

At the hospital, the dynamic between you and Jake shifts subtly but unmistakably. The stolen glances, the brief touches, the shared smiles—all are infused with a new depth of intimacy. Your colleagues notice, but no one comments, respecting the unspoken bond you share.

In the weeks that follow, the relationship deepens. You navigate the challenges of your demanding careers, finding solace and strength in each other. The on-call rooms become your private sanctuaries, the moments of stolen kisses and whispered confessions a lifeline in the chaos of the hospital.

One evening, after a particularly grueling shift, you find Jake waiting for you in the parking lot. His presence, as always, is a balm to your weary soul.

"Hey, pretty" he says, pulling you into a hug. "How was your day?"

"Tough," you admit, resting your head against his chest. "But it's better now."

He kisses the top of your head, his arms tightening around you. "Come on, let's go home."

As you drive back to his place, the city lights blurring into a comforting glow, you realize just how much Jake has come to mean to you. The fears and doubts that once plagued you have faded, replaced by a certainty that you can face anything as long as you're together.

Back at his apartment, you settle into a comfortable routine, cooking dinner together and sharing stories about your day. The conversation flows easily, punctuated by laughter and affectionate touches.

After dinner, you move to the couch, your bodies naturally gravitating towards each other. Jake pulls you into his lap, his hands resting on your hips as he looks into your eyes.

"Y/N," he says softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I know we've had our challenges, but I want you to know that I'm all in. I want to be with you, no matter what."

Your heart swells with love and gratitude. "I feel the same way, Jake. I want us to be together, through everything."

He smiles, his eyes shining with affection. "Good. Because I can't imagine my life without you."

You lean in, capturing his lips in a slow, tender kiss. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms.

As the night wears on, you find yourself reflecting on the journey you've been on together. From the initial tension and uncertainty to the deep, abiding love you now share, it's been a rollercoaster of emotions. But through it all, you've found something rare and precious: a connection that transcends the challenges of your demanding careers, a love that grows stronger with each passing day.

and as you fall asleep in Jake's arms, you know that whatever the future holds, you'll face it together, hand in hand.

taglist: @hyunjinheartbreakprince @jaehoonii @enhaslxt @sumzysworld @justalittle-hee @seunghancore @curiousgworge @blockbusterhee @ribbioniki @chocolate-scoups @ineedsomezzz @theonewithouttheuwus @rairaiblog @chansloverr @armycarat2612 @slutforjaeyun @lovingvoidgoatee @jjklvr9 @fertilizedtoesw @ikeuverse @yohanseyebrowmole @mysticalenchantress @hchoes @en-gine @jakesbbygirl @miszes @simpjay @soobieboobiedoobiedaboobie @vveebee

[matcha3mochi]

PROTOCOL Pairing: Doctor Zayne x Nurse Reader

author note: love and deepspace is my addiction guys LOL anyways enjoy!!

wc: 3,865

chapter 1 | chapter 2 | chapter 3

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Akso Hospital looms in the heart of Linkon like a monument of glass, metal, and unrelenting precision. Multi-tiered, climate-controlled, and fully integrated with city-wide telemetry systems, it's known across the cosmos for housing the most advanced medical AI and the most exacting surgeons in the Union.

Inside its Observation Deck on Level 4, the air hums with quiet purpose. Disinfectant and filtered oxygen mix in sterile harmony. The floors are polished to a mirrored sheen, the walls pulse faintly with embedded biometrics, and translucent holoscreens scroll real-time vitals, arterial scans, and surgical priority tags in muted color-coded displays.

You’ve been on the floor since 0500. First to check vitals. First to inventory meds. First to get snapped at.

Doctor Zayne Li is already here—of course he is. The man practically lives in the operating theatres. Standing behind the panoramic glass that overlooks Surgery Bay Delta, he looks like something carved out of discipline and frost. His pristine long coat hangs perfectly from squared shoulders, gloves tucked with methodical precision, silver-framed glasses reflecting faint readouts from the transparent interface hovering before him.

He’s the hospital’s prized cardiovascular surgeon. The Zayne Li—graduated top of his class from Astral Medica, youngest surgeon ever certified for off-planet cardiac reconstruction, published more than any other specialist in the central systems under 35. There's even a rumor he once performed a dual-heart transplant in an emergency gravity failure. Probably true.

He’s a legend. A genius.

And an ass.

He’s never once smiled at you. Never once said thank you. With other staff, he’s distant but civil. With you, he’s something else entirely: cold, strict, and unrelentingly sharp. If you breathe wrong, he notices. If you hesitate, he corrects. If you do everything by protocol?

He still finds something to critique.

"Vitals on Bed 12 were late," he said this morning without even turning his head. No greeting. Just judgment, clean and surgical.

"They weren’t late. I had to reset the cuff."

"You should anticipate equipment failures. That’s part of the job."

And that was it. No acknowledgment of the three critical patients you’d managed in that hour. No recognition. No room for explanation. He turned away before you could blink, his coat slicing behind him like punctuation.

You don’t like him.

You don’t disrespect him—because you're a professional, and because he's earned his reputation a hundred times over. But you don’t like how he talks to you like you’re a glitch in the system. Like you’re a deviation he hasn’t figured out how to reprogram.

You’ve worked under strict doctors before. But Zayne is different. He doesn’t push to challenge you. He pushes to see if you’ll break.

And the worst part?

You haven’t.

Which only seems to piss him off more.

You watch him now from the break table near the edge of the deck, your synth-coffee going tepid between your hands. He’s reviewing scans on a projection screen—high-res, rotating 3D models of a degenerating bio-synthetic valve. His eyes, a pale hazel-green, flick across the data with sharp focus. His arms are folded behind his back, posture perfect, expression unreadable.

He hasn’t noticed you.

Correction: he has, and he’s pointedly ignoring you.

Typical.

You take another sip of coffee, more bitter than before. You could head back to inventory. You could restock surgical trays. But you don’t.

Because part of you refuses to give him the satisfaction of leaving first.

So you stay.

And so does he.

Two professionals. Two adversaries. One cold war fought in clipped words, clinical tension, and overlapping silence.

And the day hasn’t even started yet.

The surgical light beams down like a second sun, flooding the operating theatre in harsh, clinical brightness. It washes the color out of everything—blood, skin, even breath—until all that remains is precision.

Doctor Zayne Li stands at the head of the table, gloved hands elevated and scrubbed raw, sleeves of his sterile gown clinging tight around his forearms. His eyes flick up to the vitals screen, then down to the patient’s exposed chest.

“Vitals?” he asks.

You answer without hesitation. “Steady. HR 82, BP 96/63, oxygen at 99%, no irregularities.”

His silence is your only cue to proceed.

You hand him the scalpel, handle first, exactly as protocol demands. He doesn’t look at you when he takes it—but his fingers graze yours, cold through double-layered gloves, and the contact still sends a tiny jolt up your arm. Annoying.

He makes the incision without fanfare, clean and deliberate, the kind of cut that only comes from years of obsessive mastery. The kind that still makes your gut tighten to watch.

You monitor the instruments, anticipating without crowding him. You’ve been assisting in his surgeries for weeks now. You’ve learned when he prefers the microclamp versus the stabilizer. You’ve memorized the sequence of his suturing pattern. You know when to speak and when not to. Still, it’s never enough.

“Retractor,” he says flatly.

You’re already reaching.

“Not that one.”

Your hand freezes mid-motion.

His tone is ice. “Cardiac thoracic, not abdominal. Are you even awake?”

A hot flush rises behind your ears. He doesn’t yell—Zayne never yells—but his disappointment cuts deeper than a scalpel. You grit your teeth and correct the tray.

“Cardiac thoracic,” you repeat. “Understood.”

No response. Just the soft click of metal as he inserts the retractor into the sternotomy.

The rest of the operation is silence and beeping. You suction blood before he asks. He cauterizes without hesitation. The damaged aortic valve is removed, replaced with a synthetic graft designed for lunar-pressure tolerance. It’s delicate work—millimeter adjustments, microscopic thread. One wrong move could tear the tissue.

Zayne doesn’t shake. Doesn’t blink. He’s terrifyingly still, even as alarms spike and the patient's BP dips for three agonizing seconds.

“Clamp. Now,” he says.

You pass it instantly. He seals the nicked vessel, stabilizes the pressure, and the monitor quiets.

You exhale—but not too loudly. Not until the final suture is tied, the chest closed, and the drape removed. Then, and only then, does he speak again.

“Clean,” he says, already walking away. “Prepare a report for Post-Op within the hour.”

You stare at his retreating back, fists clenched at your sides. No thank you. No good work. Just a cold command and disappearing footsteps.

The Diagnostic Lab is silent, save for the low hum of scanners and the occasional pulse of a vitascan completing a loop. The walls are steel-paneled with matte black inlays, lit only by the soft glow of holographic interfaces. Ambient light drifts in from a side wall of glass, showing the icy curve of Europa in the distance, half-shadowed in space.

You stand alone at a curved diagnostics console, sleeves rolled just above your elbows, eyes locked on the 3D hologram spinning in front of you. The synthetic heart pulses slowly, arteries reconstructed with precise synthetic grafts. The valve—a platinum-carbon composite—is functioning perfectly. You check the scan tags, patient ID, op codes, and log the post-op outcome.

Everything’s clean. Correct.

Or so you thought.

You barely register the soft hiss of the door opening behind you until the room shifts. Not in volume, but in pressure—like gravity suddenly increased by one degree.

You don’t turn. You don’t have to.

Zayne.

“Line 12 in the file log,” he says, voice low, composed, and close. Too close.

You blink at the screen. “What about it?”

“You mislabeled the scan entry. That’s a formatting violation.”

Your heart rate ticks up. You straighten your spine.

“No,” you reply calmly, “I used trauma tags from pre-op logs. They cross-reference with the emergency surgical queue.”

His footsteps approach—measured, deliberate—and stop directly behind you. You sense the heat of his body before anything else. He’s not touching you, but he’s close enough that you feel him standing there, like a charged wire humming at your back.

“You adapted a tag system that’s not recognized by this wing’s software. If these were pushed to central review, they’d get flagged. Wasting time.” His tone is even. Too even.

Your hands rest on the edge of the console. You force your shoulders not to tense.

“I made a call based on the context. It was logical.”

“You’re not here to improvise logic,” he replies, stepping even closer.

You feel the air change as he raises his arm, reaching past you—his coat sleeve brushing the side of your bicep lightly, the barest whisper of contact. His hand moves with surgical confidence as he taps the air beside your own, opening the tag metadata on the scan you just logged. His fingers are long, gloved, deliberate in motion.

“This,” he says, highlighting a code block, “should have been labeled with an ICU procedural tag, not pre-op trauma shorthand.”

You turn your head slightly, and there he is. Close. Towering. His jaw is tight, clean-shaven except for the faintest trace of stubble catching the edge of the light. There’s a tiredness around his eyes—subtle, buried deep—but he doesn’t blink. Doesn’t waver. He’s so still it’s unnerving.

He doesn’t seem to notice—or care—how near he is.

You, however, are all too aware.

Your voice tightens. “Is there a reason you couldn’t point this out without standing over me like I’m in your way?”

Zayne doesn’t flinch. “If I stood ten feet back, you’d still argue with me.”

You bristle. “Because I know what I’m doing.”

“And yet,” he replies coolly, “I’m the one correcting your data.”

That sting digs deep. You pull in a breath, clenching your fists subtly against the side of the console. You want to yell. But you won’t. Because he wants control, and you won’t give him that too.

He lowers his hand slowly, retracting from the display, and finally—finally—steps back. Just enough to let you breathe again.

But the tension? It lingers like static.

“I’ll correct the tag,” you say flatly.

Zayne nods once, then turns to go.

But at the doorway, he stops.

Without looking back, he adds, “You're capable. That’s why I expect better.”

Then he walks out.

Leaving you in the cold hum of the diagnostic lab, your pulse racing, your thoughts a snarl of frustration and something else—unsettling and electric—curling low in your gut.

You don’t know what that something is.

But you’re starting to suspect it won’t go away quietly.

You sit three seats from the end of the long chrome conference table, back straight, shoulders tight, fingers wrapped just a little too hard around your datapad.

The Surgical Briefing Room is too bright. It always is. Cold light from the ceiling plates bounces off polished surfaces, glass walls, and the brushed steel of the central console. A hologram hovers in the center of the room, slowly spinning: the reconstructed heart from this morning’s procedure, arteries lit in pulsing red and cyan.

You can feel sweat prickling at the nape of your neck under your uniform collar. Your scrubs are crisp, your hair pinned back precisely, your notes immaculate—but none of that matters when Dr. Myles Hanron speaks.

You’ve only spoken to him a few times. He’s been at Bell for twenty years. Stern. Respected. Impossible to argue with. Today, he's reviewing the recent cardiovascular procedure—the one you assisted under Zayne’s lead.

And something is off. He’s frowning at the scan display.

Then he looks at you.

“Explain this inconsistency in the anticoagulation log.”

You glance up, already feeling the slow roll of nausea in your stomach.

Your voice comes out measured, but your throat is dry. “I followed the automated-calibrated dosage curve based on intra-op vitals and confirmed with the automated log.”

Hanron raises a brow, his tablet casting a soft reflection on the lenses of his glasses. “Then you followed it wrong.”

The words hit like a slap across your face.

You feel the blood drain from your cheeks. Something sharp twists in your stomach.

“I—” you begin, mouth parting. You shift slightly in your seat, fingers tightening on the datapad in your lap, legs crossed too stiffly. Your body wants to shrink, but you force yourself not to move.

“Don’t interrupt,” Hanron snaps, before you can finish.

A few heads turn in your direction. One of the interns frowns, glancing at you with wide eyes. You stare straight ahead, trying to keep your breathing even, your spine straight, your jaw from visibly clenching.

Hanron paces two steps in front of the display. “You logged a 0.3 ml deviation on a patient with a known history of arrhythmic episodes. Are you unfamiliar with the case history? Or did you just not check?”

“I did check,” you say, quieter, trying to keep your tone professional. Your hands are starting to sweat. “The scan flagged it within range. I wasn’t improvising—”

“Then how did this discrepancy occur?” he presses. “Or are you suggesting the system is at fault?”

You flinch, slightly. You open your mouth to say something—to explain the terminal sync issue you noticed during the last vitals run—but your voice catches.

You’re a nurse.

You’re new.

So you sit there, every instinct in your body screaming to speak, to defend yourself—but you swallow it down.

You stare down at your datapad, the screen now blurred from the way your vision’s tunneling. You clench your teeth until your jaw aches.

You can’t speak up. Not without making it worse.

“Let this be a reminder,” Hanron says, turning his back to you as he scrolls through another projection, “that there is no room for guesswork in surgical prep. Especially not from auxiliary staff who feel the need to act above their training.”

Auxiliary.

The word burns.

You feel heat crawl up your chest. Your hands are shaking slightly. You grip your knees under the table to hide it.

And then—

“I signed off on that dosage.”

Zayne’s voice cuts clean through the air like a cold wire.

You turn your head sharply toward the door. He’s standing in the entrance, posture military-straight, coat half-unbuttoned, gloves tucked into his belt. His presence shifts the atmosphere instantly.

His black hair is perfectly combed back, not a strand out of place, glinting faintly under the sterile overhead lights. His silver-framed glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose, catching a brief reflection from the room’s data panels, but not enough to hide the expression in his eyes.

Hazel-green. Pale and piercing

He’s not looking at you. His gaze is fixed past you, locked on Hanron with unflinching intensity—like the man has just committed a fundamental breach of logic.

There’s not a wrinkle in his coat. Not a single misaligned button or loose thread. Even the gloves at his belt look placed, not shoved there. Zayne is, as always, polished. Meticulous. Icy.

But today—his expression is different.

His jaw is set tighter than usual. The faint crease between his brows is deeper. He looks like a man on the verge of unsheathing a scalpel, not for surgery—but for precision retaliation.

And when he speaks, his voice is calm. Controlled.

His face is unreadable. Voice flat.

“If there’s a problem with it, you can take it up with me.”

The silence in the room is instant. Tense. Airless.

Hanron turns slowly. “Doctor Zayne, this isn’t about—”

“It is,” Zayne replies, tone even sharper. “You’re implying a clinical error in my procedure. If you’re accusing her, then you’re accusing me. So let’s be clear.”

You can barely process it. Your heart is thudding, ears buzzing from the sudden shift in tone, from the weight of Zayne’s voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. You look at him — really look — and for once, he isn’t focused on numbers or reports.

He’s solely focused on Hanron. And he is furious — not loudly, but in the way his voice doesn’t rise, his jaw locks, and his words slice like ice.

Just furious—in that cold, calculated way of his.

“She followed my instruction under direct supervision,” he says, voice steady. “The variance was intentional. Based on patient history and real-time rhythm response.”

He pauses just long enough to let the words land.

“It was correct.”

Hanron doesn’t respond right away.

His lips press into a thin line, face unreadable, and he shifts back a step—visibly checking himself in the silence Zayne has carved into the room like a scalpel.

“We’ll review the surgical logs,” Hanron mutters at last, voice clipped, his authority retreating behind procedure.

Zayne nods once. “Please do.”

Then, without fanfare, without another word, he steps forward—not toward the exit, but toward the table.

You track him with your eyes, unable to help it.

The low hum of the room resumes, like the air had been holding its breath. No one speaks. A few nurses drop their eyes back to their datapads. Pages turn. Screens flicker.

But you’re frozen in place, shoulders still tight, hands clenched in your lap to keep them from visibly shaking.

Zayne rounds the end of the table, his boots clicking softly against the metal flooring. His long coat sways with his movements, falling neatly behind him as he pulls out the seat directly across from you.

And sits.

Not at the head of the table. Not in some corner seat to observe.

Directly across from you.

He adjusts his glasses with two fingers, expression cool again, almost as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just dress down a senior doctor in front of the entire room on your behalf.

He doesn’t look at you.

He opens the file on his datapad, stylus poised, reviewing the surgical results like this is any other debrief.

But you’re still staring.

You study the slight tension in his shoulders, the stillness in his hands, the way his eyes don’t drift—not toward Hanron, not toward you—locked entirely on the data as if that can contain whatever just happened.

You should say something.

Thank you.

But the words get stuck in your throat.

Your pulse is still unsteady, confusion mixing with the low thrum of heat behind your ribs. He didn’t need to defend you. He never steps into conflict like that, especially not for others—especially not for you.

You glance away first, eyes back on your screen, unable to ignore the twist in your gut.

The room empties, but you stay.

The echo of voices fades out with the hiss of the sliding doors. Just a few minutes ago, the surgical debrief room was bright with tension—every overhead light too sharp, the air too thin, the hum of holopanels and datapads a constant static in your head.

Now, it’s quiet. Still.

You sit for a moment longer, fingers resting on your lap, knuckles tight, back straight even though your entire body wants to collapse inward. You’re still warm from the flush of embarrassment, your pulse still flickering behind your ears.

Dr. Hanron’s words sting less now, dulled by the cool aftershock of what Zayne did.

He defended you.

You hadn’t expected it. Not from him.

You replay it in your head—his voice cutting in, his posture like stone, his eyes locked on Hanron like a scalpel ready to slice. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t even look at you.

But you felt it.

You felt the impact of what it meant.

And now, as you sit in the empty conference room—white walls, chrome-edged table, sterile quiet—you’re left with one burning thought:

You have to say something.

You rise slowly, brushing your palms down your thighs to wipe off the sweat that lingers there. You hesitate at the doorway. Your reflection stares back at you in the glass panel—eyes still a little wide, jaw tight, posture just a bit too stiff.

He didn’t have to defend you, but he did.

And that matters.

You step into the hallway.

It’s long and narrow, glowing with soft white overhead lights and lined with clear glass panels that reflect fragments of your movement as you walk. The hum of the ventilation system buzzes low and steady—comforting in its monotony. The air smells of antiseptic and the faint trace of ozone from high-oxygen surgical wards.

You spot him ahead, already halfway down the corridor, walking with purpose—long coat swaying slightly with each step, back straight, shoulders squared. Always composed. Always fast.

You hesitate. Your boots slow down and your throat tightens.

You want to turn back, to let it go, to pretend it was just professional courtesy. Nothing more. Nothing personal.

But you can’t.

Not this time.

You quicken your pace.

“Doctor Zayne!”

The name catches in the air, too loud in the quiet hallway. You flinch, just a little—but he stops.

You break into a small jog to catch up, boots tapping sharply against the tile. Your breath catches as you reach him.

Zayne turns toward you, expression unreadable, brows slightly furrowed in that ever-present, analytical way of his. The glow of the ceiling lights reflects off his silver-framed glasses, casting sharp highlights along the edges of his jaw.

He doesn’t say anything. Just waits.

You stop a foot away, heart thudding. You don’t know what you expected—maybe something colder. Maybe for him to ignore you entirely.

You swallow hard, eyes flicking up to meet his.

“I just…” Your voice is quieter now. Careful. “I wanted to say thank you.”

He doesn’t respond immediately. His gaze is steady. Measured.

“I don’t tolerate incompetence,” he says calmly. “That includes false accusations.”

You blink, taken off guard by the directness. It’s not warm. Not even particularly kind. But coming from him, it’s almost intimate.

Still, you can’t help yourself. “That wasn’t really about incompetence.”

“No,” he admits. “It wasn’t.”

The hallway feels smaller now, quieter. He’s watching you in full. Not scanning you like a chart, not calculating — watching. Still. Focused.

You nod slowly, grounding yourself in the moment. “Still. I needed to say it. Thank you.”

You’re suddenly aware of everything—of the warmth in your cheeks, of the way your hands twist at your sides, of how tall he stands compared to you, even when he’s not trying to intimidate.

And he isn’t. Not now.

If anything, he looks… still.

Not soft. Never that. But something quieter. Less armored.

“You handled yourself better than most would have,” he says after a moment. “Even if I hadn’t said anything, you didn’t lose control.”

“I didn’t feel in control,” you admit, a breath of nervous laughter escaping. “I was two seconds from either crying or throwing my datapad.”

That earns you something surprising—just the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Almost a smile. But not quite.

“Neither would’ve been productive,” he says.

You roll your eyes slightly. “Thanks, Doctor Efficiency.”

His glasses catch the light again, but his expression doesn’t change.

You glance past him, down the corridor. “I should get back to my rotation.”

He nods once. “I’ll see you in the lab.”

You pause.

Then—because you don’t know what else to do—you offer a small, genuine smile.

“I’ll be there.”

As you turn to leave, you feel his eyes on your back.

[kxsagi]

Can you please make a hc of blue lock 11 with a reader who is an exchange student and their family is basically a host for the 3 years of readers school? Omg I wonder how'd they'll deal with that🫣🫣

“𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨”

a/n: some might be out of character/not canon and i apologize 😓

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, otoya eita, yukimiya kenyu, karasu tabito, bachira meguru, chigiri hyoma, niko ikki, gagamaru gin, mikage reo, hiori yo, barou shoei

isagi yoichi

the moment you arrive, isagi’s mom greets you like you’re her long-lost child. full-on apron, cookies, and “sweetheart, are you hungry?” 

isagi tries to play it cool but nearly knocks over a vase when you smile and say his name with your accent. 

you quickly become the golden child of the household. his parents adore you. they’re always like “why can’t you be more like her?” 

he’s so stressed. 

you help him study for school and he helps you with japanese, except half the time you catch him staring at your mouth when you pronounce things wrong. 

one night you’re wearing pajama shorts and brushing your teeth, and he walks past the bathroom, sees your legs, and promptly runs into the wall. 

tries to hide his feelings until his mom says, “you know, you’d make a cute couple,” and he short-circuits on the spot. 

his little cousin saw you two giggling and drew a picture labeled “isagi’s wife.” he’s still recovering. 

itoshi rin

rin’s family? normal. rin? not emotionally equipped for this. 

when you show up, he avoids eye contact and just mutters “room’s down the hall.” 

his older brother sae walks by, raises a brow, and just goes “... good luck.” 

rin has a system. a routine. a silent household. then you walk in with your foreign snacks and your cheery little “good morning!” and it’s all downhill. 

you catch him watching you dance around while making eggs. he denies it to this day. 

he keeps buying your favorite snacks “just because they were on sale,” but they never are. 

his mom loves you. invites you to help cook. rin accidentally says “thank you” to you instead of her and chokes on his rice. 

one day you fall asleep on the couch with your head on his shoulder. he doesn’t move for three hours. not even to use the bathroom. 

nagi seishiro

you move in and within the first hour he’s like “can i nap in your room?” 

his mom is an absolute saint. she keeps asking if you’re comfortable and if nagi is being too lazy (he is). 

nagi gets attached too fast. follows you around the house like a sleepy cat. 

you teach him slang from your country and he starts using it in the most inappropriate situations. 

like “yo that’s fire” about a math test. 

he accidentally sees you in a face mask one night and thinks you’re a ghost. goes into cardiac arrest. wakes up his mom. 

he gets a little jealous when you get friendly with some neighborhood boys and mumbles “don’t like that” under his breath. 

tries to impress you by scoring goals at the park. ends up tripping on the ball and says it’s your fault for watching him. 

otoya eita

the moment you show up, he leans on the doorframe with a smirk and says, “i didn’t know foreign girls were this cute.” 

his mom adores you. his sister adores you. his grandma’s ready to knit you a sweater. 

otoya? in hell. 

flirts with you constantly, but you’re unfazed, and it drives him nuts. 

you steal his hair ties and his hoodie once, and he lays face down on the floor for ten minutes. 

makes you breakfast once, shirtless, like it’s a romcom. burns the toast. still acts like it was seductive. 

one day you walk in wearing his oversized hoodie and he just deadass says “i’m gonna marry you.” 

accidentally says “babe” instead of your name. pretends it was a joke. it was not. 

yukimiya kenyu

this man’s family has taste. they have scented candles. fancy dinner. classical music at breakfast. 

yukimiya greets you like a prince: “welcome to our home. i hope you’ll be comfortable.” 

you trip on the rug and he catches you bridal-style. moment one. 

his mom invites you to spa nights. his dad debates art with you. he teaches you skincare routines with extreme intensity. 

once you walked into the kitchen in an old t-shirt and his jaw dropped like you were on a runway. 

you catch him posing in the mirror and he’s like “it’s for my mental clarity.” 

gets flustered when you compliment him. “you look good today.” visible lag in system. 

literally gets pouty when you don't notice his new cologne. he 100% wears it for you. 

karasu tabito

his mom welcomes you with open arms and a giant plate of food. 

his dad is chill. and karasu? chaotic big brother mode activated. 

teases you constantly: your accent, your height, your choice in cereal – nothing is safe. 

but threatens to fight a guy in your class when he hears someone called you “foreign girl” like it’s an insult. 

his mom starts calling you her “bonus daughter.” karasu tells everyone you're the "family's favorite now." 

has a secret soft spot for when you say his name gently. tries not to show it. 

once you fell asleep on his shoulder and he pretended to be annoyed but didn’t move for two hours. 

brags to everyone at school that you live with him. “yeah, she’s kinda obsessed with me.” he gets kicked for that. 

bachira meguru

bachira’s house is a vibe. weird posters, odd trinkets, and like, randomly hanging up abstract art that only he can explain. 

he greets you with a high-energy “LET'S GO! YOU’RE HERE! LET’S PARTY!” and immediately drags you to play soccer in the yard. 

his mom’s just as chill as he is. she hands you a plate of food like she’s been waiting for you to get hungry. 

bachira’s motto: “let’s make the weirdest memories!” 

at 2 AM, he convinces you to help him paint his nails. it’s a disaster. 

you catch him mimicking your accent to “improve his language skills,” and it’s honestly more terrifying than cute. 

he constantly sneaks in unnecessary touches. he’s like “nah, i was just trying to help you out” when he’s accidentally on your lap. 

tries to cook for you once. it’s a mess. he hands you a bowl of noodles he made, and the noodles are like… stuck together. “it’s art, okay?” 

one day you fall asleep on the couch with your head on his shoulder, and he lowkey takes a picture to show off to his friends. 

chigiri hyoma

chigiri’s family is super chill. dad’s got a fancy job, mom’s super organized, and his older sister follows you around, asking way too many questions. 

you’re immediately like “wow, this is classy” but then chigiri starts making weird noises to entertain his sister, and you’re like, okay, this is not what i expected. 

chigiri gets flustered every time you compliment him. “stop, i can’t concentrate,” he says as you casually mention he’s good at soccer. 

one time you’re just chilling in the living room, and he walks by in a t-shirt and sweatpants and he’s suddenly the most attractive person you’ve ever seen. 

he denies he’s into you, but when you’re both playing video games together, he gets a little too competitive and ends up sitting way too close to you on the couch. 

he lets you borrow his hoodie. you almost faint because it smells like him. tragic. 

at a family dinner, he tries to be the perfect son but you catch him sneaking a french fry from your plate. “hey, don’t judge me, i’m hungry.” 

lowkey panics when his mom calls you “her new daughter.” he’s like, “no no, she’s just staying for three years. not like that…” 

niko ikki

niko’s house is quiet. like… eerily quiet. the kind of quiet where you feel bad walking too loudly on the hardwood floors. 

his parents are polite but very hands-off. they give you space, and niko follows suit, but not out of rudeness. that’s just how he is. 

when you arrive, niko gives you a curt nod and simply says, “welcome.” that’s it. no wild greetings, no over-the-top gestures. and honestly? it’s kind of comforting. 

the guest room is perfectly tidy. stocked with extra pillows, a reading lamp, and a little sticky note on the desk that just says: “make yourself comfortable. – niko.” 

niko doesn’t hover, but you’ll catch him glancing over his manga when you walk into the room, like he’s curious but too shy to say anything. 

sometimes you’ll sit next to him while he plays handheld games and he won’t say a word, but he won’t leave either. 

the first time you compliment his gameplay or mention you like anime too, he literally stiffens. straightens back. pauses game. “… really?” 

he starts recommending titles to you through sticky notes, or leaving them conveniently open on the coffee table. 

eventually, he starts talking more, quietly, but warmly. about small things, like how to use the rice cooker, or what time the house gets loud because the neighbors vacuum daily. 

one night, you wake up to find him in the living room watching anime with headphones. he sees you and takes them off. “you can join me, if you want.” 

his affection isn’t loud, but he’ll wait for you after school, cook extra rice, and walk on the side of the sidewalk closest to traffic. he doesn’t say why. he just does. 

and his parents? after three months, they start treating you like you’re part of the family – quiet dinners, warm nods, and the occasional “we’re glad you’re here.” 

gagamaru gin

gagamaru’s family is straight-up chaotic. it’s loud, even though his parents are extremely chill, and the house is filled with weird art projects and half-finished DIY projects. 

you immediately hit it off with his mom, who teaches you all the “good gossip” about gagamaru’s childhood. 

gagamaru acts tough, but once you get to know him, he’s a big teddy bear. he tries to act like a “cool older brother,” but ends up giving you some really questionable advice. 

once you hear a weird noise at night and go investigate. you find gagamaru trying to “reorganize” the kitchen… at 2 AM. 

he insists on helping you with everything, but his idea of “help” is just him eating your food and giving you compliments. 

random gagamaru fact: he 100% still wears his childhood pajamas when he’s at home. 

you once get into a heated argument about whose snack is better, and he’s so passionate about it that he throws a bag of chips at the wall. 

his family starts asking you if you’re sure you don’t want to marry him. “he’s a good catch.” gagamaru chokes on his drink. 

honestly? probably the most fun house to live in because nothing is ever boring. 

mikage reo

reo’s family is fancy, and by fancy, i mean the type of fancy where everything looks perfectly polished, the plates are fine china, and everything is “just so.” 

his parents immediately recognize you as a special guest. they treat you like royalty, which is both flattering and terrifying. 

reo is a softy for you, even though he tries to play it off. “i’m just being polite,” he’ll say, but he’s literally making your favorite drink every morning. 

you walk into his room once, and it’s like… the room of a true rich kid – velvet sheets, a bookshelf full of books on money, and his perfectly organized clothes. 

reo’s mom gives you a quick rundown of their house rules, and one of them is that “reo never finishes his dinner.” reo gets very flustered when you finish his portion. 

he buys you a cute necklace and tries to play it off like it’s nothing. you thank him and now his entire family is like “oh, they’re totally dating now.” 

tries to style your hair once and it ends in an absolute disaster. both of you end up laughing, and his parents are watching the whole thing. 

hiori yo

you could tell the moment you entered hiori’s home: it was beautiful, polished… and a little too perfect. 

his parents greet you with smiles that don’t quite reach their eyes. “we expect greatness from those who live under this roof,” his father says. 

hiori’s standing behind them, quiet. unreadable. he nods at you gently, then helps you carry your bags inside. 

your room is pristine. everything feels like it belongs in a catalog. hiori knocks on your door before you can even unpack. “if you need anything… just let me know.” 

you slowly learn that hiori’s the kind of person who notices everything: you like warm tea in the morning? he’ll make some before you’re up. you study better with music? he shares his playlist. 

his parents are polite, but distant. hiori rarely speaks to them at meals, and when he does, it’s measured. practiced. but with you? he’s quieter, but real. 

you catch him reading on the balcony after practice, hair still wet, eyes far away. “you ever feel like your life’s not really yours?” he asks one evening. 

when you’re cooking together (because he’s really good at it, to your surprise), he opens up a little more. “i used to think being the best was all i had to offer,” he says, “but lately… i think there’s more.” 

he teaches you things without making you feel dumb. soccer, math, even how to tie a scarf properly. he’s got this wise, old-soul energy that makes you feel calm around him. 

over time, he starts laughing more. soft, rare laughs that make your heart flip. and he starts walking into your room without knocking, only when he’s sure you’re alone, though. 

his parents start commenting on how much happier he seems. his mother pulls you aside once and says, “thank you for being here. it’s… different now.” 

and hiori? he thanks you in his own way, through gestures, little notes left on your notebook, the way he waits up when you’re late, and the way he listens. really listens. 

“you make this house feel like a home,” he says one night. then looks away, ears pink. “... just thought you should know.” 

barou shoei

barou’s family is no-nonsense, and he’s the golden child, which means you are immediately in the spotlight. 

his mom does not play when it comes to manners. “you better treat her well, sho.” barou literally turns into a different person when his mom’s around. 

you catch him randomly flexing in the mirror and get awkwardly complimented about his “perfect physique.” 

one time, you definitely tease him about being a king, and he just glares, but then in a lowkey way starts acting like he’s your personal bodyguard. 

you think barou is cocky, but the second you show up wearing his team jersey (just to try it on), his entire mood changes. 

barou’s mom loves you. barou? not so much when she starts asking you about your future together. 

every time barou tries to “show off” in front of you, he ends up doing something embarrassing, like tripping over his own feet. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[beautifulplaceofyouth]

SPECIAL SERVICE

Synopsis : A surprise visit from your childhood best friend is always a nice surprise but when the usual hair routine turns to spicy confession, all the bets are off. Pairing : Yandere! Obsessed!Caleb x Reader (both red flags) Genre : Childhood friends to lovers!au Word count : 13k (Oneshot) Warnings : 18+ Fluff which turns into a smut, Caleb is Yandere and literally obsessed with you and you both have secret feelings for each other, the love confession is a little angsty and full of jealously, Caleb longs for you so much that it's hard to resist you, you fear of losing him the second time makes you admit your true feelings, reader a little crybaby at first, inexperienced reader!first time, pet names (pipsqueak a few times, princess, baby, good girl), praise kink, french kissing, Caleb uses gravity evol for an apple, female!receiving, male!receiving, big size cock, raw unprotected penetration(reader on the pill), creampie, sweet aftercare in the shower and just both of them being red flags. a/n : So...I've been obsessed with love and deepspace game lately and especially with Caleb. Sorry not sorry, I don't regret writing this.

The insistent rapping at my bathroom door nearly sent me into cardiac arrest. I’m pretty sure I levitated a good inch off the shower floor, clutching my soapy chest like I was auditioning for a dramatic opera.

I wrestled the tap to submission, silencing the watery cascade that threatened to drown out any potential sounds from the other side. My heart hammered against my ribs, performing a frantic drum solo. Was it a burglar? Xavier? Or worse...A wanderer?

I shook off the last thought immediately because then my hunter watch would have alerted me of any energy fluctuations.

Then, a voice, blessedly familiar, cut through the humid air, punctuated by another, slightly less aggressive, knock.

“Pipsqueak?”

A sigh, the kind that deflates a hot air balloon, escaped my lips. It was just Caleb. Only Caleb. As if "only Caleb" wasn't a phrase loaded with enough emotional baggage to sink the Titanic.

My childhood best friend, my confidante, my ride or die companion… and, of course, the unsuspecting subject of my deeply buried, highly inconvenient, and perpetually unrequited crush.

He, bless his oblivious heart, had no clue about the butterflies that staged a chaotic flash mob in my stomach every time he was near.

Lately, he’d become a major distraction. Calculus? Forget it. Literary analysis? Nope. All brainpower was currently dedicated to decoding Caleb’s every move, searching for hidden meanings where there were probably none.

“Caleb! Don’t scare me like that!” I yelled, trying to inject a healthy dose of irritation into my tone. “I’m showering!”

Even through the thick wooden door, I could hear the low rumble of his chuckle. It was a sound that usually sent a pleasant shiver down my spine, but right now, it was just adding to the general chaos in my nervous system.

“Sorry. Just wanted to know if you’re alive. I arrived like five minutes ago and no one answered the door.”

“You didn’t announce your arrival, so I didn’t know you were coming. It’s not my fault you had to wait,” I grumbled, knowing full well that I was being completely unreasonable. I probably should have left a note warning people I may be taking a shower.

And since I gave him my spare key, it wasn’t surprising to let him visit me unexpectedly.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Finish your shower and then come out. I’ll cook something in the meantime,” he said, and before I could shout my specific culinary desires (specifically, anything involving copious amounts of chocolate), his footsteps faded away in the direction of my kitchen. Dammit.

He always managed to preempt my sugary cravings.

Once I was fully de-grimed, a miniature steam engine puffing away, I vigorously toweled myself dry, wrapped myself in my comfiest, oversized loungewear (strategically chosen for maximum cuddle-ability), and ran a comb through my sopping hair.

No time for a hairdryer. I had a much better, and infinitely more attractive, alternative in mind.

Caleb.

He always dried my hair. It was a weird tradition we’d started years ago, involving gentle towel-drying, a scalp massage that bordered on the divine, and a level of comfortable intimacy that simultaneously filled me with bliss and existential dread.

And since he was here, in my apartment, radiating pure "boyfriend" vibes, I was going to exploit the situation to its fullest potential.

With a towel turban perched precariously on my head, I ventured into the kitchen, which now smelled like a symphony of deliciousness – herbs, spices, and something vaguely reminiscent of culinary magic.

A tall figure, all broad shoulders in a casual outfit of dark jeans, white T-shirt with some dark abstract art on it and a dark jacket on top, he was focused concentration, standing at the counter, expertly wielding a knife as he diced vegetables with the precision of a brain surgeon.

Hearing my hesitant footsteps, his head lifted, and that intense, almost intimidating, gaze softened the moment he saw me.

“Look at you. All cute and soft. Couldn’t you dry your hair before coming to see me? I know you missed me, but you’ll catch a cold that way,” he scolded gently, his lips twitching with amusement.

He always called me "cute and soft." Like I was some sort of fluffy bunny or a particularly appealing marshmallow.

I pouted, because pouting was apparently my default mode when dealing with Caleb, and padded closer to him. Once I was right behind him, practically glued to his back, I leaned over his shoulder, inhaling his woodsy scent, and peered at the cutting board. “What are you making for me?”

He chuckled, a deep, resonant sound that vibrated through me. He tossed the knife aside and pointed to the cutting board, revealing a colorful medley of carrots, celery, and some apple slices already neatly cut into bite-sized pieces. He then grabbed a towel, meticulously dried his hands, and turned around. Before I could even think about taking a step back, he closed the distance between us, wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close.

My heart decided to take up competitive speed racing. It was currently vying for first place in the “world’s fastest palpitations” category.

He hugged me tightly to his chest, burying his nose in my shoulder, almost like he was desperately trying to inhale my scent. It was a gesture that was simultaneously comforting and utterly, earth-shatteringly, devastatingly romantic.

“Caleb, what are you…” I started to ask, my voice a breathless whisper.

“I missed you. I haven’t seen you in a whole month! Let me have this,” he breathed, his words sending a wave of heat through me.

My heart gave up on the racing and decided to launch itself straight out of my chest. Slowly, tentatively, I hugged him back, my hands creeping up around his neck, my fingers tangling in the soft strands of his hair.

“You’re being silly. It’s not like I’m gone. You have your duties in Skyhaven as a colonel, so don’t blame me if you have no time for me,” I pouted again, because apparently, I was now a professional pouter.

His hold on me tightened, and he let out a deep sigh that tickled my ear. “I always have time for you, but wanderers up there are causing more trouble, killing innocent people. I had to deal with them before I come visit you. So… did you miss me too?”

There was a soft hesitation in his last words; a vulnerability that made my heart clench painfully.

“Of course, I did.” The words were out before I could even think about editing them for maximum subtlety.

“You finally said it. Don’t regret it now.” There was a playful warning in his tone.

I smiled. Never.

Once we were separated, he looked at my hair with a knowing glint in his eyes. “Do you need me to do your hair, like always?”

I sheepishly smiled, feeling my cheeks flush with warmth. “I wouldn’t mind.”

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending delightful shivers down my spine. “You really like to use me like a hairdresser,” he teased, grabbing my wrist and gently tugging me along.

He led me out of the kitchen and towards the living room.

After I sat on the couch, he patiently went to the bathroom to retrieve the hairdryer and then came back into the living room, wielding it like a weapon of mass seduction.

Sitting down beside me, he patted the spot between his outstretched legs, motioning towards the floor and looked up at me expectantly.

I raised an eyebrow. “There?”

“It’ll be easier that way. So don’t stall; sit,” he ordered, his voice laced with that authoritative "Colonel" tone that always made me weak in the knees. It was also the voice that could launch a thousand ships, or at the very least, convince me to perch uncomfortably on the floor.

Well, fine. If I had to sit between Caleb's legs, so be it. It was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

Grumbling, I grabbed a throw pillow for cushioning, plopping down with as much grace as a disgruntled cat. His thighs immediately radiated warmth against my sides as he leaned forward. Apparently, it was hair-drying time, and my wet locks were the enemy. He relieved me of the towel with startling efficiency.

“You’re ordering me around like I’m a fleet officer under your command,” I complained.

Honestly, the nerve of the man!

A sharp tug on my hair, delivered with playful force, snapped my head back. Upside down, I met his gaze, those mesmerizing turquoise eyes swirling with shades of purple. It was a look I couldn't quite decipher – a mix of amusement, exasperation, and something…else.

He leaned down, our breaths mingling like mischievous conspirators. “If you were a fleet officer,” he said, his voice a low rumble, “You couldn’t be this close to me.” A pause, and then, “I never offer to dry anyone’s hair like this, so give me some credit, won’t you?”

My breath hitched. I tried to formulate a witty retort, but my brain seemed to have taken a vacation. All coherent thought vanished when his hand slid down my throat, tilting my chin upward, his fingers gently grabbing my jaw.

“Did I make myself clear? You’re the only one who has this privilege,” he stated, his gaze intense.

My eyes fluttered closed as his free hand tangled in my hair, his fingertips making soothing circles on my scalp.

"Not fair," I whispered, leaning back until my head rested against his chest. The solid thump of his heartbeat was surprisingly comforting.

He kissed the crown of my head. "Nothing is fair when it comes to you," he murmured.

And just like that, the moment was over. He pulled away and, as if nothing had happened, began to comb my hair. The hot air from the dryer blasted strands in every direction, a chaotic ballet of frizz. I must have drifted off for a moment, because the next thing I knew, something was gently tapping my head.

I realized, with a jolt, that my cheek was resting against his thigh. Oh, the indignity!

“Did you fall asleep, princess?” His voice was soft, quiet, but laced with warmth and amusement. “I need to comb your hair, but I can’t do that if you use my leg as a pillow.”

He gently stroked my hair, and I resisted the urge to purr. Sleeping on Caleb's leg was infinitely better than being awake without Caleb's leg to sleep on.

“But it feels so nice,” I protested, my voice muffled against his jeans. My argument was compelling, I thought.

“I’m sure it does, but we’ll never get this done if you don’t lift your head,” he chuckled. It was a low, rumbling sound that vibrated right through me.

With a monumental effort, fueled by sheer stubbornness, I managed to lift my head. Only to have it drop back against his chest a microsecond later.

His fingers brushed my cheek. His voice, close to my face, was a delicious torture. “I’m happy to be your pillow, but you’ll fall asleep again soon. I’ll have to stop this five-star service then,” he warned.

My eyes snapped open. The thought of losing this…this experience was unbearable.

“No, please! Five more minutes, and then you’re free,” I pleaded, flashing him my most convincing puppy-dog eyes.

He shut his eyes and groaned. It was a sound of beautiful, glorious defeat. “You’re so lucky that I love you,” he admitted, his voice laced with exasperation and, dare I say, something more?

Before I could even process his words, he resumed combing my hair, adding in a scalp massage for good measure. The feeling was so gloriously, exquisitely good that a soft moan escaped my lips. I hadn't meant to make noise, but I was relaxed and it left my mouth before I could stop it.

Caleb stopped. I heard him exhale sharply, as if he were in pain, but he kept going anyway, his fingers working magic.

“What will your future boyfriend say if you keep asking me to do these things for you, huh? I’m sure he won’t be happy how much you love this,” he joked, but there was a definite edge to his voice. Interesting. Time for a little playful prodding, just to see how he’d react.

“That’s easy. You’ll be my boyfriend then,” I said casually, trying to sound completely nonchalant. Inside, however, my stomach was doing acrobatic flips of anxiety and, perhaps, a touch of hopeful anticipation.

His fingers stilled in my hair. His breath hitched for a fraction of a second, but he quickly composed himself. With his fingers, he tipped my head back to look him in the eyes.

“Don’t play games with me, princess. I take those jokes very seriously,” he warned. And then he did something I definitely wasn’t expecting, something that sent a jolt of electricity through my entire system.

He grazed his thumb across my lips, tracing their shape with excruciatingly slow precision. “If you start…” His voice was a husky whisper. “I’ll only bite back.”

My lips parted, and my tongue, traitorously, darted out to lick his thumb. I breathed heavily with each brush, each look, each gesture.

His eyes glinted, a dark fire igniting within them as he refocused on me. “You’re giving me strange ideas tonight, and I’m afraid you’ll regret it later.”

I shook my head. He was the one giving me strange ideas tonight, sending signals that were far from subtle. I’d never really thought he’d be like this, so forward, but somehow his gaze felt…familiar. He’d been looking at me with such intensity ever since he came back from the dead.

He’d been presumed dead, killed in explosion and then months later he was back. Like a stranger, he was different but still Caleb.

Those buried feelings had resurfaced from the moment we reunited, and I realized I could read him easier now. He wanted something more, and I could finally see it, openly, brazenly.

“What about you? Will you regret it?” I challenged, throwing down the gauntlet.

It was like flipping a switch.

One moment I was kneeling on the floor, the next I was sprawled on the couch, pinned beneath him. His face was feral, his eyes burning with an intensity that both thrilled and frightened me.

“What are you doing, pipsqueak? Are you trying to see me snap?” he growled, his voice tight with barely suppressed emotion.

I shuddered, a delicious shiver that ran all the way to my toes. “No. Just wanted to tell you the truth. I have no need for a boyfriend if I already have one,” I flashed a teasing smile. “You basically treat me like a princess all the time. We just didn’t put a label on it.”

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze searching mine. Then, he laughed.

An ominous feeling washed over me as those gorgeous lips curled into a dangerous smirk.

“A boyfriend, you say?” He laughed again as his eyes wandered down my body, igniting a wildfire within me. “Then, I guess, I have the privilege to do this, right?”

I frowned, suddenly uneasy. “What do you–”

My gasp cut off my words as he lifted my oversized nightshirt, his hot fingers skimming across my stomach, dangerously inching closer to my bare breast.

It was a strategic maneuver, designed to deprive me of oxygen and coherent thought. It was working. My brain was currently operating on a combination of adrenaline, panic, and a deep, undeniable longing that I was trying very hard to ignore.

"Caleb," I breathed, my voice barely audible. "What are you doing?"

His eyes met mine, and the intensity was back, stronger than ever. "Claiming what's mine, pipsqueak. And maybe proving a point or two along the way."

Before I could formulate a response, before I could decide whether I wanted to run screaming for the hills or surrender to the inevitable, he lowered his head, his lips brushing against my ear. "Consider this your official boyfriend initiation."

His other fist tightened around a lock of my hair, pulling gently as he inhaled deeply, like preparing for a battle. Then, Caleb claimed my mouth.

My blood pressure seemed to stall, alongside my breathing, as his lips met mine. All thought dissolved like smoke, replaced by the overwhelming sensation of his mouth parting mine, his tongue exploring with a hesitant boldness. The kiss was a chaotic blend of pain, longing, jealousy, and raw, barely-contained rage. It felt like he’d been hoarding these desires for me for a lifetime.

I was utterly immobilized, pinned beneath him, my wrists trapped above my head. All I could do was receive the onslaught of him. His taste, like crisp, slightly tart apples, flooded my senses, leaving me dizzy.

I'd always fantasized about this, but never truly believed it could happen. We were practically family, raised under the same roof. If Granny knew, rest her soul, she'd be utterly scandalized. Even I couldn't quite grasp the reality of this moment.

"Fuck," he breathed, finally breaking the kiss, dragging his mouth away after a long, heated moment.

He stared down at me, his eyes almost crazed with a possessiveness I’d desperately tried to ignore for months, but it was undeniably there. It was as if he'd been waiting his entire life for this. To be honest, I was feeling the same.

His hand moved to the curve of my jaw, his thumb tracing the outline of my swollen, red-kissed lips. "Do you regret it now?" His voice was gruff, almost rough.

I pulled a shaky breath and shook my head. "No."

He locked his gaze on mine, his eyes burning with an intensity that made my skin prickle. The longer he watched me, the faster I flushed, suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable under his scrutinizing attention.

When the silence stretched, an unfamiliar anger flared within me. I strained against his hold, trying to push him away. "What are you doing?" I struggled to regain control, using anger as a shield against the raw vulnerability I felt. Was he playing some kind of game? Was this a test?

He tilted his head, unfazed by my resistance, still firmly pinning me down. A slow, knowing smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "What am I doing? I'm trying to read you."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned down, his fingers tightening on my jaw, his breath hot against my lips. "Are you not resisting because you want me, or because you have no choice but to obey since I forced myself on you?"

I furrowed my eyebrows, confused and hurt. "You're not making sense. Why would I just obey you? Do you think I'm that easy to control?" I hissed, leaning forward, his lips ghosting against mine.

I felt him grin, his hold on my jaw tightening just slightly. "So…are you saying you like me?"

I swallowed, the question suddenly thick in the air. "And what if I do?"

His eyes darkened, his breath quickening. "Since when?"

I averted my eyes, a wave of shame washing over me. But he wouldn't allow me to retreat, tapping my cheek with his thumb, growling softly. "Eyes only on me."

I met his gaze, the honesty of the moment demanding it. "Well…always," I admitted, the word hanging in the air between us.

He clenched his jaw, mulling over my confession, his gaze drifting somewhere above my head as he struggled to compose himself. His breathing deepened, steadying. When he regained control, he locked his gaze on mine once more.

"Always? Even when you received love letters from other guys? When you pretended you wanted to go on dates with them too?" He spat, the words laced with jealousy and anger, but I didn't flinch.

"What about you? You've always been the popular one. What about all those gifts and love letters you always piled up in your room? There was plenty of proof that you had your share of secret admirers," I countered, my own anger rising to meet his.

His jaw ticked. "Yes, but it doesn't mean I dated any of them. I accepted those gifts because they were snacks, and you love snacks. That's why I didn't reject them. I gave them to you. And those love letters? I didn't even read them. I always threw them away, but the mail was always overflowing. Maybe I missed some," he reminded me. "And I promised you that I wouldn't get a girlfriend as long as I had you by my side. I didn't lie to you."

“I never seriously considered the other boys too, never wanted to go on dates with them, Caleb. I just…needed you to see me as a woman. Not just a kid who needs protection all the time,” I confessed.

My heart had always belonged to Caleb, and since he never revealed or even hinted at his feelings, I'd resorted to trying to make him jealous.

Caleb simply stared at me, then let out a short, disbelieving chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. "You succeeded then. I wanted to kill every single person who even looked at you that way."

"Caleb…"

"No, let me finish," he interrupted.

He shifted, his weight still pinning me, but his grip loosening slightly. "I was a coward, I admit it. Afraid of ruining what we had, afraid of rejection. Years we wasted, playing stupid games, both of us too stubborn to admit the truth." He looked down at me, his expression softening. "So, pipsqueak, let's get this straight. You're mine. Always have been, always will be. And I'm yours, whether you like it or not."

He paused, searching my eyes. "But... I shouldn't have forced that kiss on you. I let my jealousy and frustration get the better of me. I wanted you so badly that it clouded my judgment. I'm sorry." His apology was gruff, but sincere.

I swallowed, the fight draining out of me.

"It...it's okay," I managed, even though a part of me still felt a little shaken. "But no more forcing. And no more games."

He nodded, a flicker of a smile reaching his eyes. "Agreed. No more games." He leaned down, his forehead resting against mine. "So, where do we go from here?"

I took a shaky breath, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. Caleb, the boy I'd secretly loved forever, my closest friend, actually felt the same way. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

"I...I don't know," I admitted. "We've been living in the same house as practically family for years. This is going to be complicated."

"Complicated is an understatement," he chuckled softly. "But worth it, right?" He lifted his head, looking at me expectantly.

I met his gaze, and this time, the intensity didn't feel threatening. It felt...right. "Worth it," I confirmed, a small smile spreading across my own lips.

"Good." He moved, finally releasing my wrists and shifting his weight off me. He didn't stand, though, remaining close, kneeling beside me.

He reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear,” So, official boyfriend initiation round two?" he asked, his voice a low murmur. "This time, with consent?"

I laughed softly, the tension finally easing. "Maybe. But you're going to have to work for it."

He grinned, a genuine, mischievous smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Oh, I intend to." He leaned in closer, his lips hovering just above mine. "Consider this my official courting process, pipsqueak."

His kiss was a brand, searing into my soul, and this time, I met it head-on. The raw power emanating from him, coupled with the intoxicating scent that clung to his skin, spun me into a dizzying vortex of pure, unadulterated lust. His right arm, a relentless band of steel beneath a deceptive layer of flesh, snaked its way up my body, a possessive claim against my skin. The fabric of my shirt became an unbearable barrier, a tormenting tease in the face of such primal need. And then, he was there, his quest fulfilled. His hand, long and slender, yet possessing an undeniable strength, cupped my bare breast. His fingers kneaded, squeezed with a confident possessiveness that stole my breath, my gasp swallowed by his hungry mouth.

He broke away, and the sight that greeted me was like staring into the heart of a storm. His eyes, pools of liquid darkness, almost swallowed the amethyst depths within. A flush crawled across his cheekbones, a testament to the fire raging within him, mirroring the inferno consuming me. I struggled to draw a breath, my lungs starved for air, yet desperate to be filled with him.

His gaze raked over me, possessive and intense. He seemed drunk on the sight of me, pliant, willing, utterly and completely beneath his control. The yearning that burned in those dark eyes sent my heart into a frenzied rhythm, a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated against my skin. He leaned closer, his lips tracing a slow, deliberate path from my jawline to my temple, each touch a spark igniting a thousand desires. He inhaled deeply, stealing my scent as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “Are you mine?”

I could only nod, words failing me, lost in the overwhelming tide of sensation. His touch on my waist, beneath the hem of my shirt, sent shivers dancing across my skin. The cool, smooth surface of his mechanical arm, perfectly disguised as flesh, was a stark contrast to the heat he ignited within me.

“Say the words, princess,” he pleaded, his voice thick with a desperate longing that resonated deep within my soul. He buried his face in my hair, his breath warm against my ear, inhaling my scent as if trying to imprint me onto his very being.

“I’m yours, Caleb,” I whispered, the words a fragile offering, yet charged with a truth that grew stronger with each passing moment. Being with him had etched those words into my core.

He exhaled sharply, a sound that spoke of relief, of triumph, of a desperate need fulfilled. “God. She’s mine,” he breathed, the words a possessive mantra that sent a painful tug through my heart. It was as if he needed to hear it aloud, to confirm the reality of the moment, to assure himself that I, completely and irrevocably, belonged to him, and that this wasn't a figment of his desire.

His left arm, the one of flesh and blood, reached for me, his touch tentative at first, then growing bolder, more demanding. His fingers traced the delicate curve of my jaw, the sensitive skin of my neck, each caress a deliberate exploration, a slow, tantalizing torture.

I shivered, a delicious tremor that betrayed the depth of my longing. He knew me so well, knew exactly where to touch, how to tease, how to unravel me with a single glance. He held the keys to my desires, and he wielded them with a masterful precision.

The living room, usually a sanctuary of soft colors and comforting textures, was transformed into a battleground of desires, a space charged with unspoken longing. The air crackled with an energy that threatened to consume us both.

I arched against him, my fingers digging into his back, my nails tracing patterns on his clothed spine. I craved the feel of his skin against mine, the raw intensity of his touch, the unyielding heat of his body pressed against mine.

I wanted him, needed him, craved the feeling of his weight, the sensation of being crushed beneath his power, consumed by his presence. I wanted to lose myself in him, to surrender completely to the burning hunger that gnawed at my insides.

He obliged, pressing me deeper into the cushions, his body a hard, unyielding force against my softer curves. I gasped, the air catching in my throat as he shifted, settling his weight more fully against me.

“Do you want me, baby?” He rasped, his voice rough with barely contained desire. His fingers tightened on my hips, a possessive squeeze that sent a jolt of electricity through my veins.

“Yes,” I didn’t hesitate, the word torn from my lips, an honest declaration of the yearning consuming me.

“I’m glad you came back to me. Whether by accident or fate, you’re still here with me,” he murmured, his voice laced with a vulnerability that pierced my heart. He closed his eyes, his forehead pressed against mine, savoring our close proximity.

The words hit me deep, a wave of emotion washing over me. His longing was so raw, so palpable, that tears welled in my eyes. It felt like a wound, a deep, unhealed ache in his heart, and in that moment, I felt it too.

His love was a suffocating blanket, a weight I wasn't sure I could bear. Looking into his eyes, now filled with concern, the reflection of my own tears mirrored back at me, the truth of his feelings slammed into me with the force of a physical blow.

"Why… why are you crying?" he asked, his voice laced with a tenderness that only amplified the ache in my chest.

I couldn't articulate the whirlwind of emotions tearing me apart. The grief of a potential future stolen, the realization of a love I had been blind to, the sheer, overwhelming relief of him being here, alive, in my arms. All I could do was cling to him, burying my face in the crook of his neck, the sobs wracking my body. The thought of a world without him, a world where I never knew the depth of his feelings, was unbearable.

His arms tightened around me, a comforting, possessive hold. His hand found its way to my hair, stroking it in a soothing rhythm as we lay entwined on the couch.

"Princess…" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, almost a question. He seemed to be searching for the right words, lost in the labyrinth of his own feelings.

"I love you. I love you so much," I choked out, the words tumbling from my lips like a desperate plea. His breath hitched, a sharp intake of air that spoke volumes. I felt the tremor that ran through his body, a tangible manifestation of the shock and disbelief that gripped him. He burrowed his nose into my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to absorb my very essence.

"My love…" he breathed, the words barely audible, a whispered prayer.

I could feel the frantic beat of his heart against my own, a frantic drumbeat mirroring the turmoil within him. The words he had longed to hear, the affirmation he had dared not dream of, were finally spoken, hanging in the air between us like a fragile, precious thing. He must be feeling like he was in a dream he desperately didn’t want to wake up from.

She's finally with me. She loves me. She's mine.

The words echoed in his mind, a mantra of disbelief and desperate hope. Was this real? Or was it a cruel jest of fate, a fleeting illusion destined to shatter and leave him with nothing but the bitter taste of what could have been?

His mouth crashed against mine, a kiss born not of tenderness or affection, but of raw, unadulterated need. A searing, desperate kiss that stole my breath and left me reeling. It was a kiss that demanded, that consumed, that threatened to obliterate everything in its path. There was no gentleness, no pretense of courtly love. Only a primal hunger, a desperate yearning for connection that had been denied for far too long.

All the pain, the doubts, the anxieties, were momentarily eclipsed by this overwhelming need. This desperate longing for something real, something tangible, something to hold onto in the face of the darkness that had threatened to consume us.

Clothes became an unbearable constraint, a barrier to the intimacy we both craved. They were discarded with a frantic urgency, a desperate shedding of inhibitions and restraints. Buttons popped, zippers screeched, fabric tore, each sound a testament to the escalating frenzy that gripped us. The cool air kissed my skin, heightening my awareness, making every nerve ending sing with anticipation, anticipation for what was about to come.

The warmth of his skin against mine was intoxicating. His body, lean and muscular, was a masterpiece of raw power and sculpted grace. I traced a path from his face, down the strong column of his throat, across his defined collarbone, and over the hard planes of his chest. His abs were a testament to his discipline, a source of envy for men and a source of swooning pleasure for women.

His broad shoulders stretched like mountains, blocking my view of everything but him. He was my world, my focus, my everything in that moment. The only other thing that caught my eye was the silver chain I had gifted him, still around his neck, the dog tags rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing, a constant reminder of the man beneath the warrior.

I didn’t dare to look lower. Not yet. But I could feel his hardness pressing against my thigh, a silent promise of the pleasure to come. The anticipation was a delicious torment, a burning ache that demanded to be quenched.

Caleb's eyes burned into mine, a dark, hungry gaze that promised both ecstasy and oblivion. There was a possessiveness in his eyes, a fierce protectiveness that sent shivers down my spine.

"God," he whispered, his voice raw with emotion. "You're so fucking stunning. More so than I imagined while feeling the guilt over the years, thinking of you that way." He swallowed hard, his fingers brushing against my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me. I swallowed my moan of pleasure and he continues, "I thought… I would die never knowing this feeling."

I leaned in, kissing his lips softly, letting my breath mingle with his. "Yet, I'm here. In front of you. With you as you touch me like you want me to," I whispered against his mouth. His grip tightened, his fingers digging into my skin in a possessive claim.

He wanted to possess you, body and soul, to claim you as his own, to erase any trace of the world beyond your shared desire. He wanted to mark you, brand you, make you his in a way that transcended the physical. He wanted to lose himself in you, to forget the pain, the heartache, the years of longing. He only wanted to be in this moment, with you, forever. The darkness can engulf you both later.

“You’re my princess, aren’t you?”

“Yours,” I breathed, the single word a confession, a surrender. It was the truth, stark and undeniable. Every cell in my body vibrated with the knowledge that I belonged to him, Caleb. Completely and irrevocably. And in that moment, shrouded in shadows and consumed by a desire that felt both dangerous and divine, I didn't want to be anything else. The idea of belonging to someone had always seemed like a prison, a cage built of expectations and limitations. But with Caleb, it was different. It was a liberation, a feeling of being truly seen, truly known, and accepted – even celebrated – for the darkness that resided within me.

His teasing grin returned, that familiar curve of his lips that always sent a swarm of butterflies erupting in my stomach. It was a smile that held a universe of promises, of shared secrets and unspoken desires.

"You're awfully sweet right now. Be careful," he warned, his voice laced with amusement, a hint of something possessive lurking beneath the surface.

I flushed crimson, unable to meet his intense gaze. I knew he was teasing me, but the effect was undeniable. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rhythm echoing the anticipation that pulsed through my veins.

His eyes, dark and fathomless, raked over my body, lingering on every curve and hollow. It was a slow, deliberate appraisal that made my skin prickle with awareness. He knelt back on his haunches, muscles flexing beneath the dark fabric of his briefs. That's when I noticed it – the hard ridge straining against his underwear, a blatant display of his desire. His cock.

It was huge. Unapologetically, undeniably huge. The outline was unmistakable, a testament to the raw power he possessed, a power he wielded with such effortless control. My gaze snagged on it, drawn by an invisible force.

As if sensing where my attention lay, my lips parted, breath catching in my throat as Caleb tugged his briefs down, freeing his shaft from its confinement. It sprang forth, a dark, throbbing entity slapping against his abdomen, a pearl of pre-cum already glistening at the head, a tantalizing invitation.

The curve of the tip was perfect, sculpted like some forbidden fruit, promising a pleasure that transcended the ordinary. I imagined the feel of it, the weight of it, the way it would fill me, stretch me, consume me. I couldn’t seem to tear my gaze away, mesmerized by its potent allure.

"Like what you see?" he smirked, his voice a low, guttural rumble that vibrated through me. I flushed again, a wave of heat washing over me. I was caught, my desire laid bare for him to see, and I didn't know what to say. The deep chuckle that rumbled in his chest was my only response, a sound that sent shivers down my spine.

He wrapped his long fingers around his cock, giving it slow, deliberate strokes as I watched, completely enthralled. But then, his eyes shifted, a new glint in their depths, and his hand moved away from his cock.

Without waiting for an answer, his gaze drifted to the fruit bowl on the nearby coffee table. It was a still life of vibrant colors and enticing scents – oranges, bananas, a cluster of grapes. But my eyes were drawn to the apple, a single, perfect specimen, red like a ruby, nestled amongst the other fruits. It seemed to pulse with a life of its own, drawing me in with its irresistible allure.

Then, as if by magic, it happened. The apple lifted from the bowl, floating effortlessly through the air, guided by an unseen force. My breath caught in my throat, a gasp of disbelief escaping my lips. It was Caleb's power, the gravity evolution he controlled with such ease. Usually, it was a source of deadly fascination and awe, a display of his immense strength. But now, in this moment, it felt different. It felt like a tool of unbridled obsession, a way for him to exert his control over me in the most intimate and tantalizing way.

He manipulated the apple's trajectory with a subtle flick of his wrist, drawing it closer, closer, until it hovered just above my mouth. He met my gaze, his eyes now burning with an intensity that threatened to consume me.

"Open," he commanded, his voice a husky whisper that sent shivers dancing across my skin.

I obeyed, my lips parting slightly, anticipation building within me like a fire. The apple descended, the smooth skin brushing against my lips, the sweet scent filling my nostrils. It was a heady mix of innocence and temptation, a perfect representation of the man who controlled it. He guided it into my mouth, the cool, crisp flesh a stark contrast to the burning heat that coursed through my veins.

I bit down, the juice exploding on my tongue, the sweetness a momentary distraction from the inferno that raged within. The taste was almost cloying, but I couldn't pull away, couldn't break the connection he had forged between us.

“Good girl,” he murmured, the praise hitting me like a jolt of electricity. My core tightened, a wave of heat flooding my loins. The simple words, spoken in that low, possessive tone, were enough to shatter the last vestiges of my control.

He watched me, his eyes filled with a predatory gleam, a hunger that mirrored my own. His hand, warm and calloused, slid between my legs, fingers finding the wet heat that awaited him. I gasped at his first touch, the pleasure intense, almost unbearable. He started stroking me, teasing me, bringing me to the edge of madness with his relentless touch. The apple remained in my mouth, a tantalizing object of both pleasure and control, a constant reminder of his power over me.

His eyes flickered downward, watching as his fingers parted my folds like the petals of a flower. I was slick, so incredibly slick, my body betraying me with its desperate need. I started gushing around his fingers, a clear testament to the pleasure he was inflicting.

"Beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with lust. He looked back at me, seeing my pleasure-filled face, wanting to capture every expression, every flicker of emotion that crossed my features. The shyness that usually clung to me was gone, banished by the intensity of the moment. I was raw, exposed, completely vulnerable to his gaze. "So responsive. Who would have thought?" He grinned, a flash of white teeth in the dim light.

The words were playful, a teasing caress, but beneath the surface, I sensed a possessiveness that made my breath catch in my throat. This wasn't the Caleb I thought I knew, the charming, considerate man who had always spoiled me or taken care of me. This was something darker, something untamed, and a part of me, the part that craved the forbidden, was desperately curious.

"Last chance. Tell me to stop," he whispered, his voice laced with a dangerous edge. "Tell me you don't want this."

The words hung in the air, a challenge, a dare. But I couldn't. I was paralyzed, caught between fear and a desire so potent it threatened to consume me. I wanted to say no, to regain control, but the word died in my throat. His touch was doing things to my body which never happened to me before.

He seemed to take my silence as consent. While his warm fingers stroked my folds, his other hand moved lower, tracing the line of my ribs, the curve of my hips, igniting a firestorm in their wake. I gasped, arching into his touch, my body betraying my wavering resolve. He chuckled, a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down my spine.

"That's what I thought," he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the moment, allowing him to dictate the pace.

"Open your eyes, pipsqueak," he commanded, his voice a low growl. "I want to see you when I touch you."

The command sent a shiver racing down my spine, a delicious blend of fear and excitement. He wanted to witness my surrender, to see the effect he had on me, to claim me utterly and completely with his gaze. And I, a willing captive, obeyed. My eyelids fluttered open, my gaze locking with his intense amethyst eyes, pools of simmering passion that threatened to drown me in their depths.

He was a study in contrasts, a beautiful paradox. His features were sharp and angular, hinting at a dangerous edge, yet softened by the curve of his lips and the intensity of his gaze. His skin, tanned and taut, stretched over muscles honed to perfection.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. The apple which was in my mouth, fell out and it rolled down to the floor with a thud. The sudden climax hit me like a tidal wave, a surge of pure, unadulterated pleasure that ripped through my body, leaving me gasping and breathless. He had sunk two fingers inside me, stroking me deep and good, pushing me over the edge with his relentless expertise.

My body wasn’t in control anymore. It was fully his to manipulate, to worship, to break if he so desired. And in that moment, I knew I would let him. I would surrender everything, every last shred of resistance, to the man who held my heart captive in his dark and beautiful hands. I was his princess, his to command, his to possess, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

The aftermath left me weak and trembling, my body humming with residual energy. I laid there, spent, and Caleb leaned over me, his lips meeting mine in a soft, tender kiss that belied the intensity of what we had just shared.

"You look beautiful when you come," he murmured against my lips, his voice thick with emotion.

I could only blush and bite my lip as he watched, the heat rising in my cheeks. It was mortifying, to be so exposed, so vulnerable, yet at the same time, there was a thrilling liberation in casting off my inhibitions for him. He watched as my teeth sank into my plush bottom lip, the small act of self-inflicted pain arousing something primal within me.

His nostrils flared, and he knelt back, settling into a kneeling position between my legs, his briefs still pulled down, leaving only his magnificent erection exposed. The sight of him, so raw and uninhibited, sent another shiver of desire through me.

He was impatient, though. Not wanting distractions, my gasp is loud when he takes the fabric and tears it in two with his bare hands, his underwear now destroyed. The sound ripped through the air, a primal declaration of his need, and it echoed within me, setting my nerves on fire. I hadn't expected this level of intensity, this blatant disregard for anything but the moment.

"Caleb, what-" I started, my voice a breathless whisper but me cut me off.

"I need you," he rasped, the words rough and guttural, like a caged beast desperate for release but I don't let him touch me again.

I push against his bare chest, looking up at him as his eyes furrow. Confusion, and what might be hurt, flickered across his features, but I steeled myself, pushing past the guilt that threatened to overwhelm me. This was my moment, my chance to reciprocate, to explore the depths of our desire on my own terms.

"It's my time to touch you," I said, the words trembling slightly in the air.

His lips parted, his surprise for a second almost making me giggle. It was a small victory, a brief glimpse of the power I held over him. But I swallowed my nerves down when I watched him gulp, his fisted hands at his sides clenching.

He was so powerful, so in control, yet in this moment, I held the reins. The realization sent a thrill through me, a sense of empowerment I had never experienced before.

"Are you sure?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Yes," I replied, my voice firm, resolute.

His amethyst eyes darkened then, blazing with an intensity that both thrilled and intimidated me. His legs spread wider in that same kneeling position on his heels, making him even more fiercer, more imposing. 

"Then look," he commanded, his voice a low rumble.

I looked down, my gaze drawn to the magnificent display of his masculinity.

"See what you do to me?" He whispered, noticing my eyes wandering over every inch of his exposed skin. He reached down, gently guiding my attention towards his obvious arousal. "Only you can make me this hard." His voice was rough with desire. "You want to touch it?"

He knew the answer before I even spoke. He knew the hunger that gnawed within me, the desperate yearning to explore the contours of his body, to taste the forbidden fruit of his desire. But still, he asked, giving me the choice, acknowledging my agency.

“You should know that I have never…” I trailed off, my voice laced with uncertainty.

"I know," he said softly, gently brushing my hair away from my face. "You're innocent... and that makes me want you even more." His hand guided mine to gently touch him. "Just... explore, if you want. No pressure." His breath caught slightly at my tentative touch, a visible reaction to my hesitant caress.

The weight and heat of him in my hand was startling, unfamiliar, but undeniably intoxicating. I felt a surge of power, knowing that I, with a simple touch, could elicit such a strong reaction from this powerful, dominant man.

I sit up, emboldened by his invitation, and wrap my hand around him.

His head tilted back slightly as my hand made contact. A hesitant touch, almost shy, as my fingers curled around his length. He was thick, unbelievably so, dwarfing my small hand. My fingers barely managed to encircle him once. His violet eyes, usually alight with playful mischief, were now dark pools, fixed on my face. He watched every flicker of emotion, every subtle change in my expression, noting the widening of my eyes, the slight parting of my lips. He saw my surprise, my innocent curiosity, and something else… a budding desire mirrored his own.

He was a creature of raw power, a wild animal barely leashed. The purple of his eyes was clouded with a potent desire that both thrilled and intimidated me. His jaw was clenched tight, the muscles working with a barely suppressed intensity. His abs, usually hidden beneath tailored shirts or his uniform, rippled with each heavy breath he drew, a testament to his barely contained energy. He looked as though he wanted to devour me, to pull me onto his lap in a possessive claim, wrapping his large arms around me, never letting go. A low, guttural sound rumbled from his chest.

"More," he commanded, the single word laced with a desperate need that sent shivers down my spine.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. The air in the room seemed to thicken, charged with an electricity that crackled between us.

My hand moved, exploring the length of him with newfound confidence, my fingers tracing the rigid contours. His hips twitched forward instinctively, a silent plea for deeper contact. A slick pre-come, pearly and thick, leaked out, coating my hand in a warm, viscous film. He was already so close to the edge, the precipice of his control, my innocent touches pushing him closer to the brink. He reached down, his large hand engulfing mine, his fingers strong and sure as he guided me in slow, deliberate strokes.

"Just like that..." he breathed, the words a ragged sigh against the heavy air.

"Like that?" I echoed, my voice barely a whisper, laced with uncertainty and a growing fascination.

His abs clenched and unclenched rhythmically as I followed his lead, stroking him slowly, deliberately, feeling the heat and the tension that vibrated beneath my touch. His face was a mask of exquisite torment, contorted with a pleasure that seemed almost painful. His purple eyes rolled back slightly, revealing the whites, as though he were lost in a world of pure sensation.

He spread his legs wider, granting me better access, offering himself to my touch with a primal abandon. "Yes... just like that," he groaned, his voice thick with barely suppressed passion.

Somehow, I had never imagined this. Never envisioned him like this, so raw, so vulnerable, yet so overwhelmingly powerful. The sight of him, teetering on the edge of control, ignited a fire within me, a desire to push him further, to watch him surrender completely to the pleasure I was now wielding. The longer I stared at him in this moment, the more I wanted him to lose control. To shatter the carefully constructed facade of composure and reveal the wild, untamed beast that lurked beneath.

Caleb’s breathing grew heavier, ragged gasps that filled the suddenly silent room. With each stroke of my hand, his control seemed to slip further, his body arching in response to the escalating pleasure. He was utterly lost in the sensation, his eyes glazed over, his jaw tight, the only evidence of the iron will he usually possessed. Then, with a low, guttural growl that resonated deep within my soul, he suddenly seized my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong, halting my movements.

"Enough..." he rasped, his voice strained, his eyes burning into mine. "Enough, or I'm going to cum right here."

"Sorry…" The word tumbled out, a reflexive apology born of inexperience and a fear of overstepping.

"Baby, don't apologize," he chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble in his chest.

He released my wrist, his touch lingering for a moment before he let go completely. I hesitated for only a moment before resuming my ministrations, slowly pumping my hand over his engorged length. He watched my face with an intensity that made my heart pound, studying my innocent features, the slight parting of my lips, the small hand wrapped around his impressive length. His hips moved slightly forward, meeting my touch with a subtle urgency. He was teetering on the edge again, his self-control hanging by a thread.

"It's so big…" The words escaped my lips before I could stop them, a simple, honest observation that seemed to electrify the air between us.

His eyes darkened at my words, the violet transforming into a deep, almost black, purple. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a flash of white teeth. He loved how innocent and sweet I was, even when I was touching him like this, when I held his power in my hand.

He reached down, his large hand enveloping mine once more, his fingers interlacing with mine, trapping my hand against his throbbing flesh. He began to move my hand faster, his hips thrusting up to meet my touch with a desperate need. "And it's all yours," he murmured, the words a husky promise whispered against my ear.

"Mine?" The question was barely audible, a breathless gasp of surprise and burgeoning desire.

I licked my lips, suddenly parched, the taste of him lingering on my tongue. Before he could anticipate my intentions, before he could stop me, I sat up, knelt on all fours, and leaned down, my breath warm and moist against his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, I traced the head of his erection with the tip of my tongue.

Caleb let out a loud a surprised groan, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as my tongue made contact. He buried his hands in my hair, his fingers threading through the strands, holding me gently but firmly against him as I repeated the action, my innocent exploration sending shockwaves of pleasure through his entire body. "Fuck, baby..." he groaned, the words torn from his throat.

He moved then, his hips jerking forward, forcing his length deeper into my mouth as I licked and teased him with my tongue. He was so close to the edge, his control shattering with each passing second.

The innocent depravity of my touch, the sight of my small mouth wrapped around his engorged flesh, pushed him closer and closer to the precipice. He started to thrust gently, his hands tangled in my hair, guiding me, controlling the pace and depth of my ministrations. "Suck me, baby…" he commanded, the words a desperate plea and an undeniable command.

Caleb looked down at me, his amethyst eyes dark and intense, devouring me with his gaze as he watched me struggle to accommodate his size. The sight of my eyes watering, my body trembling, the slight gagging sound as I took him deeper, only fueled his desire, pushing him closer to the edge of oblivion. He wiped away the tears that streamed down my face with his thumbs, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the raw intensity of his movements.

"You're doing so well, princess…" he murmured, his voice a husky encouragement.

He groaned loudly, a sound that bordered on pain, as I tightened my lips around him, my tears spilling down my cheeks, a testament to my effort and his overwhelming size. He was so close, my mouth and the sight of my tears pushing him over the edge. With a final, guttural cry, he thrust forward, his body arching, and he came, his hot seed erupting in shuddering waves, spilling into my mouth.

"Swallow it," he commanded, his voice raw and desperate.

Without hesitation, I obeyed, my throat working as I swallowed every drop, accepting his essence, taking him fully into myself. He watched, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath, his body trembling in the aftermath of the intense release. He wiped away the remaining tears from my face, his touch gentle, almost reverent, his mind reeling from the experience. He lifted me up into his lap, cradling me against his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around me as though he never wanted to let me go.

"My sweet baby, you took it all…" he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

"W…was it good?" I whispered, my voice shaky, my body trembling in the aftermath of the intense encounter, my heart pounding in my chest as I waited for his response.

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated through my body. "Good? Princess, it was beyond good. It was…perfect." He tightened his grip on me, burying his face in my hair. "You're an amazing little thing, do you know that?"

His words were like a drug, soothing the raw edges of my fear, fueling the part of me that craved his attention. I wanted to believe him, to bask in the warmth of his praise, but a nagging doubt lingered in the back of my mind. Was it genuine, or was it just another manipulation, another way to keep me under his control?

He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. His eyes were dark pools, unreadable and intense. "I can't wait to have you, princess," he said, his voice a low growl. "I want to feel you wrapped around me, every inch of you."

A thrill of anticipation shot through me, mingled with a healthy dose of apprehension.

It mingled, however, with a healthy dose of apprehension, a stark reminder of the power he held over me, the potential for both exquisite pleasure and devastating pain. The reality of his size, his sheer physicality, crashed back into my consciousness.

"Can we even fit?" The question blurted out before I could censor it, a nervous, almost comical query that shattered the carefully constructed tension. "You're...big." The word hung in the air, a testament to the undeniable scale of him, a daunting prospect that simultaneously terrified and intrigued me.

A slow, predatory smile stretched across his face, a silent promise of the pleasure – and the challenge – that awaited. "Oh, baby," he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and a hint of something more primal. "We'll fit. I promise you, we'll make it fit." He shifted his weight, subtly pressing against me, a deliberate provocation that sent a renewed wave of heat surging through my veins.

He reached down, his fingers tracing the delicate curve of my hip, sending shivers dancing across my skin. "Don't underestimate my… ingenuity," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "I know how to make things… accommodate." The double entendre was unmistakable, a blatant and deliciously wicked tease that left me breathless.

He continued his tantalizing exploration, his fingers moving lower, tracing the line of my thigh with agonizing slowness. "We might have to get creative," he murmured, his voice a husky rasp. "A little bending, a little guiding… perhaps even a little persuasion." Each word was a deliberate stroke, painting a vivid picture in my mind, arousing a potent mixture of fear and undeniable excitement.

"And don't think for a moment that I haven't thought about every single angle, every possible position," he continued, his voice a hypnotic drawl. "I've imagined you beneath me, above me, beside me… twisted in ways you never thought possible." The images he conjured were both shocking and undeniably alluring, pushing the boundaries of my inhibitions, igniting a fire within me that threatened to consume me whole.

He pulled back slightly, his lilac eyes burning into mine. "Trust me, princess," he said, a dangerous glint in his gaze. "We'll find a way. We'll make it work. And it will be… unforgettable." He lowered his head, his lips hovering just above mine, a silent invitation to surrender to the intoxicating darkness he offered.

My breath hitched in my throat, my body trembling with anticipation. The fear was still there, a nagging undercurrent, but it was being drowned out by the overwhelming tide of desire. I knew, deep down, that giving in to him, allowing him to take control, was a dangerous game. But the allure was too strong, the temptation too irresistible. I wanted to experience the full extent of his power, to explore the depths of my own desires, to lose myself in the intoxicating darkness that he embodied.

With a shaky exhale, I closed the distance between us, my lips meeting his in a hesitant, tentative kiss. It was a silent agreement, a surrender to the inevitable.

He lowered me slowly back onto the plush velvet of the couch, his movements deliberate, each one a promise and a threat. He positioned himself over me, a dark silhouette against the dim light filtering through the curtains. His lips, usually so quick to form a smirk or a biting remark, were dry, almost cracked, and he worried them with his teeth as he watched me, his gaze intense and possessive. It was a gaze that stripped me bare, not just physically, but emotionally, leaving me vulnerable and exposed.

Lifting my right leg, he draped it over his broad shoulder, the angle both compromising and exhilarating. The stretch was uncomfortable, a sharp reminder of the boundary I was crossing, but the anticipation, the undeniable pull towards him, overshadowed the pain. He pushed himself closer, the heat radiating from his body branding me, and my eyes were drawn, almost against my will, to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. His cock, already rock-hard from the first time, pulsed with a life of its own, a stark contrast to the controlled, almost detached demeanor he usually presented.

Sweat beaded on his biceps, glistening in the subdued light. Rivulets traced paths down his sculpted abs. The silver chain he always wore, a constant reminder of my love for him, swayed slightly with each movement, catching the light like a fleeting spark of rebellion.

"Caleb, are you sure…" The question escaped my lips, a whisper of doubt despite the fire that raged within me. The sheer size of his cock, the undeniable reality of what was about to happen, sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. But he only chuckled, a low, dark sound that resonated deep within my chest, sending a tremor of both fear and excitement through me. It was a crazed sound, a sound that hinted at the darkness that lurked beneath his carefully constructed facade.

He gripped his length, his hand a possessive caress that made me gasp. Positioning the tip against my entrance, he leaned over me, his weight pressing me into the cushions. My leg strained against the unnatural angle, the muscles screaming in protest, but the pain was a distant hum compared to the roaring in my ears. He breathed against my lips, his breath hot and ragged, laced with a hint of desperation. "You will take it like a good girl, without objections, hm?"

His words were a command, a challenge, and a promise all rolled into one. They ignited a fire deep within me, a primal response that silenced my doubts and amplified my desire. I was already wet, slick and ready, his slicked, swollen head brushing against my folds like a sinful kiss.

"What about protection?" I managed to whisper, the question a last-ditch attempt to cling to some semblance of control.

He didn't hesitate, his answer immediate and unapologetic. "I don't have any with me. I didn't envision us being naked tonight," he mocked, his voice a dark, teasing whisper that sent shivers down my spine. "So our first time will be raw. So I can feel your virgin walls tighten around me." He punctuated his words with a kiss, a searing brand that sealed my fate. "It's too late to back out, you know?"

A whimper escaped my lips, a sound that betrayed the conflict raging within me. Fear warred with anticipation, doubt battled against desire. But deep down, I knew he was right. It was too late. I couldn't wait any longer to feel him inside me, to be filled with him, to experience the raw, unbridled connection that had been building between us for so long. I desperately needed him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" The words were a surrender, an invitation, a plea.

Without warning, he pushed the tip inside me, and I gasped, the unexpectedness of the sensation stealing my breath. He chuckled, a sound laced with triumph and a hint of something darker, something that made my heart pound in my chest.

"That's for being sassy, you little ungrateful brat. Will you be good for me?"

I nodded, my movements small and submissive. Our saliva dripped between our parted lips as he stroked his tongue between my words, tasting my surrender.

"Good girl," His praise was a weapon, a tool he wielded with precision, knowing exactly how to elicit the response he desired. The words made me whimper again, a sound that quickly morphed into a choked moan as he sank another inch, the painful stretch almost blinding me. It was a pain unlike any I had ever experienced, a tearing, burning sensation that threatened to overwhelm me.

"Shit," he cursed, the word a harsh rasp against the sudden silence.

He could feel you, tight and resistant, and his cock pulsed with the overwhelming urge to release, to find release in the sweet confines of your virginity. But that would be a waste, a cruel denial of the pleasure he craved, the pleasure he wanted you both to experience.

"It…it…hurts," I moaned, my nails digging into his shoulders, drawing blood without him even noticing.

He was consumed, lost in the moment, oblivious to everything but the feel of you, the taste of you, the overwhelming sensation of being connected to you in this primal, forbidden way. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of sensation, forcing himself to slow down, to savor the agony and the ecstasy.

The sweat between us was hot, a slick film that bound us together.

His right hand, the one that had been caressing my jaw, now tightened around my throat, the metal of his fingers cool against my skin. The pressure was subtle, a gentle reminder of his power, his control.

"You're doing so good, baby. Just a little more," Caleb grunted, pushing himself even deeper, lost in the intoxicating haze of the moment.

He was too far gone to stop now, consumed by the realization that his darkest fantasy was unfolding before him. You were beneath him, naked and vulnerable, raw and breathtakingly beautiful. He wanted to freeze this moment, to hold onto it forever, to never let you go.

Tears streamed down my face, a mixture of pain and pleasure, of fear and exhilaration. It wasn't just the physical discomfort that brought them forth, but the overwhelming emotion of the moment, the profound connection that was forming between us. It was a joy to finally feel this, to feel full, to feel complete in a way I never had before.

Caleb moaned again, the sound guttural and raw, sending shivers down my spine. He removed his hand from my throat, bracing his forearm beside my head on the armrest of the couch. His fingers were clenched into a fist, a testament to the self-control he was exerting. With his other hand, he guided his cock deeper, inch by excruciating inch.

"Caleb, oh-" I couldn't stop myself from moaning his name, the sound a desperate plea that spurred him on even more. He suddenly rammed himself fully inside, all seven and a half inches of him breaching my virgin walls.

The pain was shocking, a blinding wave that washed over me, stealing my breath and leaving me momentarily paralyzed. My lips parted in a silent whimper, my body arching against his.

Caleb froze, completely still, like a statue of steel against my trembling flesh.

"I'm sorry, baby. You just feel so good," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion. He looked down at me, his eyes filled with a mixture of remorse and desire. He wiped the tears from my face, his touch gentle and surprisingly tender. "Just a moment, and the pain will fade away, all right?" He kissed my temple, a soft, lingering gesture that offered solace and reassurance. I shifted uncomfortably beneath him, and the pain began to subside, slowly transforming into something else, something almost…pleasurable.

"You can move…I think…" My voice was hoarse, my throat dry.

Caleb clenched his jaw, staring down at me with an intensity that made my heart pound. He pulled back slightly, his cock dragging against my sensitive flesh, teasing me, torturing me. He retreated until only the tip remained inside, hovering just at the edge of my entrance. The sensation was exquisite, agonizing, unbearable. The feeling of being almost empty sparked a desperate need within me, a primal urge to be filled again, to be consumed by him. I clenched around his head, my muscles contracting in a silent plea, begging him to sink back inside. I dug my nails into his skin, desperate for purchase, desperate for release.

He watched my expression, his eyes dark and knowing. And then, without warning, he thrust forward, burying himself deep within me.

My clit met his pelvic bone, sending a jolt of pure pleasure through my body. We both moaned, the sound a primal symphony of pain and ecstasy. Each thrust was more intense than the last, each drag against my sensitive flesh driving me closer to the edge. He seemed drunk on my pussy, lost in the intoxicating sensation of being inside me. The look in his eyes was feral, untamed, as he fucked me with a desperate hunger, as if he had been starving for this moment for his entire life.

My whimpers and moans grew louder, the sounds punctuated by gasps of breath. Words became gibberish, meaningless sounds that escaped my lips as I surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. His chain swayed between us, a distracting glint of silver against the darkening landscape of our passion. He caught it between his teeth, the metal cold against his lips, and grabbed my leg, lifting my hip to ram even deeper, his balls slapping against my ass with each thrust.

"Your pussy's so...fucking...good," he grunted, his words raw and unfiltered. He looked feral, his eyes glazed with desire, his face flushed with exertion.

The air crackled with a dark, erotic charge. He teased, tormented, pushing me to the edge, then pulling me back, denying me the release I craved. He demanded my surrender, not just of my body, but of my will.

"Beg me to come, princess. Then maybe I will allow you to fly."

Too weak to resist, I obeyed.

"Please," I whimpered, the word a desperate plea torn from my throat. "Caleb, please…"

He ignored my pleas, increasing the pace, the force of his thrusts. Each stroke was a calculated torment, designed to push me closer to the precipice. The anticipation was excruciating, a delicious torture that stretched on for an eternity. I clawed at his back, my nails digging into his flesh, desperate for purchase in the storm raging within me.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Caleb relented. He unleashed the torrent, allowing me to teeter over the edge. The world exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations, a blinding rush of pure, unadulterated pleasure. My body convulsed, my muscles tightened, and a strangled cry escaped my lips as I plummeted into the abyss.

He didn't stop there. He rode the wave with me, meeting my climax with his own. With long, powerful strokes, he pushed me further, deeper, until I thought I would shatter into a million pieces. And then, finally, he unleashed his own storm, his body shuddering as he emptied himself inside me, filling me to the brim. His seed pulsed within me, a tangible symbol of our transgression, a dark promise of the bond we had forged in the crucible of lust.

My whimpers were loud now, fueled by the aftershocks of the orgasm that still coursed through my veins.

"Such a good girl." He praised me, his voice rough and low.

He savored the moment, not wanting to waste a single drop of his essence. He thrust back inside, deeper than before, his eyes locked onto the juncture of our bodies. He stared down at the place where we were joined, where my virginity had been sacrificed on the altar of his desire. My blood, a crimson stain against the cream coloured couch, seemed to give him a deep satisfaction, a confirmation that he was the first, the one who had claimed you.

Exhaustion washed over me, a heavy blanket that threatened to pull me under. I wanted nothing more than to sleep, to escape the intensity of the moment, to retreat into the oblivion of unconsciousness.

But Caleb had other ideas. He wasn't finished with me yet.

He scooped me into his arms, carrying me towards the bathroom. "I'm going to take care of you now," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against my ear. That same caring, affectionate Caleb was back, reminding me of the old days again.

He promised me of the "special hair drying care" again which he had started when he first came to my apartment tonight, a dark threat veiled in a promise of pleasure. I was too weak to resist, too lost in the aftermath of our encounter to fight him. I complied, surrendering myself to his will, accepting my fate as his captive, his possession.

Under the warm spray of the shower, he washed away the evidence of our sin, but not the memory.

Each touch, each caress, was a reminder of the power he held over me, the dark desire that bound us together.

The warm water swirled around me, a comforting embrace that did little to soothe the unease coiled tight in my stomach. Caleb’s touch was feather-light, a deliberate caress as he guided the soapy sponge down my arm. "Are you warm enough, my love?" he murmured, his voice a silken thread weaving through the steamy air. "The water's just how you like it, isn't it?"

I leaned into him, the familiar scent of his sandalwood soap filling my senses. "Perfect, Caleb. Just perfect."

His hands moved to my hair, the suds cool against my scalp as he began to massage. It was a familiar ritual, one I usually found deeply relaxing. Tonight, however, a tremor of something akin to apprehension ran through me.

"Mmm, your hair smells like honeysuckle again," he said, his voice dropping a register, becoming intimately close. "I love it when you use that shampoo. It reminds me of the times when we were young and naive. Thinking back..it was like fate."

A smile touched my lips, a fragile thing. "It does feel like fate, doesn't it?"

His fingers stilled for a moment, the gentle rhythm broken. When he spoke again, the lightness had vanished from his tone, replaced by an intensity that always left me breathless. "It is fate. You were always meant to be mine. Do you understand that, princess?"

I turned my face up to his, meeting his gaze. His eyes, usually a warm purple, were now dark pools, reflecting a possessiveness that bordered on obsession. "Yes, Caleb. I do." The words were a reflex, a response I knew he needed to hear.

He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing slow circles on my cheekbones. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, yet there was an underlying strength, a claim being staked.

"Good. Because sometimes… sometimes I worry. I see the way others look at you. They don't understand. They don't see what I see. They don't deserve to see."

A chill, unrelated to the water temperature, prickled my skin. I reached up, placing my hands over his wrists, my fingers pressing against the pulse that throbbed there. "They don't matter, Caleb. Only you matter."

A relieved sigh escaped him, a gust of air that ruffled the damp tendrils of hair framing my face. "That's right. Only me. And you… you are only mine. Every inch of you. This beautiful skin…" He dipped the sponge again, his touch lingering on my shoulder. "…these soft curves…" His fingers trailed down my back, sending shivers dancing across my spine. “…all mine."

"Yes, Caleb. All yours," I whispered, the words a surrender, a promise.

He pulled me closer, the water cascading over both of us, plastering my hair to my face. His voice was a low murmur against my ear, a secret shared in the intimacy of the moment. "No one will ever take you away from me. Do you hear me? No one. They can try, but…" He paused, the darkness that lurked beneath the surface creeping into his tone. "…they will fail."

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me: fear, yes, but also a strange sense of security. There was a raw power in his words, a certainty that both terrified and thrilled me. I wrapped my arms around him tightly, clinging to him as if he were the only anchor in a turbulent sea. "I don't want anyone else, Caleb. I only want you."

He kissed my temple, his lips lingering against my skin, branding me. His embrace tightened, possessive and demanding. "And you'll always have me. I'll always be here, watching over you, protecting you. You can't run from me, even if you wanted to."

Tilting my head back, I looked up at him, forcing a soft smile onto my face. "I don't want to run. I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." It was a lie, perhaps, or at least a half-truth. There were days, nights even, when the weight of his devotion felt like a gilded cage, beautiful but confining. But the alternative, the thought of not being with him, was even more terrifying.

His grip tightened further, his knuckles white against my back, but his voice softened again, becoming almost achingly tender. "My sweet, precious… You are my everything."

The sound of the water continued, a constant, swirling symphony that filled the silence as Caleb held me close. I closed my eyes, focusing on the feel of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart against my ear. It was a silent promise of forever, a forever that both comforted and haunted me.

I knew, deep down, that Caleb's love was a dangerous thing, a consuming fire that threatened to engulf everything in its path. But I was drawn to it, mesmerized by its intensity. He saw me, truly saw me, in a way no one else ever had. He cherished me, protected me, even if that protection came at a cost.

And perhaps, I thought, as I leaned further into his embrace, that was enough. Perhaps being his, completely and utterly, was a price I was willing to pay. The alternative, a life without his fierce devotion, was a bleak and desolate landscape I couldn't bear to imagine. So I stayed, bathed in the warmth of his possessive love, and prayed that the darkness that flickered in his eyes would never consume us both. I prayed that my love would be enough to keep him tethered to reality, to prevent his obsession from spiraling out of control.

But deep down, a chilling voice whispered that it was already too late. That I was already caught in his web, bound by threads of love and fear, and that there was no escape. And perhaps, a small, secret part of me didn't want to escape. Perhaps I was as addicted to his darkness as he was to my light.

[phantomamour]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐨𝐰

coriolanus snow x test subject!reader (written in third person)

~•*⁀➷ part one

cw// heavier in themes with human experimentation and major character death - mention of drugs and injury - dedicated to my favorite @milliesfishes who was a major part of why this lil au even exists <3

Subject 004717 - Experimental use of antiarrhythmics - Undated

Ingested 3000mg of antiarrhythmic at 14:37. VG Brachycardic at 14:53. VG. Cardiac arrest at 15:12. VG. 

Coriolanus read the time on the wall when he entered the lab. 16:58. He was late and painfully so. Nearly three hours had passed since he was supposed to arrive in the lab, and now he found it empty, Gaul having left for the day and not bothered to clean up entirely. She knew he’d show up eventually. For that reason, she hadn’t put her notes away yet; it was his job to catch up on what he’d missed. 

Shrugging off his jacket, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Things seemed well enough in order, and few things lay out of place along Gaul’s desk. Yet every creak of the pipes in the walls sent chills down his spine that he couldn’t place the reason for. Even as he set everything back where it belonged, there was a whisper in the wind of the ventilation system that felt too high-pitched, like a warning siren trying to tell him to run. 

17:12, the clock read as he sat down to finally catch up on what he had failed to be present for. There were days he wanted to long for the cruel torture of Highbottom’s revenge during the academy rather than be stuck in terribly long exams and annoyingly tedious papers. He would have much rather been present for the experiments Gaul had planned that day on some new use for the jabberjays he knew well. But as he reached the end of the report, he noticed two more pages attached to it. The first one was addressed to him. 

Coriolanus felt a pain in his chest as his eyes scanned the words, searching for the meaning in her rhymes to decipher her reason for leaving him something personally addressed. The longer he couldn’t make out the meaning, the harder it became to breathe until he looked at the final attached page—experiment notes. There hadn’t been a second experiment scheduled for the afternoon, but his eyes scanned the subject number, his heart stopping at the immediate recognition. 

His girl. 

She wasn’t scheduled to come in that day. He would have gone to her that night with his plan to get her out safely. He had figured out a temporary way to stop her heart, as he remembered reading about in some old sick love story. He would be able to fake her death long enough to get her far away from Gaul and never be harmed again. But it seemed Gaul had beaten him to the experiment. Antiarrhythmics. The same drug he had used to formulate his escape plan. But this wasn’t a unique formula he had concocted. It was the largest dose he’d ever seen in any of Gaul’s notes he had read. She wasn’t in the lab. She couldn’t be. He hadn’t seen any evidence of her when he walked in. 

  15:12. Almost exactly two hours before his arrival, Gaul had written that her heart had stopped. It had to be some cruel joke, a lesson for him to take away and learn from. He’d never try to cross her again if he could just know his girl was safe and alive. He didn’t want to believe it. If her heart had stopped… if she were dead, there would be a body. But the lab was surprisingly clean. He tried calling the phone he had set up for her in her small, decrepit apartment on the edge of the Capital. No answer. He tried again. 

“Pick up. C’mon, sweetheart. Pick up. Tell me you’re home.” His eyes darted over to the clock on the wall. 17:34. He kept mumbling to himself, nearly tossing the transmitter across the hall when he got no answer again. He resorted to searching the lab for any sign of her. It wasn’t until he had passed one of the rooms reserved for Gaul’s mutations that he caught a glimpse he’d never be able to forget from the corner of his eye. 

He opened the door slowly, hesitant that he might wake her, as though it wasn’t the only thing he desperately wanted to do. Her body lay on the floor in a heap, like she had been simply tossed in and forgotten about. Her hair lay spread out on the cold tile, not too dissimilar to the way it had lain on his pillow the few nights he had convinced her to come back home with him instead. Fingers trembling, he made his way across the room to her. She looked so peaceful, admittedly too peaceful. Even in his arms, he had never been able to fully soothe the furrow of her brows after everything she had been through. 

Coriolanus moved to kneel next to her, noting how her chest didn’t rise at all, and her deathly pale skin sent shivers down his spine. If he had just been on time… She was limp as he lifted her into his arms, not making a single sound. What he wouldn’t give for one more of her secret laughs. The ones he managed to slip out of her after the long days under Gaul’s microscope; the ones he knew only he got to hear. He had let himself do the one thing he swore never to do again with her, and Gaul had used it against him. 

Her head lulled against his chest as he moved to sit them down against the wall, a sensation he could almost convince himself was a conscious choice of her own. But she hadn’t moved; it had been a cruel trick of gravity. His hands were still shaking as he brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, unsure if his voice would stay steady if he dared speak. 

She had died alone. He knew Gaul was no comfort in her last moments, that she likely taunted her until her dying breath, and every ‘what if’ his brain could conjure ran through his thoughts. What if he had spoken out against Gaul sooner? What if he had come up with his plan faster? What if he had just been on time to the lab? He would have been an hour early. He would have had an hour to figure out how to stop Gaul–how to save her. 

Time passed slowly as he held her, counting every eyelash, every freckle, until he was certain the numbers would remain in his mind forever. She still had the scars of Gaul’s old experiments and the bruises and cuts of one from mere days ago. Cuts that he had cleaned and bandaged for her himself… when she was still alive. He had already memorized the placement of each scar before, but he went over her again like clockwork. The cut on her collarbone, the bite on her side, the long scar down the center of her chest. The antiarrhythmics hadn’t been injected; there was no sign of what had killed her, and maybe that had killed him a bit inside as well. She died as quietly as she had tried to live. Trying to sneak through the capital as quietly as a mouse, make enough of a living to support herself, and live peacefully. He hadn’t been able to give her that. 

He pressed his lips to her hairline, feeling the soft edge of a scar even there. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know how to make it better this time. There were many nights that the right words had come to him, comforting her when she thought she was better off dead. But now that she was the latter, every word in every language escaped him. He had hurt her with his own hands and his silence. Worst of all, he had abandoned her when she needed him most. There was no argument there. He had killed his songbird, and now he had killed his very own mouse. 

Perhaps the poison had been within him, a slow release infecting those he kept close, taking all the good from his life and leaving him in the desolate aftermath. He’d burn her apartment down. He’d bury her amongst the ashes. She would be nothing more than a memory to him, a reminder of what he could never allow himself: a weakness… a vulnerability. His story wasn’t built to support love; it was meant to destroy it. 

[nyc-tophile]

𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐒𝐄 𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎 | Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier x fem!reader

A signal shouldn’t echo in a locked room. But it does. The Revenant isn’t the only ghost inside the walls, and the second heartbeat on the scanner means one thing: the system is compromised. And not just the safehouse. Bucky’s past isn’t just catching up—it’s repeating.

Warnings - ooc winter soldier, psychological trauma, dissociation, body horror implications, programming triggers and mind control elements, blood and injuries, close combat, identity distortion, cloning, implied human experimentation.

Author’s Note: We are unfortunately coming very close to the end of this series, but that doesn't mean we're going to fully end it off. I'm honestly thinking I can make little oneshot/drabbles about the afterlife between reader and Bucky if you guys would be interested in that!

Translations –

[Он возвращается.–  He returns.]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏𝟎 | 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏𝟐

The alert was still pulsing on the monitor. Two heartbeats. One accounted for, the other one… not.

Natasha was already halfway across the room, weapon drawn, eyes locked on the biometric feed like she could will it into submission.

“It could be interference,” she said flatly, but no one believed it.

“No interference matches a cardiac rhythm,” you replied, voice low.

Bucky hadn’t moved. Not fully. But you saw it—the way his body had shifted, the way his hand hovered just above the grip of his weapon. Not fear. Readiness. The kind that didn’t come from training. The kind that came from being hunted.

He stepped forward, eyes fixed on the glitching screen. “Location?”

“Somewhere inside the perimeter,” Natasha said. “Too close to isolate yet.”

You glanced at the security grid. No breach alerts. No forced entry. No triggered alarms.

The system said the house was secure.

The heartbeat said otherwise.

-----

The safehouse felt smaller than usual.

Low ceilings. Heavy air. The kind that pressed against your ribs like weight. You cleared the kitchen, the corridor, and storage. Bucky swept behind you, silent despite the healing wound in his side. Natasha tracked motion sensors from the control hub, voice steady in your comm.

"East hallway. Utility corridor. Motion lag—three seconds."

You moved fast. Heart pounding, every shadow shaped like a memory.

Nothing.

Then the lights flickered.

Not a flicker, exactly — a shift. Like the current had been rerouted for half a breath. Like something was draining power.

Bucky’s voice came through the comm. “I felt that.”

Natasha’s voice followed. “Power cell’s steady. But there’s a drain. Internal.”

Your fingers tightened around your sidearm. You glanced at Bucky.

“Med cell?”

He nodded grimly. “Let’s check him.”

-----

Bucky and you descended together, lights flickering as you moved, like the building itself was short of breath. The med cell door stood closed, reinforced, and sealed.

R-01 sat where you left him. Cross-legged. Hands on knees. Head down.

But he wasn’t asleep.

His eyes were open. Staring straight ahead.

Straight through the glass.

His voice came through the speaker, unprompted.

“He’s here.”

You froze.

“Who?” you asked.

R-01 blinked. Just once.

Then, softly—

“Echo...”

A crash sounded upstairs.

Not subtle. Not hiding.

Claiming.

-----

You sprinted back up with Bucky at your side, half-limping from the exertion. Natasha’s voice crackled, sharp.

“They’re in.”

“How?” you snapped.

“I don’t know. The grid’s blind. Sensors just... cut. I’ve got static.”

And then the lights died. All of them.

Pitch black.

No warning. No flicker, just darkness.

You heard movement. A sound behind you that didn’t come from either of you.

Bucky spun, gun drawn. “There!”

A shape moved, fast and calculated—down the opposite hallway. Not fleeing. Circling.

You gave chase.

He was fast. Too fast.

Every time you turned a corner, he was gone again. Bucky followed without hesitation, ignoring pain, each breath more ragged. You hit the main hallway just in time to see the intruder step fully into the open for the first time.

It was him.

Not R-01.

Another one. He was taller and a little broader with half of his face masked.

But the eyes were the same as Bucky’s.

No — emptier. No light, no recognition. Only calculation.

Bucky froze. His entire body went rigid.

The copy didn’t move. Didn’t blink.

He was wearing gear almost identical to the original Winter Soldier field kit — but newer. Sleeker. Hydra hadn’t just rebuilt Bucky’s past. They’d updated it.

Natasha’s voice hissed through the comm. “Not a clone. That’s an Alpha Unit. I saw those designations once — decades ago. They shelved the prototypes. Said they were unstable.”

“Guess they changed their minds,” Bucky said darkly.

And as Bucky finished his sentence, the Alpha charged forward.

He was a blur, a weapon without hesitation. You barely had time to shout before he slammed into Bucky, both of them crashing into the far wall with the force of a car crash. Plaster cracked. Metal screamed.

Bucky grunted but didn’t fall. He struck low, elbow to ribs, knee to thigh, trying to throw the Alpha’s balance.

It didn’t work.

The clone didn’t have balance.

He had programming.

He moved like muscle memory turned weapon. Every punch a calculation, every dodge a rerun of a fight Bucky had won once, long ago.

Bucky took a hit to the side, hard, and went down to one knee.

You raised your gun and fired three rounds into the Alpha’s shoulder.

It barely turned him.

He was wearing something under the fabric. Not armour. Reinforcement. Skin that caught the rounds like it had been designed to.

He turned toward you.

A silent pivot and charge towards you.

You dove back, barely missing the strike that could’ve shattered your sternum. The Alpha followed, quick and brutal. One second he was behind, then on you.

Bucky tackled him before he could make contact.

They hit the floor hard.

This time, Bucky was ready.

He rolled fast, swinging his metal arm into the Alpha’s jaw — a crack like bone, though it didn’t slow the clone down much. They grappled, metal against muscle, fists breaking into the concrete.

You backed up just enough to grab the shock baton from the wall.

The Alpha twisted, throwing Bucky across the room into a steel cabinet. It collapsed with a crash. He stood over him, lifting a boot to crush Bucky’s throat.

“Directive override”, the Alpha said. “Asset resistance detected.”

You launched the baton.

It hit his back. No effect.

You grabbed another and charged.

This time you didn’t aim for the body.

You drove it under his arm, right at the nerve cluster between shoulder and chest, and hit full voltage.

He screamed.

Not robotic. Not recorded.

Human.

The scream cracked like glass.

The Alpha staggered. Bucky recovered fast, shoving upward with both legs and sending the clone sprawling into the far wall. He didn’t move for a moment.

You dropped beside Bucky, hand on his chest.

“You good?”

He coughed once, winced, then nodded. “Hurts like hell.”

“Means you're not synthetic,” you muttered, hauling him to his feet.

But the Alpha was already recovering.

He was slower now. Twitching.

Something behind his eyes was shorting.

The programming had glitched. Or maybe the pain had cracked something loose.

He looked at you both.

Not like a weapon now.

Like a man who didn’t know what he was.

“I was first,” he whispered. “I was the original.”

“No,” Bucky said, stepping forward, blood at the corner of his mouth. “You were the test run. And you failed.”

The Alpha lunged again, screaming now — wordless and wild.

This time Bucky caught him.

He used his momentum against him, pivoted, and slammed the clone into the reinforced doorway. Then again. And again.

The Alpha sagged, not unconscious, not dead, but breaking. You moved in with the baton one last time and drove it straight into the base of his neck; the body spasmed, then dropped.

The silence after was deafening.

You moved now, standing over him, chest heaving. Bucky didn’t move. He was staring.

Not at the intruder.

At the exposed skin along the clone’s collar, where the tactical suit had ripped.

A barcode tattooed on was WS-00A.

Winter Soldier. Alpha model. First wave.

Bucky turned away, breathing hard.

“They built him first,” he said. “Before me. Before the programming stabilised. Before the conditioning locked in.”

You looked down at the unconscious Alpha.

“And now he’s awake again.”

Natasha’s voice came through the comm. “Lockdown initiated. I’ve sealed the safehouse. He’s not getting out.”

You shook your head, “He never wanted out.”

You turned to Bucky.

“He was sent in.”

A beat passed before you continued, “Which means someone knows exactly where we are.”

-----

Downstairs, in the med cell, R-01 looked up as the emergency lights came back online.

He didn’t react to the fighting. Or the power failure.

He was looking at the glass. Not watching his reflection.

Watching something behind it.

He whispered something in Russian.

“Он возвращается.” With a smile creeping up his face

join my тαgℓιѕт -

@avgdestitute, @chimchoom, @xoxo-moonlight, @justanotherlonelybard, @spring-soldier, @vyviiennestar, @janetsnakehole02, @floweradroble1123

[reveryfics]

Neighbors pt.2

Frank Castle "The Punisher" x Male Reader

Summary: It's been almost a year since Frank walked into your apartment, revealing his life as The Punisher. You'd settled into a demanding routine as an overnight ER nurse, navigating that world alongside your relationship with Frank. Little did you know, those two worlds were about to collide.

A/N: I got a couple comments asking for a second part to the Neighbors fic, uh I wasn't exactly sure what to do with this so hopefully this is okay. Male nurse reader as well, cause we all know Frank would end up dead without you.

TW: Blood - Broken arm - Injury - Comfort

The automatic doors of the emergency room shrieked open, a violent gust of air preceding a surge of hurried footsteps and the staccato bursts of clipped radio chatter. Two EMTs, their faces etched with grim urgency, propelled a gurney through the opening. The insistent, rhythmic beeping of a cardiac monitor sliced through the already buzzing chaos, an electronic heartbeat in the pandemonium. "Thirty-something male, found unresponsive at the scene, possible overdose," one of the EMTs barked, his voice barely cutting through the din.

Across the crowded bay, a different kind of drama unfolded. Another pair of EMTs struggled to transfer a screaming elderly woman onto a hospital bed, her cries of pain echoing off the unforgiving linoleum floors. A young resident, his face pale and drawn under the harsh fluorescent lights, scribbled furiously on a chart, barking orders to a harried-looking nurse whose movements were a study in controlled frenzy.

You navigated this swirling vortex of controlled pandemonium, your own adrenaline still thrumming from the relentless stream of patients that had flooded in since your shift began what felt like an eternity ago. Just moments before, you had finished meticulously suturing a nasty, jagged gash on a construction worker’s forearm, the thick smell of antiseptic clinging to the air. Then the call came in – a multi-car pile-up on the highway. Now, you were heading towards the trauma bay, a knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach as you mentally braced yourself for whatever awaited.

The waiting room, visible through the smeared sliding glass doors, was a tableau of escalating anxiety. A young mother bounced a restless toddler on her knee, her eyes darting nervously towards the triage desk, a silent plea for information in their depths. An elderly man with a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around his head sat hunched over in a plastic chair, his face a roadmap of worry lines. The air in the waiting room hung thick and heavy, a cloying mix of antiseptic and raw fear, punctuated by the occasional, frustrated sigh that spoke volumes of unspoken dread. They didn't see the frantic ballet unfolding behind those closed doors, the life-and-death decisions being made in split seconds, the raw, visceral energy of a system stretched to its breaking point.

It felt like just moments ago, you had managed to coax a distraught teenager out of a full-blown panic attack, her rapid, shallow breaths and racing pulse fueled by pure, unadulterated fear of a phantom heart attack. Before that, it was a belligerent drunk, swinging wildly at anyone who dared to approach, requiring every ounce of your patience and a gentle yet firm hand to finally gain his cooperation. Each case, each individual, demanded a different kind of focus, a different wellspring of emotional and physical energy, leaving you feeling like a tightly wound spring threatening to snap.

As you pushed through the heavy swinging doors into the trauma bay, the scene intensified, the air crackling with a raw, visceral energy that made the hairs on your arms stand on end. The trauma team was already a well-oiled machine, each member moving with practiced precision, their movements economical and purposeful. A quick, sweeping glance told you the grim story: multiple injuries, a shocking amount of blood staining the sterile white sheets, the urgent, rhythmic whirring of suction machines battling to keep airways clear. You took a deep, steadying breath, pushing the gnawing fatigue that tugged at the edges of your awareness. Another life, or perhaps multiple lives, hung precariously in the balance, and in this moment, amidst the chaos, that was the only thing that mattered.

But before you could fully immerse yourself in the unfolding trauma, a hand clamped down on your arm, pulling you away from the organized chaos. It was Sarah, a newer nurse whose usual cheerful demeanor was replaced by wide, panicked eyes. "Hey! Can you come take a look at Mr. Wilson in room three? He's refusing his IV, and he's getting really agitated. I can't seem to get anywhere with him."

You let out a silent sigh. You knew the car crash victims were in capable hands for the moment, the experienced trauma team already orchestrating their care with practiced efficiency. Reluctantly, you nodded. "Okay, Sarah, let's go."

You walked down the quieter hallway towards room three, the frantic energy of the trauma bay fading slightly with each step. As you approached the open doorway, the distinct sound of a raised voice reached you. An older man sat propped up in the hospital bed, his face flushed with anger as he argued vehemently with another nurse, who held a saline-filled syringe aloft, looking increasingly frustrated.

You recognized the patient instantly. Mr. Wilson. A local elderly gentleman who was a frequent visitor to the ER, his unmanaged diabetes often landing him back in a hospital bed. He looked in your direction, his eyes, usually twinkling with a mischievous glint, now narrowed with annoyance, watching as you approached the hand sanitizer dispenser and meticulously washed your hands before pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.

"Oh, thank heavens you're here, Nurse," he huffed, his voice still carrying a note of indignation. "These youngsters don't got a clue what they're doing." He shot an accusatory glance at the two other nurses in the room.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly as you stepped closer to the bed. "They're doing their best, Mr. Wilson," you said gently, your tone calm and reassuring. You took the syringe from the other nurse. "Let's get this IV started, shall we?" Your practiced hands made quick work of locating a vein, the insertion smooth and efficient. Mr. Wilson barely flinched. "See? All done."

You shook your head slightly, turning around to grab his chart from the bedside table. "High blood sugar again?" You glanced over the recent lab results, noting the alarming number well over four hundred.

He waved a dismissive hand at you. "Nonsense, Nurse. I'll be right as rain, just like I always am."

You didn't respond immediately, taking a moment to ensure the IV was running smoothly before meeting his gaze. "I'll be back to check on you later, Mr. Wilson. Try to relax."

Hours bled into each other, the relentless tide of patients ebbing and flowing. Finally, as the first hint of dawn painted the sky outside the grimy windows, the ER began to quiet. You managed to steal a precious moment of respite in the cramped nurses' lounge.

Standing near the industrial-sized coffee maker, you pulled out your phone, a small beacon of normalcy in the chaotic day. A message from Frank, sent at the very beginning of your shift, greeted you. He often sent these little digital breadcrumbs – a silly meme, a brief update on his day, the occasional picture of him and your beloved pit bull, Frankie, their goofy faces a welcome distraction during your long, grueling hours. You tucked your phone back into your scrub pocket, the image of Frankie’s slobbery grin a momentary balm. You took the now-full coffee pitcher and poured yourself a much-needed cup, the rich aroma a small comfort.

You sank into a worn chair at one of the small, cluttered tables, barely managing a single, precious sip before the insistent buzz of your pager vibrated against your hip. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet, the brief moment of peace shattered. You headed back out to the bustling nurses' station, managing a tired smile for your coworker who handed you a chart. Your smile instantly froze, your blood running cold as you saw the name scrawled across the top: "Castle, Frank."

Without a word, your heart pounding a frantic rhythm against your ribs, you walked down the hall and into the designated exam room. The doctor was just hanging up a series of x-rays, the stark white images revealing the sharp break in Frank's arm. Another nurse was gently dabbing at a series of cuts and abrasions on his face and torso.

Frank's head snapped in your direction as the door creaked open, his eyes widening in surprise, then something akin to fear, as he registered the look on your face – a mixture of shock, disbelief, and a dawning anger. He watched, helpless, as the other nurse offered you a small, knowing smile and quietly slipped out of the room.

"You can't just leave me here with him," Frank pleaded, his voice laced with a theatrical desperation that didn't quite mask the underlying anxiety. "Common, babe." He groaned dramatically, leaning back against the pillows.

You didn't say a word, your mind still reeling. You simply set his chart down on the counter with a decisive thud and moved to the sink, the harsh fluorescent light reflecting off the cool metal as you meticulously washed your hands and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves, your movements stiff and deliberate. You picked up where the previous nurse had left off, gently cleaning the numerous cuts across his face and abdomen, your touch perhaps a little less gentle than it usually was.

Frank hissed, biting his lip as you carefully cleaned around a particularly deep gash on his side, the edges raw and angry-looking. "Fancy seeing you here," he attempted a weak joke, but instantly stopped when your eyes, usually warm and full of affection, now glinted with a sharp, almost dangerous light as you briefly glared up at him.

You listened in stony silence as the doctor began explaining the next steps, his voice calm and professional. "Alright, Frank, we're going to have to set that bone before we can put a cast on it. Looks like a clean fracture, but it needs to be realigned." He gestured to the x-rays. "We'll give you some local anesthetic for these cuts, and then we'll get started on the arm."

The doctor excused himself to gather the necessary supplies, leaving you alone with a very uncomfortable and apologetic-looking Frank. You picked up a syringe from the medical tray, the needle glinting under the bright lights, stopping just before taking the cap off.

"I've had a real shit day so far," you finally rasped, your voice tight with suppressed emotion. "Do you have any idea what was going through my mind when I saw your name on that chart?" You didn't wait for an answer, your silence hanging heavy in the air.

Frank let out a long, weary sigh, wishing he had just listened to his gut and insisted they not contact you. "I'm sorry, trust me, baby, I didn't mean to worry you." He groaned, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table.

You finally took the cap off the syringe, your movements precise and efficient despite the turmoil churning within you. You swabbed the area around the deep laceration on Frank's side with a cold alcohol wipe. "It's gonna sting," you whispered, your voice barely audible, before carefully pushing the tip of the needle into various points around the wound, injecting the numbing solution. Your chest tightened almost imperceptibly as he occasionally hissed in pain, his free hand instinctively reaching out to grip the sleeve of your scrubs, his knuckles white.

With the local anesthetic administered, you began to meticulously stitch the wound, your movements quick and precise, years of training taking over despite the emotional turmoil. Each careful stitch pulled the edges of the laceration together, closing the angry red gash. Once finished, you applied a clean bandage over the area.

You stood up straight, disposing of the used needle and other medical supplies with a sharp, efficient clink into the biohazard bin. Your back was to Frank as you bent over the sink to wash your hands, the sound of running water filling the brief silence. You heard a low whistle from behind you, a familiar sound that couldn't help but tug the corner of your lips into a small, involuntary smile.

You turned around, one eyebrow cocked in amusement. "Incredibly unprofessional, Mr. Castle," you quipped, a hint of your usual playful tone finally breaking through the tension.

"Can't help that my nurse looks incredibly hot in his scrubs," Frank hummed, a sheepish grin spreading across his face.

You walked back over to the side of the bed, leaning down to press a quick, chaste kiss to his lips. Frank’s hand, no longer gripping the mattress, came to rest gently on the small of your back, pulling you a fraction closer as he returned the kiss. You quickly pulled away when the door creaked open again, the doctor returning with a tray of casting materials.

He simply shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "If kissing your boyfriend at work was illegal, half the staff here would be unemployed by now."

You couldn't help but laugh, the absurdity of the situation finally breaking the tension. You walked around the bed to help the doctor, a familiar camaraderie settling between you as you assisted him in the procedure.

The doctor explained the process as he worked, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. You carefully stabilized Frank's arm above and below the fracture site as the doctor applied traction and expertly manipulated the bone back into alignment. Frank winced but remained relatively still, his gaze locked on yours. The sickening thunk of the bone resetting made you flinch, but relief washed over Frank’s face. The doctor then carefully wrapped Frank's arm in layers of padding and wet plaster, molding it into a supportive cast.

Once the cast was securely in place, the doctor gave Frank instructions on how to care for it and left the two of you alone again. You stayed behind in the quiet exam room with Frank, pulling a couple of warm blankets over him and double-checking that his IV was running smoothly. He watched your every move, his eyes soft and full of affection. Just as you were about to leave, his hand reached out, his fingers gently closing around your wrist.

You turned back, leaning down to press a tender kiss to his lips. "I'll take you home once my shift's over," you murmured against his mouth. "Just get some rest for now."

Frank kissed you back, his grip on your wrist loosening slightly. "I love you," he whispered, his voice thick with exhaustion and perhaps a touch of lingering pain medication.

"I love you too," you replied softly, stroking his cheek. "But please, for the love of all that is holy, don't show up at my work again unless it's to bring me food." You managed a weak joke, and Frank chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that eased some of the tightness in your chest.

[les4elliewilliams]

With all my heart.

¡! daily click・palestine masterpost・do not buy any game from naughty dog, neil druckmann is a zionist・more daily clicks. ¡!

cw/wc: 10.9k (ik wtf) not proofread ; smut, fingering both r/e!receiving, oral (r!receiving), swearing, fluff, reader has a heart condition. jackson ellie x fem reader (💘)

a/n: I'm not really sure how I feel about this, lol (especially the smut part). I tried to do a lot of research about this type of heart issue to make it as accurate as possible, so if it's not, I'm sorry, I tried. ib one of those romantic movies where one of the characters is sick and has some rare condition (except that no one dies.)

also can we start romanticizing unconditional love and healthy relationships?

You knew you had won the lottery the moment you accidentally bumped into her in the hospital.

Your life has been full of challenges right from the beginning. You were born with a condition that affected your heartbeats, making it difficult for your heart to function normally. So you had to rely on a pacemaker to regulate your heartbeat. This condition has significantly impacted your life, making it hard for you to engage in activities that require physical exertion.

Long QT Syndrome, or LQTS, is a rare genetic condition that can mess up your heart's electrical system. It can cause your heartbeats to go wild, making you faint, have seizures, or even go into sudden cardiac arrest. To keep yourself safe, you needed to take your meds, live a certain way, and have a pacemaker — which you had implanted.

Living a normal life had always been tough for you, and it wasn't only the syndrome's physical symptoms that held you back, but also your parents' protectiveness. They worried a lot about your health, maybe a bit too much, leaving you with very little freedom to do anything. Even simple things like going to a party or hanging out with friends like a regular teenager seemed like a luxury you could never have. Although you understood that your parents were only trying to protect you, their overprotectiveness always made you feel suffocated and cut off from the world. You always felt like an alien who had just been dropped off on Earth; you knew nothing about anything. You've always had to rely on the stories and experiences of people around you, like your friends, to help you figure things out and feel like you had lived a little.

You have been homeschooled ever since you were a little kid. You didn't have many opportunities to participate in social activities and make friends. However, you did manage to meet two people who have remained your only friends to this day. You met them in the park when you were a kid, and to your luck, they stuck around. You often wonder if they stayed with you out of pity or because they genuinely liked spending time with you, but you were glad regardless; it was good to have someone to hang out with.

The memory of the day you met Ellie is still as vivid in your mind as it was when it happened. You had just finished your routine checkup at the hospital and were feeling a bit peckish. You made your way to the vending machine to grab a snack, suddenly feeling a wave of dizziness sweep over you. You hoped a quick snack would help, but fate seemed to have other plans in store for you that day. As you selected your snack, you watched in frustration as it got stuck in the vending machine. You tried everything you could to retrieve it, but it refused to budge. Just as you were about to give up, she appeared.

"Can I hel-" she started, but you were already turning around to leave, and just as you turned around to leave, you accidentally collided with her, causing your chest to hit hers. The impact triggered your pacemaker, causing it to beep loudly and incessantly. "Shit — I'm so sorry" she said as she gently grabbed your arm to steady you. "Oh my god, I'm sorry" you said simultaneously. The sound reverberated through the hospital walls, and your face heated up with embarrassment. You had never experienced anything like this before, not even when you bumped into walls at home.

The auburnette looked at you puzzled and asked, "Why're you beeping? Are you okay?" Worried green eyes scanning you, she was clearly taken aback by the unexpected beeping sound and she couldn't understand where it was coming from. You couldn't help but feel drawn to her despite the awkward introduction, she was the most beautiful girl you had ever seen.

Little did you know that this chance encounter would lead to a series of life-changing events.

You remember sitting in the seating area of the hospital, munching on a snack that she had generously gotten for you, you couldn't help but feel grateful for this girl's kindness. She was so funny and kind, cracking dumb puns every now and then. You admired how perfect and flawless she looked and to this day, she still tells you how mesmerized she was by you when she saw you for the first time. You both chatted away about everything and nothing, you noticed that she had a backpack with her. Being the curious person you are, you couldn't resist the urge to ask her what she was studying. She seemed delighted by your interest and started talking passionately about her field of study — art. The more she talked, the more intrigued you were. When your conversation came to an end, she mustered up the courage to ask for your number, a clear indication that she wanted to see you again; it took you by surprise but you happily obliged. Something about you captivated her attention, although you couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.

You never thought that you would have the chance to become friends with her, let alone her best friend. But somehow, again, fate had other plans for you. Your friendship with her started slowly but surely. She always asked you to hang out, and you couldn't help but say yes. She was so fun to be around, and it was impossible not to enjoy her company. She would come to your place and take you on small adventures, always promising to show you something new and exciting. This was especially important to you, as you had shared that your teenage years were quite dull and you didn't venture out of your house much. She always respected your limits, knowing that you had to be cautious with your heart condition. When she started staying at your place, you were surprised at how well she fit in with your family and friends. Your parents loved her and your friends thought she was great too. She was always taking care of you without being overbearing or suffocating. Her kindness and thoughtfulness made you feel valued and appreciated, and you couldn't help but fall for her. How could you not after all? She was perfect.

You shared every aspect of your life with her, and she reciprocated. You both had a shared love for reading, although she preferred a completely different genre from yours. She forced you to read her favorite Savage Starlight comics, and even though they weren't your cup of tea, you still enjoyed spending time with her while reading them, mostly because of how cute she sounded when she read every line out loud, effortlessly switching tones to match the different characters' voices and even adding sound effects to accentuate the narrative. She would often stay the night at your place and binge-read them with you. She loved to talk about her passions for space, dinosaurs, science, and art. She even showed you her drawings and journal, claiming she had never shown them to anyone. She even made a few drawings for you; it was adorable and impressive how she managed to capture every little detail of your face and put it on a piece of paper, she was a talented one. And, of course, you did the same with her — sharing your favorite comics/books with her, even convincing her to watch movies that she always claimed she hated. After watching them with you, she realized they weren't so bad after all. Not that she actually paid attention to the movie, her eyes solely focused on you.

Soon enough she was introducing you to her closest friends. She was convinced that you would love them, and she was totally right. One of her friends, Dina, was so much fun to be around, always full of energy and cracking jokes, she had a smile that could light up the whole room. Jesse, Dina's boyfriend, was just as funny as her, but he was a bit more serious and responsible than the rest of them. He always looked out for Dina and Ellie, but they never listened to him, which resulted in some pretty hilarious situations. The group had a really cool dynamic, and you loved how they made you feel welcome right from the start.

Your first kiss was a moment you could never forget, etched deeply into your memory. You both were deeply in love with each other, and it was evident in the way you looked at each other. Your glances filled with unspoken feelings and palpable tension that drove you crazy, hoping that you weren't the only one feeling that way. And then the moment finally arrived. You remember it was a hot summer day, and the air in your room was stifling despite the fan pointed at your face. You had a few strands of hair that fell loose out of your messy low ponytail, and they moved with the breeze from the fan. You were both on your bed; she was sitting criss-crossed before you, music playing in the background. She was drawing you in her journal, claiming that she needed more practice, which, after years, she revealed was just an excuse to draw you and spend more time with you; you were her favorite muse and she was just a loser who couldn't help but simp for you. Her cheeks were slightly pink due to the heat (or at least you thought), and her green concentrated eyes flickered back and forth from your face to her journal. When she started drawing your lips you unconsciously licked them, causing her eyes to dart up to look at you in the eyes.

She let out a soft sigh and mumbled under her breath, "m' almost done." A faint blush crept up her cheeks, though you couldn't quite explain why. Intrigued, you leaned over to get a glimpse of her work and asked, "Yeah? can I see?" She straightened up, holding the journal close to her chest, and replied with a slight huff, "Don't move, c'mon, stay still." You raised an eyebrow in amusement and retorted, "What? I'm not even moving." She didn't respond and instead furrowed her brows, focusing intently on her piece of art. The room fell silent, except for the sound of her pencil scratching against the paper.

The silence between you and her was palpable but not uncomfortable, yet you still decided to break it with a joke. "Knock knock," you said, a small smile forming on your face. Her eyes, which had been focused on her journal, darted up to meet yours once again. A playful smile appeared on her lips as she asked, "Who's there?" in a slightly sarcastic tone, giving you an eye roll. "Kiss," you replied, wiggling your brows. "Kiss who?" she played along, her eyes still fixed on you. "Me," you smiled awkwardly.

You knew it was a terrible joke, a very corny one, but you couldn't help it. After all, you didn't have much experience in these kinds of things — the universe only knew how long it took you to muster up the courage to make a silly little joke like that one. She chuckled dryly. "God, that's really bad," she commented, and you laughed along. "I know," you lowered your head and shook it slowly before looking up at her again. Both of you were smiling at each other, the tension between you growing. "So?" you quipped, trying to sound confident. "Do you want to?" you asked, your heart beating fast. "Oh shit, you were serious?" She suddenly sounded nervous, placing her somehow worn-out journal on her thighs as she looked at you in disbelief. You could tell she was surprised, and maybe a little flustered. "I'm sosorry — I didn't mean to make it awkward. Forget it. It's just I really like you a lot, but if you don't—" you started to say, trying to diffuse the tension, but her soft lips cut off your nervous rambling before you could finish your sentence. You felt a jolt of electricity shoot through your body as you kissed her back, your hands reaching up to cup her face. It was a moment you would never forget.

After your first kiss, you and Ellie went on a few dates together. It was during one of these dates that she took you to the park and asked you to be her girlfriend. The setting was perfect — you were having a lovely picnic date, the weather was just right, and a gentle breeze was blowing, caressing your skin and making it erupt in goosebumps as you sat close to the pond next to Ellie, throwing frozen peas to the ducks, their quacking filling the air with lively energy. The water was still and calm, the sun was shining, and the greenery around you was lush and vibrant. You felt a sense of warmth and happiness.

The auburnette sat beside you, leaning back as you fed the ducks in the pond. She wore a tender smile on her face, watching you with a gentle gaze. "I thought they only ever ate bread," she commented, breaking the peaceful silence between the two of you. You turned to her, your eyebrows raised in surprise. "If all they eat is bread, how will they survive in the wild without people tossing them bread all the time?" You replied with a hint of sarcasm. She scoffed and playfully nudged you. "Alright, smartass," she said, you nudged her back, both of you giggling like children. "I'm surprised a know-it-all nerd like you didn't know that," you teased her. "Nerd, huh? you actually like this nerd" she retorted teasingly, a mischievous glint in her eyes as she pointed at herself. "Do I, now?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at her. You couldn't take back your words after all, you did like her and you made sure to tell her, let's say... pretty often.

"Oh yeah, you do," she chuckled, nodding her head playfully. The two of you fell back into a comfortable silence, watching the ducks swim around in the pond. Suddenly, she turned to you, her expression serious. "Listen, I was thinking...you know how we're going out on dates and all," she started, her voice hesitant. Your head snapped to look at her; your heart was beating like crazy, not that it usually wasn't due to your syndrome, but it felt crazier than usual. You felt your palms start to sweat, and you grew more nervous by the second. "Yeah?" you prompted her, waiting for her to continue. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...we already act like a couple, so...will you be my girlfriend?" she finally gathered the courage to ask, her eyes locked on yours.

She seemed a bit tense, although you couldn't understand why. After all, you had told her multiple times before how much you liked her, and the two of you had been acting like a couple for quite some time now. You gave her a cheeky smile "Of course I want to," you said confidently, jumping right into her lap, feeling a sudden burst of excitement as you wrapped your arms around her.

Your love was pure and genuine, and it was evident from the little things you did for each other. She would leave little notes around your room or in your bag whenever you left for a second. These notes would remind you of her love for you, and you would return the gesture by hiding notes in her notebooks or in her journal. She would find them the next day during her classes, and it would brighten up her day.

"you look so pretty"

"are you a keyboard? cause you're just my type ;)"

"i love your freckles and i love you"

"hope you're having a good day :) ps. no more pickup lines im begging D:"

Your love was spontaneous and full of small handmade gifts, full of drawings from her part and origami from yours. Once in a while she'd even write and play songs for you, which had you smiling like an idiot cause how romantic was that?

She was always too caring, and she would make sure that you were feeling okay despite your heart disorder. She would accompany you to your doctor appointments and never leave your side, even though you would tell her she didn't need to be there. Unlike your parents who had always been overprotective, she was always looking out for you without being too much. Since you were the "sick" one between the two of you, she always had trouble accepting help from you, especially when she felt sick or was on her period. But you always insisted on taking care of her, making her chicken soup whenever she had a horrible cold, and ensuring that she took painkillers for her period cramps. You always made sure that she had enough pads and her favorite snacks or helped her through one of her panic attacks. Soon, she got used to it and would always be a whining mess when she was sick, hoping you would cuddle with her or baby her. She loved it more than she liked to admit.

On your anniversaries, you would surprise each other with flowers. The first time you had ever gotten her flowers (which was on your first date), she accepted them with teary eyes, saying that none of her ex-girlfriends had ever gotten her flowers or treated her like a woman; you loved the idea of being her first in something — you didn't get to be her first kiss or her first time in...that, but at least you were the first girlfriend who treated her right.

Your first time together was so special and intimate, it made you feel truly alive. The way she was so gentle and caring towards you left an indelible imprint on your heart. Her touch was like a soft breeze on a calm summer day, sending shivers down your spine, and being with her made you feel like you were safe from the rest of the world. You remember how her tender gaze made you feel like the most special and beautiful girl in the world, making your insecurities fade away. The way she held you close, with a warmth that engulfed you, made you feel comfortable in your own skin. It was your first time ever, and you confided in her about not having much experience. She reassured you that she would teach you, show you the way, and make you feel good, and good Lord, if she kept that promise.

It was a warm and peaceful afternoon, the sun was shining brightly outside, casting a warm glow into the room. You and your girlfriend were both lounging on her comfortable bed, enjoying each other's company in silence. While she was intently watching an action movie, you were lost in the pages of a captivating book. Your attentive eyes scanned each line and paragraph, immersing yourself in the story and oblivious to your surroundings. Unbeknownst to you, Ellie was growing increasingly impatient, huffing and puffing in an attempt to get your attention. Her huffs were airy at first, but as time went on, they became more forceful and pronounced, hoping to grab your attention and draw you away from your book.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to her, you turned your head gently towards her, lowering your book ever so slightly "What's wrong, Els?" you asked, concerned. "Put it down, I wanna cuddle." she responded, snatching the book out of your hand and placing it on her nightstand. You couldn't help but smile at her neediness, finding it adorable. "Fine," you sighed playfully, "Needy," you added under your breath, rolling your eyes at her. But she caught your comment, "What? Did you say somethin'?" You couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction as she pulled you on top of her and wrapped her arms around you. "Oh, nothing," you innocently replied.

"Comfy? Anything hurts?" she asked in a gentle tone as she rubbed your back in a slow and soothing motion, and you instantly relaxed under her touch. You took a deep breath, the tension in your muscles slowly fading away. "I'm okay, — m'comfy" you reassured her, feeling grateful for her care and existence in general. You hugged her tightly, burying your head in her chest. You could feel the warmth radiating from her, and the steady beats of her heart were a comforting sound.

You both cuddled up in silence, movie still playing softly in the background. As she kept rubbing your back, you gently scratched her arm something that usually relaxed her. After a little while, you felt compelled to express your feelings and whispered, "I love you." Even though you couldn't see her face, you could hear the smile in her voice when she replied, "Love you more, babe." You remained comfortably nestled in her chest, head buried in her grey hoodie. When you finally lifted your head from her chest, you gazed into her beautiful green eyes, already looking at you with so much affection that made your heart skip a beat. "You mean the world to me." you confessed, her eyes softened even more, and her heart swelled with love for you. She was the perfect girlfriend, always so loving and respectful, and you couldn't ask for anyone better. Finally, she leaned in and kissed you slowly and tenderly, a soft kiss that soon turned into something passionate and full of desire. She rolled on top, pinning you down with her weight, her hands roaming all over your body. She squeezed your waist, your hands cupping her freckled face to keep her close. She sighed quietly into the kiss, her fingers tugging at your tank top, and you knew what that meant — she wanted it off. And to confirm your thoughts, it was Ellie herself. She pulled away, lips slightly swollen and pink. Despite her best efforts, it was pretty evident that she was struggling to control her breathing as she panted uncontrollably, both because of the intense making out and her arousal growing by the second. Her face was flushed; she looked at you to gauge your reaction to her silent request, to which you responded with a little nod. "I'm ready," you uttered timidly, feeling your cheeks getting warmer. "Are you sure? We don't nee-" you cut her words off, repeating yourself, "I'm ready," this time sounding a bit more firm and confident of your choice. She mimicked the slight nod you gave her a few seconds ago, loose strands of auburn hair falling out of her little bun framing her face, her eyes never leaving yours.

She leaned in once again, giving you a peck on your moist lips before kissing your jawline and down to your neck. "Can i touch you?" she asked between damp kisses she left on your neck, "I don't know, can you?" she chuckled and began to suck purple marks on your soft skin as she slipped her hand underneath your tank top, brushing against your bare stomach before reaching her target — your tits. She cupped one of your tits, feeling the fabric of your bra. Your breath hitched, your cheeks were flushed and you were grateful she was too focused on your neck to notice "Can I take it off?" she questioned between cute smooches sounds, "Yeah," you breathed out, looking back into her eyes.

When she did, you were left in nothing but your bra, the visible scar near your shoulder making you feel uncomfortable, same with the implanted pacemaker under your skin, it was visible and you hoped it didn't gross her out. You couldn't help but look away from her, suddenly feeling ashamed for something you had no control over; it was something so small yet so significant for you.

You felt her index and middle finger gently pressing under your jawline to turn your head towards her and make you look into her eyes once again. Her voice was soft, almost like a whisper, as she spoke to you in such a tender tone. "Hey," she started softly, sensing your insecurity. "You're beautiful, alright?" Hearing those words from her sent chills all over your body, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over you. She continued, "We'll go slow. If something feels wrong, you let me know, okay?" Her words were reassuring, and you could feel her gentle touch on your face, holding it firmly so that you couldn't look away. You nodded in response to her words, suddenly feeling shy in front of your girlfriend.

After less than a few minutes, both of your clothes were off, thrown carelessly somewhere in the room. She still had her sport bra on and her underwear while you only had your underwear on. She trailed down, kissing all over your bare chest and breasts, and your scar, the one you were insecure about "smooch smooch..so pretty, smooch beautiful, my pretty girl" she kept murmuring under her breath causing goosebumps to rise all over your body, your nipples stood erect and hard, begging for some attention. She chuckled when she felt your sensible nub harden under her palm, "Didn't mean to make the ladies feel neglected" she joked, her voice was husky. She looked up at you with a cocky grin, and you felt your cheeks heat up even more; you chuckled awkwardly and rolled your eyes at her attempt to tease you about something you couldn't control. "Why are you always like this?" you rhetorically asked with a playful smirk, she shrugged and gave you a lopsided smile as she began to kiss your chest and attack your nipples with her mouth. "mmphh" you let out; a pathetic attempt to swallow a small moan when she sucked on one of your nipples and pinched the other. You bit down on your lip, and you could feel her smile at the small sound that came from you as she continued to work on your tits.

She trailed her hand down your abdomen, her fingers dancing around the waistband of your underwear teasingly. You couldn't deny the arousal building in your panties and at the pit of your stomach, you could feel the uncomfortable stickiness forming in your undies. So fucking wet. Leaving moist kisses all the way down to your belly button, then she stopped. She looked up at you, cheeks flushed just like yours and her eyes looking for a sign of your consent. She wanted to make sure you were completely comfortable with the way she was exploring your body, feeling it, and touching it. "I'm ready, Ellie. I promise" you repeated, your voice was soft and still timid.

"If you want me to stop, just tell me to, okay?" she told you once again and she didn't resume what she was doing until you gave her a light nod. She spread your legs, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the darker spot of your panties, you were so fucking wet. She hissed something under her breath that you couldn't quite catch. Seeing how wet she made you only served to boost her ego (as if she wasn't cocky already, the last thing this girl needed was a boost of her ego). "God, you're so wet," she couldn't help but voice her thoughts. "Thanks, Einstein, I haven't noticed," you responded with a hint of sarcasm, perhaps hoping to divert attention away from your embarrassment. She chuckled and an amused smile appeared on her dotted face, her brows jolting up. "Don't you give me the attitude" Before you could say anything back, her digits gently pressed on your still-clothed pussy, making your hips jerk away and a little moan escape your lips. Your face was on fire as you registered the lewd sound that accidentally left your lips. "That's what you get," A broad grin of pride spread across her face, and a fleeting pout that she found endearing appeared on your face "Oh, what? You mad at me, now?" she continued to taunt you, you let out a deep sigh and turned your gaze away.

"Shut up — god, why are you so annoying even in moments like this?" You covered your eyes with the sweaty palm of your hand as you spoke, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. You could hear her giggle at your shyness, and it was evident that she enjoyed teasing you and playing with your emotions.

"C'mon pretty, m'just messin' with you." but she couldn't stop snickering to herself, finding your reactions quite funny. "Look at me," she commanded in a gentle tone, and you complied; you moved your hand away from your face and looked down at her, who was positioned between your spread thighs. "Want me to stop?" she questioned again, making you huff in response "Ellie. If you ask me that one more time, i swear—"

"Jesus, just making sure, no need to be so feisty about it" her fingers hooked under the waistband of your pink panties, tugging it down and freeing your dripping cunt. "Do I seriously make you this wet?" she was in disbelief, watching the string of precum that connected your pussy to your damp panties she had just pulled down.

"No, I was secretly thinking of Megan Fox, imagining her on top doing naughty things to me," you sarcastically retorted. She gasped dramatically, acting offended. Such a drama queen she was. "I consider that cheating." She played along, keeping that fake offended demeanor on. You laughed softly at her silly expression. "Okay, then, you caught me. Mentally cheating on you right now," you joked.

"I see how it is" You laughed again, and she scoffed, but she wasn't actually pissed at you.

She began kissing your inner thigh, the ache between your thighs becoming almost unbearable. "Els..." you had this whiny hint in your voice, growing visibly impatient, "Hm?" she hummed back, switching to your other thigh, going near your pussy but never actually touching you where you wanted her to. You moved your hips close to her face, but she moved away. "What do you want?" she asked teasingly, playing dumb. Fuck, you hated her guts for doing that. "You know what i want" she clicked her tongue under the roof of her mouth "Don't think I do" you sighed, frustration slowly creeping up inside you "Please?" your voice was delicate, almost as if you were begging her to let you try her fries or asking her to buy you something. She smirked, seeing you all horny and desperate yet still struggling with your words, too shy to tell her what you wanted directly. "Please what?" she encouraged you, that obnoxious cocky grin never leaving her face; she was making fun of you at this point. But you stayed quiet. "Can't read your mind princess, you gotta use your words."

"Touch me?...please?" your voice above a whisper but she heard you, you could tell she did from the satisfied expression casting over her features. "Sorry? Louder. Couldn't hear you" that cunt. You knew she did hear you and that she just wanted to hear it again so, you tried your best to push your shyness aside and please her. "Touch me, Ell-" But she was growing way too impatient, pressing her thumb on your clit, you let out a strangled moan and your hips jerked away at the sudden contact, but she pulled you closer again. Between the two of you, the more impatient one was probably her. Poor baby couldn't even let you say it twice, she was already torturing your aching nub, drawing small circles on it.

"Feeling good?" she questioned, her eyes studying your every reaction to her touch. She knew you felt good but still needed to hear it from you. "Yeah," you breathed out, your breathing becoming more elaborated. "Remember to breathe from your nose, baby. Don't want your heart to go crazy over a little excitement — if it gets too much, tell me." she thoughtfully said. "I'll be fine" you reassured her, grabbing her other hand to squeeze it.

In no time, her lips were on your clit, gently sucking on it. She moaned on it, almost as she she was the one getting head. She could feel her pussy starting to ache, the fabric of her undies sticking to her pussy, but she couldn't help it. The way you sounded, your cute expressions and your pretty pussy were just too much to bare for her. "So fucking beautiful," she mumbled, pulling away from your pussy for a second. She slid a finger inside you and you arched your back, pushing your hips to her face to seek for more contact "This okay, yeah?" her voice was rasp. You whined in response "Ooooh look at her, think she loves me" it took quite a few to understand that she was talking to your pussy instead "God, w-why are you so…" you tried to hide the turmoil in your voice but you interrupted your own words with a slutty moan that left your throat as soon as she pushed her finger deeper into you.

"Fuuuck" you grunted, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull and the grip on her hand tightening. "So responsive," she chuckled. "Ellie, shut..up," you whined, moving your hips slowly to meet her thrusts. "Can't even talk without moaning, so nasty." she snickered, acting like she was totally unaffected by your pretty moans. She was fucking soaked, humping into absolutely nothing, not that you could notice it, too focused on the way she was making you feel. The gushing sounds riverbed throughout Ellie's bedroom, and she absolutely fucking loved it. She loved seeing you like this, whimpering and writhing under her touch, so ethereal, your body was pure art to her.

"M-more" you stuttered, panting a bit, your chest raising and falling quickly "More, huh?" she echoed mockingly, sliding another finger into your little honey jar, wetness dripping down to her knuckles from how wet you were. "Gahh-uhhd" you let out incoherent words, she groaned, feeling your walls clenching around her fingers and feeling her own clenching around absolutely nothing. "Like this, yes?" she questioned in a breathy voice, her brain suddenly struggling to make out sentences that made sense, too mushy to say shit and all because of you. If you only knew how long she waited to see you like this — touch you like this. "Uh-aahh" you trapped little whimpers inside your mouth, biting hard on your bottom lip again. "Nah-uh let me hear you," she immediately scolded you, shaking her head in disapproval, but you didn't listen.

Her face lowered to your pussy, lips attaching to your throbbing clit, teasing it with the tip of her tongue, switching between circling it and sucking it gently. Your mouth hung open, arching your back and bucking your hips against her face as you let out obscene moans. She moaned against your core, a mixture of her own spit and your juices covering her chin. "Taste hmmsoo good" Your other hand reached down to move pieces of her hair out of her face. "Ellie, I-i think I'm gonna-" you trailed off, not that she needed you to tell her, she could feel you squeezing her digits as she kept hitting that soft spot inside you. "Gonna cum, baby? wanna cum for me, beautiful?" she cooed.

"God..I love you so fucking much," she hissed under her breath; you moaned loudly in return, riding her fingers "Babe, m'gonna cum" you squealed, high-pitched moans reverbing throughout her apartment. "i'm here, princess" she cooed, squeezing your hand that she had been holding this entire time, so clingy. She wanted to ensure you knew she was there for you, not only to please you. That little feeling that had been building up in your stomach snapped like a rubber band, milking her fingers as she let you ride your orgasm. Curses falling from both of your lips, your muscles spasming and squeezing her fingers — god if she loved the way your body was reacting to her.

"I know, i know, I'm here baby" she whispered sweetly when a few whiny whimpers left your mouth. When you came down from your high, she withdrew her fingers and sucked them clean, her eyes locked with yours as she did so "You're so nasty" you giggled, feeling yourself blush again "You're the one who came all over my fingers" she teased you, crawling up to kiss your lips. Your tongues tangled together and you could taste yourself on her tongue. You place your hands on her waist, pulling her body closer to yours.

"You must be tired, angel." She reluctantly pulled away, an inch away from your lips as she spoke. "Want me to leave you all wet and needy?" you inquired in disbelief, lifting your brows up at her reluctance. Her eyes silently begging you to touch her, but she still preferred to put your health over her needs. That's how caring and loving she was. "I'm just saying you don't need to push yourself if you feel tired," she repeated.

"Oh, Ellie…" you sighed, pulling her underwear down and taking her by surprise. She seemed to be internally struggling to find the right thing to say, but you preceded her, "Think I can't handle a little fun?" you purred, growing bolder in your actions. You cupped her cunt, feeling all her sweet juices cover your hand; she was so fucking soaked, it was almost unbelievable. "Only if you're sure," she answered, her breath hitching in her throat as she gulped thickly, already trying hard to suppress her cute little moans. "I'm sure you want this," you teased her, the corner of your lips curling up in a smile, almost as if to make fun of her; it was your turn now.

"I do, you know I do," she replied. It was so entertaining to watch her keep her breathing steady. You ran your index and middle finger through her glistening folds and began to tease her puffy clit, rubbing it slowly, almost painfully. "Fuck" she grunted, humping the palm of your hand, desperate to find relief; you hummed back. "Am I doing okay?" you asked innocently; despite your inexperience, you could tell she loved it, and you high-fived yourself for the little mental notes you took while she was touching you just a moment ago. She grabbed your wrist, guiding your fingers to her entrance. "Finger me," she commanded with a raspy voice.

She let out a small gasp when you thrusted into her slowly. "Like this?" you could feel her walls clenching around your inexperienced fingers, "Uh-huh," she bobbed her head, positioning your hand just how she wanted it, guiding you as she rode your fingers. "Fuck, you're so messy — so wet for me," you muttered under your breath, pulling her closer to you; she was supporting her weight on her wobbly knees as she rode your fingers, burying her head into the crook of your neck. Your other hand rested on her hips, holding her in place and not allowing her to move as you kept slamming your fingers into her. The pleasure sounds she let out right into your ear only served to make you wetter and hornier than you already were — if that was even possible. It was almost like your inexperience melted away, with the sole intent of pleasing her. Immaculate sounds left her throat as she chased her orgasm on your fingers, and you couldn't help but groan pitifully after her. Your pussy already yearning for her again, struggling to hold onto the last shreds of sanity. "Just like that." Her voice was weak and breathy, it was fucking music to your ears, making you feel all types of things inside your tummy, butterflies perhaps? She couldn't even speak properly, struggling to suppress her slutty whimpers. Muttering filthy curses under her breath as you picked up the pace, hitting that spongy spot over and over; you could feel her whole body tremble and squirm in your hands. What made it better was knowing that you were causing it.

"You feel so good, El," you whispered in her ear, kissing all the cute little freckles spattered on her bare shoulder and collarbone "'m gonna cum" she gasped, her whimpers becoming more frequent and louder. Who knew she'd become a whiny mess when close to her orgasm, but for some reason, you found it adorable — like her life depended entirely on your fingers, cute wispy brows furrowed together in concentration. "Gonna cum on my fingers, pretty?" you purred. "Please…" she sounded so fucking needy it was almost ridiculous, but you slowed down instead, earning a groan from her part "Nonono, don't stop, pleaseplease," Her words were rushed, sounding like a kid who had just lost the most precious possession. "What is it that you said? Words, right? — you gonna be a good girl and ask or you just gonna cum like that?" for some reason, the idea of playing with her in such a vulnerable state turned you on. You wanted to see how far you could push her. She let out a shaky breath. "Can't believe you're doing this." She slowly shook her head in disbelief. Your digits pressed on the spot that almost made her squirt, and she squirmed. "Words." You spoke with a firmer tone, but you still had a playful, teasing smirk on your lips. "Swear to fucking god— next time, I won't go so easy on you," uttering a threatening remark followed by an imperceptible scoff. "I never asked you to go easy on me." Your pace slowed down even more, and she frowned at you.

"Can I cum? on your fingers? please." her chest heaving with each ragged breath. Her eyes were wide and glossy, her pupils dilated with desperation. "Such a goood girl El, such a good girl…cum for me" but all she could do was crash her lips against yours, leaving you no choice but swallow all her little noises. Her thighs trembled with each thrust, her legs parting slightly to allow better access as your fingers kept thrusting in and out of her wetness harder and faster, causing her to moan into your mouth.

When she came down from her high she collapsed against you, your bodies glistening with sweat, still breathing unevenly. The first thing she said when her breathing went back to normal was "I think I'm gonna marry you," before dissolving into a fit of giggles. You couldn't help but chuckle along with her. "I'm flattered. I guess you liked it then?" you responded, wrapping your arms around her. She snuggled into your chest, a contented smile on her face. "If I liked it?" she repeated, incredulous. You laughed softly, "Well, did you?"

"You were lying when you said it was your first time, weren't you?" she asked teasingly, furrowing her eyebrows at you and looking at you with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. "I take that as a compliment," you smirked, not giving her a straight answer, her eyes carefully studied your features, analyzing every crease and contour, searching for any sign of deception "No, seriously. Were you a virgin?" she asked again, still in disbelief "I guess you'll never know," you said, teasing her further. "Come on. I'm your girlfriend. I'm supposed to know," she said, acting dramatic and waving her hands in the air. "Are you?" you asked teasingly, and she gasped in mock offense. "Excuse you? Am I not your girlfriend?" she asked, pretending to be hurt. You couldn't help but giggle. "I meant...are you supposed to know?" you teased her curiosity. "Pffttt whatever," she said, pretending to be offended and scooting away from you. You continued laughing at her antics. "Babe, where are you going?" you asked, still chuckling as you reached for her tattooed forearm and pulled her back towards you. "Girlfriends tell each other everything," she pouted playfully. "Right. Let's watch Jurassic Park and cuddle," you suggested, grabbing the remote to put the movie on.

You shared a bond that was unbreakable, and every experience you had together only brought you closer as if there was an invisible red string that seemed to connect the two of you, always pulling you closer and closer with each passing day. Your love for each other was like a never-ending flame that grew brighter with time. She never really stopped surprising you with little thoughtful gifts, and she even drew sketches of you when you weren't looking, and you both looked forward to creating new adventures together. She was always this huge simp for you, your number one supporter and fan.

After completing university, she asked you to move into her small but cozy apartment, which was basically a reflection of her personality. The walls were adorned with paintings she had made, stacks of comic books on her shelves, action figures, and her favorite movies and games collection. It was a delightful mishmash of all the things she loved. And slowly, your belongings started to mix in with hers. Her lonely toothbrush now had a companion, and her sneakers left by the door had an extra pair of shoes right next to them — your shoes. The dirty laundry was now a mix of colorful pink clothes and pastel colors, while hers were mostly grey or dark clothes. The wall hooks had more jackets hanging on them, and cute little stuffed animals were carefully placed on her your bed. The shelves filled with cute little plants that you both lovingly cared for, filling the empty gaps between an action figure and another. Living with her was a dream come true; you couldn't have been happier. You both had created a space that was uniquely yours, filled with love and a familiar warmth, it felt like family.

And before you knew it a new member joined your little family — a golden retriever. You had always dreamt of having a dog, but your parents never allowed you to have one when you were a kid. You had been talking about how much you loved the idea of having a furball running around your little apartment, ever since, Ellie had been secretly planning to surprise you with a cute little puppy. She had subtly asked you what kind of dog you would like, and she started doing her research. She had never owned a dog before, so she wanted to learn as much as possible about what puppies needed. Puppies required more than just toys and cuddles, after all they needed proper nutrition, and she was confused about what kind of food to get for the puppy. She went to the grocery store and found a wide variety of puppy food with different flavors and vitamins. After careful consideration, she picked out what she thought was the best one for the puppy. One day, she told you that she was staying out late for work; in reality, the poor baby had to drive for an hour to get the exact puppy she had seen on social media (Facebook, to be exact, Joel had helped her with that). The puppy was a beautiful golden retriever with a shiny coat and an adorable face. The drive back home with the puppy was mostly quiet, except for her talking to the honey-furred baby that sat there in the passenger seat in silence, looking at her lovingly.

The puppy's big, brown eyes had already stolen her heart, and she found herself speaking in a silly, high-pitched voice "I just know she's gonna love you," she cooed, her words directed at the adorable pup. "You're such a good girl, aren't ya?" she continued, praising the puppy for every little thing she did, even breathing. "You better not be stealing her from me too much, though, or else…" she trailed off, her voice filled with mock threats. But her playful words quickly turned to more affectionate ones as she gazed into the puppy's sweet eyes. "Gosh, you're so fuckin' cute," she whispered, her fingers gently caressing the puppy's soft fur while the other remained on the steering wheel "Wonder what your name will be," she hummed, tapping her fingers lightly on the wheel. She began to sing a song she had just made up on the spot, directed at the little furball who was wiggling her tail in excitement. "My cute little shrimp," she sang, her voice filled with love and affection, but when the puppy let out a little whine at her singing, she couldn't help but laugh at herself. "What? Am I that much of a bad singer?" she joked, her voice filled with self-deprecating humor. "Oof, tough crowd," she added, chuckling at her own joke "Just wait till I show you my guitar skills, you little shit."

When she finally made it to your apartment, she had to carry the little shrimp all the way up to the stairs cause the puppy was too scared to climb them and the elevator was currently broken. She had to take small steps to make sure she wouldn't trip over her own feet or something like that. "So heavy," she muttered under her breath before putting the pup down, her arms aching. She unlocked the door and you immediately called out your name. "You home, baby?" she heard from the kitchen, where she assumed you were washing the dishes because she could hear the sound of clinking plates. She responded, "Could you come here real quick? need your help with something." She left the dog outside on the doorstep, behind the wall and out of your sight.

You shouted from the kitchen, "Give me a second," before approaching her. She handed you a plastic bag filled with dog toys and bowls. You looked at her in confusion since you didn't own a pet. "What's this for?" you asked, puzzled. She didn't reply but simply moved to the side and clicked her tongue multiple times. The fur ball appeared and ran to you wiggling her tail. You slapped your hand on your mouth in disbelief, and your eyes widened in surprise, soon welling up with tears.

You got on your knees and held the pup close to you, hugging the fur ball tightly. "Oh my fucking god, iloveyouiloveyou," you kept rambling between cute sniffles, and she couldn't help but laugh at your reaction. "Surprise, babe," she said with a small smile, kneeling down to pet the puppy in your arms. The puppy was small and soft, with big brown eyes and tiny paws. You couldn't believe how adorable she was.

"I love you so fucking much. She is so fucking cute. I can't believe it. I'm a mother now," you said, tears of joy running down your cheeks. She chuckled at your words, happy to see you so happy. "Yep, we're parents now," she played along, scratching the dog behind her ear. "What're we naming her?" she asked then, wiping the tears off your face with her thumb.

"Maple?" you sniffled hard, "Maple, I like Maple." You looked down at the little pup in your arms, and she looked up at you with innocent eyes.

Ever since the beginning, it was clear that Maple was more than just a pet; she was a member of your family. She was such a beautiful and intelligent dog, whenever you or Ellie came home, Maple would be the first to greet you with a wagging tail and excited barks that would fill the room with her infectious energy. She would jump up, her paws dancing in the air, and nuzzle her wet nose against your hand begging for cuddles and kisses. But Maple's abilities went beyond just being a dog. She had an incredible intuition that seemed almost human-like, and had a sixth sense when it came to reading emotions. She always seemed to sense whenever your heart was going a little too crazy and would nudge you with her nose to make you sit down. But your heartbeat wasn't the only thing she could sense; whenever Ellie was about to have a panic attack she could feel it, and if she was having one and you weren't by her side, she would come get you.

You remembered the first time this happened. It was a dark and stormy night, and you and Ellie had just gone to bed. You were sound asleep when Maple jumped up on the bed and began licking your face frantically. You thought she needed to go outside, so you groaned, "Babe, think Maple needs to-" You started, your voice still thick with sleep, but when your hand landed on the empty mattress instead of your girlfriend's shoulder, you instantly woke up.

Following Maple to the bathroom, you found Ellie sitting on the floor, tears streaming down her freckled face, and her breathing uneven. You knelt down in front of her and spoke to her softly, using a soothing tone to calm her down. You knew better than just to touch her; she seemed too absent and lost in her own nightmare to welcome such an invasion. "El, hey…I'm here, honey." As your gentle cooing reached her ears, she seemed to awaken from a trance, her terrified eyes locked with yours, fear etched across her beautiful features. "Hi baby, it's okay." you tried to calm her down, "i'm here, okay?" she was trembling with fear, and your heart sank. You gently placed your hand on her knee and tried to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. With a soft and soothing voice, you said, "You're safe now...let's take a deep breath together, alright?" You could see the tears streaming down her face as she tried her best to mimic your deep breaths. You kept encouraging her to take deep breaths in and out, and she slowly began to calm down. Maple sat in the corner of the bathroom, watching over Ellie with a concerned expression. When Ellie finally calmed down, you sat down next to her and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm here for you," you felt her body relax and her breathing steady. She leaned into your touch, and you could feel the tension in her body slowly dissipating. You were her anchor, her everything. You could feel her heartbeat slowing down as she rested her head on your chest, listening to the rhythm of your breathing. You kissed the top of her head tenderly, and she closed her eyes, taking in your scent. Suddenly, she rasped out, "I love you," her voice sounded weak, you knew she was exhausted "I love you more — Feeling better?" You ran your fingers through her messy hair, and she gave you a small nod in response. The golden furball walked to Ellie's other side and laid down, placing her head on her thigh. Ellie smiled weakly and petted her gently "My two favorite girls," you joked with a soft tone, trying to lighten the mood. An airy scoff left her nose as all three of you sat there, cuddling each other.

Maple was an essential part of your family. She was always there, no matter where you went. Sundays were extra special because Ellie would be at home all day. You would spend those days soaking up all her attention and going to the beach with her and Maple, your cute little meatball. There was nothing better than lounging under the warm afternoon sun, and Ellie bringing a big umbrella to shield you from the heat. While you played with Maple, she would often strum her guitar or sketch the two of you, looking at you with heart eyes as she captured the moment on paper. The sound of your laughter would fill the air, as you threw the frisbee to Maple and enjoyed the perfect beach day with Ellie by your side. You were all she ever wanted and she was all you ever wished for.

That's why she felt the need to take your relationship to the next level.

"Baaaabe" you shouted from the living room while browsing through the countless titles on Netflix. "Yeah?" Your girlfriend responded from the kitchen, her voice echoing through the cozy apartment as she paced around, probably making you something to drink. "What do you wanna watch?" your eyes casted across the big TV screen, the multiple titles illuminate your face, making it difficult to choose just one. You heard a sigh from the other side of the couch and looked over to see your beloved dog, Maple, ready to nap after a long day of work. poor dog.

"Uhhh…dunno, a horror movie?" she suggested, sounding unsure. "Wow, thanks for the help, Ellie. Always so useful," You retorted in a fake annoyed tone "Do you remember that new movie with Jennifer Lawrence I told you I wanted to watch?" she asked after a few moments of pondering, emerging from the kitchen with two steaming mugs in her hands. You raised an eyebrow at her and asked, "So, you wanna watch it for her, huh?" She laughed at your words and rolled her eyes. "C'mon, you told me to pick something, and I did," she explained handing you one of the mugs. "Careful, it's hot." You'd never seen this mug before, Ellie was obsessed with collecting new ones, so you didn't really pay attention to it. "Okay, fine, Jennifer Lawrence, it is," you said as you selected the movie she suggested. "Hi, baby," you heard her say in a high-pitched voice, and when you looked at her, you realized she was talking to the dog. "Hi baby? really? I'm literally right here." She giggled at your response and scooted closer to you, kissing your cheek. "Hi baby," she repeated her words, but this time in a sultry tone "Better."

You took another sip of your drink, but you could feel her gaze lingering on you. When you turned to look at her, she quickly averted her eyes and pretended to be interested in the TV. "What?" you asked, brows furrowing in confusion. "What?" she echoed back, acting like she hadn't been staring at you for the last 15 minutes. "No, you what" you repeated, her eyes darting from the mug in your hands to you. "You done with that yet?" she questioned, seeming almost too impatient. "Huh?" she cleared her throat, eyes wandering nervously around the living room for a few seconds before returning them to you again. "Are you done with your latte? Want me to make you more?" she rephrased it, trying to sound less nervous. You looked down at your mug for a second "Not yet"

Her eyes remained glued on you, eagerly awaiting for something, a reaction perhaps, you couldn't tell, she was just acting weird as hell. "Done?" she asked for the third time in a row, after every five seconds, but to her, it felt like an eternity. "Ellie, I swear—" You let out an exasperated sigh "What?" she replied, her voice laced with innocence. "No, seriously. You tryna poison me or something?" you joked,and she simply scoffed at your words and rolled her eyes at you. "Just drink it fast, god," she demanded, her impatience showing. As you take the last sip, your eyes caught a glimpse of a few letters printed on the bottom of the mug.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the words

Will you marry me?

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, and before you could even process what was happening, you jumped into her lap, crying in her arms. She wrapped her arms around you tightly, and you could feel her heart beating in sync with yours. "Yesyesyesyes" you had whispered between sobs, your voice choked with emotion. Her eyes lit up with joy and she pulled away, revealing a small diamond ring in her hand. You looked at her in awe, realizing that that was the moment you had been waiting for your entire life. The woman of your dreams had asked you to spend the rest of your life with her, and you couldn't have been happier.

"I love you so much," you sobbed, tears streaming down your face as you watched her hands sliding the ring on your finger. She chuckled through her own tears and replied, "I think I love you even more." You sniffled and cupped her face, saying, "I love you with all my heart."

Ellie being Ellie, couldn't help but make a joke about that. She looked at you with a playful smirk on her face; she wiggled her eyebrows up and down and said, "All your heart, huh?"

With a grin, you replied, "It's beating like crazy for you." Then she asked if you wanted to hear a joke from her pun book, but you knew it was a rhetorical question. You prepared yourself for the inevitable dumb joke she was about to tell. "Ellie, I thought we talked about this." You fake scolded her, but she couldn't hold back her smile as she started her joke, almost as if she was about to make the funniest joke ever but everyone who knew Ellie knew that her jokes were...questionable. "Are you pulmonary embolism?" she proceeded, barely containing her laughter.

"Oh no," you frowned, rubbing your forehead. She then delivered the punchline with a wide smile, all proud of herself "Because you take my breath away." You looked at her with a deadpan expression and let out a sigh. You shook your head, and said "Can't believe I'm marrying you," trying to hide the smile that was starting to form on your lips. Ellie looked at you with a cocky grin "Right? I'm great like that — Talented, charming, great jokes...what else could you possibly want?" Rolling your eyes, you responded, "fancy package, lucky me"

After your laughter had subsided, you gazed into her captivating green eyes with a smile filled with affection. You were so deeply in love that it felt almost painful. You could hardly believe how fortunate you were to have found each other. The thought of spending the rest of your lives together filled you with joy and excitement. Both of you leaned in simultaneously, eager to feel the warmth of each other's lips in a tender and passionate kiss.

She was the person who made your life complete. You felt like you had been waiting for her all your life; your life always felt so dull and empty and you never understood why or what it was missing, until you met her. She was your soulmate, your best friend, and the love of your life. You couldn't imagine spending a single day without her by your side. She was the one who made everything better, who made you laugh with her stupid and corny puns when you wanted to cry, who held your hand when you needed comfort. You knew that you could face anything as long as she was with you. You were grateful for every moment you spent together and looked forward to spending the rest of your life with her.

On your wedding day, the weather was perfect, with clear skies and a gentle breeze that carried the scent of flowers from the nearby garden. It felt like a dream come true, and you couldn't believe the day had finally arrived. You couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation as you prepared to marry the love of your life. Sure, you were exhausted at the end of the day, but it was all worth it.

As you walked down the aisle, you saw everyone you loved and cared for, all gathered in one place to celebrate your special day. Ellie's closest friends, Dina and Jesse, Joel, your parents, and all your friends were there, beaming with joy and happiness. You were wearing a beautiful white dress that hugged your curves in all the right places, and Ellie couldn't help but cry when she saw you. Her dad rubbed her back, trying to calm the poor baby down, but the tears kept streaming down her face. You were a vision, and she couldn't believe how lucky she was to have you. Ellie was equally breathtaking in her suit, looking sharp and elegant, you couldn't take your eyes off her, she was so fucking fine. You exchanged vows, and it took her a while to finish reading hers, as she was choked up with sobs and emotions. You tried to comfort her by holding her trembling hands, but she was just a wreck.

When the time came for you to kiss your bride, the celebrant said, "You may now kiss your bride." Ellie looked at you with teary eyes, and you both giggled as you leaned in for a kiss, both of you smiling against each other's lips. That moment marked the beginning of your journey together as a married couple, but what mattered most was that you were both committed to being there for each other no matter what.

[dc-marvel-crossovers]

introducing: bring your fandom to work week!

• take that blorbo (DC, Marvel, or both!)

• put him in a (workplace) situation — AU? undercover mission? up to you!

• give us a look into the nitty-gritty everyday reality of that workplace, and feel free to show off your expertise/teach readers a thing or two

• post to the collection between February 17th and 21st

some examples of the genre are under the cut!

Like A Good Neighbor by @kindaquirky - in which Tim Drake works in insurance. love the peek into what actual Gotham insurance policies might take into account.

Possible Cardiac Arrest by @kangofu-cb - Nurse!Clint and Firefighter!Bucky. you can absolutely tell this was written by someone who knows what they’re talking about.

Feed The Birds by Moxibustion - vigilante food trucks. never thought I’d be so interested in food distribution systems or the red tape involved in social programs.

On My Mind by @claraxbarton - a (very sexy) glimpse into the glamorous world of college faculty.

Ain’t No Compass, Ain’t No Map by @ebjameston - aka Gotham CPS, featuring one of the best OCs around.

it’s a golden thing he’s got by @scootcommander - sheep herder Bucky Barnes in a cozy, well-developed AU.

The One Where Clint Goes To Preschool by @noxnthea and @there-must-be-a-lock - preschool written by teachers, complete with direct-from-real-life kid quotes.

[whimsymoonpages]

chapter 24. under pressure

cw: injury, brief medical emergency (concussion), family tension, implied toxic family dynamics, reader is a badass and barty is charming as always

the next several weeks go by beautifully. the boys have been doting on you entirely too much, but you allow it. they kiss you, cuddle you, hold you from behind, and gods it's everything you ever dreamed of. but still, you have a job to do. 

currently, you and barty are in the middle of reorganizing the creature archives.

the air smells faintly of old parchment, crushed beetle eyes, and a lingering hint of singed feathers, a leftover accident from last week’s jar explosion. you’re perched precariously on a step ladder, the wooden rungs creaking under your boots, arms full of disorganized files that crackle and snap like they resent being touched.

"no, no, no, the flobberworms go on the bottom shelf. the salamanders go on top," you grumble, your fingers struggling to balance the weight of the unruly stack.

"what if i put them in the middle?" barty teases from below, one hand lazily levitating a crate of jars labeled with increasingly worrying warnings. 'DO NOT DROP. WILL EXPLODE GOO.'

"you’ll upset the entire categorization system. you’ll send newt into cardiac arrest."

"ooh, maybe he’ll let me take a longer lunch then." barty daydreams and nearly drops the jar.

"barty!" you shriek, your wand pointing at the ground just below the jar. he's lucky you're a brilliant witch, otherwise he'd be covered in the goop!

he smirks, catching the crate and shoving it onto the shelf anyway. "oh, lighten up. you know he loves me."

before you can retort, a paper airplane from the auror’s office zips into the room, smacking barty right in the temple. he startles, swatting at it like it bit him.

"bloody hell. hostile post."

you snatch it from the air, brow furrowing as you read. 

'auror field training. erumpant on site. immediate assistance required in wimbourne.'

your stomach drops. "james is on field training today."

barty’s grin fades instantly. "what?"

"it’s his group, junior. it has to be."

you don’t wait. you’re already sprinting toward the equipment room, grabbing your wrangling tools, your wand, and one of newt’s enchanted cases. if an erumpant was in their field, you'd need to put it someplace safe. fast. 

barty is on your heels, still shoving protective gear over his shoulders. "we’ve got this, yeah?"

"we’ve got this," you echo, though your heart is thudding painfully. "i hope."

you apparate to the field in a crack of displaced air, the damp grass squelching under your boots as you land hard.

the scene is chaos.

an enormous erumpant is barreling through spells, its thick hide shimmering under the pressure of magic. aurors-in-training scatter in all directions. you spot frank longbottom ont he ground, his temples bruised and bleeding. to your right, kingsley shacklebolt is firing defensive spells, his face tight with focus, and then—

james. wand raised, yelling, his curls wild in the wind. your chest seizes.

"james!"

he doesn’t hear you. he and kingsley are trying to back the creature into a rocky alcove, but it’s not enough. you shove your way forward, barty right at your side.

"hands off! we’ve got this!" you shout, throwing your hands up to get james and kingsley to fall back.

james stares at you, a flicker of relief, but the ground shakes as the erumpant charges again. james stumbles, his foot catching on uneven rock. his head snaps backward as he hits the ground hard. your heart lurches.

"james!" you scream louder than you ever have before.

barty grabs your wrist, yanking you back. "focus! now!"

you bite down the panic, your grip tightening on your wand. together, you and barty weave around the beast, stunning it from both sides.

"stupefy!" you yell with all your might, momentarily stunning the creature. this angers it, and it rears, roaring. you slide under its guard as barty distracts it by stomping his feet and sending sparks at the creature. you silently cast the shrinking spell and fall to the ground. barty snaps the suitcase open just in time to capture it.

it’s done.

you collapse into barty’s arms, shaking. "we did it. merlin, that was so much scarier than our day job."

barty laughs, breathless, holding you close to him. "darling, that is our day job."

you rush to james as he starts to stir, groaning as he sits up. "did we win?"

"you were unconscious, antlers." barty says flatly, though visibly relieved that everything worked out okay.

"still counts."

kingsley claps you on the shoulders, his calm returning now that the threat is gone. "impressive. it’s no wonder mr. scamander keeps you both around."

healers arrive swiftly, loading james and frank longbottom onto stretchers. you squeeze james’s hand as they prepare to take him to st. mungo’s.

"i’ll meet you there," you promise. "barty’s going to get remus and sirius."

barty is already gone, sprinting through muggle london. he doesn’t stop running until he bursts into remus’s office, sweat-soaked and panting.

remus looks up from his typewriter, brow arched. "barty? how did you even find me?"

"no time for chit-chat, sweetheart. we’ve got to go to st. mungo’s. now."

remus stands so quickly his chair screeches back. "what? why? what happened?"

"field accident. james is hurt. lovely's with him. gonna send a patronus to sirius on the way. let’s go."

remus is pale but determined, grabbing his coat as they both disapparate on the spot. barty takes his wand out to send his patronus—a sleek, twisting silver serpent—it zips through the air toward sirius, muttering, 'come to st. mungo's, black. james is hurt. not much more to say...'

barty’s breath is ragged as they run through the muggle street, dodging a bus that screeches past too close. he snarls under his breath, ‘bloody muggles’ before apparating with remus, the weight of panic clinging to both of them.

at st. mungo’s, you’re pacing frantically outside the treatment room when remus and barty arrive.

"he’s fine," you blurt, eyes wide, "he’s okay, but—"

the door bangs open and sirius storms in, dripping with rain, his expression frantic. he pushes past a healer trying to block his path. “MOVE!” he barks, his voice ragged and unsteady, wild-eyed as if he’s ready to tear through the entire hospital to get to james. "where is he? what happened? is he—"

"he’s okay! he’s okay!"

sirius crashes into you, clutching you tightly before rushing into the room. in an instant, he is by james’ side. the boy is drowsy, half-awake, but his grin cracks wide when he sees him.

"hey, pads."

sirius drops to his knees beside the bed, brushing james’s hair out of his face with shaking hands. "what happened? why weren’t you careful? you’re supposed to be careful!"

"’m always careful, love."

"you’re not!"

remus squeezes james’s calf, his head bowed briefly like he’s silently giving thanks. "you scared the shit out of us."

"’m sorry, moony. ‘m okay, though."

you sit on the edge of the bed, taking james’s hand in both of yours. "you didn’t even see it, did you? the way we handled it. barty was brilliant."

"you both are." sirius murmurs, still brushing his fingers through james’s curls.

"i didn’t even get to see her be badass," james pouts, causing you to laugh softly. 

"she’s always badass." remus says, his voice thick.

"he didn't even get knocked out by the bloody thing," you tease, poking his side. "he tripped over a rock!"

"smooth like butter, ay, potter?" barty smirks from a chair across the room.

moments later, two older people arrive. they both have gorgeous white hair, and the kindest eyes you think you've ever seen. the man is tall, towering really, with a warm face and sharp honey-colored eyes that crinkle when he smiles. the woman beside him is so tiny you think she might fold under the weight of her own coat, her brilliant green eyes sparkling, her stark white hair twisted into an elegant clip.

“mum, dad!” james perks up immediately, his voice scratchy but bright.

“oh, james,” his mother rushes forward, immediately cupping his face like she needs to check every inch of him. “how do you always find your way into these messes?”

“because he’s a potter,” his father says, his voice thick with fond exasperation, stepping in behind her. “it’s what we do. get hurt, cause a bit of chaos, somehow charm our way out of the paperwork.”

“you’re incorrigible,” she huffs, pressing a flurry of kisses to james’s cheeks, one after the other, making him scrunch his nose and groan. 

“mum, i’m recovering, let me recover in peace!”

“you’ll recover once i know you’ve still got all your fingers.” she grabs his hand, counting his fingers out loud. “one, two, three—don’t you dare pull away from me, james fleamont potter.”

you hover awkwardly to the side, unsure if now is the time to introduce yourself, but his father's attention has already landed on you. “i'm fleamont, and this is euphemia. you must be the girl,” he says, stepping closer, his smile kind but his brow raised in something just shy of teasing. “who saved my boy.”

“she’s the one who does all the saving around here.” sirius mutters, still carding his fingers through james’s hair.

“it wasn’t just me,” you mumble, your cheeks warm. “it was me and barty—”

“junior!” fleamont exclaims, his grin widening as he moves to shake barty’s hand. “heard a great deal about you from your father. you’re quite the quick-witted fellow.”

your brows furrow. barty's dad has been speaking kindly about him? what universe are we in?

barty, who has never been this charming before in his life, stands, perfectly poised, and says, “from my father? you flatter me, sir. james is a dear friend. i’d hardly let him face an erumpant alone.”

remus raises his brows, eyes flicking between you and barty. 'what the fuck?' he mouths to you, causing you to giggle. 

“see?” fleamont beams, giving euphemia a knowing look. “i told you he’d attract good people.”

“but he still gets himself nearly blown up!” euphemia mutters, but the soft squeeze she gives your elbow tells you she’s not really upset.

“how did you know we’d be here so quickly?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“when your son gets sent to the hospital, your floo fireplace doesn’t exactly stay quiet,” fleamont says, resting a hand on james’s foot. “it’s like a bloody gossip chain, that fireplace! ever since we got it installed!”

“i’m just glad you’re alright,” euphemia sighs, her thumb brushing absently over james’s wrist. “and i’m glad you’ve got people who love you so fiercely.”

james’s gaze finds yours instantly, warm and soft, and he tugs your hand closer to his heart. “yeah. me too.”

barty’s eyes glimmer with something sharp, and he leans toward remus, voice low. “you didn’t tell me james’s mum was so...witty.”

“i didn’t think you’d be this into it,” remus mutters back, crossing his arms but fighting a smile.

“i love her,” barty says, awestruck. “i’m going to start writing her letters.”

"so," fleamont says, turning his attention to you once again. "you’re the magizoologist?"

"yes, sir," you say sweetly. "barty and i both are."

"tough work, that is," he admire, his eyes gleaming just like james' do. his familiarity makes it even easier to like him. "i'm impressed!"

the potters settle in, the room filling with gentle conversation and soft reassurances. fleamont tells stories that make euphemia swat at him playfully, and sirius visibly relaxes as he listens, and it's clear he's missed the little family they invited him into all those years ago. you can’t stop glancing at james, still pale but smiling, still holding your hand like he needs to feel you there.

when the healers finally give you the okay to bring him home, james practically jumps out of the hospital bed. the journey back to the cottage is slow and careful, remus and sirius flanking either side of james like they’ll catch him if he so much as stumbles. you couldn't apparate with him, as it could worsen his concussion. you keep your hand on his back, steady and warm, guiding him through the floo, through the door, through everything. and, secretly, you had already bothered regulus for some sleeping and pain potions. 

home feels like a balm. it smells like cinnamon and a leftover storm, like your soaps and sirius’s cologne and remus’s tea. the cottage hums around you, familiar and soft. 'welcome home, jamie!' you can hear it say. the fireplace crackles low, and the evening rain patters gently against the windowpanes, as if the sky itself has settled.

james leans into you, boneless and exhausted, as you tuck him carefully into his bed. you smooth the blankets over his chest, making sure they’re just right, tucking the edges in with deliberate care.

“you’re lucky i love you,” you murmur, brushing his curls off his forehead.

“so lucky,” he breathes, eyelids fluttering. “s’why you should stay right here.”

“i’m not going anywhere.”

remus and sirius hover, settling in around the bed. sirius perches at james’s side, still absentmindedly combing his fingers through his hair, while remus sits next to you, rubbing your back. the three of you fuss over him—adjusting pillows, offering water, brushing your fingers over his cheek like you can’t quite believe he’s safe.

it’s peaceful. it’s safe. it’s everything you could want.

until you hear it.

three sharp taps against the windowpane.

your stomach twists before you even look. you already know.

a sleek, black owl waits just beyond the glass, its feathers slick with rain, its yellow eyes fixed on you. perched perfectly, patient. even the bloody owl acts like a pompous prick.

you open the window with a slow, reluctant flick of your wand. the owl swoops in, landing gracefully on the bedside table, and drops a single letter into your lap.

the wax seal is unmistakable. your family’s crest pressed deep into the purple wax.

your mother.

it’s like ice settles in your stomach. your pulse, still steady from the comfort of home, begins to spike again.

"oh, great," you mutter, fingers tightening around the edges of the letter. the warmth of the room, the softness of the bed, all of it feels a little more distant now.

remus catches the look on your face instantly. “what’s wrong, wheeze?”

“it’s nothing,” you lie, slipping the letter under your leg. “just family stuff.”

"family stuff?" sirius asks, his velvet voice dripping with worry. he knows what family stuff means for a family like yours...for a family like his.

james cracks an eye open, even through his exhaustion. “you sure?”

“yeah,” you say softly, kissing his temple. “we’ll deal with it later.”

cliffhanger!

previous next

taglist: @daydreamandforget

(maybe i lied about the angst but i promiiiise its for the plot guys)

[graveyardlifeguard]

Survivors Part 1

Summary: Occurs during the events of Season 4x13 and Season 4x14.

*This is my first attempt at writing after many, many years so please go easy on me*

Warnings: Shooting, Injury, Blood

Strictly Angst with a teeny tiny bit of Fluff

Eddie Diaz x Paramedic! Reader

The shift started out as normal as it usually did. I mean, as normal as it could for the 118. I had picked up an extra night shift to try and help C Shift with a staffing issue they were currently having. Eddie, my fiancée, had already gone home for the night after our regular shift. As much as I would have loved to go home with him, I knew the extra money would be nice to have for the costs of planning a wedding.

I had only been at work for 3 hours, but I was already exhausted after having a cardiac arrest and a car flip over on the highway. Back-to-back. Shutting the back doors of the ambulance after restocking, I made my way upstairs to the kitchen area to grab a snack. It was currently 10pm and everyone else was in bed for the night. Right after grabbing a left-over slice of pizza out of the fridge, the bell and pager went off once again for a sick call at a nearby apartment complex.

My partner for the night, Alicia, quickly made her way out of the dorm rooms before shuffling towards the truck.

"Is there no such thing as a break?!" She yells from the passenger side of the truck.

I laugh as I move down the stairs towards the driver's side.

"What does the nice, bustiling city have for us this time?" I ask as Alicia looks over the computer, that is still updating with notes from the caller.

I start the truck up and we exit the station driving down the still busy city roads. Alicia lets me know that were going to The Regal Point Apartments for a 13-year-old male complaining of not feeling well. His mom called, concerned that her son's condition was deteriorating.

Pulling up to the apartment complex, Alicia grabs the medical bag while I grab the LifePak monitor. Luckily, this apartment complex has an elevator, so we don't have to trudge our way up four flights of stairs. Once at the correct apartment, the patient's mother, who introduces herself as Sheila. Alicia and I introduce ourselves with Sheila pointing us towards her son's bedroom. While walking towards his bedroom she begins to talk to us about his medical history.

"His name is Charlie, he's 13-years-old. He has an Auto-Immune disorder that forces him to stay inside all the time. The only times he gets to leave the house are to go to one of his many doctors' appointments."

Entering Charlie's room, Alicia once again introduces us and asks if she can check his vital signs. He agrees with Alicia beginning to check his blood pressure. Even in the small glow from his bedside lamp, I can see that Charlie looks sick. He appears pale with dark bags sitting underneath his eyes. Overall, he looks exhausted.

After checking all of his vital signs and talking to Sheila and Charlie more, I had a weird feeling start to form in my stomach. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something just did not feel right. The way that his mom seemed evasive with his full diagnosis and couldn't remember his medications, something just seemed...wrong. When Alicia asked the mom about us taking him to the hospital, she quickly stated that she does not believe that he needs to go to the hospital due to him having a weak immune system.

"Ma'am we understand your concerns, but we always recommend people go to the hospital to get checked out. Especially when they are as sick as Charlie is." I try once again.

Alicia was packing up the bag as Sheila repeats that she does not want Charlie to go. "I'll call his primary care doctor in the morning and see if they will see him." She states with a kind smile on her face.

The odd feeling again returns before we exit the house. Getting back in the truck, I keep the uneasy feeling to myself as Alicia writes the refusal report. I wait for her to finish typing before asking her.

"Did that seem odd to you?"

"What do you mean?" she asks, still looking over the report.

"Just the story of his diagnosis and things like that. She just seemed to have a lot of empty answers." I reply back.

"I didn't really get a weird feeling, but I also was talking more to Charlie than I was to the mom." She answers again.

"Something just seems off to me. Maybe I am just thinking too far into it." I state. I mean, it is late, the mom is probably tired after spending the day taking care of her son. That's what we will have to go with for now as Dispatch alerts us to another call we're needed on. 

————

"How come you don't make this kind of breakfast for me when we're at home?" Eddie states as he comes bouncing into the kitchen. He's in full uniform which makes it hard for me to not turn around and admire him. I had always loved a man in uniform but there was just something about him in one that made it twenty times better.

"I only cook when I am here because if I start cooking at home, that means you'll expect it, and we can't have that." I reply to him.

He laughs before sneaking a quick kiss on my lips before lifting up my left hand and kissing my ring finger. Even though my engagement ring wasn't there, the little rubber one that replaced it on shift was still just as meaningful. Butterflies erupt in my heart at the small interaction.

Eddie coming to the 118 was the absolute best thing to ever happen to me. Before he arrived, I was a shy little Paramedic who just came to work to run calls and go home. My best friend Buck had been whining forever that I never went out and never spent any time living my life. Whatever that meant. Eddie being here brought out a whole new side of me that Buck says he had always been waiting to see. It was not just Eddie though; Christopher had been another missing piece in my life that I never knew I needed. It had been so easy to turn into a motherly figure for him. When he proposed, Eddie had made sure to include Christopher in it. Mostly because Christopher wouldn't allow him to not include him.

The station bell went off sharply, alerting everyone to a call. "I guess breakfast will just have to wait until later." I yell out downstairs to the crew as I shut off the stove and run downstairs. Hen and Chimney jump into the ambulance while I make my way to the Critical Care SUV. Right after getting engaged to Eddie, I had been promoted to a Critical Care Responder, aka Lieutenant. Which was a fancy way of saying that I had more responsibilities while riding by myself. I hop into the truck and make my way to the call behind the Fire truck and the Ambulance.

Arriving at the call, I let Captain Nash and his crew manage the situation. The best part about my new role, I had Chim and Hen underneath me, which meant they were more than capable of handling anything. I was more along the lines of helping hands when needed with these two. After realizing that I was not needed for this call and hearing another more critical call come out, I let everyone know I was leaving before hurrying on to the next call.

————

"Where did you disappear off to earlier?" I hear Eddie say from behind me.

I had just returned to the station after being gone for most of the day. I turn in my seat so I can fully see him. He's leaning against the door frame of my office with a small smile sitting on his face. As nice as it was to work together, it seemed almost impossible most of the time to actually see him. I smile up at him as he walks over and sits on the corner of my desk.

"I couldn't seem to find my way back here today. Everyone needed something at some point." I state as I lean forward to make some sort of physical contact with him, granted it was just my elbow touching his knee, but hey, it was something.

"I'm tired of everyone needing my girl today. I know you're great and all but damn." I laugh and shake my head at his compliment. He knew that calling me "his girl" was a sure-fire way to my heart. 

"Listen, if you need me while you're out there, all you have to do is call me. That's what everyone else likes to do!" I remind him with a smile on my face.

He smiles back at me, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. We're stuck like that for a moment, just smiling at each other alone in my office.

Eddie glances between me and the still open office door before pulling me to stand in front of him. Before I can ask him what he's doing, his lips are on mine like he hasn't kissed me in months. I quickly return the kiss and allow myself to enjoy the mental break. Before it can get too heavy, Eddie pulls away but just far enough away that our foreheads are still touching. We are both smiling like cheshire cats, and I don't think anything could be better than this. I pull back further and smile up at him.

"Not that I didn't enjoy that, what was that for?" I ask, still smiling. He just stares down at me before giving me a quick kiss on the cheek.

"I just missed my girl. That's all." Before I can respond to him, the station bell goes off once more alerting Eddie to another call. His head falls backwards with a groan escaping his mouth. I snort at his dramatics and place a kiss on his lips before pulling him out of the office. "Where are you going? You didn't get added to this." He asks as we walk towards the bay.

"I might as well grab a drink before I dive back into my paperwork." I tell him.

As we enter the bay and begin to separate, I feel a light smack on butt. The surprise of it caught me off guard causing me to lightly jump and yell out. I can hear Eddie laughing as he runs off towards the truck to leave. "I love you!" He yells out before hopping in the back. Eddie Diaz was going to be the death of me.

[rancidpancakebatter]

For Him - [P.P.]

Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader

Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

Word Count: 7.0k

Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.

Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending

( Masterlist )

A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob. 

Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious. 

It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out. 

Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth. 

You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine. 

You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know. 

Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.

To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue. 

The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk. 

He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves. 

Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response. 

He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him. 

Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness. 

Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake. 

Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend. 

He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live. 

“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again. 

“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow. 

“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten. 

“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment. 

“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again. 

Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you. 

“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you. 

“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some. 

“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth. 

“I’m sorry.”

It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head. 

“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”

To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour. 

How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing. 

“(Y/n), what’s going on?”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.

You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare. 

You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own. 

“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.” 

He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist. 

“I’m sorry.” 

You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind. 

“Why? What-? Did you do something?”

You shrugged your shoulders.

How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious. 

You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much. 

“What did you do?”

You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.

You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own. 

You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.

You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right. 

You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal. 

And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.

You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t. 

You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it. 

He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”

He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them. 

If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right. 

Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you. 

Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far. 

So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough. 

You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow. 

Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave. 

You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off. 

“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions. 

You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone. 

You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other. 

“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”

That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger. 

“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.

“I don’t think you mean that.”

Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth. 

“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”

He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller. 

“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”

You laugh, though there’s no humour in it. 

“I was worried.”

His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking. 

Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.

“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”

You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt. 

The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.

Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.

Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.

You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”

You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.

You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.

Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.

Then you scream.

It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.

You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.

You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.

You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.

Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him. 

But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before. 

He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it. 

You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew. 

That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you. 

He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did. 

He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be. 

He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain. 

He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her. 

He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from. 

He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said. 

He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you. 

He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long. 

All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.

He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand. 

But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later. 

He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead. 

It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear. 

It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him. 

The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him. 

You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries. 

Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward. 

Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this. 

It hurts, god, it hurts so much!

His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer. 

“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.

“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” 

You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return. 

But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?

You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.

Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak

But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.

He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.

Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.

Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to. 

“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was. 

Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid. 

Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him. 

He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements. 

“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”

The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took. 

Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.

“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”

You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.

He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.

He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.

“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”

You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go. 

It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here. 

But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse. 

“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”

You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence. 

Love.

You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?

Love.

Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.

You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.

“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.

You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.

You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.

You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.

You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.

You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”

You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.

“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks. 

“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”

The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.

“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”

You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door. 

Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background. 

He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right. 

You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him. 

“I’m sorry,” you began. 

He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off. 

“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.

“It’s okay-” he begins. 

“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”

Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.

“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”

Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.

“Tough luck.”

You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.

“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”

He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.

“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.

“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”

His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?

“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”

He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away. 

But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for. 

You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful. 

You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.

“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.

Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action. 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.

Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz

[hitoshitoshi]

Aegritudo [Zayne x Reader]

Summary:

When a cardiac surgeon can't diagnose his own feelings, he turns to the ultimate source of reliable information: Google. What could possibly go wrong?

Tags: Angst, Hurt no comfort, Fate & Destiny, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Emotional Hurt, Pining, Unrequited love, Acceptance. Word Count: 1.4k Words

Click.

Click.

Click.

Zayne's eyes darted across the glowing screen of his computer — his eyebrows furrowed as he searched for answers; answers to a particular problem that he had anticipated, yet somehow failed to prepare for. Perhaps it was the flicker of hope nestled deep within his soul, begging to believe that the Gods might answer his prayers and change his fate; or perhaps it was the audacious intensity of his emotions that made him believe he possessed a strength greater than the Gods that bound him to his fate — that he could hold a rose without getting pricked by the thorns that adorn it. For he was a man that had been punished for partaking in a sin — the greatest sin known to mankind; love.

Zayne took off his glasses and placed them on his desk as he pinched the bridge of his nose, contemplating how this dilemma even started. He found himself bewildered by the fact that a single person — out of the eight billion that currently existed — was the one that caused him such a profound feeling of distress. It wasn't merely a passing inconvenience or a problem that lasted days, weeks, or even years; this problem had haunted him not for centuries, but for a millennium. An enigmatic woman whose quest for answers became the catalyst for Zayne's own dilemma — a paradox of fate and free will.

Click.

Click.

Ding!

Zayne's concentration was interrupted by a familiar chime from his phone, a sound that never failed to quicken his pulse ever so slightly. His eyes, weary from hours of staring at the computer screen, immediately brightened with a warmth reserved solely for one person. Zayne reached for his glasses and placed them back on his face. With a controlled eagerness that belied his inner anticipation, he reached for the device, his fingers brushing against it almost reverently. The name on the screen confirmed what his heart already knew — it was a message from the woman. Zayne's typically stoic expression softened, the corners of his mouth lifting in a subtle smile that he allowed himself only in private moments like these. As he opened the message, a mix of curiosity and fondness welled up within him, carefully contained but undeniably present. What thoughts had she chosen to share with him this time? A horribly written out joke? A witty observation? A picture of food she had ordered from the newest café that just opened recently near Akso Hospital? Or perhaps just a simple hello that would inexplicably brighten his entire day? Zayne's thumb hovered over the screen, savoring the moment of subtle anticipation before diving into the woman’s text message. But as Zayne's eyes scanned the words on the screen of his phone, it was like everything he had dealt with for the past millennium was coming back to haunt him — the smile on his face faltered as his heart dropped, a sudden vagal response causing his pulse to plummet.

Oh.

Oh.

Zayne sat frozen in his chair; he didn't quite know how to feel as his phone suddenly felt heavier in his grasp. He felt numb — no; he felt everything all at once, his nervous system flooding with a cocktail of stress hormones. It was like his entire soul was going haywire. His eyes remained fixed on his screen, yet the words blurred into an incomprehensible haze; it was as though his mind and vision were betraying him — taking away his ability to see as he had his glasses on, yet he couldn't comprehend what he was looking at. It was like reality was being distorted into a whirl of colors and shadows; every atom of his being was being set ablaze in a fire of emotions and feelings that he couldn't even begin to comprehend — a somatic manifestation of his psychological distress. His heartbeat was rapid and thundering in his ears, tachycardia setting in as his breaths became shallow gasps; the air around him felt thick and sickening to breathe in, bordering on hyperventilation. His chest was heaving in and out as none of the air in his lungs felt like air — like it was sludge and his body was yearning for that sweet sensation of fresh air in his lungs that he could not satisfy no matter what, his diaphragm spasming with each labored breath. It felt as though there was an anchor weighing him down and sinking him to the bottom of an ocean; a dryness settled in his mouth, his salivary glands seemingly paralyzed as his tongue instinctively sought moisture, licking the back of his teeth. Zayne found himself teetering on the line of consciousness and unconsciousness, his autonomic nervous system in overdrive, as his eyes were locked onto a particular picture —

A picture of the woman kissing a man who was not him. 

What a sick joke that fate had played upon Zayne; truly, a sick joke. The sacrifices he had made for her, the promises they'd held, the plans, the late-night talks, the passionate lovemaking, dancing in the kitchen while cooking together - all of it now seemed as hollow as an empty promise. Time and time again, Zayne had always done his best for her; and time and time again, it seemed as though fate and time had come for their revenge, as relentless and unforgiving as a force of nature. In every lifetime, Zayne was destined to meet her, yet in every lifetime, he was given a merciless fate of having her swept away; either by illness, death, or something completely different. And this time, the scenario differed - it was another man, an unwelcome intruder in the once-sacred space of their relationship. Zayne let out a sardonic chuckle as he looked away from his phone screen; the sound was hollow, echoing in the emptiness of his chest where his heart should be. He felt numb, as if his very soul had been anesthetized, yet there was another sensation deep within him — a visceral ache that threatened to consume him from the inside out. It was a pain more acute than any physical wound he'd ever treated, a suffering that no medical textbook could ever fully describe.

Like all the other instances, it was an outside force causing their separation, but one thing differed this time — a variant in the usual pattern of their souls meeting and diverging. She did not want him this time, she would never search for him again. She left him for another man. He was not good enough for her. No matter what he did; his efforts were as futile as treating a terminal illness with palliative care. What a cruel joke from fate indeed — a diagnosis without hope for remission. Ding!

And it was as if the gods had administered one final, lethal dose of cruelty to Zayne, or perhaps, it was a remedy. But knowing the games that the gods usually play, it was more so the former, rather than the latter.

Zayne's eyes, bloodshot from hours of staring, returned to the monitor of his computer as the next page finished loading; he had found the diagnosis for the void consuming him. Aegritudo.

Definitions:

affliction, anxiety

melancholy

sickness, disease, grief, sorrow

That was what Zayne had felt through his entire being; Aegritudo. A malignant emptiness that seemed to spread through every synapse, every nerve ending, leaving nothing but a numbing ache in its wake. As if triggered by this realization, the engagement ring Zayne had crafted for his beloved —  his beloved who no longer wanted him — made of his Ice Evol that should have been as eternal as his devotion, shattered on his desk. The sound of its breaking was as soft as a flatline on an EKG, yet it reverberated through Zayne's hollow chest like a death knell.

It didn't matter anymore; Zayne had no use for it, just as his heart now seemed to have no purpose. She wouldn't want it anyway; she did not want him. The ring, like his hopes and dreams, lay in fragments - a physical representation of the void that had opened within him, consuming everything he once held dear. It was all as meaningless as trying to grasp at shadows in a world devoid of light.

Just as this lifetime had ended differently than the rest, Zayne too came to an acceptance that he should act differently. This time, Zayne was done with trying. Acceptance settled over him like a suffocating shroud; he had finally succumbed to fate. The cycle of hope and heartbreak that had defined his existence for so long now has come to a halt, leaving him in a catatonic state of numb resignation. In this moment, Zayne felt himself slipping into an emotional coma, one from which he wasn't sure he wanted to wake; but alas, his soul was set free. 

Click! Zayne turned off his computer.

A/N: No thoughts, head empty. I just like pain and sharing is caring, right? Right.

TWITTER

[dollfacefantasy]

And If the Sun Comes Up

pairing: vampire!leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon knows that you and him are meant to be. if the only way to show you that is to sneak in during the night, then that's just what he'll have to do.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral (f receiving), fingering, somnophilia, non-con, biting, blood, reader is tied up, spitting in mouth, overstimulation

word count: 4k

a/n: hey everyone. when he fucks u so good, u think u love him, am i right? i wanted to get one more done for halloween and i'm kinda late, but it's still halloween here so idgaf. i hope everyone enjoys. also i'm trying a new style with the header image so yeah. as always i really appreciate reblogs and comments <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz

i made a playlist of songs i listened to while writing here.

It’s the middle of the night with moonlight shining down through the slits in your blinds. You’re sleeping off a stressful week tonight. You lay between your soft blankets with your head resting on your cool pillow. You had been in a peaceful, dreamless slumber, but now whimpers erupted from your unconscious form as you felt a persistent sensation between your legs.

You still aren’t fully awake. Your eyes briefly flutter, and your hips shift, trying to alleviate the disturbance that was disrupting your rest. A long whine escapes your throat as cold hands wrap around the tops of your thighs and keep you in position.

You gasp softly as your mind struggles to differentiate dream from reality. When you try to close your legs, you’re met with resistance. You start to come to as your limbs tug more forcefully on whatever was keeping them spread. You could vaguely feel the sensation of restraints around your ankles. It’s difficult to see in the darkness of your bedroom, but you can hear something unfamiliar. Soft grunts and groans emanate from the bottom of your bed.

You weakly lift your head to figure out what was happening. Your eyes were still sleepy, and your mind was still fogged from returning to lucidity, but you could still recognize the sensation of someone lapping at your cunt like it was their final meal.

Looking down between your thighs, you see a mop of blonde hair. At first, the sight brings you mere confusion. It didn’t make sense, and you struggled to process it. But as the gears in your brain began sliding into place, terror coursed through your veins.

A strangled cry leaves your lips, and you thrash harder to get away. You realize your arms are bound too, connected together by your wrists that were secured at the level of your navel. The adrenaline in your system makes you much more alert. You could now see the long, toned body of this stranger. He wore tight, black clothing that allowed you to see his definition. His strength was obvious from that alone if you couldn’t already feel it from how he held you in place so easily.

Once he notices you’re awake, his head pops up. Your eyes widen as they connect with his piercing irises through the dark. Fear moves through you in sickening waves. Every cell in your body yearns for him to just get away.

“Shhh, sweet one. It’s alright,” he whispers. He rubs his fingertips on your inner thigh in an attempt to soothe you. His voice is husky yet familiar, and his eyes are glazed over with arousal. From what it looked like, he had been doing this for a while.

You don’t stop squirming. Your heart pounds so erratically that it feels like at any moment you’ll go into cardiac arrest. As your breathing picks up and becomes shallow, your cries become breathless. 

His brows furrow momentarily at your response, but then his expression softens. You felt like you recognized him, but you couldn’t be sure.

“My darling, there’s no reason to be afraid,” he says and presses a few small kisses to your thigh, “Calm yourself. I’m not going to hurt you.”

You’re still so freaked out by the fact that this is even happening that your brain fails to formulate a response. You stare at him in horror as your squirming becomes weaker and your muscles begin to freeze out of fright.

“Good girl,” he whispers and caresses your hip, “This is for your pleasure, angel. Just relax. I know I may have startled you, but there’s no need to carry on.”

He leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your clit causing you to softly yelp in both protest and pleasure. He chuckles and pulls his face back. His thumb begins lazily swiping through your folds, up and down. As soon as he cracks that smile, you’re able to place him.

“Leon?” you ask, your voice still raspy from sleep. Your drowsy mind couldn’t figure out why the man you’d seen only in passing at your job as a waitress was eating you out in your bedroom in the dead of night.

“Yes, beloved?” he answers, looking up at you with genuine curiosity as if nothing was off.

Now that you know the identity of your mysterious trespasser, your fear fades, and anger takes its place.

“Leon, what the fuck? What are you doing? And what are you doing here?” you say, your voice wavering. You try to stay focused and not let yourself be distracted by his thumb sliding around your slick. He doesn’t seem too fazed by your reaction.

“What does it look like I’m doing, pretty baby?” he whispers, “Making you feel good. You had a hard week, little doll. Let me make it better. Then I’ll explain.”

With that, he returns his head to the junction of your thighs. He parts his lips and begins making out with your pussy. Your eyes widen at his words, but the feeling of his tongue on your most intimate spot pushes your protests back down your esophagus. Instead, you whimper and take your lip between your teeth.

Erotic, wet noises from his lips and tongue working on your cunt spill out into the bedroom. Your cheeks heat with the shame of how good it felt, but there was really nothing you could do but take it. His tongue circles and laves at your clit with intense dedication before gliding down and fucking into your dripping hole.

His fingertips trace soothing circles onto the soft skin of your thighs while his mouth continues working you to the edge. He starts grunting again like he had been doing when you were sleeping. From the sounds alone, it seemed like he was getting as much pleasure from this as you. His breathing was heavy. You could feel it fanning across your pelvis.

You whine, your physical resistance dying down as release gets closer. You can feel his smug grin against your skin.

“L-Leon…” you stammer out through moans.

“Hush, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “Let it feel good. Your body knows it’s right. It knows what you need.”

He flicks his tongue on your swollen bud a few more times before you come undone. You jerk and spasm against the restraints on your wrists and ankles. Broken whimpers fall from your lips as your head fogs with the euphoria of release.

He watches from below with wonder. “There you go, pretty girl,” he breathes while thumbing your clit, “Give it all to me. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

You ride out your release on his tongue. When you finish up, you look down at him with half-lidded eyes. He continues to gaze up at you with a look of love, his pupils dilated and his chin covered with your arousal.

“Leon. Explain,” you say, trying to sound firm, but your voice was hazy from your release.

“Why so many questions, little one? Did that not feel good?” he asks, “Did that not feel like everything you needed?”

“Leon. What are you doing in my house at three in the fucking morning… touching me like that?” you say, your voice picking up some of the intensity you initially intended.

He sighs and shakes his head, but still sports that smug smile. “You’ll see in time, my love. I know you’ll feel it too,” he says.

My love. Those two words struck you like an itch you couldn’t scratch. All these weird pet names. You barely knew him. He was always nice to you, but in a cordial kind of way, remembering your name and little things you’d told him about your day when you gave him his order. You weren’t even friends. You definitely didn’t consider yourself to be his love.

“Feel what? What are you talking about? You sound crazy,” you say.

“You’re my mate, sweet one,” he responds. He looks at you as if it’s a fact and speaks as if this was the most normal conversation, like you weren’t tied up and nude from the waist down.

You blink at him in disbelief. The words ring through your mind.

“Your mate?” you repeat incredulously, the only response you could think of.

“My mate,” he confirms, “I know you can’t understand it now. But you will. I’ll-”

“I barely know you!” you raise your voice, “Just cause I smile at you and can remember your order that doesn’t mean I want to fuck you! And it sure as Hell doesn’t mean we’re mates.”

He remains calm as he continues to speak. “You may not know me, but I know you, sweetheart. I love you, but you aren’t the most observant. I’ve been watching, and I know we’re meant to be. I know it’s right for you.”

The thought of him watching you while you went about your life, clueless as ever, disturbed you to the pit of your stomach, but you tried not to let that show. 

“Oh my God, you’re delusional. Fucking delusional. You think we’re soulmates? Like what? Like we’re written in the stars or something?” you mock.

“No, darling. Not written in the stars. It’s written in our DNA, something tying us together. I can sense it. You have the sweetest smelling blood I’ve ever come across.”

Your eyes widen at his explanation.

“What… What are you talking about? You can’t smell my blood, Leon,” you say.

“If only I couldn’t, maybe then I wouldn’t have to do this,” he says, his voice growing more hushed, “But I can. You have to understand, little love. I’m not a man of normal appetites.”

The way he spoke freaked you out. Various horrific ideas ran through your head about what he meant by unusual appetites. Your anger was slowly exiting, and your fear was seeping back in. Your limbs tremble as you try again to pull yourself out of your bindings.

“Sweetheart, all throwing a tantrum will do is tire you out,” he chides, "And while it’s not required, I would prefer if you were conscious to see how good I can make you feel.”

“You’re fucking insane!” you exclaim with a shaky voice, tears of terror pricking at your eyes, “I don’t know what gave you this sick fantasy that we’re true love and meant to be or whatever. But that’s all it is. Leon, I-”

“Enough,” he says, his voice dropping to a more commanding tone, “If you’re not willing to understand, I’ll just have to make you more agreeable.”

With that, his mouth returns to your cunt. He sucks your clit between his lips and flicks his tongue against the sensitive bundle of nerves. One hand holds your thigh like it was before while the other comes between your legs and prods at your entrance.

You’re whimpering in no time, still being tender from your previous release. Your hips squirm and writhe as he pumps two fingers in and out of you.

“Quit moving,” he growls and tightens his grip on your thigh.

The gravelly harsh tone lights the pool of arousal in your belly like a match falling into gasoline. You clamp around his fingers and mewl softly. A sharp exhale leaves his nose and smirks.

“Good baby, deep down you know you want this. You’ve only had my fingers so far, and she already knows to get nice and tight for me,” he breathes before returning his attention to your pussy.

His fingers continue working you open, scissoring inside your hole as they move back and forth. The whole time he relentlessly plays with your clit, flicking, sucking, circling. Short, strained cries come from you as your back arches off the bed.

“There we go, pretty baby. Cum again for me,” he purrs, “I doubt you’ve been with a guy who could make you cum even once.”

You didn’t even fully register his words because you were so wrapped up in the throes of ecstasy. Your body convulses as release washes over you again. You shiver in waves, whining and babbling as he continues pleasuring you through the high.

As you come down, he doesn’t ease up on you. His fingers tease you a bit before applying enough pressure to overstimulate you. He adds a third finger into you and continues maneuvering them skillfully, hitting all the right spots.

His mouth doesn’t stop either. He spits onto your pussy and dives back in, licking up your slick and flattening his tongue to massage you into bliss.

He brings you at least two more peaks, eating you out until your mind is nearly melted and you’re a whining, drooling, nonsensical mess.

When he finally feels that you’ve had enough, he moves up, coming face to face with you in a blur. You flinch at the quick movement, and draw a chuckle from him. His hand wraps around your throat while his eyes give you a predatory scan. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck and inhales deep.

“Smells like cherries,” he mutters before laying a few soft kisses up your neck and behind your ear.

You shiver at the gentle contact and a quiet whine escapes you. Your nipples are hard beneath your top from the countless highs he brought you and the fluttering of his lips against your skin. It’s not long before his other hand is sliding up your body to squeeze and fondle your breasts, his thumb teasingly swiping across the hardened buds a few times.

“I don’t need you to understand this, my love. I don’t expect you to. It’s a little out of your depth anyways,” he whispers and nips at your earlobe, “What I expect is for you to take it like a good girl and let me show you what you need. I think you can already see that you’ll be begging for more by the end of the night whether you understand it or not.”

Your thoughts are too muddled to formulate an actual response. Instead, you just watch him with your blissed out stare. He leans back and pulls off his shirt, exposing his muscular torso and chest to you. The moonlight coming through the blinds illuminates him just enough for you to feel more desire building in your abdomen. He smiles at your impressed reaction, and that’s when you see it.

He has fangs.

It’s only a glimpse, but you would swear on your life that it was the truth. His canines are clearly sharper than normal, it can’t be your imagination. And with all his talk about blood… You felt like you were losing it. There was no way he made you cum so hard that you’d believe in vampires.

“What is it, precious?” he asks softly as he undoes his belt and starts lowering his pants. His tone projects innocence, but the look on his face makes you think he knows exactly what you’re fixated on.

“Nothing, I- I- it’s-” you stutter. Your jaw almost drops as his hard cock springs free from his boxers. It was long and thick and you weren’t even sure that it would fit.

He climbs on top of you again, his strong, thick arms boxing you in on your bed.

“What’s the matter? Like what you see? Or is it that you don’t think I have a pretty smile?” he asks, flashing his teeth again. The fangs are in clear view now. Their existence is undeniable.

He can hear your heartbeat speeding up and your breathing getting shallow. It brings him a twisted sense of pleasure that he doesn’t dwell on. He lazily strokes himself in preparation to enter you.

“What are you? You… you can’t be…” you say, your voice dropping to nearly a whisper.

“A vampire?” he asks, “That’s probably the term easiest for you to understand, so yes, my little doll. I am a vampire.”

Your eyes widen. Your fearful gaze locks onto him.

“It’s not like a movie, baby. I can eat garlic and clearly I don’t need to be invited into your house,” he explains, almost as if he’s trying to lighten the mood, “But I have a bloodlust.”

You’re stunned. This couldn’t be real. “So what? I’m like your personal blood bank or something? Is that what being your mate is?”

“No,” he scoffs, “Being my mate is what it sounds like, angel. In all my years, I’ve never met another who makes me feel like you do. You’re my love, the light in the darkness I’ve been existing in. My personal heaven and hell wrapped into one perfect vessel.”

Your head is spinning with everything you’re hearing. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips before leaning back onto his knees and positioning himself at your entrance. He stares at you with his eyes, glossed over with lust. He reaches for your confined hands and brings them to his lips.

“It will all make sense soon, darling,” he says, “Soon enough we’ll be together in this.”

He takes one of your fingers into his mouth, keeping eye contact with you the entire time. One of his fangs presses into the pad of your finger, and draws a small drop of blood. You wince at the pain, but you’re quickly distracted by the guttural groan Leon emits as he smooths his tongue against the warm liquid.

He pushes inside you and tilts his head back. Your finger slips out of his mouth and smears some blood on his lips.

“Tastes so fucking sweet too, Christ,” he grunts as he begins thrusting.

Despite the circumstances, he felt good. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it was the best you ever had. He filled you up perfectly. A string of whines and whimpers expel from your mouth into a long moan.

“That’s right. You know it’s perfect,” he mutters, “Soon, it will be just me and you. For all of eternity. No one else. The entire world could burn, and you and I could fuck on top of the ashes.”

Your own head falls back, and he sucks your finger back into his mouth to taste more of your blood. He moans around your digit, his hips beginning to piston with more intensity. His hands lock onto your hips, so he has a firm grip to slam into you with.

You felt a mix of shame and fear, but you started to believe him. You felt something inside you that told you this was right. This was what you longed for. What you needed.

He starts leaning over you more. He had to see you, had to see your mind changing about him, the look in your eyes shifting from fear to lust. One of his hands rises to hold your jaw and direct you to look at him.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, eyes boring into you.

You do it with no hesitation. Your lips part and your tongue lolls out obediently. He smirks, still rolling his hips as he slowly spits into your open mouth. His saliva leaks from his lips, lands on your tongue, and starts sliding to your throat. The feeling combined with that look in his eyes almost made you cum on its own.

He feels the same. Watching your pretty eyes become unfocused as you accept what’s happening had him digging his fingers into the flesh of your cheeks in order to hold on. Once he felt you had enough he pats your cheek.

“Swallow,” he grunts and reverts his primary focus to fucking you into the mattress.

And you do this too. You swallow it all. A garbled moan erupts from you afterwards, and your eyes roll back as he strokes all the sweet spots inside of you.

“Good girl,” he coos with a low tone, “Taking it perfectly. Just like you’re meant to do.”

You lift your arms and loop your bound wrists over his head to pull him closer. He follows your guidance, but his face looks almost pained. He keeps his face further than you want. You whimper and try to pull him down to the crook of your neck more.

“Sweet baby, you have to be careful. I can’t… I have to make sure you’re safe my love. I don’t know if I can control myself if I’m that close,” he breathes.

“What? Control how?” you babble, still not really focused because of how his cock is battering your insides at the moment.

“Your blood, baby. It’s too strong. I won’t be able to hold back. I could hurt you,” he says.

That almost snaps you back to reality for a moment. “Like what? You wanna bite me?” you ask with a curious expression.

For a change, this time he has no words. He nods, still maintaining eye contact.

It wasn’t your smartest moment, but you don’t hesitate as the words leave you.

“Do it.”

His eyes flash with a look you can’t read in your state.

“Sweetheart, I… I want to, but it’s not safe,” he whispers, but you can hear the desire in his voice.

“If we’re really mates then you should be able to stop yourself. Prove it to me. Prove that I’m yours and you’re mine,” you say, your voice taking on a whiny quality from how close you were getting.

He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t resist when you were asking for it like this. He slowly lowers himself to be level with your neck. His thrusts become slower but deeper. He takes another deep breath of that scent before baring his teeth and sinking them into your flesh.

You gasp and pull your arms around him as you feel the punctures. At first it hurts, but then he begins to softly suck, coaxing your blood into his mouth. You both let out simultaneous moans. His eyes flutter now and his grip on your hips tighten.

He’s getting lost in his own world of euphoria now as he feeds off of you, gulping down that sweet, hot liquid. You tremble as pleasure courses through you too. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was light and airy while being grounding and all consuming. You couldn’t hold on for any longer.

He growls as you cum, the feeling of your cunt latching onto him is almost too much. He manages to hold it together for a handful more thrusts. His breathing is rough as he cums and his thrusts are sporadic. You feel his muscles tensing as he groans into your neck. He spills rope after rope of cum into you.

When you’re both done, both of your bodies are trembling. Your sweaty skin is pressed to his which is still ice cold. He goes limp on top of you, breathing deep as he comes down from the high. You could feel blood trickling down your neck as his mouth disconnects from your throat.

You didn’t know what to say. The fog of lust was clearing and while you didn’t regret your decisions, this was still weird. You remove your arms from him, and he takes that as a signal to pull out and roll off of you.

He pushes his disheveled hair out of his face and gives you a crooked smile. His mouth was still red with your blood. He reaches over and starts untying the restraints around your hands. You watch him quietly.

“So you said soon… we’ll be in this together?” you ask awkwardly.

He lets out a short laugh as he gets the bindings off and drops them to the side. He runs his fingers through your hair and kisses your forehead before getting out of your bed.

“Soon, sweet one, I’ll change you to be like me. A vampire,” he says, using a teasing tone for the last word, “But not yet. I know you’re not ready, and my goal isn’t to scare you. I truly love you.”

You just nod because you honestly didn’t know what to say to that. Even if you felt something for him, you wouldn’t say it was love. Yet. 

You watch him put on his clothes as you reach down to start untying your ankles.

“So… you’re just leaving?” you say, almost sounding disappointed.

“Yes but don’t be too sad, my love. You’ll see me as soon as the sun sets again tonight,” he says.

He finishes putting on his clothes and leans in to give you one more passionate kiss before he leaves. You could still taste your blood on him.

[authorred]

Bloodborne | Li Shen/Zayne x reader | Love and Deepspace

➺ Preface: You visit Zayne a lot at Akso hospital, as it seems to be his second home at this point. Whilst waiting for Zayne outside of his office, Dr. Greyson, a friend of Zayne, sees you and strikes up a conversation with you about your evol, and the potential it could bring to the healthcare field. Unfortunately, you are not that much of a philanthropist.

➺ Reader/MC has an evol of blood manipulation (of highest control). I've lowkey always wanted to write something like this ever since I knew Zayne was a cardiologist. It's literally perfect.

Warning(s): None

Akso Hospital is as usual when you visit: patients coming and going, some doctors and nurses scurry around to tend to their patients and perform other duties. You don't need to speak to Yvonne at this point to know where Zayne is, what he's doing, or when he's going to return. You're okay with waiting, as you two aren't able to see each other as much as you'd like to begin with.

You take a seat outside of his office and scroll on your phone, looking at the website of your favorite pastry shop. I wonder if he'd like the mint macarons. They're really sweet, though. I don't want to irritate his teeth. As you scroll, you feel the presence of someone standing in front of you, and your head turns up to see Dr. Greyson standing in front of you with a friendly smile. You don't often interact with him, as your focus is mostly on Zayne. "Doctor Greyson," you greet with a nod. "Can I help you?"

"Ah, not really," he replies with a short wave of his hand. "You're waiting for Doctor Zayne, I suppose?"

"Mhm," you nod. "Apparently he's in surgery right now. I can smell the blood--very tedious procedure apparently."

Greyson smiles at your comment, "I actually wanted to talk to you about that."

You shut your phone off and slide it in your pocket, "About what?"

"Your evol," he clarifies. He pushes up his glasses and shifts on his feet. "I heard from Doctor Zayne that you can sniff out a trail of blood from a mile away, as well as other feats."

"I guess," you reply with a shrug. "Is there a point to this, or are you trying to butter me up?"

"I know you're a Deepspace Hunter, and I don't mean to overstep, but have you ever thought about helping out here? In the Cardiac Department?"

A beat of silence passes as you process his words. Helping the hospital? In the cardiac department? With your evol? "Uhhhhh," you intelligently reply. "I don't quite understand."

Greyson laughs softly at your confusion, “You see, your ability to pick up certain things in the blood would be able to help us diagnose blood diseases and cancers so much earlier than average. I know you’re not a walking blood test, and it’s completely up to you. I just believe you would be a great addition for the cardiac department.”

“Ah, I see,” you hum softly after his explanation. He’s basically saying it would be beneficial to the hospital and to patients if you decided to help sniff/sense out blood cancers or other diseases. It would generally save resources, time, and money since you would be able to tell almost immediately. “I’m not exactly fit for a doctor’s role, or caregiver’s role, I think,” you say. “I appreciate that you believe me to be useful to the healthcare system, and I do understand how serious blood illnesses are, but, it’s just not for me.”

Greyson smiles and nods, “Of course. It was just a suggestion. I didn’t mean to pry or overstep.”

“Nah, you’re okay,” you shrug softly. “I understand why you would bring it up.”

“Besides, I think it would be cute if you and Doctor Zayne worked together like that,” he says. “It’s perfect, is it not? Your evol is blood, and he’s a cardiologist. It’s like it was meant to be, huh?”

“I suppose,” you reply with a shrug, idling twirling with your belt. “I don’t think the hospital would just let me on board like that—I imagine it takes time and a lot of studying. I don’t really have time or the want to do that.”

“I understand,” Greyson nods. “It was only a suggestion.”

~ You and Greyson talk for a bit until you notice Zayne walking down the corridor towards you two. He’s out of surgery and is clean and back in his usual doctor’s coat.

If you look closely, you can see his eyes shifting between you and Greyson. The very subtle downturn of his lips show some level of displeasure, no matter how low that level is. “I hope I’m not interrupting your conversation.”

“Ah, Doctor Zayne,” Greyson greets with a cheerful smile. “Not at all. I was just keeping Y/n company while you were in surgery.”

“So I see,” Zayne replies. His eyes then slide over to you, and his gaze softens ever so slightly. “Apologies for the wait. The surgery went on longer than I anticipated.”

“Nah, it’s okay. Time goes by quickly when you’re conversing with someone,” you wave off his apology.

“I’m glad Doctor Greyson served as a companion during your wait.” There’s a slight edge to his voice. It’s not exactly jealousy—more like. . . insecurity? Maybe?

“Yeah. Are you taking a break now?” You ask. “I wanted to try the pastry place down the road. It won’t take us that long.”

Zayne nods slightly, “That sounds good. Besides, I’ve been craving something sweet.”

~ “It seemed as if you and Doctor Greyson were having a good conversation,” Zayne says from your side. Both of you are walking down the street to the pastry place you mentioned before.

“Yeah,” you reply. “He was talking about how my evol would benefit the hospital. That I would save a lot of resources identifying and sniffing out certain blood diseases and such."

"Yes. Your ability to detect even the slightest imbalance in blood chemistry and composition would be highly beneficial to diagnosing blood cancers. Often times, patients don't realize anything's wrong until years later."

You subconsciously rub your nose, now acutely aware of all the scent trails to the people around you. "I imagine it can be frustrating," you reply.

"You don't have to do anything you don't wish to," he assures. "Just because you possess an ability that would be beneficial to a field doesn't mean you're obligated to use it as such. You're a good Deepspace Hunter, and you keep Linkon and us safe. I'd rather you on the battlefield than the OR."

You chuckle softly, lowering your hand back to your side. "Yeah, I know. I'm not the most philanthropic person to begin with. The failures of the healthcare system or people's diligence isn't my responsibility."

Zayne hums in agreement and continues to walk with you. The day is nice and clear with a cool breeze passing through. With the change of season, the leaves on the trees are beginning to turn into shades of yellow to deep red.

You look down at his hand as it continuously brushes against yours whilst you walk. With a small influx of your evol, you have more blood rush to your hand. Your skin flushes red and it becomes warmer. With hesitant but unyielding motivation, you grab his hand and can feel the chilliness in his skin. "You're cold," you comment, wrapping your smaller hand around his. "Don't you know patients hate cold hands, Doctor Zayne?"

Zayne glances down at you for a moment before back up to ensure y'all are walking in a straight line and a clear path. "I'm aware. It's unpleasant to be in a sterile environment like a hospital and then feel the coldness of a doctor's hands." His lips curve up ever so slightly, and he glances back down at you. "I suppose I'll have you rely on you to warm me up beforehand."