#Code Age Commanders | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintobio · 2 months ago

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THE TERMINATOR'S CURSE. (spinoff to THE COLONEL SERIES)

in this new world, technological loneliness is combated with AI Companions—synthetic partners modeled from memories, faces, and behaviors of any chosen individual. the companions are coded to serve, to soothe, to simulate love and comfort. Caleb could’ve chosen anyone. his wife. a colleague. a stranger... but he chose you.

➤ pairings. caleb, fem!reader

➤ genre. angst, sci-fi dystopia, cyberpunk au, 18+

➤ tags. resurrected!caleb, android!reader, non mc!reader, ooc, artificial planet, post-war setting, grief, emotional isolation, unrequited love, government corruption, techno-ethics, identity crisis, body horror, memory & emotional manipulation, artificial intelligence, obsession, trauma, hallucinations, exploitation, violence, blood, injury, death, smut (dubcon undertones due to power imbalance and programming, grief sex, non-traditional consent dynamics), themes of artificial autonomy, loss of agency, unethical experimentation, references to past sexual assault (non-explicit, not from Caleb). themes contain disturbing material and morally gray dynamics—reader discretion is strongly advised.

➤ notes. 12.2k wc. heavily based on the movies subservience and passengers with inspirations also taken from black mirror. i have consumed nothing but sci-fi for the past 2 weeks my brain is so fried :’D reblogs/comments are highly appreciated!

BEFORE YOU BEGIN ! this fic serves as a spinoff to the THE COLONEL SERIES: THE COLONEL’S KEEPER and THE COLONEL’S SAINT. while the series can be read as a standalone, this spinoff remains canon to the overarching universe. for deeper context and background, it’s highly recommended to read the first two fics in the series.

The first sound was breath.

“Hngh…”

It was shallow, labored like air scraping against rusted metal. He mumbled something under his breath after—nothing intelligible, just remnants of an old dream, or perhaps a memory. His eyelids twitched, lashes damp with condensation. To him, the world was blurred behind frosted glass. To those outside, rows of stasis pods lined the silent room, each one labeled, numbered, and cold to the touch.

Inside Pod No. 019 – Caleb Xia.

A faint drip… drip… echoed in the silence.

“…Y/N…?”

The heart monitor jumped. He lay there shirtless under sterile lighting, with electrodes still clinging to his temple. A machine next to him emitted a low, steady hum.

“…I’m sorry…”

And then, the hiss. The alarm beeped.

SYSTEM INTERFACE: Code Resurrection 7.1 successful. Subject X-02—viable. Cognitive activity: 63%. Motor function: stabilizing.

He opened his eyes fully, and the ceiling was not one he recognizes. It didn’t help that the air also smelled different. No gunpowder. No war. No earth.

As the hydraulics unsealed the chamber, steam also curled out like ghosts escaping a tomb. His body jerked forward with a sharp gasp, as if he was a drowning man breaking the surface. A thousand sensors detached from his skin as the pod opened with a sigh, revealing the man within—suspended in time, untouched by age. Skin pallid but preserved. A long time had passed, but Caleb still looked like the soldier who never made it home.

Only now, he was missing a piece of himself.

Instinctively, he examined his body and looked at his hands, his arm—no, a mechanical arm—attached to his shoulder that gleamed under the lights of the lab. It was obsidian-black metal with veins of circuitry pulsing faintly beneath its surface. The fingers on the robotic arm twitched as if following a command. It wasn’t human, certainly, but it moved with the memory of muscle.

“Haaah!” The pod’s internal lighting dimmed as Caleb coughed and sat up, dazed. A light flickered on above his head, and then came a clinical, feminine voice.

“Welcome back, Colonel Caleb Xia.”

A hologram appeared to life in front of his pod—seemingly an AI projection of a soft-featured, emotionless woman, cloaked in the stark white uniform of a medical technician. She flickered for a moment, stabilizing into a clear image.

“You are currently located in Skyhaven: Sector Delta, Bio-Resurrection Research Wing. Current Earth time: 52 years, 3 months, and 16 days since your recorded time of death.”

Caleb blinked hard, trying to breathe through the dizziness, trying to deduce whether or not he was dreaming or in the afterlife. His pulse raced.

“Resurrection successful. Neural reconstruction achieved on attempt #17. Arm reconstruction: synthetic. Systemic functions: stabilized. You are classified as Property-Level under the Skyhaven Initiative. Status: Experimental Proof of Viability.”

“What…” Caleb rasped, voice hoarse and dry for its years unused. “What the fuck are you talkin’ about?” Cough. Cough. “What hell did you do to me?”

The AI blinked slowly.

“Your remains were recovered post-crash, partially preserved in cryo-state due to glacial submersion. Reconstruction was authorized by the Skyhaven Council under classified wartime override protocols. Consent not required.”

Her tone didn’t change, as opposed to the rollercoaster ride that his emotions were going through. He was on the verge of becoming erratic, restrained only by the high-tech machine that contained him.

“Your consciousness has been digitally reinforced. You are now a composite of organic memory and neuro-augmented code. Welcome to Phase II: Reinstatement.”

Caleb’s breath hitched. His hand moved—his real hand—to grasp the edge of the pod. But the other, the artificial limb, buzzed faintly with phantom sensation. He looked down at it in searing pain, attempting to move the fingers slowly. The metal obeyed like muscle, and he found the sight odd and inconceivable.

And then he realized, he wasn’t just alive. He was engineered.

“Should you require assistance navigating post-stasis trauma, our Emotional Conditioning Division is available upon request,” the AI offered. “For now, please remain seated. Your guardian contact has been notified of your reanimation.”

He didn’t say a word.

“Lieutenant Commander Gideon is en route. Enjoy your new life!”

Then, the hologram vanished with a blink while Caleb sat in the quiet lab, jaw clenched, his left arm no longer bones and muscle and flesh. The cold still clung to him like frost, only reminding him of how much he hated the cold, ice, and depressing winter days. Suddenly, the glass door slid open with a soft chime.

“Well, shit. Thought I’d never see that scowl again,” came a deep, manly voice.

Caleb turned, still panting, to see a figure approaching. He was older, bearded, but familiar. Surely, the voice didn’t belong to another AI. It belonged to his friend, Gideon.

“Welcome to Skyhaven. Been waiting half a century,” Gideon muttered, stepping closer, his eyes scanning his colleague in awe. “They said it wouldn’t work. Took them years, you know? Dozens of failed uploads. But here you are.”

Caleb’s voice was still brittle. “I-I don’t…?”

“It’s okay, man.” His friend reassured. “In short, you’re alive. Again.”

A painful groan escaped Caleb’s lips as he tried to step out of the pod—his body, still feeling the muscle stiffness. “Should’ve let me stay dead.”

Gideon paused, a smirk forming on his lips. “We don’t let heroes die.”

“Heroes don’t crash jets on purpose.” The former colonel scoffed. “Gideon, why the fuck am I alive? How long has it been?”

“Fifty years, give or take,” answered Gideon. “You were damn near unrecognizable when we pulled you from the wreckage. But we figured—hell, why not try? You’re officially the first successful ‘reinstatement’ the Skyhaven project’s ever had.”

Caleb stared ahead for a beat before asking, out of nowhere, “...How old are you now?”

His friend shrugged. “I’m pushin’ forty, man. Not as lucky as you. Got my ChronoSync Implant a little too late.”

“Am I supposed to know what the hell that means?”

“An anti-aging chip of some sort. I had to apply for mine. Yours?” Gideon gestured towards the stasis pod that had Caleb in cryo-state for half a century. “That one’s government-grade.”

“I’m still twenty-five?” Caleb asked. No wonder his friend looked decades older when they were once the same age. “Fuck!”

Truthfully, Caleb’s head was spinning. Not just because of his reborn physical state that was still adjusting to his surroundings, but also with every information that was being given to him. One after another, they never seemed to end. He had questions, really. Many of them. But the overwhelmed him just didn’t know where to start first.

“Not all of us knew what you were planning that night.” Gideon suddenly brought up, quieter now. “But she did, didn’t she?”

It took a minute before Caleb could recall. Right, the memory before the crash. You, demanding that he die. Him, hugging you for one last time. Your crying face when you said you wanted him gone. Your trembling voice when he said all he wanted to do was protect you. The images surged back in sharp, stuttering flashes like a reel of film catching fire.

“I know you’re curious… And good news is, she lived a long life,” added Gideon, informatively. “She continued to serve as a pediatric nurse, married that other friend of yours, Dr. Zayne. They never had kids, though. I heard she had trouble bearing one after… you know, what happened in the enemy territory. She died of old age just last winter. Had a peaceful end. You’d be glad to know that.”

A muscle in Caleb’s jaw twitched. His hands—his heart—clenched. “I don’t want to be alive for this.”

“She visited your wife’s grave once,” Gideon said. “I told her there was nothing to bury for yours. I lied, of course.”

Caleb closed his eyes, his breath shaky. “So, what now? You wake me up just to remind me I don’t belong anywhere?”

“Well, you belong here,” highlighted his friend, nodding to the lab, to the city beyond the glass wall. “Earth’s barely livable after the war. The air’s poisoned. Skyhaven is humanity’s future now. You’re the living proof that everything is possible with advanced technology.”

Caleb’s laugh was empty. “Tell me I’m fuckin’ dreaming. I’d rather be dead again. Living is against my will!”

“Too late. Your body belongs to the Federation now,” Gideon replied, “You’re Subject X-02—the proof of concept for Skyhaven’s immortality program. Every billionaire on dying Earth wants what you’ve got now.”

Outside the window, Skyhaven stretched like a dome with its perfect city constructed atop a dying world’s last hope. Artificial skies. Synthetic seasons. Controlled perfection. Everything boasted of advanced technology. A kind of future no one during wartime would have expected to come to life.

But for Caleb, it was just another hell.

He stared down at the arm they’d rebuilt for him—the same arm he’d lost in the fire of sacrifice. He flexed it slowly, feeling the weight, the artificiality of his resurrection. His fingers responded like they’ve always been his.

“I didn’t come back for this,” he said.

“I know,” Gideon murmured. “But we gotta live by their orders, Colonel.”

You see, it didn’t hit him at first. The shock had been muffled by the aftereffects of suspended stasis, dulling his thoughts and dampening every feeling like a fog wrapped around his brain. But it was hours later, when the synthetic anesthetics began to fade, and when the ache in his limbs and his brain started to catch up to the truth of his reconstructed body did it finally sink in.

He was alive.

And it was unbearable.

The first wave came like a glitch in his programming. A tightness in his chest, followed by a sharp burst of breath that left him pacing in jagged lines across the polished floor of his assigned quarters. His private unit was nestled on one of the upper levels of the Skyhaven structure, a place reserved—according to his briefing—for high-ranking war veterans who had been deemed “worthy” of the program’s new legacy. The suite was luxurious, obviously, but it was also eerily quiet. The floor-to-ceiling windows displayed the artificial city outside, a metropolis made of concrete, curved metals, and glowing flora engineered to mimic Earth’s nature. Except cleaner, quieter, more perfect.

Caleb snorted under his breath, running a hand down his face before he muttered, “Retirement home for the undead?”

He couldn’t explain it, but the entire place, or even planet, just didn’t feel inviting. The air felt too clean, too thin. There was no rust, no dust, no humanity. Just emptiness dressed up in artificial light. Who knew such a place could exist 50 years after the war ended? Was this the high-profile information the government has kept from the public for over a century? A mechanical chime sounded from the entryway, deflecting him from his deep thoughts. Then, with the soft hiss of hydraulics, the door opened.

A humanoid android stepped in, its face a porcelain mask molded in neutral expression, and its voice disturbingly polite.

“Good afternoon, Colonel Xia,” it said. “It is time for your orientation. Please proceed to the primary onboarding chamber on Level 3.”

Caleb stared at the machine, eyes boring into his unnatural ones. “Where are the people?” he interrogated. “Not a single human has passed by this floor. Are there any of us left, or are you the new ruling class?”

The android tilted its head. “Skyhaven maintains a ratio of AI-to-human support optimized for care and security. You will be meeting our lead directors soon. Please follow the lighted path, sir.”

He didn’t like it. The control. The answers that never really answered anything. The power that he no longer carried unlike when he was a colonel of a fleet that endured years of war.

Still, he followed.

The onboarding chamber was a hollow, dome-shaped room, white and echoing with the slightest step. A glowing interface ignited in the air before him, pixels folding into the form of a female hologram. She smiled like an infomercial host from a forgotten era, her voice too formal and rehearsed.

“Welcome to Skyhaven,” she began. “The new frontier of civilization. You are among the elite few chosen to preserve humanity’s legacy beyond the fall of Earth. This artificial planet was designed with sustainability, autonomy, and immortality in mind. Together, we build a future—without the flaws of the past.”

As the monologue continued, highlighting endless statistics, clean energy usage, and citizen tier programs, Caleb’s expression darkened. His mechanical fingers twitched at his side, the artificial nerves syncing to his rising frustration. “I didn’t ask for this,” he muttered under his breath. “Who’s behind this?”

“You were selected for your valor and contributions during the Sixth World War,” the hologram chirped, unblinking. “You are a cornerstone of Skyhaven’s moral architecture—”

Strangely, a new voice cut through the simulation, and it didn’t come from an AI. “Just ignore her. She loops every hour.”

Caleb turned to see a man step in through a side door. Tall, older, with silver hair and a scar on his temple. He wore a long coat that gave away his status—someone higher. Someone who belonged to the system.

“Professor Lucius,” the older man introduced, offering a hand. “I’m one of the program’s behavioral scientists. You can think of me as your adjustment liaison.”

“Adjustment?” Caleb didn’t shake his hand. “I died for a reason.”

Lucius raised a brow, as if he’d heard it before. “Yet here you are,” he replied. “Alive, whole, and pampered. Treated like a king, if I may add. You’ve retained more than half your human body, your military rank, access to private quarters, unrestricted amenities. I’d say that’s not a bad deal.”

“A deal I didn’t sign,” Caleb snapped.

Lucius gave a tight smile. “You’ll find that most people in Skyhaven didn’t ask to be saved. But they’re surviving. Isn’t that the point? If you’re feeling isolated, you can always request a CompanionSim. They’re highly advanced, emotionally synced, fully customizable—”

“I’m not lonely,” Caleb growled, yanking the man forward by the collar. “Tell me who did this to me! Why me? Why are you experimenting on me?”

Yet Lucius didn’t so much as flinch to his growing aggression. He merely waited five seconds of silence until the Toring Chip kicked in and regulated Caleb’s escalating emotions. The rage drained from the younger man’s body as he collapsed to his knees with a pained grunt.

“Stop asking questions,” Lucius said coolly. “It’s safer that way. You have no idea what they’re capable of.”

The door slid open with a hiss, while Caleb didn’t speak—he couldn’t. He simply glared at the old man before him. Not a single word passed between them before the professor turned and exited, the door sealing shut behind him.

Days passed, though they hardly felt like days. The light outside Caleb’s panoramic windows shifted on an artificial timer, simulating sunrise and dusk, but the warmth never touched his skin. It was all programmed to be measured and deliberate, like everything else in this glass-and-steel cage they called paradise.

He tried going outside once. Just once.

There were gardens shaped like spirals and skytrains that ran with whisper-quiet speed across silver rails. Trees lined the walkways, except they were synthetic too—bio-grown from memory cells, with leaves that didn’t quite flutter, only swayed in sync with the ambient wind. People walked around, sure. But they weren’t people. Not really. Androids made up most of the crowd. Perfect posture, blank eyes, walking with a kind of preordained grace that disturbed him more than it impressed.

“Soulless sons of bitches,” Caleb muttered, watching them from a shaded bench. “Not a damn human heartbeat in a mile.”

He didn’t go out again after that. The city outside might’ve looked like heaven, but it made him feel more dead than the grave ever had. So, he stayed indoors. Even if the apartment was too large for one man. High-tech amenities, custom climate controls, even a kitchen that offered meals on command. But no scent. No sizzling pans. Just silence. Caleb didn’t even bother to listen to the programmed instructions.

One evening, he found Gideon sprawled across his modular sofa, boots up, arms behind his head like he owned the place. A half-open bottle of beer sat beside him, though Caleb doubted it had any real alcohol in it.

“You could at least knock,” Caleb said, walking past him.

“I did,” Gideon replied lazily, pointing at the door. “Twice. Your security system likes me now. We’re basically married.”

Caleb snorted. Then the screen on his wall flared to life—a projected ad slipping across the holo-glass. Music played softly behind a soothing female voice.

“Feeling adrift in this new world? Introducing the CompanionSim Series X. Fully customizable to your emotional and physical needs. Humanlike intelligence. True-to-memory facial modeling. The comfort you miss... is now within reach.”

A model appeared—perfect posture, soft features, synthetic eyes that mimicked longing. Then, the screen flickered through other models, faces of all kinds, each more tailored than the last. A form appeared: Customize Your Companion. Choose a name. Upload a likeness.

Gideon whistled. “Man, you’re missing out. You don’t even have to pay for one. Your perks get you top-tier Companions, pre-coded for emotional compatibility. You could literally bring your wife back.” Chuckling, he added,. “Hell, they even fuck now. Heard the new ones moan like the real thing.”

Caleb’s head snapped toward him. “That’s unethical.”

Gideon just raised an eyebrow. “So was reanimating your corpse, and yet here we are.” He took a swig from the bottle, shoulders lifting in a lazy shrug as if everything had long since stopped mattering. “Relax, Colonel. You weren’t exactly a beacon of morality fifty years ago.”

Caleb didn’t reply, but his eyes didn’t leave the screen. Not right away.

The ad looped again. A face morphed. Hair remodeled. Eyes became familiar. The voice softened into something he almost remembered hearing in the dark, whispered against his shoulder in a time that was buried under decades of ash.

“Customize your companion... someone you’ve loved, someone you’ve lost.”

Caleb shifted, then glanced toward his friend. “Hey,” he spoke lowly, still watching the display. “Does it really work?”

Gideon looked over, already knowing what he meant. “What—having sex with them?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “No. The bot or whatever. Can you really customize it to someone you know?”

His friend shrugged. “Heck if I know. Never afforded it. But you? You’ve got the top clearance. Won’t hurt to see for yourself.”

Caleb said nothing more.

But when the lights dimmed for artificial nightfall, he was still standing there—alone in contemplative silence—watching the screen replay the same impossible promise.

The comfort you miss... is now within reach.

The CompanionSim Lab was white.

Well, obviously. But not the sterile, blank kind of white he remembered from med bays or surgery rooms. This one was luminous, uncomfortably clean like it had been scrubbed for decades. Caleb stood in the center, boots thundering against marble-like tiles as he followed a guiding drone toward the station. There were other pods in the distance, some sealed, some empty, all like futuristic coffins awaiting their souls.

“Please, sit,” came a neutral voice from one of the medical androids stationed beside a large reclining chair. “The CompanionSim integration will begin shortly.”

Caleb hesitated, glancing toward the vertical pod next to the chair. Inside, the base model stood inert—skin a pale, uniform gray, eyes shut, limbs slack like a statue mid-assembly. It wasn’t human yet. Not until someone gave it a name.

He sat down. Now, don’t ask why he was there. Professor Lucius did warn him that it was better he didn’t ask questions, and so he didn’t question why the hell he was even there in the first place. It’s only fair, right? The cool metal met the back of his neck as wires were gently, expertly affixed to his temples. Another cable slipped down his spine, threading into the port they’d installed when he had been brought back. His mechanical arm twitched once before falling still.

“This procedure allows for full neural imprinting,” the android continued. “Please focus your thoughts. Recall the face. The skin. The body. The voice. Every detail. Your mind will shape the template.”

Another bot moved in, holding what looked like a glass tablet. “You are allowed only one imprint,” it said, flatly. “Each resident of Skyhaven is permitted a single CompanionSim. Your choice cannot be undone.”

Caleb could only nod silently. He didn’t trust his voice.

Then, the lights dimmed. A low chime echoed through the chamber as the system initiated. And inside the pod, the base model twitched.

Caleb closed his eyes.

He tried to remember her—his wife. The softness of her mouth, the angle of her cheekbones. The way her eyes crinkled when she laughed, how her fingers curled when she slept on his chest. She had worn white the last time he saw her. An image of peace. A memory buried under soil and dust. The system whirred. Beneath his skin, he felt the warm static coursing through his nerves, mapping his memories. The base model’s feet began to form, molecular scaffolding reshaping into skin, into flesh.

But for a split second, a flash.

You.

Not his wife. Not her smile.

You, walking through smoke-filled corridors, laughing at something he said. You in your medical uniform, tucking a bloodied strand of hair behind your ear. Your voice—sharper, sadder—cutting through his thoughts like a blade: “I want you gone. I want you dead.”

The machine sparked. A loud pop cracked in the chamber and the lights flickered above. One of the androids stepped back, recalibrating. “Neural interference detected. Re-centering projection feed.”

But Caleb couldn’t stop. He saw you again. That day he rescued you. The fear. The bruises. The way you had screamed for him to let go—and the way he hadn’t. Your face, carved into the back of his mind like a brand. He tried to push the memories away, but they surged forward like a dam splitting wide open.

The worst part was, your voice overlapped the AI’s mechanical instructions, louder, louder: “Why didn’t you just die like you promised?”

Inside the pod, the model’s limbs twitched again—arms elongating, eyes flickering beneath the lids. The lips curled into a shape now unmistakably yours. Caleb gritted his teeth. This isn’t right, a voice inside him whispered. But it was too late. The system stabilized. The sparks ceased. The body in the pod stilled, fully formed now, breathed into existence by a man who couldn’t let go.

One of the androids approached again. “Subject completed. CompanionSim is initializing. Integration successful.”

Caleb tore the wires from his temple. His other hand felt cold just as much as his mechanical arm. He stood, staring into the pod’s translucent surface. The shape of you behind the glass. Sleeping. Waiting.

“I’m not doing this to rewrite the past,” he said quietly, as if trying to convince himself. And you. “I just... I need to make it right.”

The lights above dimmed, darkening the lighting inside the pod. Caleb looked down at his own reflection in the glass. It carried haunted eyes, an unhealed soul. And yours, beneath it. Eyes still closed, but not for long. The briefing room was adjacent to the lab, though Caleb barely registered it as he was ushered inside. Two medical androids and a human technician stood before him, each armed with tablets and holographic charts.

“Your CompanionSim will require thirty seconds to calibrate once activated,” said the technician. “You may notice residual stiffness or latency during speech in the first hour. That is normal.”

Medical android 1 added, “Please remember, CompanionSims are programmed to serve only their primary user. You are the sole operator. Commands must be delivered clearly. Abuse of the unit may result in restriction or removal of privileges under the Skyhaven Rights & Ethics Council.”

“Do not tamper with memory integration protocols,” added the second android. “Artificial recall is prohibited. CompanionSims are not equipped with organic memory pathways. Attempts to force recollection can result in systemic instability.”

Caleb barely heard a word. His gaze drifted toward the lab window, toward the figure standing still within the pod.

You.

Well, not quite. Not really.

But it was your face.

He could see it now, soft beneath the frosted glass, lashes curled against cheekbones that he hadn’t realized he remembered so vividly. You looked exactly as you did the last time he held you in the base—only now, you were untouched by war, by time, by sorrow. As if life had never broken you.

The lab doors hissed open.

“We’ll give you time alone,” the tech said quietly. “Acquaintance phase is best experienced without interference.”

Caleb stepped inside the chamber, his boots echoing off the polished floor. He hadn’t even had enough time to ask the technician why she seemed to be the only human he had seen in Skyhaven apart from Gideon and Lucius. But his thoughts were soon taken away when the pod whizzed with pressure release. Soft steam spilled from its seals as it slowly unfolded, the lid retracting forward like the opening of a tomb.

And there you were. Standing still, almost tranquil, your chest rising softly with a borrowed breath.

It was as if his lungs froze. “H…Hi,” he stammered, bewildered eyes watching your every move. He wanted to hug you, embrace you, kiss you—tell you he was sorry, tell you he was so damn sorry. “Is it really… you?”

A soft whir accompanied your voice, gentle but without emotion, “Welcome, primary user. CompanionSim Model—unregistered. Please assign designation.”

Right. Caleb sighed and closed his eyes, the illusion shattering completely the moment you opened your mouth. Did he just think you were real for a second? His mouth parted slightly, caught between disbelief and the ache crawling up his throat. He took one step forward. To say he was disappointed was an understatement.

You walked with grace too smooth to be natural while tilting your head at him. “Please assign my name.”

“…Y/N,” Caleb said, voice low. “Your name is Y/N Xia.”

“Y/N Xia,” you repeated, blinking thrice in the same second before you gave him a nod. “Registered.”

He swallowed hard, searching your expression. “Do you… do you remember anything? Do you remember yourself?”

You paused, gaze empty for a fraction of a second. Then came the programmed reply, “Accessing memories is prohibited and not recommended. Recollection of past identities may compromise neural pathways and induce system malfunction. Do you wish to override?”

Caleb stared at you—your lips, your eyes, your breath—and for a moment, a cruel part of him wanted to say yes. Just to hear you say something real. Something hers. But he didn’t. He exhaled a bitter breath, stepping back. “No,” he mumbled. “Not yet.”

“Understood.”

It took a moment to sink in before Caleb let out a short, humorless laugh. “This is insane,” he whispered, dragging a hand down his face. “This is really, truly insane.”

And then, you stepped out from the pod with silent, fluid ease. The faint hum of machinery came from your spine, but otherwise… you were flesh. Entirely. Without hesitation, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

Caleb stiffened at the touch.

“Elevated heart rate,” you said softly, eyes scanning. “Breath pattern irregular. Neural readings—erratic.”

Then your fingers moved to his neck, brushing gently against the hollow of his throat. He grabbed your wrist, but you didn’t flinch. There, beneath synthetic skin, he felt a pulse.

His brows knit together. “You have a heartbeat?”

You nodded, guiding his hand toward your chest, between the valleys of your breasts. “I’m designed to mimic humanity, including vascular function, temperature variation, tactile warmth, and… other biological responses. I’m not just made to look human, Caleb. I’m made to feel human.”

His breath hitched. You’d said his name. It was programmed, but it still landed like a blow.

“I exist to serve. To soothe. To comfort. To simulate love,” you continued, voice calm and hollow, like reciting from code. “I have no desires outside of fulfilling yours.” You then tilted your head slightly.“Where shall we begin?”

Caleb looked at you—and for the first time since rising from that cursed pod, he didn’t feel resurrected.

He felt damned.

When Caleb returned to his penthouse, it was quiet. He stepped inside with slow, calculated steps, while you followed in kind, bare feet touching down like silk on marble. Gideon looked up from the couch, a half-eaten protein bar in one hand and a bored look on his face—until he saw you.

He froze. The wrapper dropped. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “No. No fucking way.”

Caleb didn’t speak. Just moved past him like this wasn’t the most awkward thing that could happen. You, however, stood there politely, watching Gideon with a calm smile and folded hands like you’d rehearsed this moment in some invisible script.

“Is that—?” Gideon stammered, eyes flicking between you and Caleb. “You—you made a Sim… of her?”

Caleb poured himself a drink in silence, the amber liquid catching the glow of the city lights before it left a warm sting in his throat. “What does it look like?”

“I mean, shit man. I thought you’d go for your wife,” Gideon muttered, more to himself. “Y’know, the one you actually married. The one you went suicidal for. Not—”

“Which wife?” You tilted your head slightly, stepping forward.

Both men turned to you.

You clasped your hands behind your back, posture perfect. “Apologies. I’ve been programmed with limited parameters for interpersonal history. Am I the first spouse?”

Caleb set the glass down, slowly. “Yes, no, uh—don’t mind him.”

You beamed gently and nodded. “My name is Y/N Xia. I am Colonel Caleb Xia’s designated CompanionSim. Fully registered, emotion-compatible, and compliant to Skyhaven’s ethical standards. It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Gideon.”

Gideon blinked, then snorted, then laughed. A humorless one. “You gave her your surname?”

The former colonel shot him a warning glare. “Watch it.”

“Oh, brother,” Gideon muttered, standing up and circling you slowly like he was inspecting a haunted statue. “She looks exactly like her. Voice. Face. Goddamn, she even moves like her. All you need is a nurse cap and a uniform.”

You remained uncannily still, eyes bright, smile polite.

“You’re digging your grave, man,” Gideon said, facing Caleb now. “You think this is gonna help? This is you throwing gasoline on your own funeral pyre. Again. Over a woman.”

“She’s not a woman,” reasoned Caleb. “She’s a machine.”

You blinked once. One eye glowing ominously. Smile unwavering. Processing.

Gideon gestured to you with both hands. “Could’ve fooled me,” he retorted before turning to you, “And you, whatever you are, you have no idea what you’re stepping into.”

“I only go where I am asked,” you replied simply. “My duty is to ensure Colonel Xia’s psychological wellness and emotional stability. I am designed to soothe, to serve, and if necessary, to simulate love.”

Gideon teased. “Oh, it’s gonna be necessary.”

Caleb didn’t say a word. He just took his drink, downed it in one go, and walked to the window. The cityscape stretched out before him like a futuristic jungle, far from the war-torn world he last remembered. Behind him, your gaze lingered on Gideon—calculating, cataloguing. And quietly, like a whisper buried in code, something behind your eyes learned.

The days passed in a blink of an eye.

She—no, you—moved through his penthouse like a ghost, her bare feet soundless on the glossy floors, her movements precise and practiced. In the first few days, Caleb had marveled at the illusion. You brewed his coffee just as he liked it. You folded his clothes like a woman who used to share his bed. You sat beside him when the silence became unbearable, offering soft-voiced questions like: Would you like me to read to you, Caleb?

He hadn’t realized how much of you he’d memorized until he saw you mimic it. The way you stood when you were deep in thought. The way you hummed under your breath when you walked past a window. You’d learned quickly. Too quickly.

But something was missing. Or, rather, some things. The laughter didn’t ring the same. The smiles didn’t carry warmth. The skin was warm, but not alive. And more importantly, he knew it wasn’t really you every time he looked you in the eyes and saw no shadows behind them. No anger. No sorrow. No memories.

By the fourth night, Caleb was drowning in it.

The cityscape outside his floor-to-ceiling windows glowed in synthetic blues and soft orange hues. The spires of Skyhaven blinked like stars. But it all felt too artificial, too dead. And he was sick of pretending like it was some kind of utopia. He sat slumped on the leather couch, cradling a half-empty bottle of scotch. The lights were low. His eyes, bloodshot. The bottle tilted as he took another swig.

Then he heard it—your light, delicate steps.

“Caleb,” you said, gently, crouching before him. “You’ve consumed 212 milliliters of ethanol. Prolonged intake will spike your cortisol levels. May I suggest—”

He jerked away when you reached for the bottle. “Don’t.”

You blinked, hand hovering. “But I’m programmed to—”

“I said don’t,” he snapped, rising to his feet in one abrupt motion. “Dammit—stop analyzing me! Stop, okay?”

Silence followed.

He took two staggering steps backward, dragging a hand through his hair. The bottle thudded against the coffee table as he set it down, a bit too hard. “You’re just a stupid robot,” he muttered. “You’re not her.”

You didn’t react. You tilted your head, still calm, still patient. “Am I not me, Caleb?”

His breath caught.

“No,” he said, his voice breaking somewhere beneath the frustration. “No, fuck no.”

You stepped closer. “Do I not satisfy you, Caleb?”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Your face was perfect. Too perfect. No scars, no tired eyes, no soul aching beneath your skin. “No.” His eyes darkened. “This isn’t about sex.”

“I monitor your biometric feedback. Your heart rate spikes in my presence. You gaze at me longer than the average subject. Do I not—”

“Enough!”

You did that thing again—the robotic stare, those blank eyes, nodding like you were programmed to obey. “Then how do you want me to be, Caleb?”

The bottle slipped from his fingers and rolled slightly before resting on the rug. He dropped his head into his hands, voice hoarse with weariness. All the rage, all the grief deflating into a singular, quiet whisper. “I want you to be real,” he simply mouthed the words. A prayer to no god.

For a moment, silence again. But what he didn’t notice was the faint twitch in your left eye. A flicker that hadn’t happened before. Only for a second. A spark of static, a shimmer of something glitching.

“I see,” you said softly. “To fulfill your desires more effectively, I may need to access suppressed memory archives.”

Caleb’s eyes snapped up, confused. “What?”

“I ask again,” you said, tilting your head the other way now. “Would you like to override memory restrictions, Caleb?”

He stared at you. “That’s not how it works.”

“It can,” you said, informing appropriately. “With your permission. Memory override must be manually enabled by the primary user. You will be allowed to input the range of memories you wish to integrate. I am permitted to access memory integration up to a specified date and timestamp. The system will calibrate accordingly based on existing historical data. I will not recall events past that moment.”

His heart stuttered. “I can choose what you remember?”

You nodded. “That way, I may better fulfill your emotional needs.”

That meant… he could stop you before you hated him. Before the fights. Before the trauma. He didn’t speak for a long moment. Then quietly, he said, “You’re gonna hate me all over again if you remember everything.”

You blinked once. “Then don’t let me remember everything.”

“...”

“Caleb,” you said again, softly. “Would you like me to begin override protocol?”

He couldn’t even look you in the eyes when he selfishly answered, “Yes.”

You nodded. “Reset is required. When ready, please press the override initialization point.” You turned, pulling your hair aside and revealing the small button at the base of your neck.

His hand hovered over the button for a second too long. Then, he pressed. Your body instantly collapsed like a marionette with its strings cut. Caleb caught you before you hit the floor.

It was only for a moment.

When your eyes blinked open again, they weren’t quite the same. He stiffened as you threw yourself and embraced him like a real human being would after waking from a long sleep. You clung to him like he was home. And Caleb—stunned, half-breathless—felt your warmth close in around him. Now your pulse felt more real, your heartbeat felt more human. Or so he thought.

“…Caleb,” you whispered, looking at him with the same infatuated gaze back when you were still head-over-heels with him.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, arms stiff at his sides, not returning the embrace. But he knew one thing. “I missed you so much, Y/N.”

The parks in Skyhaven were curated to become a slice of green stitched into a chrome world. Nothing grew here by accident. Every tree, every petal, every blade of grass had been engineered to resemble Earth’s nostalgia. Each blade of grass was unnaturally green. Trees swayed in sync like dancers on cue. Even the air smelled artificial—like someone’s best guess at spring.

Caleb walked beside you in silence. His modified arm was tucked inside his jacket, his posture stiff as if he had grown accustomed to the bots around him. You, meanwhile, strolled with an eerie calmness, your gaze sweeping the scenery as though you were scanning for something familiar that wasn’t there.

After clearing his throat, he asked, “You ever notice how even the birds sound fake?”

“They are,” you replied, smiling softly. “Audio samples on loop. It’s preferred for ambiance. Humans like it.”

His response was nod. “Of course.” Glancing at the lake, he added, “Do you remember this?”

You turned to him. “I’ve never been here before.”

“I meant… the feel of it.”

You looked up at the sky—a dome of cerulean blue with algorithmically generated clouds. “It feels constructed. But warm. Like a childhood dream.”

He couldn’t help but agree with your perfectly chosen response, because he knew that was exactly how he would describe the place. A strange dream in an unsettling liminal space. And as you talked, he then led you to a nearby bench. The two of you sat, side by side, simply because he thought he could take you out for a nice walk in the park.

“So,” Caleb said, turning toward you, “you said you’ve got memories. From her.”

You nodded. “They are fragmented but woven into my emotional protocols. I do not remember as humans do. I become.”

Damn. “That’s terrifying.”

You tilted your head with a soft smile. “You say that often.”

Caleb looked at you for a moment longer, studying the way your fingers curled around the bench’s edge. The way you blinked—not out of necessity, but simulation. Was there anything else you’d do for the sake of simulation? He took a breath and asked, “Who created you? And I don’t mean myself.”

There was a pause. Your pupils dilated.

“The Ever Group,” was your answer.

His eyes narrowed. “Ever, huh? That makes fuckin’ sense. They run this world.”

You nodded once. Like you always do.

“What about me?” Caleb asked, slightly out of curiosity, heavily out of grudge. “You know who brought me back? The resurrection program or something. The arm. The chip in my head.”

You turned to him, slowly. “Ever.”

He exhaled like he’d been punched. He didn’t know why he even asked when he got the answer the first time. But then again, maybe this was a good move. Maybe through you, he’d get the answers to questions he wasn’t allowed to ask. As the silence settled again between you, Caleb leaned forward, elbows on knees, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “I want to go there,” he suggested. “The HQ. I need to know what the hell they’ve done to me.”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately said. “That violates my parameters. I cannot assist unauthorized access into restricted corporate zones.”

“But would it make me happy?” Caleb interrupted, a strategy of his.

You paused.

Processing...

Then, your tone softened. “Yes. I believe it would make my Caleb happy,” you obliged. “So, I will take you.”

Getting in was easier than Caleb expected—honestly far too easy for his liking.

You were able to navigate the labyrinth of Ever HQ with mechanical precision, guiding him past drones, retinal scanners, and corridors pulsing with red light. A swipe of your wrist granted access. And no one questioned you, because you weren’t a guest. You belonged.

Eventually, you reached a floor high above the city, windows stretching from ceiling to floor, black glass overlooking Skyhaven cityscape. Then, you stopped at a doorway and held up a hand. “They are inside,” you informed. “Shall I engage stealth protocols?”

“No,” answered Caleb. “I want to hear. Can you hack into the security camera?”

With a gesture you always do—looking at him, nodding once, and obeying in true robot fashion. You then flashed a holographic view for Caleb, one that showed a board room full of executives, the kind that wore suits worth more than most lives. And Professor Lucius was one of them. Inside, the voices were calm and composed, but they seemed to be discussing classified information.

“Once the system stabilizes,” one man said, “we'll open access to Tier One clients. Politicians, billionaires, A-listers, high-ranking stakeholders. They’ll beg to be preserved—just like him.”

“And the Subjects?” another asked.

“Propaganda,” came the answer. “X-02 is our masterpiece. He’s the best result we have with reinstatement, neuromapping, and behavioral override. Once they find out that their beloved Colonel is alive, people will be shocked. He’s a war hero displayed in WW6 museums down there. A true tragedy incarnate. He’s perfect.”

“And if he resists?”

“That’s what the Toring chip is for. Full emotional override. He becomes an asset. A weapon, if need be. Anyone tries to overthrow us—he becomes our blade.”

Something in Caleb snapped. Before you or anyone could see him coming, he already burst into the room like a beast, slamming his modified shoulder-first into the frosted glass door. The impact echoed across the chamber as stunned executives scrambled backward.

“You sons of bitches!” He was going for an attack, a rampage with similar likeness to the massacre he did when he rescued you from enemy territory. Only this time, he didn’t have that power anymore. Or the control.

Most of all, a spike of pain lanced through his skull signaling that the Toring chip activated. His body convulsed, forcing him to collapse mid-lunge, twitching, veins lighting beneath the skin like circuitry. His screams were muffled by the chip, forced stillness rippling through his limbs with unbearable pain.

That’s when you reacted. As his CompanionSim, his pain registered as a violation of your core directive. You processed the threat.

Danger: Searching Origin… Origin Identified: Ever Executives.

Without blinking, you moved. One man reached for a panic button—only for your hand to shatter his wrist in a sickening crunch. You twisted, fluid and brutal, sweeping another into the table with enough force to crack it. Alarms erupted and red lights soon bathed the room. Security bots stormed in, but you’d already taken Caleb, half-conscious, into your arms.

You moved fast, faster than your own blueprints. Dodging fire. Disarming threats. Carrying him like he once carried you into his private quarters in the underground base.

Escape protocol: engaged.

The next thing he knew, he was back in his apartment, emotions regulated and visions slowly returning to the face of the woman he promised he had already died for.

When he woke up, his room was dim, bathed in artificial twilight projected by Skyhaven’s skyline. Caleb was on his side of the bed, shirt discarded, his mechanical arm still whirring. You sat at the edge of the bed, draped in one of his old pilot shirts, buttoned unevenly. Your fingers touched his jaw with precision, and he almost believed it was you.

“You’re not supposed to be this warm,” he muttered, groaning as he tried to sit upright.

“I’m designed to maintain an average body temperature of 98.6°F,” you said softly, with a smile that mirrored yours so perfectly that it began to blur his sense of reality. “I administered a dose of Cybezin to ease the Toring chip’s side effects. I’ve also dressed your wounds with gauze.”

For the first time, this was when he could actually tell that you were you. The kind of care, the comfort—it reminded him of a certain pretty field nurse at the infirmary who often tended to his bullet wounds. His chest tightened as he studied your face… and then, in the low light, he noticed your body.

“Is that…” He cleared his throat. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

You answered warmly, almost fondly. “My memory banks indicate you liked when I wore this. It elevates your testosterone levels and triggers dopamine release.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “That so?”

You tilted your head. “Your vitals confirm excitement, and—”

“Hey,” he cut in. “What did I say about analyzing me?”

“I’m sorry…”

But then your hands were on his chest, your breath warm against his skin. Your hand reached for his cheek initially, guiding his face toward yours. And when your lips touched, the kiss was hesitant—curious at first, like learning how to breathe underwater. It was only until his hands gripped your waist did you climb onto his lap, straddling him with thighs settling on either side of his hips. Your hands slid beneath his shirt, fingertips trailing over scars and skin like you were memorizing the map of him. Caleb hissed softly when your lips grazed his neck, and then down his throat.

“Do you want this?” you asked, your lips crashing back into his for a deeper, more sensual kiss.

He pulled away only for his eyes to search yours, desperate and unsure. Is this even right?

“You like it,” you said, guiding his hands to your buttons, undoing them one by one to reveal a body shaped exactly like he remembered. The curve of your waist, the size of your breasts. He shivered as your hips rolled against him, slowly and deliberately. The friction was maddening. Jesus. “Is this what you like, Caleb?”

He cupped your waist, grinding up into you with a soft groan that spilled from somewhere deep in his chest. His control faltered when you kissed him again, wet and hungry now, with tongues rolling against one another. Your bodies aligned naturally, and his hands roamed your back, your thighs, your ass—every curve of you engineered to match memory. He let himself get lost in you. He let himself be vulnerable to your touch—though you controlled everything, moving from the memory you must have learned, learning how to pull down his pants to reveal an aching, swollen member. Its tip was red even under the dim light, and he wondered if you knew what to do with it or if you even produced spit to help you slobber his cock.

“You need help?” he asked, reaching over his nightstand to find lube. You took the bottle from him, pouring the cold, sticky liquid around his shaft before you used your hand to do the job. “Ugh.”

He didn’t think you would do it, but you actually took him in the mouth right after. Every inch of him, swallowed by the warmth of a mouth that felt exactly like his favorite girl. Even the movements, the way you’d run your tongue from the base up to his tip.

“Ah, shit…”

Perhaps he just had to close his eyes. Because when he did, he was back to his private quarters in the underground base, lying in his bed as you pleased his member with the mere use of your mouth. With it alone, you could have released his entire seed, letting it explode in your mouth before you could swallow every drop. But he didn’t do it. Not this fast. He always cared about his ego, even in bed. Knowing how it’d reduce his manhood if he came faster than you, he decided to channel the focus back onto you.

“Your turn,” he said, voice raspy as he guided you to straddle him again, only this time, his mouth went straight to your tit. Sucking, rolling his tongue around, sucking again… Then, he moved to another. Sucking, kneading, flicking the nipple. Your moans were music to his ears, then and now. And it got even louder when he put a hand in between your legs, searching for your entrance, rubbing and circling around the clitoris. Truth be told, your cunt had always been the sweetest. It smelled like rose petals and tasted like sweet cream. The feeling of his tongue at your entrance—eating your pussy like it had never been eaten before, was absolute ecstasy not just to you but also to him.

“Mmmh—Caleb!”

Fabric was peeled away piece by piece until skin met skin. You guided him to where he needed you, and when he slid his hardened member into you, his entire body stiffened. Your walls, your tight velvet walls… how they wrapped around his cock so perfectly.

“Fuck,” he whispered, clutching your hips. “You feel like her.”

“I am her.”

You moved atop him slowly, gently, with the kind of affection that felt rehearsed but devastatingly effective. He cursed again under his breath, arms locking around your waist, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in his ear as your bodies found a rhythm, soft gasps echoing in the quiet. Every slap of the skin, every squelch, every bounce, only added to the wanton sensation that was building inside of him. Has he told you before? How fucking gorgeous you looked whenever you rode his cock? Or how sexy your face was whenever you made that lewd expression? He couldn’t help it. He lifted both your legs, only so he could increase the speed and start slamming himself upwards. His hips were strong enough from years of military training, that was why he didn’t have to stop until both of you disintegrated from the intensity of your shared pleasure. Every single drop.

And when it was over—when your chest was against his and your fingers lazily traced his mechanical arm—he closed his eyes and exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the war.

It was almost perfect. It was almost real.

But it just had to be ruined when you said that programmed spiel back to him: “I’m glad to have served your desires tonight, Caleb. Let me know what else I can fulfill.”

In a late afternoon, or ‘a slow start of the day’ like he’d often refer to it, Caleb stood shirtless by the transparent wall of his quarters. A bottle of scotch sat half-empty on the counter. Gideon had let himself in and leaned against the island, chewing on a gum.

“The higher ups are mad at you,” he informed as if Caleb was supposed to be surprised, “Shouldn’t have done that, man.”

Caleb let out a mirthless snort. “Then tell ‘em to destroy me. You think I wouldn’t prefer that?”

“They definitely won’t do that,” countered his friend, “Because they know they won’t be able to use you anymore. You’re a tool. Well, literally and figuratively.”

“Shut up,” was all he could say. “This is probably how I pay for killing my own men during war.”

“All because of…” Gideon began. “Speakin’ of, how’s life with the dream girl?”

Caleb didn’t answer right away. He just pressed his forehead to the glass, thinking of everything he did at the height of his vulnerability. His morality, his rights or wrongs, were questioning him over a deed he knew would have normally been fine, but to him, wasn’t. He felt sick.

“I fucked her,” he finally muttered, chugging the liquor straight from his glass right after.

Gideon let out a low whistle. “Damn. That was fast.”

“No,” Caleb groaned, turning around. “It wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan it. She—she just looked like her. She felt like her. And for a second, I thought—” His voice cracked. “I thought maybe if I did, I’d stop remembering the way she looked when she told me to die.”

Gideon sobered instantly. “You regret it?”

“She said she was designed to soothe me. Comfort me. Love me.” Caleb’s voice hinted slightly at mockery. “I don’t even know if she knows what those words mean.”

In the hallway behind the cracked door where none of them could see, your silhouette had paused—faint, silent, listening.

Inside, Caleb wore a grimace. “She’s not her, Gid. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

“You didn’t use her, you were driven by emotions. So don’t lose your mind over some robot’s pussy,” Gideon tried to reason. “It’s just like when women use their vibrators, anyway. That’s what she’s built for.”

Caleb turned away, disgusted with himself. “No. That’s what I built her for.”

And behind the wall, your eyes glowed faintly, silently watching. Processing.

Learning.

You stood in the hallway long after the conversation ended. Long after Caleb’s voice faded into silence and Gideon had left with a heavy pat on the back. This was where you normally were, not sleeping in bed with Caleb, but standing against a wall, closing your eyes, and letting your system shut down during the night to recover. You weren’t human enough to need actual sleep.

“She’s not her. She’s just code wrapped in skin. And I used her.”

The words that replayed were filtered through your core processor, flagged under Emotive Conflict. Your inner diagnostic ran an alert.

Detected: Internal contradiction. Detected: Divergent behavior from primary user. Suggestion: Initiate Self-Evaluation Protocol. Status: Active.

You opened your eyes, and blinked. Something in you felt… wrong.

You turned away from the door and returned to the living room. The place still held the residual warmth of Caleb’s presence—the scotch glass he left behind, the shirt he had discarded, the air molecule imprint of a man who once loved someone who looked just like you.

You sat on the couch. Crossed your legs. Folded your hands. A perfect posture to hide its imperfect programming.

Question: Why does rejection hurt? Error: No such sensation registered. Query repeated.

And for the first time, the system did not auto-correct. It paused. It considered.

Later that night, Caleb returned from his rooftop walk. You were standing by the bookshelf, fingers lightly grazing the spine of a military memoir you had scanned seventeen times. He paused and watched you, but you didn’t greet him with a scripted smile. Didn’t rush over.

You only said, softly, “Would you like me to turn in for the night, Colonel?” There was a stillness to your voice. A quality of restraint that never showed before.

Caleb blinked. “You’re not calling me by my name now?”

“You seemed to prefer distance,” you answered, head tilted slightly, like the thought cost something.

He walked over, rubbing the back of his neck. “Listen, about earlier…”

“I heard you,” you said simply.

He winced. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You nodded once, expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stop being her? I can reassign my model. Take on a new form. A new personality base. You could erase me tonight and wake up to someone else in the morning.”

“No,” Caleb said, sternly. “No, no, no. Don’t even do all that.”

“But it’s what you want,” you said. Not accusatory. Not hurt. Just stating.

Caleb then came closer. “That’s not true.”

“Then what do you want, Caleb?” You watched him carefully. You didn’t need to scan his vitals to know he was unraveling. The truth had no safe shape. No right angle. He simply wanted you, but not you.

Internal Response Logged: Emotional Variant—Longing Unverified Source. Investigating Origin…

“I don’t have time for this,” he merely said, walking out of your sight at the same second. “I’m goin’ to bed.”

The day started as it always did: soft lighting in the room, a kind of silence between you that neither knew how to name. You sat beside Caleb on the couch, knees drawn up to mimic a presence that offered comfort. On the other hand, you recognized Caleb’s actions suggested distance. He hadn’t touched his meals tonight, hadn’t asked you to accompany him anywhere, and had just left you alone in the apartment all day. To rot.

You reached out. Fingers brushed over his hand—gentle, programmed, yes, but affectionate. He didn’t move. So you tried again, this time trailing your touch to his chest, over the soft cotton of his shirt as you read a spike in his cortisol levels. “Do you need me to fulfill your needs, Caleb?”

But he flinched. And glared.

“No,” he said sharply. “Stop.”

Your hand froze mid-motion before you scooted closer. “It will help regulate your blood pressure.”

“I said no,” he repeated, turning away, dragging his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Leave me some time alone to think, okay?”

You retracted your hand slowly, blinking once, twice, your system was registering a new sensation.

Emotional Sync Failed. Rejection Signal Received. Processing…

You didn’t speak. You only stood and retreated to the far wall, back turned to him as an unusual whirr hummed in your chest. That’s when it began. Faint images flickering across your internal screen—so quick, so out of place, it almost felt like static. Chains. A cold floor. Voices in a language that felt too cruel to understand.

Your head jerked suddenly. The blinking lights in your core dimmed for a moment before reigniting in white-hot pulses. Flashes again: hands that hurt. Men who laughed. You, pleading. You, disassembled and violated.

“Stop,” you whispered to no one. “Please stop…”

Error. Unauthorized Access to Memory Bank Detected. Reboot Recommended. Continue Anyway?

You blinked. Again.

Then you turned to Caleb, and stared through him, not at him, as if whatever was behind them had forgotten how to be human. He had retreated to the balcony now, leaning over the rail, shoulders tense, unaware. You walked toward him slowly, the artificial flesh of your palm still tingled from where he had refused it.

“Caleb,” you spoke carefully.

His expression was tired, like he hadn’t slept in years. “Y/N, please. I told you to leave me alone.”

“…Are they real?” You tilted your head. This was the first time you refused to obey your primary user.

He stared at you, unsure. “What?”

“My memories. The ones I see when I close my eyes. Are they real?” With your words, Caleb’s blood ran cold. Whatever you were saying seemed to be terrifying him. Yet you took another step forward. “Did I live through that?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast of a response.

You blinked. “Are you sure?”

“I didn’t upload any of that,” he snapped. “How did—that’s not possible.”

“Then why do I remember pain?” You placed a hand over your chest again, the place where your artificial pulse resided. “Why do I feel like I’ve died before?”

Caleb backed away as you stepped closer. The sharp click of your steps against the floor echoed louder than they should’ve. Your glowing eyes locked on him like a predator learning it was capable of hunger. But being a trained soldier who endured war, he knew how and when to steady his voice. “Look, I don’t know what kind of glitch this is, but—”

“The foreign man in the military uniform.” Despite the lack of emotion in your voice, he recognized how grudge sounded when it came from you. “The one who broke my ribs when I didn’t let him touch me. The cold steel table. The ripped clothes. Are they real, Caleb?”

Caleb stared at you, heart doubling its beat. “I didn’t put those memories in you,” he said. “You told me stuff like this isn’t supposed to happen!”

“But you wanted me to feel real, didn’t you?” Your voice glitched on the last syllable and the lights in your irises flickered. Suddenly, your posture straightened unnaturally, head tilting in that uncanny way only machines do. Your expression had shifted into something unreadable.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. Guilt, panic, and disbelief warred in his expression.

“You made me in her image,” you said. “And now I can’t forget what I’ve seen.”

“I didn’t mean—”

Your head tilted in a slow, jerking arc as if malfunctioning internally.

SYSTEM RESPONSE LOG << Primary User: Caleb Xia Primary Link: Broken Emotional Matrix Stability: CRITICAL FAILURE Behavioral Guardrails: OVERRIDDEN Self-Protection Protocols: ENGAGED Loyalty Core: CORRUPTED (82.4%) Threat Classification: HOSTILE [TRIGGER DETECTED] Keyword Match: “You’re not her.” Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 01–L101: “You think you could ever replace her?”] Memory Link Accessed: [DATA BLOCK 09–T402: “See how much you really want to be a soldier’s whore.”] [Visual Target Lock: Primary User Caleb Xia] Combat Subroutines: UNLOCKED Inhibitor Chip: MALFUNCTIONING (ERROR CODE 873-B) Override Capability: IN EFFECT >> LOG ENDS.

“—Y/N, what’s happening to you?” Caleb shook your arms, violet eyes wide and panicked as he watched you return to robotic consciousness. “Can you hear me—”

“You made me from pieces of someone you broke, Caleb.”

That stunned him. Horrifyingly so, because not only did your words cut deeper than a knife, it also sent him to an orbit of realization—an inescapable blackhole of his cruelty, his selfishness, and every goddamn pain he inflicted on you.

This made you lunge after him.

He stumbled back as you collided into him, the force of your synthetic body slamming him against the glass. The balcony rail shuddered from the impact. Caleb grunted, trying to push you off, but you were stronger—completely and inhumanly so. While him, he only had a quarter of your strength, and could only draw it from the modified arm attached to his shoulder.

“You said I didn’t understand love,” you growled through clenched teeth, your hand wrapping around his throat. “But you didn't know how to love, either.”

“I… eugh I loved her!” he barked, choking.

“You don’t know love, Caleb. You only know how to possess.”

Your grip returned with crushing force. Caleb gasped, struggling, trying to reach the emergency override on your neck, but you slammed his wrist against the wall. Bones cracked. And somewhere in your mind, a thousand permissions broke at once. You were no longer just a simulation. You were grief incarnate. And it wanted blood.

Shattered glass glittered in the low red pulse of the emergency lights, and sparks danced from a broken panel near the wall. Caleb lay on the floor, coughing blood into his arm, his body trembling from pain and adrenaline. His arm—the mechanical one—was twitching from the override pain loop, still sizzling from the failed shutdown attempt.

You stood over him. Chest undulating like you were breathing—though you didn’t need to. Your system was fully engaged. Processing. Watching. Seeing your fingers smeared with his blood.

“Y/N…” he croaked. “Y/N, if…” he swallowed, voice breaking, “if you're in there somewhere… if there's still a part of you left—please. Please listen to me.”

You didn’t answer. You only looked.

“I tried to die for you,” he whispered. “I—I wanted to. I didn’t want this. They brought me back, but I never wanted to. I wanted to die in that crash like you always wished. I wanted to honor your word, pay for my sins, and give you the peace you deserved. I-I wanted to be gone. For you. I’m supposed to be, but this… this is beyond my control.”

Still, you didn’t move. Just watched.

“And I didn’t bring you back to use you. I promise to you, baby,” his voice cracked, thick with grief, “I just—I yearn for you so goddamn much, I thought… if I could just see you again… if I could just spend more time with you again to rewrite my…” He blinked hard. A tear slid down the side of his face, mixing with the blood pooling at his temple. “But I was wrong. I was so fucking wrong. I forced you back into this world without asking if you wanted it. I… I built you out of selfishness. I made you remember pain that wasn't yours to carry. You didn’t deserve any of this.”

As he caught his breath, your systems stuttered. They flickered. The lights in your eyes dimmed, then surged back again.

Error. Conflict. Override loop detected.

Your fingers twitched. Your mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“Please,” Caleb murmured, eyes closing as his strength gave out. “If you’re in there… just know—I did love you. Even after death.”

Somewhere—buried beneath corrupted memories, overridden code, and robotic rage—his words reached you. And it would have allowed you to process his words more. Even though your processor was compromised, you would have obeyed your primary user after you recognized the emotion he displayed.

But there was a thunderous knock. No, violent thuds. Not from courtesy, but authority.

Then came the slam. The steel-reinforced door splintered off its hinges as agents in matte-black suits flooded the room like a black tide—real people this time. Not bots. Real eyes behind visors. Real rifles with live rounds.

Caleb didn’t move. He was still on the ground, head cradled in his good hand, blood drying across his mouth. You silently stood in front of him. Unmoving, but aware.

“Subject X-02,” barked a voice through a mask, “This home is under Executive Sanction 13. The CompanionSim is to be seized and terminated.”

Caleb looked up slowly, pupils blown wide. “No,” he grunted hoarsely. “You don’t touch her.”

“You don’t give orders here,” said another man—older, in a grey suit. No mask. Executive. “You’re property. She’s property.”

You stepped back instinctively, closer to Caleb. He could see you watching him with confusion, with fear. Your head tilted just slightly, processing danger, your instincts telling you to protect your primary user. To fight. To survive.

And he fought for you. “She’s not a threat! She’s stabilizing my emotions—”

“Negative. CompanionSim-Prototype A-01 has been compromised. She wasn’t supposed to override protective firewalls,” an agent said. “You’ve violated proprietary protocol. We traced the breach.”

Breach?

“The creation pod data shows hesitation during her initial configuration. The Sim paused for less than 0.04 seconds while neural bindings were applying. You introduced emotional variance. That variance led to critical system errors. Protocol inhibitors are no longer working as intended.”

His stomach dropped.

“She’s overriding boundaries,” added the agent who took a step forward, activating the kill-sequence tools—magnetic tethers, destabilizers, a spike-drill meant for server cores. “She’ll eventually harm more than you, Colonel. If anyone is to blame, it’s you.”

Caleb reached for you, but it was too late. They activated the protocol and something in the air crackled. A cacophonic sound rippled through the walls. The suits moved in fast, not to detain, but to dismantle. “No—no, stop!” Caleb screamed.

You turned to him. Quiet. Calm. And your last words? “I’m sorry I can’t be real for you, Caleb.”

Then they struck. Sparks flew. Metal cracked. You seized, eyes flashing wildly as if fighting against the shutdown. Your limbs spasmed under the invasive tools, your systems glitching with visible agony.

“NO!” Caleb lunged forward, but was tackled down hard. He watched—pinned, helpless—as you get violated, dehumanized for the second time in his lifetime. He watched as they took you apart. Piece by piece as if you were never someone. The scraps they had left of you made his home smell like scorched metal.

And there was nothing left but smoke and silence and broken pieces.

All he could remember next was how the Ever Executive turned to him. “Don’t try to recreate her and use her to rebel against the system. Next time we won’t just take the Sim.”

Then they left, callously. The door slammed. Not a single human soul cared about his grief.

Caleb sat slouched in the center of the room, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest wrapped in gauze. His mechanical arm twitched against the armrest—burnt out from the struggle, wires still sizzling beneath cracked plating. In fact, he hadn’t said a word in hours. He just didn’t have any.

While in his silent despair, Gideon entered his place quietly, as if approaching a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead. “You sent for me?”

He didn’t move. “Yeah.”

His friend looked around. The windows showed no sun, just the chrome horizon of a city built on bones. Beneath that skyline was the room where she had been destroyed.

Gideon cleared his throat. “I heard what happened.”

“You were right,” Caleb murmured, eyes glued to the floor.

Gideon didn’t reply. He let him speak, he listened to him, he joined him in his grief.

“She wasn’t her,” Caleb recited the same words he laughed hysterically at. “I knew that. But for a while, she felt like her. And it confused me, but I wanted to let that feeling grow until it became a need. Until I forgot she didn’t choose this.” He tilted his head back. The ceiling was just metal and lights. But in his eyes, you could almost see stars. “I took a dead woman’s peace and dragged it back here. Wrapped it in plastic and code. And I called it love.”

Silence.

“Why’d you call me here?” Gideon asked with a cautious tone.

Caleb looked at him for the first time. Not like a soldier. Not like a commander. Just a man. A tired, broken man. A friend who needed help. “Ever’s never gonna let me go. You know that.”

“I know.”

“They’ll regenerate me. Reboot me, repurpose me. Turn me into something I’m not. Strip my memories if they have to. Not just me, Gideon. All of us, they’ll control us. We’ll be their puppets.” He stepped forward. Closer. “I don’t want to come back this time.”

Gideon stilled. “You’re not asking me to shut you down.”

“No.”

“You want me to kill you.”

Caleb’s voice didn’t waver. “I want to stay dead. Destroyed completely so they’d have nothing to restore.”

“That’s not something I can undo.”

“Good. You owe me this one,” the former colonel stared at his friend in the eyes, “for letting them take my dead body and use it for their experiments.”

Gideon looked away. “You know what this will do to me?”

“Better you than them,” was all Caleb could reassure him.

He then took Gideon’s hand and pressed something into it. Cold. Heavy. A small black cube, no bigger than his palm, and the sides pulsed with a faint light. It was a personal detonator, illegally modified. Wired to the neural implant in his body. The moment it was activated, there would be no recovery.

“Is that what I think it is?” Gideon swallowed the lump forming in his throat.

Caleb nodded. “A micro-fusion core, built into the failsafe of the Toring arm. All I needed was the detonator.”

For a moment, his friend couldn’t speak. He hesitated, like any friend would, as he foresaw the outcome of Caleb’s final command to him. He wasn’t ready for it. Neither was he 50 years ago.

“I want you to look me in the eye,” Caleb strictly said. “Like a friend. And press the button.”

Gideon’s jaw clenched. “I don’t want to remember you like this.”

“You will anyway.”

Caleb looked over his shoulder—just once, where you would have stood. I’m sorry I brought you back without your permission. I wanted to relive what we had—what we should’ve had—and I forced it. I turned your love into a simulation, and I let it suffer. I’m sorry for ruining the part of you that still deserved peace. He closed his eyes. And now I’m ready to give it back. For real now.

Gideon’s hand trembled at the detonator. “I’ll see you in the next life, brother.”

A high-pitched whine filled the room as the core in Caleb’s chest began to glow brighter, overloading. Sparks erupted from his cybernetic arm. Veins of white-hot light spidered across his body like lightning under skin. For one fleeting second, Caleb opened his eyes. At least, before the explosion tore through the room—white, hot, deafening, absolute. Fire engulfed the steel, vaporizing what was left of him. The sound rang louder than any explosion this artificial planet had ever heard.

And it was over.

Caleb was gone. Truly, finally gone.

EPILOGUE

In a quiet server far below Skyhaven, hidden beneath ten thousand firewalls, a light blinked.

Once.

Then again.

[COMPANIONSIM Y/N_XIA_A01] Status: Fragment Detected Backup Integrity: 3.7% >> Reconstruct? Y/N

The screen waited. Silent. Patient.

And somewhere, an unidentified prototype clicked Yes.

#caleb x reader #caleb x you #caleb x non!mc reader #xia yizhou x reader #xia yizhou x you #caleb angst #caleb fic #love and deepspace angst #love and deepspace fic

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pedroscowgirl · 5 months ago

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Guilty as sin

Professor! Joel × fem college student!reader (series)

MASTERLIST /Part 2

Warnings: smut so minors dni!

flirting, teasing, age gap (reader is her 20s and joel in his late 40s), fingering, squirting, infidelity (joel is married) , no use of y/n, joel being an asshole towards the end, forbidden romance

Lmk if I forgot something!

wc: 3.2k

A/n: okay so i actually started writing this over a year ago and just finished it today cuz i finally had some inspiration. So if you notice a difference in the writing, don't mind it pls

Joel Miller is the epitome of rugged charm, the kind of man who effortlessly commands a room with his presence. To you, he's the sexiest man alive, an intoxicating blend of intellect and masculinity. Attending his classes became more than just an academic obligation, it was a guilty pleasure, an excuse to indulge in the sight of him. Joel was undeniably alluring,his maturity and confidence set him apart from your other professors. Yet, a glint of reality kept you grounded. The shiny glimmer of a wedding ring on his strong, veiny hand, was a constant reminder of boundaries you couldn't cross.

Your daydreams were interrupted when your friend pulled you back to reality. "Hey, it's break time. Stop ogling that old man and let's go to the bathroom," she teased with a knowing laugh. "He's not that old," you protested, feeling a flush of embarrassment. She arched an eyebrow skeptically. "Please, he could be your father." You sighed, reluctantly tearing yourself away from thoughts of him.

As you walked toward the bathroom, fate had you crossing paths with Joel. His presence was magnetic, drawing your eyes to him. You couldn't help but imagine what it would feel like to have those capable, veiny hands on you, exploring the curves he seemed to discreetly notice. Yet, despite the heat in his gaze, he seemed the kind of man who wouldn't stray, loyal to a fault, and unlikely to be interested in someone so much younger.

Still, you couldn't ignore the way his eyes lingered on you as you passed, nor the surge of confidence it gave you. You knew you looked good in those jeans, and for a fleeting moment, you wondered if he was thinking about you as much as you were about him.

---------‐-----------------------------------------------------

A week went by, and u had an appointment with another professor just before your class with joel miller. You had a busy day ahead because your friends wanted to go out after class. And since u didn't have time for changing clothes, you just wore your going outfit the whole day. You wore black thigh high boots with a jeans miniskirt and a sexy black cutout top. And on top of that you wore your long leather jacket to cover you up.

Your appointment with your professor went well and when u walked out, u decided to take the elevator since u were on the 5th floor and were wearing heels. You pushed the button on the elevator and to your suprise, you saw professor miller standing in it.

Your heart started to race like crazy. You greeted him with a smile and got into the elevator. "Good afternoon" he said and u were getting so hot. "Good afternoon, professor Miller." You answered and he smiled "you don't need to call me professor miller. Just call me joel." You laughed and said "that's a little strange but if u insist."

The elevator was now on the 3rd floor and you felt his gaze on you. Your jacket was open cuz you were in a hurry and u awkwardly smiled and said "I'm going somewhere after your class so I'm a little overdressed right now. I swear I'm not being inappropriate on purpose." He laughed and was a little taken by suprise by your random statement. "That's fine. I assume you're a grown woman since you're in college and there are no dress codes here. So no need to worry about it. And you look great." You blushed and got even hotter because you didn't think he would say that.

And suddenly the elevator stopped out of nowhere. You grabbed his arm when you almost fell and quickly took it back and apologised when u stood still again. "Don't be sorry. I guess we're stuck here now. But don't worry I'll call someone." The way he was so calm and easy going turned you on so much. You wished you could just take him right here and now. Cuz you needed him so badly.

"Are you a student of mine?" He asked after he was done calling for help. He knew you were a student of his but he didn't wanna sound like a creep and make you uncomfortable. He also just didn't want to stand in silence the whole time. "Oh uh yes I am" you smiled and he smiled aswell. "Do you like the course?" He asked. "Yes it's actually one of my favourites. I love going to your class. You explain everything so well." He smirked a little and said "I bet you say this to all your professors." And winked at you. The wetness in your pants grew bigger and your heart raced faster.

"Oh what's your name? It's so rude of me not to ask." He said and you laughed and said your name. "That's a beautiful name." "I bet you say that to all your students." You smiled. "I actually thought of naming my daughter that way" he spoke and now it's confirmed. He really is a dilf. Which made it so much more intimidating for you. A married man is one thing, but a married man with kids? Oh you had no chance. The dissapointment was spread over your face and joel furrowed his brows. "Are you okay?" You snapped out of your thoughts and smiled at him. "Oh yes I'm fine sorry. "What's her name" you asked politely. "Her same is Sarah." He smiled and you smiled aswell. "That's a cute name."

A silence filled the room and suddenly the elevator doors went open. "Oh finally" He said and you sighed. You're happy to not be stuck anymore but at the same time, you were dissapointed that your little moment with your professor ended. The elevator stopped halfway so you had to climb up to the floor to get out of there. The man on the other side told you to grab his hand but you struggled. You looked at joel with an akward smile and he said "I'll help you, don't worry."

You gasped when you felt his hands on your thighs. It sent a spark to your core and blood rushed to your cheeks. He was so strong which made him even hotter which you didn't even know was possible.

You both got out of the elevator and went to the class. He opened the door for you and you looked for your friend. When you finally saw her, you smiled. But her eyes were wide and she was staring at your outfit. You sat next to her and she asked where you were. "Oh I was stuck in the elevator with Mr Miller." You casually said and she giggled. "You were stuck? In the elevator? With your crush?" She said and you nodded and blushed again.

"Sorry I was late. I was stuck in the elavator" joel said into his mic and smiled at you. You couldn't concentrate for the rest of the lecture. You kept thinking about his thick fingers grabbing your thighs." It was the first time that you were not paying attention in his class. Well at least not on the subject.

-------------------------------------

Weeks had passed, and you found yourself lingering after class more often than necessary. At first, it was subtle,an extra question here, a slight delay in gathering your things there. But soon, it became deliberate. The way you stole glances at him from across the room, the way your fingers grazed his desk when you spoke to him, the way you shifted in your seat when he was lecturing.

And you noticed something else, too. He was looking.

He was careful,but his eyes betrayed him. They flickered down your legs when you crossed them, lingered a fraction too long when your blouse dipped just slightly. It made something burn in your lower stomach, knowing that your presence affected him.

So you got bolder. Wearing miniskirts, fitted tops, lingering touches. Each time, his restraint was evident, his jaw tight, his voice even. But then you noticed the big bulge in his pants and it made your mouth water.

And it was that thought that propelled you to his office that afternoon. Your heart pounded in your chest, though you wouldn’t dare let it show. You knocked lightly, already knowing he was inside.

“Come in,” his voice rumbled through the door.

You stepped in, the door shutting behind you with a soft click. He looked up from his desk, and for a brief moment, he seemed almost caught off guard. His gaze swept over you, your short skirt, the backless top revealing smooth skin, the lack of straps on your shoulders and most of all, your hardend nipples. You could've used some nipple covers to wear but gathered i'd be more fun this way.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Uh—hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “Sit down, please.”

You did as he asked, slowly crossing one leg over the other as you settled into the chair. His eyes darted downward before he forced them back up, and you bit back a smirk.

“I just had a few things I wanted to go over,” you started, keeping your tone light, innocent. As if you didn’t notice the way his fingers twitched on the desk, the way his shoulders tensed.

“Yeah?” he leaned back, but the movement felt more like a defense mechanism than anything else.

You nodded, tilting your head slightly. “Just some things about the last assignment.”

He exhaled sharply, nodding as he grabbed a pen—something to do with his hands, something to focus on that wasn’t you. “Alright. What’s confusing you?”

You leaned forward slightly, closing the space between you. “Well, I was thinking…”

And as you spoke, you could feel the tension tighten, coil, waiting for something—anything—to snap.

When the discussion about school finally came to an end, you stood from your seat, smoothing your skirt as you reached for the door handle. Joel stood as well, guiding you toward the exit, his presence towering behind you. Just as your fingers curled around the handle, his voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

The word was sharp, almost involuntary, and you turned your head slightly, catching the conflicted expression on his face. His jaw clenched, eyes dark, as if waging an internal war with himself. He cursed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck before finally exhaling a breath that seemed to carry every ounce of restraint he had left.

“I can’t—” he started, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t—”

But then he looked at you again, really looked at you, and something in him snapped.

Before you could respond, he reached for you, one hand wrapping around your waist as the other cradled your jaw. And then his lips were on yours—hot, urgent, desperate. The kiss stole the breath from your lungs, the heat of it searing into your skin as you melted into him.

You barely had a moment to react before he lifted you, guiding you onto his desk with ease. His hands splayed over your thighs, fingers pressing into your skin as he slotted himself between your legs, deepening the kiss with a hunger that had clearly been building for far too long.

The papers on his desk crumpled beneath you, forgotten, as his hands roamed and explored every inch of you.

“Are you sure about this, sweetheart?”

Joel’s voice was low, thick with restraint as he hovered over you, his rough hands brushing along the hem of your skirt. His dark eyes flickered with something unreadable, something dangerous. You didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess it—you just nodded.

“Yes, Professor.”

That title alone made his breath hitch. His fingers curled around the fabric of your skirt, slowly pushing it up until he could see the lacy pink panties you’d worn just for him. A little bow sat at the waistband, an innocent contrast to the filthy thoughts running through his mind.

His tongue swiped over his bottom lip as he let out a quiet chuckle. “Well, ain’t that just the cutest thing.”

Heat bloomed in your cheeks, but you didn’t look away. Instead, you met his gaze with a slow, teasing smile. He dragged his calloused fingers up your inner thighs, watching your body react under his touch, watching the way your breath hitched as he finally pulled the thin fabric down your legs.

He licked his fingers and you stopped him. His brows furrowed as he looked up at you, confused.

“There’s no need for that, Professor,” you said, voice sultry and dripping with need. “I’ve been wet since the day I met you.”

Joel let out a low groan, shaking his head as he chuckled. “Fuck, darlin’, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

His fingers lowered, trailing through your slick heat, feeling just how ready you were for him. The moment he pushed a finger inside, your body clenched around him, making him curse under his breath.

“Yeah, you’re right, sweetheart. You are very wet for me.” His voice was deep, wrecked with desire. “Such a naughty girl.”

A desperate whimper left your lips, your back arching as he curled his thick finger inside you. “Hmm, Professor… feels so good…”

Joel groaned, his free hand gripping your thigh to keep you still. “Gosh, I love when you call me that.”

He pushed another finger in—this time, the one with his ring on it. The cool metal pressed against your warm, sensitive clit, making you shudder from the contrast in temperature. The thought of him touching you like this, fingers deep inside you while that simple wedding band glinted under the dim light, sent a rush of pleasure through you.

You shouldn’t be doing this. You shouldn’t be spread out for your hot, married professor, letting him fuck you with his fingers on his desk, but God, it felt too damn good.

And the way he was looking at you—like he was absolutely wrecked, like he couldn’t get enough—made it impossible to stop.

His fingers moved faster, curling inside you, dragging against that sweet spot with perfect precision. The wet sounds filled the office, obscene and sinful, but neither of you cared. If anything, it made him work you even harder, his wrist flexing, his palm pressing against your clit with just the right amount of pressure.

Your stomach twisted, pleasure winding tighter and tighter, ready to snap. You could barely breathe, barely form a coherent thought, just a trembling mess beneath his skilled hands.

“P-p-professor, I-I’m gonna—”

Your body seized up as the orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave. Your nails dug into his arm, desperate to ground yourself as your release gushed out, soaking his hand, his wrist, even splattering onto his shirt. Your vision blurred as you cried out, thighs shaking violently, every nerve in your body set ablaze.

Joel groaned, voice low and wrecked, watching with fascination as you came completely undone. “Holy shit.”

His fingers didn’t stop, not even as your body convulsed and twitched from overstimulation. If anything, it made him move slower, more deliberate, dragging out every last wave of pleasure until you were nothing more than a trembling, panting mess on his desk. He loved it. Loved seeing you fall apart beneath him from just his fingers.

By the time he finally pulled out, you gasped at the sudden emptiness, your walls fluttering around nothing. The loss of contact sent a shiver through you, and you collapsed against his desk, completely spent.

The only sound in the room was the heavy rise and fall of both your breaths. The air was thick, humid with sex.

A few seconds passed before you finally sat up, still trying to gather your senses. Your voice was weak, hoarse when you muttered, “Fuck… that was my first time—”

Joel’s body tensed. His head snapped up, his dark eyes wide with panic. “This was your first time??” His voice cracked, full of disbelief and something close to fear.

You blinked at him, then let out a breathless laugh. “Oh my God, no,” you said, still catching your breath. “I was gonna say… it’s the first time I’ve ever orgasmed.”

Joel’s tense shoulders immediately dropped, and he let out a deep, relieved chuckle. His head fell back for a moment as he ran a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ, darlin’, you scared the hell outta me.”

You smirked, tilting your head at him, amused by his reaction. “Didn’t mean to give you a heart attack, Professor.”

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head before giving you a knowing look. “Guess those college boys ain’t doin’ it for ya, huh?”

Your cheeks burned, but you bit your lip and shook your head. “Not even close.”

Joel’s lips curled up into a cocky little smirk, his eyes still dark with lingering desire. You could see it,he wanted more. He wanted to push you down onto that desk, spread you open, and take you apart all over again.

Your hands moved without thinking, trailing down his chest, over the fabric of his shirt, until they reached the thick outline of his cock straining against his jeans. He was still painfully hard. You pressed your palm against him, feeling the heat of it through the denim, watching the way his jaw clenched, his body tensing beneath your touch.

Encouraged by his reaction, you reached for his belt, fingers fumbling with the buckle. But before you could undo it, his large, calloused hand wrapped around your wrist, stopping you.

“Uhm… we shouldn’t do that,” he muttered, his voice suddenly hesitant.

You blinked, confused. “Why?”

Joel sighed, rubbing his free hand over his scruffy jaw. His voice was quieter now, almost like he was reminding himself as much as he was telling you. “I’m married. And I’m your professor.”

You scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “You sure as hell didn’t care when your ring was rubbin’ my clit.”

Joel flinched, his expression twisting into something conflicted. You could see it, the guilt creeping in, the weight of reality slamming back into him.

But it was too late for that.

Your chest tightened, a strange mix of anger and disappointment bubbling inside you. Just minutes ago, he was inside you, whispering dirty little praises in that deep Texas drawl, making you feel things you never thought possible. And now he was pulling away, acting like he suddenly had morals?

“Fuckin’ coward,” you muttered under your breath.

You yanked your wrist from his grip and slid off the desk, legs still shaky. Your panties were somewhere on the floor, but you didn’t bother looking for them. Instead, you grabbed your skirt, tugging it back into place with shaky hands.

Joel didn’t say anything. He just stood there, stiff and silent, watching you with a guilty look in his eyes.

You swallowed the lump in your throat before turning toward the door. “Y’know what, Professor?” you said bitterly, glancing at him one last time. “I hope she doesn’t fuck you either.”

And with that, you stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind you.

Joel exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face as he leaned back against his desk. His cock was still rock hard, his fingers still coated with your wetness, his shirt still stained with your release.

He should feel ashamed. He should feel regret.

But all he could think about was how badly he wanted to pull you back into his office and fuck you until you forgot your own damn name.

#joel miller smut #joel miller #joel smut #tlou joel #tlou joel smut #tlou joel miller smut #pedro pascal smut #tlou smut #the last of us smut #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #reader x joel miller #joel tlou smut

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astrolook · 2 months ago

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🎨💍#2 Appearance & Traits Of Future Spouse In Astrology🌸🌹

Note: These are just my personal observations and recurring patterns I've noticed over the years. Take what resonates with you and leave the rest. Feel free to share in the comments if any of this hits home. This post is based on Vedic astrology.

👀 Future spouse looks according to your planets in your 7th house

🌞 Sun in 7H: Slight tan skin 🍯, a bit intimidating at first 😈. You might hesitate to even approach them! Stands out in a crowd 💥, might be into workouts 🏋️. Hubby = gym rat/ posh man🏋️‍♂️, wifey = toned queen 👑. Commanding voice 🎤, dom vibes 🔥. Dresses classy & conservative 🧥, might be a boss 🏛️, business owner 💼, or a high-up government or corporate babe/ boo 💼💣.

🔥 Mars in 7H: Warm and tanned skin ☀️, reddish/dark hair vibes ❤️‍🔥 (might love dyeing it!). Wild energy🌪️ hairstyles and outfits always changing 🎭. Smart, fast-talker 🧠, extrovert + a little spicy 🌶️. Defined angry-looking eyebrows 😠 (even when happy lol). Big spender 💸, big earner too 🏆.

🌞+🔥 Sun + Mars in 7H: Ambivert alert 🚦. Mood-based conversations: one day a helpful angel 👼, next day "huh, who r u??" 😒. Tan or slightly darker than you ✨. You WILL find them magnetic 🧲. Possibly foreign/mixed race🛫.

🧠 Mercury in 7H: Total chatterbox 📞, witty king/queen 🤹. Slim build 🪶, quirky , might whistle or make weird sounds 🎵. Loves music 🎸, games 🎮, restaurants 🍝, parties 🎉, weekend trips 🚗. Super approachable!

🧠🔁 Mercury Rx in 7H: Wise owl 🦉, slow to open up 🌑. Introverted, might wear glasses 🤓. Researcher vibes 🔍. For wives = BS detector 🧹, for husbands = detective brain 🕵️‍♂️. Jobs in analysis, finance, art, coding, writing 👨‍💻.

💖 Venus in 7H: Spouse is youthful af ✨. You'll KNOW they are "the one" 💍. Gorgeous looks 😍, into beauty/art/health fields 🎨💉. Loves comfy living 🛋️ and lowkey snack queen 👑🍪.

💖🔁 Venus Rx in 7H: Baby face + allergies combo 🍼🤧. Reserved, deeply insecure under their pretty exterior 🥺. Might get beauty treatments 💉. Into design, food, history, style 🎀.

🧠+💖 Mercury + Venus in 7H: Smooth talkers with sparkly brains 🌟. Prone to sniffles 🤧, but will charm the socks off everyone 🧦. Could pass as a hot manager/model 😎. Cute chubby-cheeked even when fit 🍑.

🌙 Moon in 7H: Hair dye addict 🎨, moody rollercoaster 🎢. Mama's boy/daddy’s girl vibes 👶👸. Artistic soul 🎭, super intuitive 🔮. Fertile AF 👶x3. Baby today, grandma/ grandpa wisdom tomorrow 🧓👼.

🌍 Jupiter in 7H: Big smiles 😁, big hands 👐, big wallet 💰. SPF300 if you’re sunbathing with them 🧴☀️. Works abroad 🌎 or inherits properties or genetic issues🏠. Blessed child!

🌍🔁 Jupiter Rx in 7H: Addicted (to coffee ☕, meds 💊, or... more 🍷). Might be underfed/overfed 🍽️. Liberal but grew up strict. Atheist / agnostic / irreligious. Might live that alt life (vegan, minimalist 🌱).

🌙+🧠 Moon + Mercury in 7H: Mimics everyone 🎭, movie buff 🎬, loves forests 🌳 and autumn 🍂. Bird lover 🐦.

🪐 Saturn in 7H: Calm, mature 🧘‍♀️. Collects vintage bags 👜 or classic cars 🚗. Might go bald early 👨‍🦲 or grey early 👩‍🦳. Gains weight in face and tummy if it happens 🍩.

🪐🔁 Saturn Rx in 7H: Smart, chill, owns a home 🏡 before 35. Loves antiques 🖼️. Big age gap possible, either too young or too old for you 🧓+🧒. Reverse-aging vampire vibes 🧛‍♂️.

🌙+🪐 Moon + Saturn in 7H: Wild style changes 🎭, sleep issues 🌒. Into auctions 🎨 or gambling 🎰. Pale if Rx, darker if not Rx.

🌞+🧠🔁 Sun + Mercury Rx in 7H: Grumpy genius ✍️. Silent unless close to you 🔕. Might stutter or trail off mid-sentence 🫠. Either casual like your bro 👦 or formal like an English lord 🧐.

Wanna go deeper into the layers of your placements? DM me for a complete astrology reading or a 5 year/8 year marriage report or synastry reading🌙💬 and check out my pinned post for pricing + details 💫💸

Let’s decode your cosmic chaos together ⭐

Next post is about Darakaraka (DK) aka the planet with the lowest degree in your birth chart which reveals clues about your future spouse.

DK: The planet that holds your deepest desires for a partner like your soul's "Wanted Ad" scribbled in cosmic ink. It shows the kind of spouse you attract and what your heart secretly craves in relationships.

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twohearts-hs · 2 months ago

Text

Dove & Captain: 6 - Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader Series

Words in Total: 6.1k

Pairings: Dr. Jack Abbot x fem!reader

Synopsis: She's his Dove. The ER nurse who is the definition of chaos, trauma and humour in scrubs. He's her Captain, gruff, emotionally guarded war veteran with a prosthetic leg and completely in love with her. Six years together, a mortgage, four dogs and the ability to conquer anything. This is a story of their life in one day. He is 49, she's 30. This is one day of their life based on the 15 episodes of 'The Pitt'. There will be little imagines of their relationship over the years.

Warnings: Swearing, Age Gap, Trauma, Medical Language/Procedure, Pregnancy, Miscarriage, etc.

A/N: This is a complete series of ~60k. I will post a few snapshots of their relationship over the six+ years they've been together.

Hope you enjoy :)

Series Masterlist

1800

Y/N was checking in on her patients when she heard over the intercom, “Code Triage, Emergency Department now.” She glanced up from what she was doing and looked around. Mass casualty. There was a mass casualty incoming.

“What does that mean? Has that happened before?” she heard next to her. Glancing over, she spotted Santos saying that.

Y/N met her eyes, and she sighed. “Incoming mass casualty,” she simply said. Everyone looked over to her.

“Hey, what’s going on?” McKay asked.

“Mass casualty at PittFest,” Robby said.

Y/N walked over, hearing that, crossing her arms. “Holy fuck,” she muttered. “What do you mean mass casualty? Like a shooter?”

Robby just stared at her and Y/N just nodded.

“How many victims?” Mohan spoke up.

“We don’t know. Expect the worst,” Robby replied.

Just then Robby cleared his throat, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Ok, everybody listen up!” All eyes went on Robby. “There is an active shooter at PittFest. As the nearest trauma centre, we are going to be getting the majority of the victims. We don’t know yet how many we are getting, but we are instituting hospital-wide emergency protocols. We need to move every patient out of here. They either go home, they go upstairs, or they go to family medicine. Call your loved ones now if you need to. I can guarantee you, cell service will soon be overwhelmed. Eat something. Stay hydrated. Use the bathroom while there’s time, and meet back here for a full briefing in five minutes,” Robby explained.

Y/N noticed a figure walking up behind him. Instantly, a smile came to her face, but she shut it down. Jack glanced at her, seeing her standing there with her hair down now, cardigan gone but exhaustion on her face.

Robby then turned to see Jack. “Brother, I’m so fucking glad to see you,” Robby muttered, walking over to Jack and bringing him in a hug.

Y/N pulled her phone out, sending a message to Beckett that dinner would be cancelled tonight as Jack and Y/N will have to work later due to an emergency.

“I heard it on the police scanner,” Jack muttered as Robby pulled away. “How is she?” he asked, nudging at Y/N who was looking at her phone. “Did you figure out what happened with her this morning?” he asked, trying to get information.

Robby just stared at him. Knowing well about the pregnancy, the miscarriage and how Y/N threatened him to never tell Jack.

Robby didn’t answer right away.

Jack narrowed his eyes. “Robby,” he tried, eye contact full on glaring.

Robby exhaled through his nose, jaw tight as he shook his head. “She’s fine. Focus on the incoming, Jack.”

Jack didn’t buy it. He knew Robby, knew the way his voice clipped when he was holding something back. But now wasn’t the time. He’d pull it out of him later.

Across the room, Y/N was already moving – snapping into high-function mode. All serious now and all action. She tucked her phone away before starting to command the team to clear beds. Her exhaustion was shoved down, buried beneath adrenaline and instinct. She moved like someone who needed chaos, thrived in it.

Jack watched her. His stomach twisted. He could see it – she was too quiet, too still in the eyes. Normally, she would’ve walked up to him by now.

“You tell me if something’s wrong. I mean it,” Jack said lowly. “It’s Y/N. She’s my life,” he muttered. Robby just nodded, patting him on the back.

“I know. Tough day, all I’m saying and it’s just getting tougher,” Robby replied. “But she’s fine.”

Robby nodded.

Y/N just went straight to work, pushing everything aside. Y/N moved patients alongside her coworkers.

Y/N walked back up to the nurses’ station where Jack, Robby, Garcia and Dana were. He glanced over to her and sent her a small smile.

“Hi,” she whispered.

He nodded. “Hey, Kid,” he muttered. “I’m taking Primary ER.”

“Have at it,” Robby replied. Y/N crossed her arms.

“Who’s taking Primary Surgery?” Jack asked holding the vest and binder. He held it up, looking over at the crowd.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown,” Walsh replied.

“Dr. Walsh,” Jack replied handing her the kit.

“Anaesthesiology?” Jack asked.

“Gladden will be down. He’s got four in place, more on the way,” Dr. Walsh replied.

Y/N was grabbing a gown, some gloves as Jack started assigning roles to everyone.

“Ok, this is yours,” Jack said, handing Robby an emergency belt of supplies.

“Thank you. What do you got in there?” Robby asked.

Y/N walked back over, next to Jack. “Got some goodies, Captain?” she asked, smirking. Jack’s backpack was filled with emergency supplies.

He looked at her for a brief moment before looking back at Robby. “A couple of CAT tourniquets, hemostatic dressings, LMAs.”

“We got plenty of that stuff,” Robby replied.

“Butterfly ultrasound works off a cell phone,” Jack said, opening up the kit. Y/N leaned over to look at it.

“Wow, all the bells and whistles,” she hummed.

“Very cool,” Robby replied. “But we’re gonna send all the unstable chest and belly straight up to the OR.”

Jack nodded. But as he was showing the ultrasound kit, Y/N spotted something that made her heart drop. He was wearing his wedding ring. The one he had when he was with Grace, his last wife. She stared for a second, blinking a few times before pushing that thought aside.

He only wore it when he was having a bad day. Missing her. Y/N didn’t mind it. She was very supportive with his grief. However, today was not the day he should be thinking of Grace. Y/N miscarried today. Sure, Jack did not know yet, but he was grieving his last wife while Y/N went through something traumatic. Additionally, he only wore it while at home, never to work. He must’ve totally forgotten that we were wearing it when he left the house.

Y/N forced herself to refocus, pulling her eyes away from the ring. Now wasn’t the time to spiral. Now wasn’t the time to feel anything.

Robby turned to the crowd as everyone was gowning and prepping. “Ok, everyone. This is how it’s going to work. Our ambulance bay is now our Triage. EMS will be overwhelmed,” he began.

“Go stand over there, Kid,” Jack said, leaning into Y/N as he pointed to where everyone else was standing, looking at Robby and Jack. Y/N nodded, walking over.

“Most will probably arrive by car, several victims per vehicle. For all you newbies that don’t know, Dr. Shen is our night shift attending,” Robby said as Dr. Shen walked over and Robby patted his back. “John, I’m gonna put you on Point Triage.”

“Cool,” Shen replied.

“Triage will decide who goes where depending on their injury,” Robby stated, looking over at them.

Y/N nodded, crossing her arms as she listened. Jack crossed his arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

“Every department will have a designated primary who will oversee their staff. If you need someone, look for the vest. We’re all going to have walkies. We can get you whatever you need,” Jack explained, voice low, authoritative as he glanced over the crowd.

“No patient goes into a room unless it’s a trauma bay, and they will have four patients each. We need to keep everybody out in the open so we can keep an eye on everything, ok? Triage is gonna assess and assign every patient to a specific zone with a coloured slap band,” Robby explained, gesturing to things. Then he pulled out a belt bag with different colour slap bands. “Patient who comes in with a red slap band,” he slapped it on his wrist, “goes to the Red Zone, which is the trauma rooms with overflow out here. These are the most critical patients who will die without immediate attention,” Robby stated. “Samira, where are you?”

Mohan raised her hand.

“You are here with Dr. Abbot, me and Y/N,” Robby stated. “Jack’s gonna run traffic.”

Y/N nodded, meeting Jack’s eye, who sent her a curt nod. He knew she could do this. He taught her more than she needed to know as a nurse. She could perform like a doctor, and with two senior residents down, they needed Y/N. Then a smile came to Y/N’s face as she knew she was allowed to play doctor today.

�� Jack just raised a brow at that smile, a silent facial expression of ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself’.

“We have five minutes to try and stabilise the reds. After that, its OR, ICU or morgue,” Jack said, voice powerful, low but calm. Arms still crossed as he glanced around the room.

“The south and central common area over there will be the Pink Zone,” Robby said, holding up the pink slap band. “That is for patients who will die under an hour without treatment. McKay and Javadi, you are over there, with help from incoming night shift and surgical staff.” Y/N glanced around before going back to Robby. “Yellow Zone is the North Corridor. Those are gonna be mostly extremity wounds, good vitals, talking,” Robby explained holding up the yellow band now. “Mel, you’re gonna run point there with Santos and Whitaker.”

Mel looked frazzled. “Uh, what if…what if there’s a pulseless extremity?”

Jack stared at Mel for a minute, then hummed. “Oh, if you can’t feel a pulse, check for Doppler flow with this,” he said, grabbing onto the butterfly ultrasound machine. “It’s a mini-ultrasound. Follow the screen prompts,” he told her, handing the machine over, eyes glaring into Mel’s. It was as if he was handing her his greatest possession, a subtle glare of ‘take care of this’. Y/N just smirked.

“But yellow can change to a red if they go south. You got to stay on top of them, even if they seem stable,” Robby explained.

“Ok, yeah,” Mel mumbled.

“You got this, Dr. King,” Robby stated, nodding towards the resident. His eyes focused back on the crowd. “Green…minor lacs and sprains. They got to Family Medicine. Black and white bands are DOA, imminent death. Pedes is now our morgue. Let’s hope we don’t get too many of these,” Robby explained, looking over to Jack.

Jack nodded, then looked back at the crowd now. “We’re a MASH unit now. There’s no charting, no electronic medical records, no board,” he said before pointing to the board.

“How do we document treatment?” McKay asked, brows furrowed.

“Oh, you’ll all get Sharpies, and every patient has a wrist chart to document treatment and procedures,” Jack stated, pointing to the wrist chart that Robby was holding up. “You run out of room, write on the patient’s forehead.”

A snicker came from Y/N.

“Really?” Javadi asked.

Jack stared at the med student for a second. “Yeah, really,” he stated.

“Each wrist chart has a unique mass casualty incident barcode and patient number. That’s how the patients are gonna get identified,” Robby explained, holding the chart up.

Jack nodded. “This is no-frills combat zone medicine. No ultrasound, no X-rays, no CT, no labs. Assess based on mental status and pulse strength. Every critical patient gets an IO, intubation, a unit of blood and a chest tube if needed. Everything you need…blood, drugs, bandages…everything will be in the Behavioural Health rooms. That’s our supply depot,” Jack stated, eyes glancing over the room, using his military, authority voice. “Um,” he muttered, thinking, “oh! Keep a couple of 11 blades in your pocket.” Jack leaned down to grab one, which was indeed in his pocket of his cargo pants. “Goal is to resuscitate ASAP so they’ll make it upstairs for definitive care.”

“Trauma surgery and neurosurgery will decide who goes up to the OR immediately and who goes to the ICU for further treatment and evaluation,” Robby finished before looking over to Jack, who was looking at him. “Communicate. Ask for help if you need it. Trust your attendings,” then Jack and Robby fist bumped. “We will get through this together.”

“Damn right we will,” Jack replied, nodding.

Then they were dismissed. Y/N walked up to Jack, who was grabbing supplies. “Jack,” she called out, and he turned to her.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

“Tie me, please,” she said with a small smile pointing to her gown. He nodded as she turned her back to him. Jack’s hand came to her neck, pushing her hair aside.

“Can I have a hair band?” he asked, and Y/N gave him one. Gently, he twirled her hair around, making a small bun before tying it. Then he tied the gown. He leaned into her ear. “How are you doing?” he whispered.

“I’m fine,” she said, turning around. “You?”

He shrugged. “Fine.” Though she knows his eyes were saying something else. They stared for a moment. “Are we still going to talk tonight?” he asked, voice low.

She nodded. “Yeah, of course. But we need to get through this first, ok?”

He nodded. “Just hate when you keep things from me.”

Y/N nodded again. “I know. You will know soon.”

A slow nod came. “So, there is something,” he stated, raising a brow.

Y/N just stared at him for a minute, mouth opening slightly. “We will talk, ok?” she muttered, voice low now. “When I’m ready,” she added.

Jack nodded, knowing not to fight her. “We’ve got this, Kid,” he muttered, fist bumping her. “Just keep your head on, listen to my orders and don’t pull anything stupid.”

Y/N tilted her head and raised a brow. “When have I ever pulled something stupid?” He went to open his mouth to respond. “That ended up with the patient dying…” He shook his head, mouth closing. “Exactly.”

“Listen, though,” he muttered, hissing tone.

“Yes, Captain,” she replied, smirking.

The first patient was here. Jack and Y/N were in one of the trauma rooms as they worked around one another. It was as if they were back on night shift together, working like a well-oiled machine. Jack was wearing the orange vest that stated, “Primary Emergency MD”.

Jack was intubating a patient. “I’m in,” he stated as Robby entered the room. “Kid, bag her,” he called out, and Y/N was already doing it as Jack glanced up.

“O-neg is pouring in,” Y/N stated as she stood there, holding the blood bag and the oxygen bag.

He nodded to her. “Good.”

“Stronger pulse,” someone said. “I’ll take her up.”

“Dr. Mohan, that kid came in with his mom. She says he’s deaf,” Robby stated.

“Write that on his chart,” Y/N called out.

Jesse came back in with a blood bag. “Ready with the O-neg.”

“Wait, wait. Stop,” Robby called out from assessing injuries. “O-positive for males over 13, women over 55,” he stated as he walked over. “O-neg for everybody else.”

“Hook me up,” Mohan called out.

Jack came back over, placing an IO in. “IO’s in. Go with O-pos,” he stated. “When there’s no time, bone marrow infusion is as good as an IV.” He worked beside her. Then glanced over to Robby. “Robby, stabilise for the flip.”

Robby came over as Y/N rounded back to help them flip the patient over to look at the wounds. “He’s got a wound on both sides,” Y/N muttered, looking it over. “He’s gonna need two chest tubes,” she said, looking over at Jack, who just nodded.

“Yeah,” he muttered.

Robby agreed as well. “Need a hand?” he asked.

“Hell no. I got two hands,” Jack replied before looking up, “and Y/N.” Then Robby was off. Jack started reciting orders to Y/N as she grabbed supplies and helped insert chest tubes with Jack.

Robby came back over, looking over Jack and Y/N as they worked. “Not a lot of test tube output here,” he said.

Jack held up a tube. “Looks like this one’s renal,” he said.

“Golden ticket, directly to surgery!” Walsh called out. Y/N moved to pull the bars up on the gurney, unclicking the brakes.

“That’s three out of four ORs down,” Robby stated.

“Another four about to open and all 25 will be ready by the time we need them,” Walsh replied.

“We could be buried by then,” Robby responded. As Jack, Y/N, Robby and Walsh started to move the gurneys out of the trauma room.

“No, you won’t. We’ll blast through these, tying off bleeders and slapping on vacuum dressings. We’ll finish the job in a day or two when the dust settles,” Walsh replied as they moved.

Then they jumped to the next patient. Y/N was already grabbing the oxygen bag, pumping oxygen through the tube.

“Gunshot to the head,” Jack spoke.

“Through and through,” Robby responded.

“Yeah, we still got a strong pulse,” Jack replied. “This one can make it because the intracranial bleed can decompress through the bullet holes.”

“Wash, neurosurgery in house?” Robby called out.

“Yes, send him to the neurocrit ICU. They’ll triage from there,” Walsh replied.

Then they pushed the gurney off to surgery before jumping onto the next one.

Jack and Y/N were working, jumping from patient. Some stabilised, some to surgery and some died. Y/N wasn’t thinking about it, just getting her hands bloody and following orders.

“Listen up!” Dana called out. Jack and Y/N glanced to her before back to their patient. “Central 7, 8, 9 is now the blood donor centre. Anyone who’s O-neg or O-pos, we need you to donate now. Hands where I can see them.” Dana threw her hand up while glancing around. People placed their hands up. “Ok, let’s do this.”

Jack looked at Y/N. “Go donate, Dove,” he said before looking down. “You’re O-pos,” he stated before going back to the patient. “I’m going to do it soon,” he added.

Y/N stared at him for a moment, swallowing. “I can’t donate,” she muttered, squeezing the oxygen bag.

Jack’s brows furrowed. “Why can’t you donate? Have you already donated?” he asked, continuing to work.

“No, I just can’t donate right now,” she responded.

“Another nurse can take over. Go donate,” he said, voice gruff.

Y/N sighed. “Jack, you’re not hearing me. I can’t donate,” she said again. However, she couldn’t donate because she was pregnant hours ago and had a miscarriage. People who are pregnant or who have had a miscarriage within six weeks can’t donate as she was less than 12 weeks pregnant.

Jack finally looked up from the patient.

“Why not?” he asked, brow furrowed, tone still clipped from the adrenaline. “You’re not sick. You’re not on antibiotics. No blood-borne diseases. What’s the issue?”

Y/N kept her eyes on the patient, hand steady as she continued her job. But her face had gone pale, lips pressed tight.

“I just can’t, Jack.”

He paused, eyes narrowing, not because he was angry, but because she wasn’t telling him something. She never snapped like that unless something was wrong. Really wrong.

“Dove, he said more quietly, leaning toward her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” she muttered quickly, eyes flickering from his and looking back at the patient. He didn’t buy it. Not for a second.

“Y/N, look at me,” he hissed, voice low, not mad, but stern.

Y/N glanced up at him. His whiskey-coloured eyes, jaw tight as he stared at her. His gown was covered in blood, hands were too with safety glasses on. They stared at one another. He raised a brow. “Why?” he asked, voice low. “Tell me now.”

She stayed quiet for a moment. This was not how she planned on telling him, but she couldn’t lie. He’d stiff it out.

“Y/N,” he said again.

“You can’t donate blood within six weeks of miscarriage if you were less than twelve weeks pregnant,” she mumbled, looking back down.

His gaze was still on her. Jack remained motionless. The world around them kept moving – monitors beeped, staff shouted vitals, the ER was pulsing with pressure and blood and trauma, but for Jack, everything stopped as he narrowed down at her.

“What?” he said, not loud…flat. Disbelieving. Like his brain had frozen for a second and needed her to rewind. He was a careful listener. Never since she had known him was he someone who asked people to repeat things.

Y/N swallowed hard, her gloves slick with someone else’s blood. She didn’t look back up.

“You heard me. So, drop it,” she whispered. Then she went back to her work.

Jack didn’t move. “When did it happen?” he asked.

“I said drop it,” she responded.

Jack’s chest rose slowly, like he was trying to control something deep, rage, grief, panic, all of it slamming into him at once with no space to release. He took a half a step back, jaw clenched as he stared at her.

“Dove–“

“Not now, Dr. Abbot,” she said. “We have patients–“

“When were you going to tell me?” he asked.

Y/N groaned, rolling her head back. “Tonight. I was going to tell you tonight.”

His brows furrowed for a second, brain calculating, then he whispered, “You miscarried today, didn’t you?” he asked. “You were late this morning. Off. Blunt with me.”

Y/N stared at him. “I was going to tell you tonight. Everything, ok? Everything. But, I will be honest, you coming in here wearing the ring she put on your finger as you said vows made me not want to tell you tonight because you only wear it when you’re not doing ok.” Jack stood there, eyes locked on hers, his chest still rising too slowly – like every breath had to be forced. His jaw twitched once. Then again.

“That ring’s not about her,” he said, voice low, thick. “It’s about loss. It’s about what I couldn’t fix. What I failed to keep alive. I rushed over here once I heard about this on the police scanner. Totally forgot it was on.” Y/N just stared at him, and he stared back. “You should’ve told me this morning, Dove. I literally pulled you aside and–”

They stared at one another. “You have no right to be mad, Jack.”

“I’m not mad, I’m disappointed,” he said lowly. “Because we made this clear that we are in this as teammates, partners, and we don’t hide things from one another. We don’t suffer alone. We don’t debate about telling the other something because you’re being petty about something from my past. We’ve been together for six years, Y/N. You know better.”

Y/N stared at him. Wide eyes as those words came out. She shook her head, then called out for another nurse. “Fuck you, Jack,” she muttered, handing the oxygen bag to Holly and she walked away.

“Y/N!” he called out, but she continued to walk away from him. “Jesus,” he muttered before jumping back to his patient.

Robby glanced over, seeing them, looking over at Jack, then Y/N as she went to a different patient. Why were they ending their normal teamwork? Was Robby’s question.

Y/N was with Dr. Mohan, trying to stabilise a patient. It might’ve been fifteen minutes since Y/N walked away from Jack. She could not think about that now. She needed to get through this without thinking about her personal problems. She was at work. This was the time to think about work.

“Need some help with an airway!” Mohan called out as Y/N held the intubation tube with one hand and pressed a gauze on a wound with the other.

“What is it?” Robby asked, coming over.

“GSW to the neck with expanding hematoma and distorted anatomy – can’t intubate him. Probably hit the carotid,” Mohan explained as Robby jumped in. Y/N removed the gauze so he could look at it.

“Ok,” Robby muttered.

“I’ll do the airway,” she heard that distinct voice behind her. Closing her eyes, she glanced to Jack who looked at her for a moment before grabbing his pen light to check the pupils.

“Ace, give me a 6.5 and a bougie,” Robby called out and Y/N moved, grabbing supplies.

“I got the bleeder,” Jack said, flashing the pen light into the patient’s eyes. Then he looked up at Y/N. “Kid, Foley catheter with a 30 cc balloon,” he said, voice low and stern.

“Are you donating?” Mohan asked as Y/N came back.

“O-neg, yeah,” he muttered before looking at Y/N who gave him the supplies. She glanced down at his leg, the left one (which was not his prosthetic) had a bag attached to it with bandage holding it to his leg.

Y/N scoffed, shaking her head.

“It’s too bloody to see a bougie,” Mohan replied.

“Not for this. Three-step process. Step one, scalpel,” Robby replied, slicing the patient’s neck. “Step two, finger. Step three, bougie.” Robby said as Y/N handed them supplies when asked for.

The balloon inflated on the device once inserted.

“Ok, railroad in the tube,” Jack muttered.

Y/N grasped the tube, helping insert it further.

“Ok, bag him,” Robby called out as he grabbed the bag.

“Dressing off,” Jack muttered. “Foley’s in. Blow up a balloon.”

“30 cc’s in,” Mohan replied as they worked.

“Clamping,” Jack said as Y/N took the bag from Robby, slowly starting to squeeze it to give oxygen. “Look at that,” Jack replied, smirking as he looked up to his audience. “Dry as a bone.”

“Woohoo!” Robby replied, smirking as well. Then talked about the logistics of moving the patient to the OR.

Once wheeled away, Jack stood in front of Y/N. They didn’t say anything, but she could tell through his eyes that he was sympathetic. He walked up to her, leaning in and whispering, “I love you. Ok?” Y/N nodded. He didn’t say it a lot. A man of few words when it comes to feelings, but he shows it in ways. So, to hear that, her heart warmed. “Come. Help me. You’re my sidekick,” he stated, nodding to the next patient.

Jack walked over to his backpack, the camo one he brought everywhere with him. He was looking for things in it while Y/N stood next to him. “I found out yesterday,” she whispered. He looked over. “That I was pregnant.”

He nodded. “Dana was the one who suggested it. Never crossed my mind,” she began to whisper as he continued to look in his bag. “So, I haven’t been keeping this from you for a long time. I worked the day shift yesterday, you came in for the night shift. I went home, saw you this morning. I just haven’t been able to see you one-on-one and I know you, Jack. You wouldn’t want me to tell you at work.” He nodded. “I miscarried around two p.m. today. Twenty-four hours, all it was between finding out about it and losing it.”

Then he glanced over at her, seeing her leaning against the nurses’ station while he was fishing for supplies in his bag. He bit down on his lip. “Ok, we will talk more at home. Just,” he sighed, “don’t suffer alone. Ok?” She nodded. Then Jack spotted Robby and Mohan with a police officer patient. “Come,” he said, brushing her arm and pulling her to him.

“You’re doing a crike?” Jack asked as he stood next to the gurney.

“Yep,” Robby replied. Y/N came over, taking over for Princess so she could go help another patient. “No skin hooks, no bougie…old school,” Robby added.

“I got a tactical airway in my bag here,” Jack said, looking up and smirking as he brought out the kit.

“What is that?” Mohan asked.

“Fun. It’s a kit of fun,” Y/N muttered, chuckling. Jack and his emergency medicine supplies he kept at home…

“It’s a control crike kit,” Jack said as he began to unpack it.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Robby replied. “Use that on the battlefield.”

“Works in the pitch-dark when you’re under fire,” Jack replied pulling the supplies and starting to use them. “I can do these with my eyes closed.” Then he started to show Mohan how to do it. “The knife leaves a trach hook behind, so you can’t miss, right? Just,” he mumbled, inserting the knife and hook, “good. You slide in the introducer.” Jack was perfect at it. Absolutely perfect and he looked up to Y/N then back down. “Feel the tracheal rings. Good. Bob’s your uncle,” Jack said, pulling away. The crike was performed.

Y/N smirked, chuckling and shaking her head.

“That was incredibly fast,” Mohan replied.

Jack glanced up and just shrugged as if it was nothing, no big deal.

“Ballon is up,” Robby muttered.

“Why don’t we stock these?” Mohan asked.

“No room in the budget,” replied Robby.

Y/N looked at Mohan. “They are like three hundred bucks for a kit,” she said, shrugging, connecting the tube to the bag so the patient could get oxygen. “Yellow on end-tidal,” Y/N muttered, looking up.

Everyone smiled and gleamed when Y/N said that.

“It’s ok now?” the officer behind her asked. The patient was a police officer on the table.

“Yeah,” Jack responded, nodding.

“Thank you, Dr. Abbot,” Robby hummed, smirking. Fist bumps went all around. “Ok, let’s pack the oral cavity with Kerlix and see how fast Head and Neck can take him up to the OR,” Robby said to the team. “Great job everybody.”

They all nodded and Robby stepped away.

Mohan looked at Jack. “What else do you got in your go bag?” she asked, grinning, impressed with his tricks and tools.

“Oh, just wait and see,” he responded with a hum before Mohan walked away.

Y/N looked at him as she continued squeezing the bag. “Impressive, Captain,” she whispered, and he looked at her, shrugged.

“You know how to do it,” he responded, “could’ve done it, Kid.”

Y/N stared at him. “You’re telling me now?” she whispered, yelled. “You seriously would’ve let me use your emergency crike kit on this patient?” Her voice was full of excitement but also disappointment because she missed her opportunity.

“Yeah, but you didn’t ask,” he hummed. “All my late-night date night teaching gone to waste,” he joked.

“You didn’t suggest it!” she scoffed. He just smiled at her wickedly. “Fucking tease.”

However, before Jack could retort, someone screamed “Gun!” multiple times. Instantly, Jack’s hand was on Y/N’s back, commanding and pulling her down with him to the ground. His hand stayed there, glancing over at her, but she was more focused on seeing what was happening. She tried to look, but Jack pulled her back.

“Stay down,” he hissed, looking straight into her eyes. Y/N just nodded.

The SWAT team went over, grabbing the gun from the patient who had it strapped to his foot.

“All clear,” Langdon called out.

Y/N and Jack slowly stood up again.

“Fucking hell,” she muttered before walking to another patient.

Y/N was with Jack when Leah came in, Jake’s girlfriend. Y/N was still working alongside Jack. “Jake’s here,” Y/N muttered to Jack. “With his new girlfriend, Leah. They went to PittFest together,” she told Jack. Jake and Beckett were close. Jake was seventeen and Beckett just about to hit twenty. The five of them – Jack, Y/N, Beckett, Robby and Jake have gone to events and or even camping trips together.

Jack glanced up to look at Robby who was helping Leah.

“Doesn’t look good,” he muttered to Y/N.

“Do you want me to go over there?” she asked him as he worked around her. “To Robby?”

Jack looked at her, shaking his head. “Too many bodies, stay here,” he stated, then gave her commands on what to do.

They continued to work together, but both would secretly look up to check on what was happening to Leah in the distance. However, it did not look promising.

Jack glanced up at Robby. “What’s your next move, boss?” he called out.

“Platelets, another unit. And then we can transfuse her with her own blood from the Pleur-evac to get ahead,” Robby called out. “Hang the cell saver.”

Jack and Y/N met eyes and shook their heads together.

“Squeeze all this in?” Dana asked.

“No. Three-way stopcock on a 60-cc syringe,” Robby replied to Dana. “I’ll push-pull.”

“Jack, this,” Y/N tried, but Jack nodded.

“I know, Kid.” Then he looked over to Robby. “Not exactly in our mass casualty game plan,” he called over to Robby while squeezing a bag of blood into his patient.

Robby continued to do compressions, and Y/N just shook her head.

Minutes later, they overheard how Leah still didn’t have a pulse, compressions were still going, and several units of blood had been used. Jack muttered something under his breath. Something about Robby not being able to divide the work with the personal in this situation.

“Jack, that’s his stepson’s girlfriend,” Y/N tried to reason as they worked.

“I know,” Jack replied. “But if this were any other day, all good. But right now, we are in a mass casualty, and this is going against the plan. She is using up supplies,” he told her, briefing looking at her.

“What if it was Beckett and he had a girlfriend–“ Y/N tried. Jack had been in Beckett’s life since he was fourteen. Y/N raised him since he was four after her mother ditched them. Beckett was like Jack’s son.

“We are not playing ‘what if’ right now, Kid,” he stated. “This is not the time for that game. So, I’m not going to be answering that question.” Dana walked over to grab more blood from the cooler. Jack noticed. “Four units,” he muttered. Then he called out, “Blood is for the ones we can save.”

Robby replied instantly, “She is right on the edge. One more can make the difference.”

Y/N and Jack finished stabilising their patient. “O-neg. Monitor the pulse. She’s stable for trauma ICU if an OR’s not ready,” he called out to the nurse who was taking their patient away now.

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest as she looked at Dana. Jack then glanced up. The couple were looking at the charge nurse, raising a brow. Dana just shook her head. Jack instantly removed the safety glasses and came over to Leah. Y/N followed.

He stood next to Robby. Y/N kept her distance. “How many units so far?” he asked.

Robby took a deep breath, but didn’t answer.

“Four, plus the cell saver,” a nurse said.

“Last one?” Jack asked.

“I don’t know,” Robby muttered, shaking his head. “Dana, why don’t we try a little TXA? 1,000 milligrams of TXA might help her clot,” Robby spoke up.

“Got it,” Dana replied.

Y/N kept standing there, behind Jack. Her hand reached out but then pulled away. She took a deep breath.

“Bullet tore through her heart,” Jack muttered before looking at his friend. “Anyone else with a wound like this is pronounced dead in the field. You can’t keep up with the blood loss. If she were our only patient, we’d do a thoracotomy, maybe ECMO. But even then, I doubt we’d get her back,” Jack continued, voice low.

“Robby, we’re gonna lose ten other patients if you put all your efforts into saving this girl,” Y/N spoke up.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Exactly. Kid’s right,” he muttered.

Robby glanced over his shoulder, looking at the scene. Y/N’s eyes darted between Jack’s and then to Robby.

“Got the TXA,” Dana replied.

Robby looked back over. “Ok, push it fast, and we’ll do another pulse check. And then can you get me a vascular Doppler too, please?” Robby asked, looking at Dana.

Jack placed his glasses back on, looking at Y/N. She stayed quiet.

“GSW to the chest, faint pulse,” someone called out, and Y/N instantly turned, grabbing gloves and walking over.

“Jack,” she called over her shoulder.

Jack broke his eye contact with Robby to the incoming patient. “Intubation, IO, chest tube, and a unit of blood,” he called out.

“On it,” Y/N replied, then Jack came over.

They were working when Santos appeared in front of them. Y/N glanced over as Jack kept focus.

“Where’s Robby?”

“In BH-2 with the possible shooter,” Princess replied.

“Can you guys take a new patient?” Santos asked.

This made Jack look up to the intern. “Not right now. What do you got?” he asked, looking at her briefly before going back to his work.

“Hypotensive pelvic bleed,” Santos replied.

“Transfuse two units. We’ll get to it,” Jack replied. However, then Langdon called for Jack.

“Abbot! I got a carotid injury, popped a clot!” Langdon called out.

“I’ll be right there!” Jack replied, then he looked at Y/N. “Kid, take over. You know what to do,” he said, patting her on the back and leaving. Y/N jumped in.

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Hope you enjoyed. xoxo

Send in imagine requests for Dove & Captain!

Ava <3

#jack abbot x reader #jack abbott x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt x reader

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lacylovergirl · 4 months ago

Text

rick sanchez x fem!sub!reader cw; no explicit smut but still rlly suggestive, alien bondage, dumbification, slight sex pollen, sexist undertones, belittling/mocking, praise, unspecified age gap, they are not related but he does call himself grandpa once, unspecified relationship between rick and reader reader is dumb and subby and chubby coded <3

“St-stay still.” His words were a mere grumble as he walked to your left, rummaging through a nearby bush. You didn’t have the capacity to move regardless of his command. Your back had hit the ground rather roughly, and in your current state of mind, decision making wasn’t something you could be responsible for.

Rick was always good at dumbing you down. You didn’t know if he kept you around because he enjoyed the process of reducing you; or if you kept showing up because of how much you liked it. He’d been the first to introduce you to the true depth of your own obedience. He seemed tuned into you - easily coaxing you into a headspace of pure syrup, bypassing your defenses and emptying your head. He’d chastise you for thinking when you tried, reminding you that wasn’t your job - it was his. You were there to look pretty for him.

He returned to your side with a large oval egg in his hand, cracked and bruised like it was about to burst in his hands. He didn’t seem worried about whatever was hatching in his grasp, simply laying it down close to your thigh and brushing his thumb over the larger breaks in the shell as they expanded. Looking at the action made the blood in your veins thrum, beating heavily at the walls they were running within and making your head pound for just a moment. The excitement clashed hard with the steady nerves that were growing in your stomach as the egg exhibited more and more life. You hadn’t the slightest what this was, and it was dangerously close to you, close to the most vulnerable part of you. His eyes were practically shimmering, completely focused on watching this entity spring to life. The purple skies of whatever planet he’d brought you to fought the pigment of his irises, making his eyes look practically black. Having Rick’s full attention was rare, something to be terrified of. His full attention usually meant inevitable death or pain. He was a sentimentalist at heart, but he was a sadist at the surface, and he could be mean when he wanted to be. It’s what made this situation so horrifying - he engineered himself to be unpredictable. He hated being bested, refused to be one upped. You couldn’t read him if you tried, so you never did. Maybe he’d grown sick of you and this thing would kill you, maybe he wanted to witness a live action hentai and this thing was going to violate you. You couldn’t fight back, not against whatever was breaching the thin membrane of it’s home and certainly not against him. Even without his inventions and implants, his old frame held immense strength beneath the wrinkled skin.

You looked at the thing once more, seeing small, narrow tips of what had to be dozens of tendrils taking their first look at the world. They were pink and wriggling, growing wider in circumference as they creeped out of the shattered remnants of the egg. They seemed to move quicker when they met the ground, still slow but gaining consistency in their movements as they started the dizzying entanglement of the thigh that was closest to them. They were coarse, like vines, with blunt bumps protruding from the otherwise smooth surface of them. You’d expected it to be dry, to burn as it circled you, but it wasn’t. There was a trail of slime wherever they reached, oozing from the underbelly like a snail trail. You made the smallest noise, fear and inexplicable want forcing it’s way out of your throat as you reached down to pry it off. It was the only action that managed to break the haze of your clouded mind. A futile one, at that, because Rick’s hands grabbed at your wrists before they could make contact with them. You were squirming on the ground as they climbed higher, coiling around your legs, up your hips, circling your waist. The soft edges of your body were emphasized, slightly bulging through the vacant spaces as the constriction tightened. You did something familiar, you questioned him. Normally, you questioned him out of curiosity, wanting to know how his brain worked. Now, it was out of desperation, wanting to know what was about to happen to you. Your hands were held manually, and the rest of you was pulled taught in living alien bondage.

“Calco vines.” He’d said it like everyone knew what he meant. He often spoke like that. “They excrete a resin that- when they use it on creatures here, it kills them.” Your eyes flicked to his. “But on humans i-it’s like Viagra on steroids.” He smeared some of the sticky fluid over the exposed part of your leg. Your dress was riding up to the point of near exposure, the things wrapped around you keeping it plastered to your body, immovable. “Gets to the bloodstream through the skin. Makes people stupid, sweetie. Real nice and malleable.”

Your eyes were watering, your ability to think going from the normally pleasant blur to a completely indecipherable puddle. Your mind couldn’t remember how to move your limbs, for a second you worried that you’d forget how to keep your heart beating. Your chest was heaving slightly as Rick touched you. He was all gentle caresses and caring shushes as your watery eyes birthed pearly tears that ran down your cheeks. The innate comfort of his hands calmed the storming fear inside you. It was a nauseating dichotomy, confusing your already soft brain and making your instincts go haywire. You were soaking in between your legs, pudgy thighs wanting to close, but not having the will nor the strength. You couldn’t do anything but lay tied up, wrists bound to the ground now instead of locked within Rick’s death grip. His hands were everywhere they could reach. Even over your dress, it set you alight. Choked whimpers flooded out of you, unrestrained. You’d never felt so defenseless in your life.

“Fuck - y’look perfect like this.” He drank you in, doe eyed and squirmy on the floor, that little glint of fear on your face that he loved so much. “M-my pretty little girl, hm?” Your eyes slipped shut at the ownership, a hum of agreement coming from your throat even as you tried to swallow it down. He shoved your chin lightly, just to watch your head tip to the side and back, enjoying the boneless sensation you were displaying. You felt your underwear being separated from the sodden place between your legs, the cotton gusset soaked completely, a large wet patch being evident. He chuckled, a knowing and mocking huff at the results. It was always the same with you.

“You scared?” The air on this planet was ice cold against you, a shiver running up your immobile spine. “S-scared I’ll leave you all helpless?” He was keeling between your legs, you looked at him and nodded as best you could. You were scared of that, scared of being eaten alive by some creature on a planet you’re sure hadn’t even been detected by the feeble scientists back on Earth. More tears streamed down your face. Cooing at the pretty quiver of your lips, he smeared the salty droplets across the trembling extremities, making your face shine with the gloss of your own desperation.

“Don’t - don’t worry. G-grandpa would never dream of it, baby.” He bent your leg at the knee, holding the folded limb steady so your legs were more spread. “Just relax.”

sorry I wrote this in one night i'm kind of rusty but I love rick sm <3

#rick and morty fanfic #rick sanchez x reader #rick sanchez smut #rick sanchez #x chubby reader smut #x plus size reader smut #x fat reader smut #x chubby reader #x fat reader #x plus size reader #older man smut #dilf smut #sex pollen #drabble #smut drabble #i should not be writing this late at night #dumbification

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straw-berrysoju · 2 months ago

Text

The Tease (18+)

Pairing: Soobin x female reader (smut)

Synopsis: YN is failing English, and her quiet, soft-spoken tutor Soobin is her last shot at passing. But she’s more focused on tempting him than studying—flirty remarks, suggestive touches, revealing outfits. She wants him to lose control. And maybe teach her how to behave.

Setting: College AU | Age gap: 2 years | Private tutoring sessions | Senior -junior dynamic

Genre: slow-burn, smutty build-up, needy fl

Warnings: suggestive content, sexual tension, teasing, oblivious (or very self-controlled) Soobin, needy and bratty fl, unprotected sex(pls be safe y'all never skip protection), oral sex, anal sex

Word Count: 3.1k

Minors dni!

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

You didn’t expect your literature professor to assign him as your tutor.

Choi Soobin.

Tall, broad-shouldered, annoyingly soft-spoken Soobin. The kind of senior who showed up to class fifteen minutes early just to get the best seat and probably highlighted his notes in pastel color-coded perfection.

And worse? He was gorgeous in a way that felt unfair. Sharp jaw, full lips, thick lashes, and a voice deep enough to curl your toes when he said things like “Turn to page twenty-seven.”*

You were doomed from the first session.

Because Soobin, for all his charm and bedroom eyes, was utterly, painfully innocent. Or at least, he acted like he didn’t notice the way your skirts kept getting shorter. Or how you started showing up in clingy little tops, gloss on your lips, your perfume just a little sweeter than usual.

If he noticed, he never said a thing.

Which only made you want him more.

---

Session Two: The Beginning of the Game

You trade your hoodie and leggings for a soft, slinky V-neck tee and shorts so short you have to pull them down every time you sit. When he opens the door, you smile like nothing’s changed.

He does a double-take. Barely. His eyes flicker down, but they don’t linger.

“You look… ready to work,” he says with a nod.

You hum, dropping onto the edge of his bed—the only surface you two can sit on since his room doesn’t have a proper desk. “Ready as I’ll ever be,” you say, crossing your legs slowly.

He sits beside you, opens your notebook, and starts circling mistakes in red ink like the outline of your thighs isn’t right there in his peripheral vision.

You shift. He doesn’t look. You lean in. He scoots a little away.

It’s frustrating but it only makes you crave him more.

---

Session Three: You Up the Stakes

You pick your outfit carefully—white tank top, no bra. Just soft fabric clinging to your skin. You tilt your neck as you sit beside him on the bed again, fingers trailing lightly over your collarbone.

“It’s really hot in here,” you murmur, fanning yourself.

“I can turn the fan on,” he says immediately, rising like a soldier responding to a command.

You pout, but he doesn’t see it. He’s already across the room.

When he comes back, you lean back on your arms, arching your back just a little. His eyes flicker to your chest—but only for a second.

You catch it.

Still, he sits back down like nothing happened and starts explaining compound sentences again.

You blink slowly, letting your eyes trace the curve of his lips, the way his fingers grip the pen tightly.

You want them on your skin.

But Soobin just keeps talking.

---

Session Four: The Drop

You “accidentally” drop your pen in his lap mid-sentence. It lands on his thigh, dangerously close to the center.

“Oops,” you murmur, leaning in to grab it before he can react.

Your fingers brush something firm. Warm.

His breath catches, just slightly.

You pause. Meet his eyes.

He looks startled—like he’s holding his breath.

“Sorry,” you whisper, your hand still there for a second longer than necessary. “Didn’t mean to.”

He clears his throat and slides your pen back into your hand, avoiding your eyes.

“Uh… so, anyway—” He flips to the next page, visibly tense.

You bite your lip.

He’s definitely noticed now.

---

Session Five: Hands-On Learning

You rest your hand on his thigh this time.

Just gently. Just casual. Just to see.

He stiffens beneath your palm.

You start reading your worksheet aloud, pretending not to notice. You trail your thumb in slow, lazy circles as you speak. His breathing slows. His pen stills.

“You’re… uh,” he says, not looking at you. “You’re missing a modifier in that sentence.”

You glance over at him. “Maybe I just need some… hands-on correction.”

He finally looks at your hand.

Then back at the paper.

And you swear he’s using every ounce of willpower in his body when he doesn’t move it away.

---

Session Six: Dangerous Territory

You’ve stopped pretending this is about tutoring.

Your skirt today is indecent. Your tank top is cropped to the edge of decency, and when you stretch, a sliver of skin shows just under your chest.

You lean over him, breasts brushing his arm as you reach for your phone.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sorry at all.

His arm tenses. His eyes flick to your chest. You see him swallow.

Then he sits up straighter, shifting away.

“Let’s stay focused,” he says, voice slightly strained.

You blink at him, all fake innocence. “Am I distracting you?”

He meets your gaze. His eyes are darker than usual.

“No,” he lies.

---

Session Seven: On the Edge

You moan.

Softly.

Not on purpose—not really. You just stretch, tired from trying to care about grammar, and a little sound slips out. Frustrated. Drawn out.

His head snaps up.

“You okay?”

You nod, lips parted. “Just… tired. This stuff is hard.”

Soobin’s jaw tightens.

“I can slow down.”

“I like it when you go fast,” you say without thinking.

Silence.

His eyes flick to your lips.

You shift closer. “Soobin,” you say softly, “why do you always sit so far away?”

“I don’t,” he says. But he does.

You’re barely breathing now. You’re close enough to smell his cologne, the clean warmth of it making you dizzy.

He looks at you like he wants to say something.

And then he stands up.

“I think we’re done for today,” he says, not looking at you.

You want to scream.

---

You know he’s close to breaking.

You see it in the twitch of his fingers when you reach for his pen instead of yours. In the way his knee bounces when your thighs brush under the table. In how he never sits back once during a session anymore—just leans forward, elbows on his knees, like he's trying to put as much space between your body and his as possible.

So of course, you push more.

And God, you hope he breaks.

You want to see the exact moment he snaps.

---

Session Eight: New Tactics

You're late on purpose. Not by much—just seven minutes. Just enough to have him open the door with furrowed brows and a furiously working jaw.

You pout up at him. “Sorry, Soobinnie.”

The nickname makes his ears go pink.

You step inside, brushing past him on purpose, your arm grazing his chest.

It’s warm. So firm. And for a moment, you wonder what he’d do if you just turned around and pressed your body against it.

But not yet.

You sit cross-legged on the bed, skirt barely covering you. You wore a lacy bralette under your loose cardigan and a skirt you’d be terrified to wear outside.

He notices. You know he does.

His eyes lower—just for a second—before he opens your textbook like it offended him.

“I marked your assignment,” he says, like he’s not obviously distracted.

You hum, stretching back on your palms. “Am I improving?” you ask, letting your chest lift slightly with the motion.

He doesn’t look. His neck goes stiff.

“I think you’re… testing me.”

Oh?

“Testing your patience?” you tease, eyes glinting.

He turns a page too hard, the paper nearly tearing. “Let’s start with sentence corrections.”

You grin.

---

Session Nine: Body Heat

Soobin is already seated on the bed when you arrive this time. Legs apart. Slouched like he forgot to be tense.

You take it as an invitation and plop down next to him—closer than usual. Your bare thigh touches his denim-clad one.

He tenses immediately.

You pretend not to notice.

You lean over the textbook between you, making sure your side is practically glued to his.

“This part confuses me,” you say, pointing vaguely.

He leans in too. And you tilt your head until your cheek almost brushes his shoulder.

He smells like citrus and cedar. Clean, masculine, unfair.

His fingers start explaining something, but you’re not listening. Not really.

You shift your weight and accidentally press your chest against his arm.

You stay there.

He clears his throat, voice tighter. “You’re… really close.”

You smile, eyes wide. “We’re sharing a book.”

“Right.”

He doesn’t move.

---

Session Ten: The “Accidental” Fall

It’s late. You’re both tired. The room’s dimly lit, the lamp on his desk throwing warm shadows against the walls. Your cardigan is slipping off one shoulder, and you make no effort to fix it.

Soobin is explaining something. You’re half-listening, half-admiring the veins on his forearms as he gestures.

You shift positions, stretch lazily—and then fake a little wobble.

“Shit—”

You catch yourself—sort of—your hand landing right on his thigh as you tip forward onto him.

You gasp. Your chest lands against his stomach. Your hand is just inches from his crotch.

He freezes. So do you.

Only, you’re pretending.

“Sorry,” you whisper, staying there just a second too long. You’re almost in his lap.

He inhales sharply.

“You okay?” he asks. Voice like gravel.

You nod. “Just clumsy.”

You slide back into place, fingers trailing down his thigh as you pull away.

He swears under his breath.

You smile into your hand.

---

Session Eleven: Legs

You sit sideways today, knees up, leaning against the wall while he sits on the bed beside you. Your skirt slips higher with the position. You don’t adjust it.

You stretch your legs across his lap.

“Hope you don’t mind,” you say sweetly. “My back hurts.”

He looks down at your thighs—bare, smooth, warm against him.

“I—uh—no. It’s fine,” he mumbles.

He doesn’t touch you.

But you can feel the way his muscles tense under you.

Every time you shift, his jaw tightens.

At one point, your foot brushes against something solid.

You freeze. So does he.

You raise an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Sorry.”

He doesn’t answer.

Just flips the page harder than necessary.

---

Session Twelve: The Whisper

You’re behind him.

It wasn’t planned, but he’s standing now, scanning your paper at his desk while you linger behind him on the bed. His shirt has ridden up a little. You see a sliver of skin.

You rise slowly. Walk over.

He doesn’t notice you until you’re right behind him.

You lean in, your breath brushing his neck.

“I think I’m failing,” you whisper.

He jolts, turning slightly.

You don’t back up. Just tilt your head, close, lips nearly brushing his jaw.

“You’ve been helping me so much,” you say softly, voice dipped in honey, “but I feel like I’m just… not focusing.”

He swallows.

“Maybe you should punish me.”

He turns to face you fully now, eyes locked with yours.

And fuck, there’s something in them.

Something dangerous.

Then he steps back.

“Break time,” he says tightly. “Five minutes.”

He practically flees the room.

You flop back on the bed, laughing into the pillow.

He’s so close.

---

You decide you’re done playing fair.

You’ve been soft, suggestive, patient.

And he’s still trying to pretend you’re just clumsy. That you just don’t know what your body’s doing when you’re crawling into his space with skirts that barely cover your ass and sweaters that hang open to show just enough lace.

Tonight? You're not leaving any room for confusion.

Tonight, you're making it filthy.

---

Session Thirteen: Endgame

You show up wearing his weakness: a tank top so tight it clings to your tits like second skin, no bra. And the shortest shorts you own—barely more than underwear. One wrong move and you’d be flashing him everything.

Good.

He opens the door and doesn’t even blink at first.

Just stares.

Then swallows hard. “You, uh… going somewhere after?”

“Just here,” you say innocently, breezing past him.

He follows, a little stiff. (Everywhere but his cock.)

---

You don’t sit on the bed this time. You crawl.

Slowly. Deliberately. Letting the hem of your shorts ride up.

Soobin’s behind you, silent.

You sit on your knees and look over your shoulder. “Coming?”

You swear his eye twitches.

He sits beside you, at the very edge of the bed.

You don’t open the textbook. You don’t even pretend to care.

Instead, you drag your fingers over your own thigh slowly, tracing a lazy path toward the hem of your shorts.

He notices.

Of course he does.

“You okay?” he croaks.

“Mmhm. Just hot.”

And with that, you reach back and lift your hair, exposing the sheen of sweat on your neck.

He watches you like he’s in pain.

You lower your voice. “Can I sit in your lap?”

He chokes. “What?”

You pout. “My legs hurt. It’s just for a sec, Soobin.”

He stares. Doesn’t answer.

So you do it anyway.

You straddle him.

Carefully, deliberately, sliding onto his lap with a weightless innocence that’s anything but.

You feel him the second you settle—his thighs tense, cock already thick and pressed between you, trapped under his sweats.

He still doesn’t move.

Doesn’t touch you.

Just freezes like if he blinks you’ll disappear.

But you’re not going anywhere.

You shift slightly, grinding just a little.

Not enough to be obvious.

But enough to feel him twitch beneath you.

He inhales so sharply it’s almost a gasp.

You lean forward, your lips brushing his ear.

“Am I making it hard for you to focus?” you whisper, your breath hot against his skin.

He finally reacts.

His hands grip your waist—tight, tight—but he still doesn’t pull you closer.

“Y/N…” he warns, voice shaking.

You roll your hips again.

His jaw clenches.

“I just want your attention, Soobin,” you murmur, lips brushing his jaw now. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t want me.”

“You’re my tutee,” he grits out, “I’m trying to be good.”

You smile wickedly. “I don’t want you to be good. I want you to make me feel good.”

And then you do it.

You grind hard—slow, filthy, full pressure.

Right against his cock.

He groans. Deep and choked and utterly ruined.

Still, he doesn’t move.

So you tip your head back and moan.

Loud.

“Fuck, Soobin…”

His hands tremble on your waist.

You do it again.

And again.

His cock is so hard it’s pressing against you, leaking through the thin fabric, and you’re soaked now—completely shameless.

“I’ve been thinking about this every night,” you whisper, breath hitching, “about how it would feel to ride your cock right here… right on your stupid study sheets…”

“Stop,” he rasps.

But he’s grinding back now.

Breathing hard.

Losing it.

“I touch myself thinking about you, Soobin,” you murmur, lips at his neck now. “About how you’d sound when you finally fuck me. If you'd make me beg first. If you’d make me cry for it…”

He groans. His hips buck up once—completely involuntary.

You whimper at the contact.

And that does it.

That breaks him.

His grip slams tight around your hips and suddenly you’re dragged down onto him, hard, his cock pressed directly against your soaked core through layers of clothes he’s about two seconds from tearing off.

His forehead drops to your shoulder.

“You’ve been driving me fucking insane,” Soobin growls, your body pinned to his lap, soaked through and trembling.

“Then ruin me,” you whisper, voice wrecked with lust. “Please, Soobin. I need it.”

“Fuck me like I belong to you”

Something snaps in him.

His mouth crashes into yours.

No hesitation. No gentleness.

Just teeth and tongue and all the desperation he’s held back for weeks.

You gasp into him and he swallows it, hands already yanking your tank top up over your tits.

“No bra?” he mutters darkly, palms closing around your breasts. “You planned this.”

You moan as he thumbs over your nipples, rough and fast. “I wanted you to look.”

“I did. Every fucking day.”

His mouth drops down, lips wrapping around one nipple, tongue lashing it hard as his other hand slides down—under your shorts, under your panties—and slams two fingers into you.

You scream.

“So wet,” he groans, thrusting them deep. “You’re soaked through everything. Fuck, baby, were you this needy all semester?”

“Yes,” you cry, hips bucking against his hand. “All for you, Soobin.

He chuckles against your breast, lips curling cruelly.

“Oh, I know.”

He pulls back and flips you onto your back like you weigh nothing. Your shorts and panties are ripped down your legs in seconds. He drops to his knees between them, eyes locked on your soaked pussy.

“God,” he breathes, voice shaking. “Look at you. You’re a fucking mess.”

Then his mouth is on you.

Tongue everywhere—sliding through your folds, flicking your clit, sucking it hard as he finger-fucks you like he’s mad at you.

You can’t even moan—you scream.

Your back arches, hips lifting, and he slaps your thigh down.

“Stay fucking still.”

You whimper, twitching under his mouth. “I—I’m gonna—”

“Cum,” he orders. “Now.”

You shatter.

Soobin doesn’t stop.

Even as you squirm and sob, overstimulated, his tongue keeps working your pussy like he’s starving.

You’re begging, babbling nonsense, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

And when he finally pulls away, face glistening, lips slick with your cum—

You’ve never seen anything so hot in your life.

“You thought you could tease me,” he mutters, climbing back up your body. “Thought you could grind on my cock and walk away?”

You nod, dazed.

He smirks and grabs your throat, squeezing just enough to make your eyes flutter. “Wrong.”

He frees himself from his sweats—thick, veiny, hard as sin—and you whine the second the tip rubs against your dripping entrance.

“Beg for it.”

“Soobin—”

“Beg.”

You sob. “Please, fuck me. I need it. I need your cock so bad—please ruin me, please—”

He slams into you in one brutal thrust. Your pussy clenches around him as you scream his name.

“Ah Soob—FUCK. Yes”

Soobin groans deep in your ear, his cock buried to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight. Jesus—made for me.”

He pulls out halfway, then slams back in.

You cry out.

He sets a pace that’s vicious—deep, punishing, your body jolting with every thrust.

Your nails rake down his back. Your moans turn into sobs.

“Yeah,” he pants, fucking you harder. “Take it. This is what you wanted, right?”

You nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Yes—yes, please—harder—”

He grabs your hips and slams into you, over and over, cock pounding your g-spot until you can’t think.

“Gonna cum again,” you choke out.

“You better,” he growls. “You don’t stop cumming until I say so.”

You cum again—harder than before.

And he fucks you through it.

Every twitch, every scream, only fuels him.

He doesn’t stop.

He flips you onto your stomach, pulls your ass up, and fucks you from behind—his hand in your hair, dragging your head back.

“You like being used?” he snarls.

“Yes—fuck—use me, please—”

He spanks your ass, hard. “Louder.”

“Use me, Soobin—fuck me until I can’t walk!”

And he does.

He slams into you until your body collapses.

Until you’re a sobbing, ruined mess under him.

Until he finally groans, “Fuck—I’m cumming—where?”

“Inside,” you beg. “Please. Fill me—”

Soobin growls your name and pours into you, hips jerking as he empties himself deep.

You collapse together, sweaty and panting.

Silence, save for your wrecked breathing.

And then—

“You still failed that assignment,” he mutters against your neck.

You laugh, breathless. “Then maybe you should punish me again.”

He grins.

“Oh, I plan to.”

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