#How to Tell if Your Doctor is a Fish

[thatsbelievable]

[willowkatt]

i had a vision

bonus

[ninemelodies]

and if i wrote about rose and her weird uncle (?) getting into shenanigans around town, what then?

[kayzero]

i slept through my pain treatment appointment and lied to my mother about the pain being gone so she didn’t worry so now i’m just trying to distract myself on YouTube and whenever the video gets too boring i just spam “I AM FOUR EELS” in my brain as loud as possible

fuck me running i wish i didn’t miss my appointmennnnnnt

[sayangrafayel]

LADS react to you asking them to set you up with someone else

This was a fun request. I might slip some dynamic duo rivalry here.. hmm.. maybe this is the same universe as loft talk. This is pre relationship prank!

Sylus, Xavier, Rafayel, Zayne, Caleb.

Sylus (Rafayel)

"Hey, Sy. Can you set me up with one of your roommates?" "I don't have roommates." "? What do you mean. You have four roommates. I want the artist!" "No I absolutely do not. What artist?"

Would NEVER let you meet Rafayel, no matter what it takes. Rarely ever bring you back to the loft anymore.

Considered moving out of the loft and everything but stopped once you tell him it's a prank.

Xavier (Jeremiah)

"Xavie, is Jeremiah seeing anyone?" "I don't know a Jerry." "Jeremiah." "I don't know who that is either."

He gets SOOOO jealous (that's why we like him)

Why would you ask him to set you up with someone else. He's right there. He's perfect for you in every way. 🥺🥺🥺 - Xavier, probably

Rafayel (Sylus)

"Can you set me up with one of your friends?" "I don't have friends." "Yes you do! That fruit guy is breathtaking!" "You know what else is breathtaking? If I were to hold his head underwater." "Sorry?" "I said I am also breathtaking!"

He fish. Fish forgor stuff. Roommate? Who? Sylus? Thomas? Who???? What are you talking about?

Becomes extra mean to Sylus the next day and Sylus was so confused as to why is his bestfriend who is not his bestfriend seems to hate him more than usual!?

Zayne (Greyson)

"Dr. Zayne, can you set me up with Greyson?" "Why?" "Because.. I want to?" "His name is Doctor Greyson, and do you really want to..?" "Yes please! Set me up with Dr. Greyson!" "...." "Zayne?" "If that's what you want."

I don't think he's gonna try to stop you nor does he realize you're testing the waters to see how he feels about you, defeatedly gives Greyson your number, but Greyson was so confused because why would he hit up Zayne's girlfriend???

"She's your girl, Zayne." "She is not." "Yes she is, she's just testing to see how you'd react, dummy. Now go and actually ask her out."

Caleb (Gideon)

Before you start pranking him, you prayed for Gideon's safety.

"Caleb, can you set me up with-" "He's gay." "I haven't even said a name!" "Yeah, everybody around me is gay. I'm their ally." "Caleb!!!"

He'd frown and keep telling you why would you need anybody else when you can have HIM. He's the one who knows you the best! He knows how to make you smile! He's 100% your boyfriend material! 😤

[mayajadeart]

Fucking, thank god for grad students. Grad students are truly the GOAT of science. A lot of scientific research is limited by what kinds of research can produce results that might be profitable for businesses, including the journals that publish that research in the first place. But grad students? They're not trying to make money for anyone, they're trying to prove themselves as scientists before entering the professional world. The only thing a master's or doctorate thesis is supposed to do is prove to your university that you have mastered your craft and are capable of producing research that meets the standards of the scientific community. The only job that a graduate student has when producing that thesis is to do good research that has never been done before. They're just about the only scientists whose sole prerogative is to look where no one else has looked to answer questions that no one else has, possibly because no one else has even asked them yet, and to compile their results, whatever they are, for the pure sake of knowledge itself.

I'm not a scientist, I'm just someone who does scientific research in my free time because I'm deranged enough to think it's genuinely fun, and because a lot of the art I do is scientifically informed. But because I'm doing this research for art rather than a more "practical" application, a lot of the times the reasons why I want to know something are completely different from the reasons why these topics are actually studied. I don't want to know how to create synthetic equivalents of Feline Facial Pheromone F3, whose function we already know, in order to reduce stress and prevent undesirable behavior in pet cats in new homes and vet clinics, I want an analysis of the components that make up Feline Facial Pheromones F1 and F5, whose functions we don't know, in order to start building hypotheses about what those functions might be, so that I can figure out how catgirls would perceive these pheromones and theorize how they might talk about them in their native languages. But nobody's gonna pay me to do that, are they?

And let me tell you, sometimes the only people who seem interested in the kinds of bizarre and esoteric questions that an artist like me will have are grad students publishing theses. I still haven't found anyone trying to figure out what FFP F1 or F5 are used for, but I have found:

A full, comprehensive description of the complete phonology and grammar of the Lushootseed language and its dialects, spoken by several Coast Salish tribes of the Puget Sound region, published by Ted Kye in 2023 for his doctoral thesis at the University of Washington. Lushootseed is the source of many words from the region, including hugely important place names like Snoqualmie, Muckleshoot, Puyallup, Snohomish, Sammamish, Duwamish, Mukilteo, Shilshole, and of course, Seattle, but the language itself is extinct, with its last native speaker, Vi Hilbert, dying in 2008. There are, however, efforts to revive the language, and that would be significantly more difficult without Ted Kye's work. I think we can all see why this kind of thing is valuable.

And, this second one is a bit more esoteric but hear me out:

The discovery that a popular ornamental aquarium fish might actually have been sequentially hermaphroditic this whole time, which was practically a footnote in a 2016 thesis by Lia Gomes and Silva Henriques from the University of Porto, in Portugal. The fish in question is the red-tailed shark, Epalzeorhynchos bicolor, which is not an actual shark, but a member of the carp family that just happens to look like a shark, and two very important things to note about it are that it is critically endangered in the wild, and in fact was thought to be totally extinct in the wild until one was found in 2014, and that they are also practically impossible to breed in captivity. The primary threat to the species is considered to be habitat destruction. The quite substantial supply of this species in the pet trade today all come from fish farms in Southeast Asia, which use hormones to induce reproduction in the species, through processes that are kept as trade secrets and are essentially unknown to the scientific community. So, we have literally no idea how this fish breeds, which means that hobbyists can't breed it themselves, and scientists don't know what conditions they even need in order to breed in the wild. This one paper, written by students in Portugal who attempted to induce gonadal maturation in the species using hormone injections, is perhaps one of the only clues we have on the path to saving this species, and it hints at a conclusion that could have HUGE implications for the husbandry, captive breeding, and survival in the wild of the red-tailed shark: all of the individuals that were dissected without having undergone hormone injections were immature females, and immature males only started appearing in groups that had been injected, suggesting that all individuals of the species might start out as females, and then at some point in their development, certain individuals, for unknown reasons, may develop into males instead, making them sequential hermaphrodites. This isn't unknown in fish (clownfish do something similar, except they all start out as males and become female when they achieve dominance in their social group), but it was completely unexpected in this species, and could go a long way in starting to explain the difficulties with breeding them and potentially be a step on the path to learning how to breed them in captivity, as well as saving them in the wild.

Unfortunately, in the latter case, I wasn't able to find any other published work by either of the listed authors, and no one else seems to have repeated the experiment. This is a real shame, because the results of the experiments, while very intriguing, weren't conclusive; they had a fairly low sample size, and would need to be confirmed by further research. But there's no indication of that research being done, and I might be the only one other than the university's board of reviewers who's even read the thing.

All this is to say, fish testicles are interesting and I'm begging someone to do more research on them, please.

[genderqueerdykes]

had the consult for my gallbladder surgery. the doctor told me i need to "lose 10 - 15 pounds" before they'll perform the surgery on me, and that I would need to wait 2 - 3 months before they would schedule it. i told her i have PCOS which makes it difficult to lose weight. she told me that does happen, and offered to refer me to a bariatric surgeon who is used to bigger bodies who could perform the gallbladder removal instead. i asked her for the referral to them instead

i was very angry at her for this, as 10 - 15 pounds do not make any difference when you are 300 lbs. my weight fluctuates between 280 - 340 lbs depending greatly on what i've eaten, how much i exercise, and so on. this will also vary greatly depending on if the stone is blocking my gallbladder completely or partially- if it's fully blocking the neck of my gallbladder, i cannot get enough digestive juices into my stomach to properly digest my food, so i will begin violently vomiting to get the undigested food out, and to get bile flowing into my stomach again. i begin to lose tons of weight when this happens, and i put it back on during the periods where i can get enough bile in my stomach to properly digest my food.

i can't digest my food properly. eating "healthier" will not change this- i can't digest food at all, period. healthy or unhealthy, i can't digest anything, because a good half of my digestive juices are completely missing from my guts. there is a functional issue with the way my guts work, of course i will lose weight drastically and put it back on at times. of course the issues will be episodic.

both her and the student that was working with me kept assuming that i said that my pain got worse after "high fat" meals. both of them put this in my mouth-

the student did it first. she asked when the pain gets worse and i said sporadically, but sometimes after i eat. she literally asked me "so you said it gets worse after fatty meals, right?"

i got frustrated and said "no, it's really random." i didn't get to tell her that raw leafy vegetables and lightly steamed or cooked vegetables make me vomit. broccoli and cauliflower that aren't heavily cooked, salads, raw vegetables, lightly cooked carrots, applesauce and apples in general are all problem foods.

the doctor then came in and said "it gets worse after high fat meals, right? you said that" and i went, again, "no it just kinda happens."

i don't even eat a high fat diet. i cook at home now for every meal now that i have all the tools i need to do so. i make rice, fish, pasta, and certain vegetables that i can digest like potatoes, sweet potatoes, onions, mushrooms, and so on. i eat bread, seeds, nuts, dried fruits, and drink oatmilk. i don't eat land meats, eggs, or dairy. i don't have any of those things. i do eat french fries and fish sticks, but not for every single meal. i don't eat chips because they're too salty and irritate my stomach. i don't eat candy or sweets unless the food bank delivers them to me. i don't eat much sugar other than pancakes and certain fruits

she wouldn't listen to me and went "well when you eat fatty meals, your gallbladder has to contract more and it can cause you a lot of pain." you would not believe how many times she came back to "you need to eat a lower fat diet." "the pain gets worse after you eat a high fat meal, so eat lower fat meals and your pain will go down." "just eat a lower fat diet and it'll help."

i just kind of sighed. there were tears in my eyes. i felt defeated. they made a bunch of assumptions just because i was sitting there, being fat. i was wearing long sleeves due to it being cold and they didn't get to see that i have a lot of muscle in my body mass. quite a lot. i wanted to tell them that i'm on testosterone and physically active when and where possible, and that i frequently lift heavy objects and move, but i never got a chance. i wanted to tell them my BMI isn't what they think it is, but i just didn't bother to try

i despise that people assume that fat people are fat because they eat "unhealthy" foods. i ate high fat foods for a few months while i was homeless because i didn't have the resources to cook every single meal. it affected my liver, i'm dealing with some fatty liver. but my gallbladder has more important issues in the form of the literal stone inside. she would not stop pushing for me to eat lower fat meals. all because i was sitting there, existing, as a fat person. i wish i would've told her i can only eat fish and plant matter

i don't understand how a patient telling you they're vomiting and can't keep down certain foods does not sound like a more pressing issue than an arbitrary number. weight as a number means nothing, it tells you nothing about that person's actual body composition. i have trauma with vomiting and yet i'm going to have to keep doing it anyway despite the fact that it could kill me via dehydration or if i just. can't stop

either way i'm very unhappy with result as i already waited for a month for this consult. now i have to wait for a referral for another surgeon to go through, and to do the consult with them, too. all while being in pain and having GI issues the entire time. just because a surgeon doesn't want to take the time to learn how to operate on fat bodies. i'm tired. what a joke

[evilminji]

Okay, you know how bird don't ACTUALLY look the way we think they do?

They are far more colorful? But only to the eyes of other birds?

And it has to do with how light reflects off them and how their eyes are shaped etc etc.?

Well..... humans can see the most shades of green, right? But! We sure as shit can't see UltaViolet and InfraRed? Or shades BEYOND those. Ectoplasmic colors. Magical ones. Third eye, need to see with your SOUL type ones.

Danny? Could very well still have lil baby "kitten's eyes who haven't open yet" syndrome.

He thinks the Zone is Green and his hair is white.

But it's not.

His hair is Starlight colored. Frost. His suit is specifically "the void between stars" colored. Which looks... different? Then black? No, no, guys. How can you guys not see it? It looks REALLY different! How did he not NOTICE before?! They're not ever CLOSE to the same shade! It's like calling salmon and hot pink the same. You know... if you were to compare an actual fish and some irradiated, violently glowing version of "hot pink".

......guys?

His gloves are.... guys, these ares stars. Pressed so close together there's no gap. His body is the night sky, all rearranged. He's wearing SPACE, guys.

*continues to stare at his gloves for the next five hours*

Now... why is this relevant? Because! Danny slowly, as all humans do, adjusts! It's like finally having glasses after years of blurry vision. He... forgets, what it was like, not NOT See Zone Colors. Not completely, mind you, but enough he has to be reminded.

And the Zone? A Realm of the Dead. Specifically, the great catch-all and highway of the Dead. They get EVERYBODY. Misfits and vagabonds. Those who don't quite fit. Funky lil dudes. And of course, assholes, but everybody has those! See, Zone colors?

Are DIFFERENT.

They're all of um!

It's like looking at the technicolor, stobe light, multi galaxies in one, Sun. Tingly(tm)!!! You get used to it. What helps? Is that as garish as the Zone is? The painting and grand tapestry of it all? Keeps changing. Like weather. If it's too much for you, you can stay inside your Lair until the current Color changes. Until the designs shift. Vibe changes.

There are even glasses for that! "Temperate" areas for people to set up, that get headaches or are just... kinda killjoys. Too each their own. Though the stormy areas? Those guys are freaks. Watch out for those guys. They're the kind who stare directly are stars until their eyes burn out.

Where was I? Oh yeah! Danny!

No longer a wee baby, smol baby, twig-o!

Sad. We miss it.

But he did get used to Seeing The Colors. Got a handle on his powers. And! Finally worked with his parents on how to safely turn the portal OFF. There was much booing. Cries of "kill joy" and "booo! You suck!". But? Like? Dude DID have the right to protect his home. Go to college. What can you do?

Problem with THAT is? Baby grew into his "built like a brick shit house of constantly running off to literally tackle the Supernatural excellence" Fenton genetics. He Tall. Muscles! And he PUMPING out "somethings fucked up with me" Vibes!

Add in his DEEPLY Sus off hand comments. Weird ability to tell when someone has or is about to die. Basic immunity to the cold. Fuckin EYE GLOW?

Ha ha... *Horror movie screams from his college dorm mates*

Clearly a demon!

He gets kicked out. Well... not kicked out. He's a model student and broken no rules. They'd never survive the lawsuit. But... he's? STRONGLY INCOURAGED to finish his education elsewhere. Repeatedly. By like... 15 colleges.

Sam is not just livid, she's actively foaming at the mouth.

Breathe, Sam! Remember what your doctor said! Your mortal body can't handle that kinda Vengance spiral! Think of your blood pressure! Breathe!!! (Were not for the laws of this land... and the weak, fleshy constraints of her mortal form!)

Thankfully? Tucker's been interning, remotely of course, with Wayne Industries. He asked his manager where he could find some of those scholarship forms. (Since Gotham University is just a touch out of Danny's price range.) Manager wanted to know why. And oh! Oh holy shit. Apparently? Danny is the hot new office gossip.

People in the main office are OUTRAGED. Danny's "too spooky"?! Too FUCKIN SPOOKY!? Are you KIDDING THEM? Even juicier, a Meta kid from some wacky ghost hunters turned scientists. From a line of Supernatural hunters. Wants to be a aeronautics engineer.

Ooooooh how SPOOKY! Better watch out! He'll design an ENGINE at yooooou!

Fuckin casuals. Non-Gothamites are WEAK. "Too scary" their collective asses. Yeah, maybe the kid SHOULD come too Gotham. He can be the weird kid. Mildly unsettling or something. His powers won't be SHIT in Gotham. Just remind him to buy a gas mask.

So! Danny gets his Scholarship! Merrily packs his bags for darker, Gothic hellscape hills. Unaware... that Constantine has been following reports of a "demon" that he's? 80% sure is a Banshee but MIGHT be a winter spirt with a shtick? For the past 13 colleges. He's getting closer. And this sucker is a strong one.

Not "this is going to cause me serious, life imperilling danger" strong. But more? "Man, that cat is HUUUUUGE". Could he still get mauled a lil? Yeah. Scratched to all hell and back? Probably! But DIE? Unlikely.

He just needs to know why the FUCK this spirit his hanging around colleges.

Which is made harder... by the fact that what HE sees? And what OTHER people see? When they look at this guy? Separate things. Yeah, he'd LOVE to give you guys a description! IF HE HAD ONE.

@the-witchhunter @hdgnj @hdgnj @spidori @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @lolottes

[drfruitcake]

Mrs. Robinavitch

Michael Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Wife!Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+/MDNI (smut, language) Word count: ~3,300 Tags: reader insert, female reader, no use of y/n, married, established relationship, explicit sexual content, smut, workplace sex, workplace quickie, p in v sex, no beta

Summary: A new resident decides to flirt with you, oblivious to the fact that you're married to his senior attending. Your husband isn't a fan. Or, you and jealous Robby have a little workplace quickie.

Notes: Just a random little dose of silly workplace smut. Reader is a female ob/gyn but no age is established. Meant to take place a few years after S1.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

The emergency department of Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center bustles with its typical controlled chaos. It’s a Friday afternoon and you’d be lying if you said your mind isn’t on your weekend plans as you wander into the ER for a pregnancy case.

You smile at familiar faces as you make your way past the nurses’ station, offering a friendly wave at Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker before you dip inside Room 6.

“Who is that?” Gavin Meyer asks as he doesn’t bother to conceal his pitiful stare. He’s an R3 transfer in his first week at The Pitt. 

“Oh, that’s R-”

Gavin is too busy gawking after you to notice Trinity pinching Dennis’ arm behind the desk, stopping him from finishing his sentence.

“She’s an OB,” Trinity cuts in. 

“She’s stunning,” Gavin breathes. Dennis’ eyes go wide as Trinity bites back a snort. “Is she single?”

“She’s a little out of your league,” Trinity responds slowly.

“Oh, come on,” Gavin pleads. “The least you can do is introduce me. What if I get an OB case?”

“Introduce yourself,” Trinity answers. “She doesn’t bite… that I know of.” Dennis merely opens and closes his mouth, like a fish in moral despair.

Gavin’s posture straightens as the door to Room 6 reopens, but it’s Dr. Robby who emerges. 

“Everything good here?” he asks as he strides behind the central desk.

“All good,” Trinity answers with a chipper tone. “Just helping Meyers get acclimated to some of the faces around here.”

“Good,” Dr. Robby replies as he glances at Gavin. “Don’t be afraid to introduce yourself to people, get to know them. We’re all here to help.”

Dr. Robby doesn’t realize his words are going to bite him in about 20 seconds, when you emerge from Room 6 and make a beeline to the group at the desk.

“Hey,” you greet Trinity and Dennis. “How’s it going?”

“Hi,” Gavin immediately interjects with an outstretched hand. It catches you off guard, but you recover smoothly and offer him a kind smile. “I’m Dr. Meyer. R3.”

“Nice to meet you,” you say politely. “I’m Dr.-”

“Dr. Robby!” Samira Mohan appears from Trauma Room 1 with impeccable, albeit accidental, timing. “We need you in here! Whitaker, you too!”

“Come on.” Dennis motions for Gavin to follow him, leaving you with Trinity.

“New resident,” you muse as you watch them scurry away. “He’s cute.” Trinity lifts an eyebrow at you and you snort. “Oh please,” you add. “I promise I’m not interested. I’m a married woman, after all.”

You return upstairs to the birthing ward until you inevitably get called back down to the ER. This time, it’s for a newborn who had been discharged the previous day.

Gavin is alone when you pass the nurses’ desk to leave. You offer him a smile and a nod. 

“Hey, I didn’t get your name earlier,” he says quickly, stopping you in your tracks. You blink at him in confusion.

“The others didn’t tell you?” you ask with narrowed eyes. It's not that you assume everyone in the hospital knows you and your husband, but well, they do.

“No.”

“Oh,” you say as the realization settles. Fucking Santos. She’s done this before, but you can’t help but play along. You give Gavin your first name, intentionally omitting the last, and lean against the desk to strike up more conversation with him, at least until Trinity can return and break the bad news to Gavin. “So, what brings you to Pittsburgh?” you ask casually. “I assume you’re a transfer?”

“Transferred from Charlotte,” Gavin responds. “I help take care of my grandmother. Needed to be closer to her.”

“Ah, I see,” you say kindly. “I’m sure she’s glad to have you around. Are the two of you close?”

“We are,” Gavin says. “She’s the reason I got into medicine. She was a nurse.”

You catch his eyes flickering toward your left hand in search of a ring. You don’t wear yours at work – not because you want to appear single, but because you’d die if you lost the precious diamond ring you were gifted three years ago.

“That’s wonderful,” you offer, your eyes catching a glimpse of Dr. Robby, who has emerged from Trauma Room 2. The two of you lock eyes for a fleeting moment before you return your attention to Gavin. “I bet your grandmother’s so proud of you,” you continue.

“She is,” Gavin says happily. You can feel Robby’s gaze burning into the side of your head, but Gloria corners him before he can insert himself into your conversation with Gavin. From your spot by the desk, you watch from the corner of your eye in pure amusement while Robby and Gloria bicker about some administrative nonsense.

Meanwhile, Gavin turns up the charm. He leans closer to you as he speaks, eyes dancing over your features in clear interest.

“So, are you from Pittsburgh?” he asks.

You shake your head. “No, Cleveland,” you answer. “But I did my residency here and obviously never left.”

“I take it you like Pittsburgh then?”

You offer a smile and a shrug. “It’s pretty alright,” you answer. “The people here at the hospital are great and the city’s not so bad. Where did you grow up?”

“I grew up in Richmond, Virginia,” Gavin replies. “So I’m pretty new to Pittsburgh.”

Robby’s face is turning red. You can see his agitation swelling as Gloria prattles on. He crosses and uncrosses his arms impatiently, unable to suppress a grunt of annoyance.

“Well, welcome,” you continue, offering Gavin a gentle touch to the forearm. “I’m sure you’ll adjust and grow to love it here.”

“Would be better if I had someone to show me around,” Gavin says. He trails off and waits, eyes studying you for a reaction, begging you to take the bait. You know this game all too well. It’s not the first time a resident has flirted with you, and you secretly hope it won’t be the last. Not because you’re actually trying to flirt, nor are you even seeking attention; you merely enjoy the entertainment in an otherwise predictable environment. And you know others, like Trinity, need the amusement, too.

That’s why you flash Gavin a bright smile and feign surprise at his suggestion. “I’d be happy to show you some cool spots sometime,” you say just loud enough for people around the desk to hear. That includes Robby, Gloria, Perlah and Trinity.

“Really? That’d be great,” Gavin says, his eyes scanning yours for any sort of sign to indicate mutual interest.

You don’t dare look at Robby; you know better. But everyone else nearby is treating this like live theater, and they can see the tightness in his jaw, clenched so hard he might crack his teeth.

“Of course,” you tell Gavin innocently. “In fact, we could make it a group thing.” You try not to laugh as Gavin’s expression immediately falls, but you know you can't lead him on or give him the wrong idea. “A bunch of us here at the hospital have been trying to make plans to go out for months now. This would be as good a reason as any to actually put a plan in motion.”

“Oh,” Gavin says, his lips thinning in disappointment. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

“Awesome,” you say merrily. “Sounds like fun.”

“Dr. Meyer,” Robby’s voice cuts in. He’s finally managed to shrug off Gloria, who has turned her attention to a conversation with Dana. “Don’t you have any patients to check on?” Robby asks, his voice gruff.

“Oh, right,” Gavin says, clearly fearful of angering Robby. He sneaks a glance at you and smiles. “Hopefully I'll see you later.”

You wave after him before you finally dare to look Robby in the eyes. He peers at you from behind his glasses, but you can see a storm swarming in his irises.

“Everything alright, Dr. Robinavitch?” you ask innocently, tilting your head to the side as you gaze at him.

“Actually, no,” Robby answers curtly. “It seems people think the ER is a place to meet hot singles, considering all the flirting happening in front of me.”

You snort as you push off from the desk’s edge, preparing to retreat to the elevator. “I don’t see any hot singles,” you laugh as you turn your back. You stride toward the elevator, unaware that Robby has vacated the desk area to reach you in record time.

“Not so fast,” he growls in your ear as you jump in surprise. His fingers curl around your forearm as he redirects you from Elevator 2 toward a vacant bathroom. His eyes sweep over the corridor to ensure no one’s around before he nudges you into the bathroom.

“Real professional, Dr. Robinavitch,” you deadpan, crossing your arms as you peer up at him in annoyance while he turns the lock. You want to appear tough, but you also know you and Robby are probably a comical sight, given the way his tall, broad frame looms over you.

“You want to talk about professionalism?” he rasps with raised eyebrows. “You’re the one flirting with my residents in my ER.”

“I don’t flirt with residents,” you fire back, your lips parting in an amused smile. “They flirt with me.”

“You think this is funny?” Robby steps closer to you but you hold your ground and his gaze with conviction, daring him to act.

“I find it rather hilarious,” you muse. "You're jealous." Robby reaches swiftly, fisting a ball of your hair with his hand as he forces you backward. You realize he isn’t doing so for the power – he’s ensuring your head doesn’t smash against the wall behind you. Leave it to him to look out for your safety, even when he’s trying to assert his dominance.

“That resident is disrespecting me in my own ER,” Robby continues as he presses you against the wall. “And you’re the instigator.”

“Don’t blame me!” you laugh. “I didn’t ask him to develop a crush on me. I only just met the guy today.”

“He doesn’t seem to know who you are.”

“He knows what I do here.”

“But does he know you’re married?” Robby juts his hips forward through the last word for emphasis. You can feel your thigh muscles tense with arousal.

“No idea,” you quip with a shrug. “Our conversation hasn’t gone that far.”

“Seems like someone ought to mention it to him.”

“By all means, be my guest.”

“I will.” Robby continues to eye you and he can’t help but chuckle at your determined expression. “You love this, don’t you?”

“I do,” you admit cheekily. You snake your arms around his torso, your chin resting against his chest as you smile innocently upward at him. Robby presses a kiss to your forehead and returns the smile.

“You’re evil,” he rasps. 

“I’ll make it up to you later,” you coo.

“Later? No, babe. You’ll do it now.”

Your eyes widen as his words catch you off guard. It’s not like Robby to do something so forbidden inside the sanctity of his precious ER. But ever since you got married, he’s relaxed; he’s not so uptight, not as agitated and not nearly as miserable to be around. He’s returned to his former self, much to the relief of everyone who works with him. 

“Right now?” you repeat to ensure you heard him correctly.

“That’s what I said.” Robby leans in to press his lips to their favorite spot against your neck. Your eyes immediately fall shut as you inhale sharply, still surprised by Robby’s behavior. Sure, you’ve flirted and exchanged a suggestive touch every now and again, but you’ve never crossed the boundary of engaging in explicit activities at work. You’ve thought about it plenty of times, but you always assumed Robby was all business and no pleasure when it came to work, and you didn’t bother to challenge that.

Today, however, is clearly different. Because today, he can’t stand the sight of that pompous and obnoxious resident ogling you like the final piece of candy in the dish. Besides, Michael Robinavitch has never been one to back down from a challenge.

He kisses you slowly, to remind you that this is all rooted in love and adoration, despite his annoyance with Gavin’s behavior – and despite his desperation to remind you of your marital vows. Not that you need the reminder – you’d torch the world to ash and embers before you dared to risk your marriage.

“Awfully on edge today, are we?” you teased. 

“Awfully mouthy today, are we?” Robby retorts. You grin at him.

“You already know what this mouth can do.”

“Jesus Christ.”

You can feel his hard cock pressing against your stomach. But you can also feel your time alone running out. Your absence from the ER won’t be noticed – though you really should return to the birthing ward – but Robby’s will. You were one code blue from interruption.

Your hands find the belt of Robby’s cargo pants and you work quickly to free his cock from them. He lets out a low grunt as your hands wrap around him and stroke, though he’s already fully erect. You begin to sink to your knees, but his hand curls around your wrist to stop you.

“Later. You can do that later,” he rasps.

He steers you by the wrist toward the sink, where he stands behind you, his reflection’s gaze meeting yours in the mirror as he pins you against the cool porcelain. His eyes swarm with desire. He tugs your scrub bottoms to the floor and you can feel his fingers inch their way into the waistband of your panties. Before those also find the floor, Robby presses a trail of kisses down the back of your neck, ending at your shoulder. 

When he hooks an arm around you to press two fingers against your clit, he hisses in your ear as he feels how wet you are. You become spineless against him.

“Walking around my ER like that?” he says in your ear as he sinks his fingers inside you. “You’re bad.”

He supports himself with one hand flat against the wall as he uses the other to guide his cock inside you.

“Fuck, Michael,” you whine, but he stops to smirk at your reflection.

“You love this, don’t you?” he murmurs as he watches your teeth drag against your own bottom lip. You whimper in response, your walls clenching around him in a silent plea for more. He obliges you, filling you with his cock until it reaches the hilt. He groans at the tight heat that contrasts the cool bathroom.

He begins to thrust until you’re bent over the sink, fighting to stifle your broken moans. He keeps you upright with one arm, and as you sneak a glance at your own reflection, you realize you look absolutely pitiful – eyes glassy, cheeks flushed and lips parted as the man behind you turns you into a ruined, fucked out mess.

Your white knuckles match the porcelain as you grip the sides of the sink, the pressure inside your core mounting. 

“God, M-Michael,” you manage through a pathetic stutter. He drives his cock upward into your sweet spot until you’re gasping over how good it feels. You’re on the brink of a climax and Robby is watching it all unfold in the mirror. He stares back at you with such intensity, you have to look away.

Your back arches and you push your hips backward as Robby continues to drive into you, murmuring absolute filth in your ear. Your eyes flutter shut as you focus on the mounting release within your walls. When Robby’s stare searches for yours in the mirror, he sinks his fingers into your open mouth, eliciting an unsuspecting gasp.

“Open your eyes,” he demands. “I want you to watch me fuck you.”

It’s not an ask, and you nod silently in submission, his fingers still in your mouth. Robby groans at the vision before him in the mirror, which looks more like framed art to him; your bottom lip now raw and red from your teeth, your pleading eyes and shaking arms struggling to support you. It’s a portrait Robby’s committing to memory, a masterpiece he'll name Sin Incarnate.

Your legs are ready to give out but Robby’s now got both hands clutching your hips as he fucks you closer to your grand finale. Your whimpers chorus higher, threatening to breach the privacy of the bathroom door to passerby, but you’re too cock-drunk to care.

Robby rolls his hips until his thrusts become erratic, a sign you’ve come to recognize of his approaching climax. His eyes study yours in the mirror until he sees the familiar expression indicating your own orgasm.

“Come on,” he coaches you. “Come for me.”

You hum in response, tightening your cunt around his cock as it pounds against your front wall. 

“Oh, fuck,” you manage as it triggers your release. It starts with a sharp cry and ends with you slumped over the sink, desperate to prolong the final quivers within your walls. Robby thrusts so hard, your feet nearly lift off the floor, your final pulses coaxing his own completion.

He swears loudly as he comes, his hips pinning you against the sink while you watch his head tilt backward in the mirror. He spills inside you, your weak legs struggling to keep you standing while your thighs become slick.

When he’s done, Robby’s frame is no longer tense. He rests his chin on your shoulder, arms wrapping you in an embrace as his primal mood shifts to something much more docile. 

“You okay?” he asks. You nod, still recovering from your post-orgasm haze. Your eyelids are heavy as you peer back at him in the mirror and he smiles fondly at you.

“We should get back to work,” you note. “It’s probably chaos out there without you.”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Robby replied before he pressed a kiss to your temple. “Except Meyer.”

“Cut him some slack,” you laugh as you both begin to redress. “He’s harmless.”

“He’s a punk.”

“He didn’t know we’re married.”

“Did you forget to mention your last name when you introduced yourself?”

“I may have… left it out,” you say as you flash Robby a sheepish smile. He checks himself in the mirror and shoots you a look as he moves to the door. 

“I'll make sure he knows exactly who you are.” He steps into the corridor and disappears as the door snaps shut. You make sure you’re presentable again before you emerge about two minutes later.

You mosey toward the central desk to check if there are any more OB cases before you head upstairs. Robby is standing there with Dana and Gavin.

“Hey you,” she says cheerily. “Heard you’ve got a fun weekend planned.”

You open your mouth to reply when someone calls, “Dr. Robinavitch!”

“Yeah?” you and Robby respond in unison as you both turn toward the source of the sound. It’s Trinity, who’s smiling smugly as she emerges from Room 1.

“Wait,” Gavin says, his eyes shifting back and forth between you and Robby until he studies you with a furrowed brow. “Your last name is Robinavitch, too?”

“Mmhmm,” you answer as Dana backs away slowly to avoid a laughing outburst.

“As in… Mrs. Robinavitch?”

“That’s me.”

Gavin’s mouth falls open as he looks between you and Robby in horror. Robby clears his throat and checks his watch.

“Well would you look at that,” Robby says. “It’s 4 o’clock and I’m off early today. I’m taking my wife to the Finger Lakes to celebrate our wedding anniversary.”

He drapes an arm over your shoulders and steers you from the desk, leaving Trinity and Dana in stitches and Gavin in crisis.

[lylian333]

Emperor x reader (x general)

The art does not belong to me I found it on pintrest again,the art belongs to this artist, go check him out

warning: bro may be yandere/toxic, reader ignore red flags (like how I avoid addmath) , angst , glory , kinda expected twist... , more maybe trmatazing shits, this is more on ancient Chinese theme, 3rd person pov, trust the process, suicidal, heavily chinese theme as hell I repeat again(my english been getting worst)

Both of you were born on the same day inside the palace. The difference is that you were born in your mother's small chamber. She was just one of the servants to a concubine, a lowly status. The consort was kind enough to send a doctor to help her give birth to you, while the consort went to witness the empress's birth.

She gave birth to a healthy prince. on the other hand, your mother died from labour, and you were born unhealthily; you could barely even breathe within a few hours.

But luckily, your mother's mistress, the consort Xin Qi she served, decided to adopt you. For a reason, out of pure pity, that her favorite maid who had served her since she entered that palace, her truly trusted friend, somehow caught the attention of that emperor at one of the meetings, and one thing led to another...

The first time you both met was when you were 6 years old at the palace garden, you were feeding the fish in the pond when he accidently ran into you, causing you to fall into the pond.

You struggle to breathe while the water feels like it's trying to drag you down, and this sense causes the boy to panic and scream for help.

Luckily, one of the servants is brave enough to jump into the pond to save you. You were immediately sent back to your chamber to rest while the doctors were on their way.

But some odd reasons the boy decided to stay by your side, watching as your maid carried you, rushing back to your chamber.He couldn't describe the gut feeling for the first time he felt worry??I mean, he shouldn't really be since it's just a random girl in the garden who knows who she belongs to, even if she were one of the concubines' daughters, he wouldn't have any consequences. I mean, after all, he was quite literally spoiled rotten; he didn't even have to dress himself or feed himself as all his servants would be there any moment he needed.

Before his birth, the emperor even said to himself if his dear empress gave birth to a prince, an heir, it would be the next king. That's what you heard from your maid; she even warned you if you met him, you must greet him and agree on anything he proposes, you mustn't protest to him, and blah blah blah, what a brat you think to yourself.

Back to reality, you felt the thick blanket on top of your body while he held your hand from the side. You side-eye him, giving him a confused and weird look.

"You push me-you blind-"

Before you could finish, you were shut by a hand across your mouth.

"Watch your mouth (y/n), his majesty is the crown prince. Forgive him, my majesty, she's just not used to a stranger being here hehe...."she then laughed awkwardly.

But he suddenly grabs your hand and apologizes

"I'm sorry i didn't mean to gege sorry gege muchen can take care of you-"

Yeah, the first interaction wasn't the best. You expected him to be more of a brat and rude but nope for some reason, he was...kind to you I mean he would sneak good treats and foods for you, would play with you, tell you what he learns and even teach you some, unlike the consort who only taught you how to become a proper and likeable lady.

But it's still weird for you that he would only treat you nicely, and it was obvious like he loved petting your head which you of course slap his hand away or hugged. People who walked by, especially those who witnessed that would stare and gossip afterward.

But he can't help it the first time he met he thinks it was the look of love he thinks that you were definitely the one which he confess to you once but you told him that your both to young to even understand the meaning but he just keep believing himself that yep she's the one to my heart and just blind by love.

But back then you didn't take him seriously, I mean come on, you guys were parents to a bunch of rabbits in the palace garden. You do enjoy spending time with him, you couldn't help but feel warm around him as if he's the sun to your moon.

Both of you decide to plant an apricot tree in the palace garden near the pond where you both first met and all , as a cute reminder not only that you can't wait for it to fully gown so that when it blossom you both could enjoy the view under the tree.

But of course, the gossips within the court spread the rumors soon to the whole palace, and the empress found out about it. She then restricted Muchen from seeing you, claiming that you will give no benefit for the palace not only that you're just one of the lowly maid kids that the emperor decide to play with your just a bad influence and distractions for him by telling his servents to keep an eye on him if he was caught hanging out with you. you'll be the one who receives a physical punishment, and he just has to write a whole book of poem.

Does it seem unfair, yes, but the empress doesn't care. She'll never dare to hurt her son; she baby him too much. she also bans you from going out of your chamber for a month. When you heard the new,s you were aboutly horrified.

Now both of you were in a bad situation . he doesn't wish for you to get hurt, especially because of him no never, he would never he rather let the actions be taken upon on him than you. You're just a like a glass lotus so gorgeous and fragile can be broken with one touch or a rude comment.

He did try to send you letters by tying it up on his pet parrot but soon it was found out and you were punished to be beaten by a wooden stick for 20 times.

You swear your limbs were almost broken at the end of it and you had to take a few months just so it could heal back to normal. When muchen heard about this, is was horrified and begged his servants to send you more doctors and others, etcetera that could help you heal faster and in a painless way.

With that in hand, he never dares to interfere with you anymore he fear that he could bring danger and harm to you, which is true.So those how the years went by...

~~

Both of you have grown into adults now and he was now the newly ascending emperor to his father's throne after his death. Many concubines were buried with him to serve him in the next life which will always be your worst nightmare and horrible fact you know about them.But at least you won't of them, right??

Let's see. Since he's now the emperor, he gets to have access around the palace , and without a doubt, he came to find you on the same day of the coronation.

When he went near your chamber, he heard giggles. That's odd she rarely giggles unless it's from me hmmm, maybe she just grew up now and changed he pushed open the door.

The first thing his eyes landed on was a man.

A MAN in your chamber? Who is he? What is he doing with you in your CHAMBER???

But he couldn't help but glare at you as well, you gown so much now even gorgeous than before so lively, but why? Did that guy make you feel that way??

With his presence in your chamber, both you and your secret lover bow and greet him."Greeting, my lord, what brings you here...?" you ask

"Who's that with you, (y/n)?"

"I'm Jun Jian, one of the soldiers, my lord."

Muchen just hums back, replying before pulling you into his arms, and tells Jun Jian to go. while he spends the afternoon, claiming he just wanted to catch up you believe in him I mean come on, before he was emperor, he already had 4 wives, what's stopping him from having you. You just thought he actually wanted to catch and that he cares about you

of course, there he went and left shutting the door behind him. Not going to lie, you didn't dare to meet his Muchen eyes, was it from shame, fear? You can't figure it out right.Or was it because he caught you in the act with your lover?

Both of you weren't official but you hoped it was if only he wasn't so busy with his duty, but that's what makes you feel attractive by him. He's so hardworking and dedicated, you can't help but fall for that. he would occasionally give you presents, it may not be gold, fine silk ,and other luxury, but you knew he tried he try spending time with you if he wasn't in the battlefield.

But Muchen took advantage of Jun Jian's being a soldier and set him at the front of the battle. From then on, when you heard that from Jun Jia, you were concerned. The fact that the rate of his dying was not risky enough to make you pray every day that he would survive, but now that he is at the front, the rate has skyrocketed. But now you can't do much but pray for the best.

~~

After a few months , there were news that happened within the day

one that could shock you , like meeting a death penalty

and one that could make you feel grateful for god and everything you belive and put faith in.

The good news is that Jun Jian was promoted to become a general of the military .

The bad news is Muchen force you to marry him. it wasn't even an arranged marriage is just one of his nucai who came to your chamber randomly at night and told you the news, this Sunday, you'll have your wedding with the emperor. You were dumbfounded and speechless, you stood there silently for a full minute staring at the nucai .

You wanted to hit him and let your frustration out . but you can't he's just delivery the message not only that you were nobody in the palace your status leave could possible be worst then him , is just the fact you had a personal maid that the pervious consort Xin Qi , your adopted mother have gift for you a week before the emperor die and she was buried along side with him

You hated that rule ever since you heard about it , It's ridiculous how the emperor could decide whether his wives should be buried with him and decide that death would be the same day as his. Even if you love one of the wives, would you choose them to suffer to not continue their lives without yo,u and if they refuse to obey the order,r and drink the poison, they will be tied up and be buried alive. With consort xin qi death adding on to it , this makes your hatred burn even more.

Yes, it's your turn. You enjoy your life in the palace filled with luxury if you are favored by the emperor, but what about the other? He doesn't care; they still have the same sentence. unless he did wrote their name in the emperor's well, then they'll become a nun for the emperor for their whole life after on.

In that week you barely got enough sleep, stressing out about everything you even had a nightmare about it.even seem some of your hair had turn white while staring into the mirror, eyes so dark like inside a well during midnight so dark and quiet could even hear the sound of a needle dropping.

On the day of the wedding, you were dressed in heavy golds and many layers of robes . The pins that were on your hair make you think you even tilt a little to the side, your whole body may follow the direction with it. Last, you were then covered by a red veil that cover your face, while at least this could hide your frowning expression from him for the day.

Then the worst part has arrived, the night. people left both of you at your now new better/spaces chamber. Let's just say that he has been waiting for it , and held you close tightly, leaving bruises like an animal in heat at its mating session. He threw your clothes across the room and one by one took of your pins, letting your hair fall off slowly.

He then ripped of your dudou and tied your hands above your head so that you wouldn't fight him. That night, you weren't screaming for pleasure but from pain and for help, help that could help you escape from this burning he'll experiment . If only Jun Jian were here to protect you...

~~

After a few months, you had been promoted to empress, but you were still unhappy, and you found out you were pregnant. how? Why even question when Muchen came into your chamber every night since the marriage started. In the morning, you start puking hard lying there feeling dizzy while your maid tries helping you out, patting your forehead with a cloth and patting your back, about to pass out. When the doctors came to examine your hand, they told you you were pregnant.

Around that time, Jun Jian came back from the military and found out you were now married to the new emperor MuChen, bro went mad and crashed out trash your previous chamber, which is still filled with your stuff. The news that you're pregnant was spread around the palaces, which makes him even more despise you, it's like adding fuel to the fire. He thought you both were serious. Why would you do that to him, knowing that it could hurt him? Maybe it's he's fault for taking it too long and not taking action to make you his, was it his fault?

When you hear jun jian had came back from war you wanted to visit him, not caring it will have other rumors nor other shits. When you came to his counter and found him lying in his bed in the afternoon, you called out to him

"Jun Jian, your back oh how I miss you-"

"(y/n)?I thought you abandoned me, I thought you hated me."

"What!I would never, dear, you knew it."

"Then why? Why did you go and marry him, not me? Was it my fault??"

You tried explaining it to him, but before you could start off, he broke out crying, your heart sank and you went over to try to comfort him. You feel bad that you couldn't defend your love for him, you hated that you had to rely on him, and you feel useless. But now he needed you, but you couldn't do much but comfort him.

Out of the blue, he slammed his lips against your lips. You allow him, you even kiss him back. Both of you knew it was wrong, but it feels right.

Until he ruined it again, Mu Chen came in. You think it's one of your maids who told him where you're heading to, accompanied by the arrival of Jun Jian back here.

But Jun Jian placed you behind him and took out his sword, wanting to kill him for ruining his love for both of you as for justice.MuChen just looked at you both and laughed before calling his other guards to drag him down.

He struggles during the process and slashes some guards during it. The science horrifies you , you don't know if you should help him or stop him what if later one of the gruads accidently kills him, who knows you just sit there on the cold wooden floor witnessing the science in front of you.

After a while, Jun Jian had probably killed 4 guards but was unfortely held down onto the floor and, Muchen told them to put him in jail and strip him from his title as a general. he then came over you even walking above the dead body, just to walk right in front of you.

"Why do you hate me, (y/n) . I tried everything to capture your heart, but you just won't give me a chance? Tell me what he has that I don't, hm?i know I missed out on many years, but that doesn't mean we still can't be together. Still remember the tree that we both planted, we both promised each other right, lotus?"

You don't know what to say, did you do both of them dirty ??? Was it your fault, but but he-then? You were frightened and confused, and he could read it through your expression like reading a book. he then shook his head and chuckled, "Has a cat got your tongue, dear? Don't worry, I told servants to take great care of it. Let us walk there, dear."

You both took a silent walk to the palace garden, it has changed lots since you last came. After the previous ban, you were both from seeing each other, you rarely came to the palace garden, afraid you'll meet him there. Other servants would also enjoy their time there so they're probably snitching without a doubt, just so the empress could notice them,or just to see you both suffer.

The style and pattern of the design have changed, but it's still full of flowers and life, it brings you a little warmth into your heart .he's heart warms up seeing you finally relax a little and not as tense as before.

You both then arrive under the tree, the apricot had blossoms .The flower petals fall down along with the wind while you gently caress the tree trunk, in denial that the time has passed that much. He hugs you from behind, wrapping his hand around your waist.

"Your the only thing i wanted ever since I met you (y/n) , I just hope that you could give me a chance and take my love I gave you seriously ."

"I- but I'm already in love with someone muchen"you finally confess

"But we're married (y/n), there isn't an opinion for you other than give in to my love or don't I just wanted you to understand. But since you finally confess, good girl."

"I no I'm already taken by him, my heart can only be with him."

"Fine then, since you wanted to act like a brat, alright. But you'll still be going to be mine and have my child I may not have your heart but I have you, your soul, and-"

You slap him hard on the face, breathing rapidly. There was a long 5 seconds of silence before he chuckled like always.

"Oh (y/n), you're just so naive, aren't you "he chuckled again and touching your belly before saying, "I can't wait for your belly to swell dear, that's why everyone will know who you belong to.I don't even care if it's a princess or prince, it's made from us. from the seeds I planted inside of you."

When he said the last sentence, it gave you chills and goosebumps. It was like he was always giving you the creeps.You were still curious what would happen to Jun Jian, but didn't ask since you knew he would be in a bad mood again.

~~

After a few days during dinner you got the courage to ask him "what did you do to General Jun Jian?"

"Curious? Let's go and see then."

You hesitated for a moment before getting up and following him. Then reaches the underground jail cells, and when he stops at one of the cells. When you turn your head and see the sense in front of you, you should rather cry, puke, or pass out.

Jun Jian was tied agaisn't a wooden bed in the middle of the cell with one of his legs cut off. There was a pool of dried blood on the wooden bed as well as on the floor. The muscle and bone were cut, and you can even see every detail of it. lord heavens, how is he still alive or was it not you can't really tell if he had closed his eyes and probably fainted from excessive blood loss.

You were bombarded by many emotions that you went crazy and cried and banged the metal bars screaming for him to wake up, you can't he can't just die like that- no please, please be awake you scream out while crying out despite your throat is hurting.

He finally slowly lifted his eyes you scream harder"Jun Jian love, please, i love you- i'm sorry-"

Mu Chen then opened the door to the cell, you flew inside immediately before he could and hugged the upper body of Jun Jian, crying and repeating the word "I'm sorry"

"I love you so much, you don't deserve any of this because of me I'm so sorry, love."

Little did you know, Mu Chen was grabbing a hammer.

Before Jun Jian could even speak out, he was then bash by the hammer, the sense will forever be stuck with you and you know daam well of it. Mu Chen continues to bash his skull open harder each time

You scream at him to stop trying to push and pull him away from Jun Jian's body, but he pushes you away but accidently making you fall, hitting your head on the wall. Before you know it, your stomach was in bad pain and then you fainted.

When you woke up, you didn't have the energy to move or speak; you just stared at the ceiling and blinked at it, but your maid somehow noticed you were awake and told you that you had fainted for two days already.

You just turned your head and told her to go, she was humbled but nodded before she stood up, she told you also had lost your baby mistress, I'm sorry . You scream at him to go out again, when she left you cried out again, blaming yourself for everything if it weren't for you, Jun Jian would still be happily alive with his life , if it weren't for you Mu Chen wouldn't have gone that insane.

Why? Just because you're alive or was it because you met Mu Chen, why did he like me, why did I do to make him so- why just why you did nothing wrong, you try living your life like a normal girl and as a servant did you do something wrong??

You cry all day and night, refusing to go out of your chamber even if the emperor himself muchen your husband, came in trying to force you out of the chamber or feed you food and water, but you stop him from continuing to forcing you by threatening to kill yourself.

With that ability on hand, you realized how stupid you are, you could have just ended it all, why continue living like this, gaining and losing everything? After all, dying is better than continuing to live this burning hell.

You took the advantage of the winter session, during night with heavy snow stroam you sneak out of the chamber and palace and just ran using every last of your energy fore crashing into the heavenly thich snow that's over half your body your're not even sure where you'll at but it looks like heaven with everything white surrounding you.

When Muchen found out you went missing, he sent out half of the palace guards and soldiers to find you, and he will honor anyone that can find you alive; that person will then be promoted to a noble person and will have a wife and a bunch of coins.

But one of the guards found you near the forest frozen to death, when Emperor Muchen heard the news, he shut himself and drown himself in work, rarely visited other concubines/his other wife's chamber only yours, sleeping in your bed and sniffing your old cloth like a creep but he's can't help it.

He even threw you the most luxurious funeral there could been and force the people in the palace to cry about you and about your death as well as forcing everyone to wear black for a month. He also forbade the other concubines to wear your dresses or pins or any jewelry or gold that you own.

In his mind, he's trying to love you, but you refuse because of that stupid jun jian so he gets rid of him so that you can focus on him only but he never thought you would kill yourself rather than being with him, was he that bad to be with...? He questioned himself for many years, if the concubines dare to protest when they make out and he calls your name instead of theirs. They would be sentenced to death, he really can't get you off his mind, even at his deathbed, he still remembers you as clear as day.

He even had a statue of you in his personal chamber garden, which was made of obsidian and pearl.He spoke to you every night. Whispered secrets into your lifeless palm. He told you about the wars he no longer cared to win. About the generals he executed for daring to mention your name. He would even gift you things like a gold necklace to wear around your statue, talking to you saying how much he misses you, He would sometimes even kiss the statue when no ones is there to bother his moment with you. He once kissed it for hours until he passed out drunk at its feet.

He stopped eating for a while. Started carving your poems into his skin. He couldn’t tell dream from memory anymore.

In his will, he wrote that he wished for your coffin to be dug out and be put beside him, and no other concubines would be buried with him. Because he knew that you hated that rule the most since you made in clear to him bad then, and he only wanted you, no one else, only you to serve him or him to serve you . he doesn't care, he just needed you, only you can make him feel alive again.

i know it has been quite a while but I been trying to focus on my studies more I always end up here...anyways I hope u guys love it, like always I try on my grammar and not to repeat the same shit thanks for reading. have a great day diva~.At first I wanted(y/n) to have a female lover like that, but I'm afraid some of y'all ain't into that so yeah, I chose a general instead. Speaking of generals, I'm also writing on one and I hope that I can also publish it...hopefully.... pray for you guys, if I like if there's anything wrong just tell me alright

[itzpookiepooh]

Insomnia

You tossed and turned with your eyes closed, threw the blanket off, put it on, stuck one leg out yet you were still awake. You fluffed the pillows and still nothing. You were on the verge of tears because everything was overwhelming. You shot up throwing the blanket off to get some fresh air. You left Sylus to sleep soundly as you left the room.

You roamed the base mindlessly until you ended up outside. You took a few deep breaths before you spazzed out. You could always buy new pillows and maybe that would help. Maybe a walk would also help, a warm glass of milk? Rain sounds even. You just wanted to sleep you closed your eyes around 3 and woke up at 4, your body felt…frustrated.

A cloud of red and black essence appears in front of you. Sylus tilts his head at you clearly tired and concerned. You look up at him with exhaustion, you feel like you could rip your hair out. He pulls you into him and rubs your back slowly. He knew how hard it was to go to sleep most days especially if you both were apart.

“Come on, I’ll help you sleep.” He whispers to you as you both make your way back inside. He put in a record, no singing just low music. In bed you were still wide awake as he pulled you into him.

His fingers lightly traced patterns into your spine. At first it gave you goosebumps but after a while you felt your eyelids get heavy. Listening to the music mixed with Sylus’ heartbeat did the trick. He kissed you goodnight before falling asleep himself.

You were practically a fish out of water the way you were tossing and turning. You threw the blankets off angrily before storming out of the room still quiet enough not to wake Rafayel. You stood in the shower letting the hot water try and lull you to sleep, nothing. You tried making yourself tired with boring audiobooks, nothing. A list of trial and error, all for you still to be wide awake at 4am. You barely got a wink of sleep.

You took chance to try sitting on the beach, staring off into the sea. You wondered if you got in would it help you. Being swayed by the oceans current like a baby in a cradle. Too bad you were too scared of being in the ocean at night. The thought was still on the table though—at the very end.

You hear footsteps coming towards you. A disheveled Rafayel stood before you. His hair was a mess and he looked panicked and tired at the same time. He thought something happened to you until he had to remind himself of your insomnia. You looked at him sadly, you could feel your eye bags getting worse.

“You could’ve woke me up.” He informs you, sitting next to you. You shrug your shoulders putting your chin on your knee.

“You were sleeping so soundly.” You tell him with a small smile. He puts his head on your shoulder watching the ocean with you.

“You’re important to me and knowing you’re struggling makes me feel like I’m struggling.” He explains to you making you put your head on his.

Rafayel leads you to a hot bath mixed with lavender and melatonin oil. You and him soak in the bath in silence basking in each others presence. Sleep slowly poked at you, wanting to consume you. Rafayel leads you back to bed, morphing himself into you. Before you know it you both are fast asleep as the ocean waves sway in the background.

Zayne slept at a fairly reasonable hour since he was a doctor. Most times your insomnia kept you awake until he went to work and whatever amount of sleep you may have gotten was the sleep you’d deal with for the day. It was exhausting and repetitive, you couldn’t end the cycle. Tonight was no different as you wandered around the house looking for sleep aid.

You use to try sleep medication that was over the counter, eventually you’d have to wait a few days in between before taking them again. Your body would get use to it too quickly. You felt like you had tried everything even listening to any sounds on YouTube to aid sleep. You were desperate to find something, anything to calm your mind.

You were on the couch staring at the ceiling when you could hear Zayne’s padded footsteps. He rubbed his eyes when he finally found you. He knew you struggled to sleep and tried his best to help you. He knew for sure that you would need to have a sleep study done in order to find the issue. That wasn’t happening now though so he needed a solution.

“Come with me. I have something that will help.” His soft voice luring you into the kitchen where he makes you a cup of sleepy time tea. It relaxes your body of course but you needed a bigger push.

Zayne brought you back into the bedroom before he began prepping the room. He sprayed something lavender scented onto the pillows and blankets. He fluffed the pillows and motioned you over. You both got comfortable in each other’s arms, ready for bed. Zayne tells you a sleep inducing story making your eyes grow heavier. When you’re breathing evens out he smiles giving you a good night kiss. He follows right after you and goes to sleep.

Xavier was the sleepiest person you’ve ever met. You were jealous that he could sleep absolutely anywhere. You were staring blankly at the tv, flipping through channels waiting to pass out when you heard him enter the living room. His eyes were droopy and filled with exhaustion. You waved at him and he returns the gesture before standing in front of you.

Xavier may be able to sleep anywhere but not without you. You knew that but you didn’t want to wake him after the day he had. You were yawning but you weren’t tired and you refused to wake him up to help you. You felt it was rude to do so. Xavier on the other hand has told you many times to do so because he doesn’t want you to suffer.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks holding his hand out to yours which you gladly take.

“Nah. You?” He chuckled at the fact you were worried about him at all.

“Not without you.” He tells you. He gets you to sit with him under the stars. He asks you to count them and you slowly begin to get sleepier.

He tells you stories of the planets and stars before you fall asleep on his shoulder. The stories were too good to not listen to and you would ask him about them tomorrow. He chuckles rubbing his thumb against the back of your hand. He carries you back to bed and crawls in beside you. He holds you tight as sleep takes over his body and he falls back to sleep.

Not sleeping was driving you up a wall! You tried fake scenarios, counting sheep, focusing on the silence around you but nothing worked! You almost wanted to chop Caleb in his throat for sleeping so well. It wasn’t his fault though, you just couldn’t sleep and felt like you could run a marathon. You left the room and Caleb rose like a bloodhound.

He immediately went to search for you in his groggy state. He found you about to go for a walk to which he stopped you. He felt it was too dangerous to be out there on your own. He knew if you were tired enough you’d sleep anywhere so he came up with a better solution. He sang you a lullaby, specifically the one he made up when you would be scared of the dark when you guys were kids. You felt your eyes get heavy as he rocks you back and forth on the bed.

You blink slowly at him as he smiles down at you. By the time the lullaby is over you’re fast asleep. He rocks you for a few more minutes before he gets you both comfortable to sleep. He smiles at you once more before kissing your nose.

“Mission accomplished.” He whispered before going back to sleep.

I am jealous of those of you that can just go to sleep I wish to not be at war with the sandman.

[cuzxai]

static - nsfw

spencer reid x afab!reader

a/n: 😲😲😲😲 phone sex with reid (inbox open, please request)

You’re just about to fall asleep when your phone buzzes softly against the pillow. The screen lights up with a contact photo you didn’t realize you’d memorized—Spencer, blurry and smiling, probably mid-laugh from the day you took it. You answer without hesitation. “Hey,” you murmur, voice still heavy with sleep. There’s a pause, like maybe he didn’t expect you to pick up so quickly. When he speaks, his voice is low and hoarse but gentle in the way only he can manage.

“Did I wake you?”

You turn onto your back, staring at the ceiling with a sleepy smile. “Kind of. But it’s okay.” He exhales into the line and something about the sound makes your stomach flutter. It’s not relief, exactly. More like… release. Like hearing your voice made something inside him loosen.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he says finally. “Too much noise in my head. I didn’t want to be alone with it.”

You tug the blanket up to your chest. “Rough case?”

“Yeah,” he says. And that one word carries so much: long hours, too many victims, the weight of responsibility he always takes on alone. “We’re just in the waiting phase now. Interviews are done. Morgan and Hotch are going over timelines. It’s a lot of hurry-up-and-wait.”

“And you’re in a motel?” you ask, already picturing it: a dimly lit room, stiff sheets, the hum of a bad AC unit in the background.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Small town. Two-star situation. The mattress feels like cardboard.”

You smile softly. “Poor baby.”

“I’m not fishing for sympathy,” he says, a little defensively.

“No,” you tease, “but you’re definitely hoping I’ll say something to make you forget it.” He’s quiet again.

Then a little rougher, “Maybe.” There’s a shift in his breathing. Something you wouldn’t notice if you didn’t know him so well but you do. It’s subtle, barely there but it makes your heart thump. You recognize that sound. That shallow inhale like he’s trying not to let it show.

Your voice drops. “Spence. What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” he answers too quickly. Then, quieter, “Just… thinking.”

You smirk against the phone. “Thinking about me?” You swear you can hear him swallow.

“Yes.” Another pause. This one longer. And when he speaks again, his voice is soft but not shy. Not embarrassed. Just real. “I’m sorry. I know it’s late. I didn’t call to— I wasn’t trying to make it weird.”

“You didn’t,” you say, sitting up slightly, your pulse starting to pick up. “It’s not weird. I like knowing you think about me like that.” He doesn’t say anything at first. But the sound of him breathing shifts again, deeper now. More purposeful. “Tell me what you’re doing,” you murmur.

A beat. Then slowly, carefully: “I’m just… lying on the bed. Still dressed. But I—” he pauses like he’s deciding how much to give away. “I have my hand over myself.”

Your breath catches. “Are you hard?”

“Yes.” You press your thighs together under the sheets, already warm from just imagining it. Spencer in some creaky motel bed, trying not to get too into it because his team is down the hall.

“Touch yourself,” you whisper. “I want to hear what it sounds like when you do.” There’s a hitch in the line—movement, maybe fabric shifting or his hand adjusting.

“I—okay,” he says breathlessly. “I’m… pressing against the shaft. Through my pants right now. Applying slight pressure—uh—engorgement of the corpora cavernosa has already occurred, so stimulation is…” He trails off, like he just realized what he’s doing.

You laugh softly. “You’re giving me a lecture, Doctor Reid.”

“I know,” he groans, embarrassed. “I can’t help it. I—It’s just how I process. When I get nervous or—aroused—my brain defaults to clinical terminology. I—fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” you breathe. “It’s hot.”

He lets out a choked laugh. “You’re the only person on Earth who would say that.”

“Maybe,” you tease, “but I’m the only one who gets to hear it, so I’d say that works out.”

He’s breathing harder now, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m unzipping my pants. It’s… a little awkward lying like this. But I can feel the friction through my boxers. It’s—god, it’s warm. I’m leaking already.”

Your stomach flips. “I haven’t even touched myself tonight,” you whisper, running a hand slowly down your body beneath the sheets. “I was waiting for you to call.” You hear a low sound from him—almost like a whimper but he catches it before it escapes fully.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” he says, voice thick. “But now I can’t stop picturing your hands. Your mouth.”

“Mmm. You like when I use my mouth, don’t you?” You ask and his breath stutters.

“I think about it too much. Sometimes during briefings. During flights. I’ll remember the way you looked up at me from between my legs and I— I can’t focus.”

You moan quietly. “Tell me more.”

“I—I can’t get enough of the way you hum when you’re doing it. Or how your fingers dig into my thighs. You’re so soft and warm and—fuck—I’m touching myself now.”

You squeeze your legs together, slick already pooling in your panties as his voice drips into your ear like molasses. “How?” you ask breathlessly.

“My fingers,” he pants. “Wrapped around the base. I’m stroking slow, not too tight yet. The pressure is increasing blood flow but—fuck—there’s already too much. It’s… overstimulating.”

“Do you want me to slow you down?”

“No,” he whispers. “Don’t stop. Don’t let me stop.” There’s a tension in your chest now, rising with every breath he takes.

You slide your own hand lower, easing the ache that’s been building since the second he said your name.“Spencer…”

“I keep picturing you with your hand between your thighs,” he gasps.

“It is,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself, Spence. I’m so wet just listening to you.”

He groans, a low sound that rips through the speaker. “I’m close,” he chokes out. “Already. But I don’t want to come yet. I want to listen to you. Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I’m pulsing,” you murmur. “My fingers are soaked. I wish it were yours. I wish I could slide you inside me right now, slow and deep.”

“Fuck.” You hear the bed creak beneath him, hear his sharp inhale as he tries to keep control. He’s falling apart but he’s not there yet—not quite. And neither are you. So you both breathe into the silence. Desperate. Flushed. Teetering on the edge. Spencer’s breath is heavy in your ear. It’s the kind of sound that tightens your stomach and makes you ache, like he’s caught between wanting to speak and not wanting to break the fragile control he’s still holding onto. You can’t help the rush of heat that spreads through you at his small curses. He’s fighting his body, fighting the need to come, all while trying to be considerate of you. It’s so damn Spencer.

You whisper, running your hand over your body, mimicking the movements you know he’s making. “You need to let go a little, don’t you?” He gasps, the sound cutting off abruptly. You hear the shift of his body as his hand speeds up, the friction becoming more intense.

For a long moment, he doesn’t answer. You wonder if he’s going to try to hold back, but when he finally speaks, his voice is raw, needy. “I—I don’t want to come yet,” he confesses, so quietly that you almost miss it. “I don’t want to rush it.”

“Then slow down,” you tell him, your hand slowly moving beneath your sheets in tandem with the rhythm of his voice.

He breathes a shaky laugh escaping him. “It’s hard. It’s really hard.”

“I know, baby,” you murmur, the word slipping out without thought. “It’s hard for me too.” There’s a slight catch in his breath, a slight trembling and you know he’s fighting with everything he has to keep himself in check.

“I… I can’t explain it. It’s not just the physical… it’s the mental stimulation. The proprioceptive feedback is off the charts. I’m—fuck, I’m getting lightheaded just talking about it.”

You can’t help but laugh at his attempt to keep things academic, even now. “You’re so hot when you do that,” you tell him, voice thick with desire. “I think I might get off just listening to you try to sound all scientific while you’re on the edge of losing it.”

He groans at that, and you can almost see his face, flushed with embarrassment, as he shifts around in his bed. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to—”

You cut him off gently. “You don’t have to apologize, Spence. I love hearing you like this. You can let go. You can talk to me, tell me exactly what you need.” He takes a shaky breath and for a moment, you think he’s going to argue or retreat back into his overly-analytical shell but then he says your name, low and desperate. The desperation in his voice makes your heart race. You’ve never heard him like this—raw and open, breaking away from his usual restraint. You’re so close to pushing him past that edge. You don’t let him finish his sentence. Instead, you keep him on the brink. “Tell me what you need, Spencer,” you whisper, your voice thick with anticipation. “You’ve got me right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I need you to…” he starts, but his words get stuck in his throat. “I need you to make me feel good. I don’t want to—fuck, I need to feel you.” Your pulse quickens as you hear the vulnerability in his voice.

“You can feel me, Spence. I’m right here. You just have to focus. Focus on how good you feel right now.”

“I’m trying,” he whispers and there’s that catch in his voice again. “I just—fuck, I don’t think I can hold back much longer.”

Your body aches at his words as you whisper back, “Let go for me. Let me hear you.” Spencer’s breath hitches again, faster. Like he’s teetering on the edge. You’re both so close. So close. But he’s still holding back, still refusing to let go completely. You feel the tension, the urgency in his voice. You’re both quiet for a moment now. Just breathing. And even through the static of the phone, you can hear every soft puff of air he exhales. Every subtle shift of movement on that scratchy motel bedsheet. He’s being so good. He speaks up through the groans. Just your name. It’s broken but like it’s the only word left in his vocabulary. You press the phone tighter to your ear and close your eyes, your free hand sliding between your legs as your voice softens. “Still with me, baby?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, hoarse. “I’m just—my hand’s shaking.”

“How long have you been like this?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

There’s a beat before he says, “Since before I called you.”

Your heart flutters. You shift in bed, biting back a moan. “That long?”

He hums a pitiful little yes. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I tried to, but everything felt… empty. Like my skin was too tight. I—I kept getting hard every time I thought about your voice. About your hands. About the last time we—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. You know he’s fighting, hard. Harder than he should be.

“Spencer,” you murmur, “you’ve been so good for me. So patient. But I don’t want you to hold back anymore.” He exhales like he’s just been told he can finally breathe. “Come,” you whisper. The word is barely out of your mouth before you hear him fall apart on the other end of the line. The soft, slick sounds of his hand meeting skin. The choked gasp that gets caught in his throat. The deep, trembling groan like it’s been trapped in his chest for hours.

“F-fuck,” he hisses, his voice breaking. “It’s—it’s too much, God.” You can hear the rhythm. He’s fast. Desperate. Probably fucking into his own hand with nowhere near the control he had earlier. You let your fingers glide through your own slick heat and sigh into the phone.

“Does it feel good, baby?” His breath hitches again.

“Yes, it’s—I’m gonna—”

“Yeah?” you coo, “Feels so good, hmm?” A strained whine escapes him.

“It’s—it’s throbbing. It’s pre-cum. My whole body feels like—like I’m on fire. My hand is wet, I don’t—I don’t even know how much came out, it’s so fucking sensitive and I’m—I’m gonna lose it.”

“You’re doing so well,” you breathe. “I’m touching myself too, Spence. You’ve got me so wet.”

He whimpers. “Please,” You feel your own orgasm building, slow and steady like a wave about to crash. You want to finish with him. You want to feel it in his voice when it finally hits him. You don’t even get another word out before he gasps so loud it cuts through the speaker, his breath catching in his throat as he falls over the edge. It’s not even a groan—it’s a sound you’ve never heard before. Desperate, stunned, overwhelmed. You hear the wet slap of his hand faltering, the breathless moans as he rides it out.

“ah— please.” he keeps saying your name like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality. And that’s what sends you over. You press the phone harder to your ear, hips stuttering against your hand as your orgasm hits you like a tremor. Your whole body arches as you cry out, biting your lip to keep quiet but knowing he hears it—feels it—because you can hear him panting through his own aftershocks. It’s messy. Loud. Intimate in a way that phone sex usually isn’t. Neither of you talk for a while. Just the sounds of two people on opposite sides of a phone line, breathing like they’ve just been pulled from underwater.

Eventually, Spencer breaks the silence with a soft laugh. “That was… wow.” You smile, sinking back into your bed.

“Yeah. Wow.” He’s still breathless but there’s a note of wonder in his voice, like he’s not entirely sure that just happened. “I’ve never… I mean— that was…”

“Good?” you offer. He laughs again, quieter this time.

“Yeah. Very.” You imagine him lying there, hand limp on his chest, flushed and dazed and probably trying to mentally calculate how many calories he just burned. It makes you ache with affection.

“You okay?” you ask gently.

“More than okay,” he says and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I just… wish I could hold you right now.”

You let out a breath, soft and sincere. “Me too.”There’s a pause before you sheepishly ask, “Think you can sleep now?”

He hums. “Eventually. I’ll probably fall asleep picturing you.”

You laugh softly. “Pervert.”

“Your fault,” he says, voice already thick with sleep. And it is. And you’re okay with that.

[zepskies]

HEADCANON: Doctor's Appointment

HC: How would Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Russell Shaw react when you try to take him to the doctor?

Pairings: Dean x Reader || Beau x Reader || Soldier Boy x Reader || Russell x Reader

AN: This one is a request from my lovely friend @spnbabe67 over on Patreon! 💜

Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, literal man children, medical stuff, angst, mentions of PTSD, hints of spice, fluffff

Dean Winchester

"I'm fine."

Ah yes, the same two growly words you've heard for an hour already.

"You're not fine," you testily reply. "You're not even 'Winchester fine.' You wanna know how I know? I'm driving the damn car right now!"

Dean shoots you a warning look.

One, you can tell he wants to say watch it on how you talk about his Baby.

Two, he doesn't want to admit that you're right.

He shifts in his seat with his arms crossed, trying to cover up a wince. It's the only tell that he's uncomfortable, even in pain, other than the fact that you've managed to hijack his car and take him to this damn doctor's appointment.

Dean can count on one hand the number of times he's been in a doctor's office for a genuine ailment, and not just trying to fish for information while impersonating some form of law enforcement.

That's because he's more of a "pour some whiskey on it," patch it up, and forget about it kinda guy.

And if we're talking about hospital stays, then that's usually a "one step away from death's door" kind of visit.

But when you first noticed something was off with Dean (confirming with Sam on the side of your suspicions), you did your damnedest to convince the man that he should see a doctor.

You even make the appointment for him as convenient as possible, around midday, so he doesn't have the excuse of it being too early to disturb his morning, or too late to mess up his afternoon.

Dean is a grumbly grizzly bear who only rolls his eyes in the waiting room when you offer him the clipboard to fill out his medical history.

"This is stupid," he says. "It’s probably just gonna clear up in a week or so anyway."

"You don't know that," you say. And you heave a sigh. Sometimes this man requires every last ounce of your ever-thinning patience.

You reclaim the clipboard and do this part for him too, filling out his fake-ass insurance information with his fake-ass name.

You detail his history and current symptoms to the best of your ability, and you make sure to jot down certain visits to free clinics in his past that he'd probably gloss over.

When the nurse opens the door and calls him back to see the doctor, Dean still glances over at you, mostly annoyed. But underneath, you sense his hesitation.

You slip your hand into his and get up with him. You grace a kiss over his knuckles — a moment of solidarity — and you go with him to one of the back rooms.

You later have to bite your lip against the vindicated urge to say I told you so.

The doctor informs Dean that he likely has a kidney stone.

If possible, Dean is even more sour the whole car ride home. He's convinced all the vegetables you've been trying to get him to eat are the culprit.

"This is what I get for eating fucking rabbit food," he grumbles. He levies a finger at you. "See? I told you. Nothing good comes of it."

"Right," you snort. "Zucchini is what's got you're, uh, pipe all blocked up."

But seeing the disgruntled look on his face, you remember just how much pain he's been trying to cover up for the past week. How many times you've found him hunched in the bathroom, dreading a piss.

You reach over and try to soothe him, gently stroking his thigh.

"It's okay, baby. We'll get the official test results soon. In the meantime, just keep drinking lots of water and get some actual rest."

"Whatever," he mutters.

But underneath the embarrassment, the shit, I'm getting old bit cropping back up again, and the Dean Winchester quirk of not wanting to be fussed over, not wanting to be seen as weak or ridiculous — what finally surfaces past all that is you.

Specifically, how much you push him to take care of himself.

Besides Sam, you're the only one who manages to keep him in check, the only one who cares that much, that you'd literally try to steal his car.

Yeah, I love you tends to cut through pretty much all the other bullshit.

Dean might not always express it words, but he does it now, taking your hand off his lap and pressing a kiss to your wrist, right over your pulse point.

You briefly take your eyes off the road to glance over at him, smiling. He's going to be out of commission for a while until this little problem clears up, in more ways than one.

The great Dean Winchester.

Beats Death itself, too many times to count.

Felled by pebble in his...well...proverbial shoe.

You try to hide your amusement, if not your affection. You bite your lip hard.

"Shut up," he warns, even though his lips twitch upward.

Your snort of laughter escapes before you can reign it in.

Beau Arlen

Beau is resistant at first, but he's probably the easiest to wrangle into seeing the doctor, whether it's yearly checkups or a man flu gotten out of control.

("You know what, my throat still feels weird on the left side, especially when I swallow. Feels scratchy and, uh, kinda hurts. You think I should get it looked at? What if it's laryngitis, or pneumonia, or God forbid, throat cancer. I mean, throat cancer, honey! That's nothin' to laugh at.")

You wish he'd have that "proactive" mentality with other areas of his health too, like not overworking himself at the precinct.

But when it comes to one exam in particular, he's your typical male of a certain age.

No matter how many times you remind him and write down the appointment on the calendar stuck to the fridge so he doesn't forget, he conjures some excuse for why he couldn't make it.

At first it's begrudgingly amusing, but by the third time, you're concerned, and even annoyed that he isn't taking his health more seriously.

"Look, I know it's not exactly pleasant, but this stuff is important. You gotta take care of yourself," you say.

You know you don't have to remind him that he has a daughter, but you will pull that card if you have to.

"Yeah, I know. It's just, uh..." Beau trails off, hands on his hips. He doesn't know what to tell you to make you understand how much he'd rather not go to this appointment.

"It's just a prostate exam, babe. I'll bet it's not half as invasive as a pap smear," you say wryly.

Beau shakes his head at you. "That very well may be, but believe you me, no man wants a latex finger up his..."

You raise your brows and tilt your head with a smile. "Well, you know. Some guys actually—"

Beau waves a hand at whatever you were going to say next.

"You know what, forget I said anything. I'd rather just live my life not knowing what's down there. Really, I'm good."

You utter a laugh, but you sidle up to him and grasp the open edges of his jacket. You turn your face up to him with a more sensuous smile.

"You don't mind when I do it," you tease.

Beau actually blushes. His cheeks and the tips of his ears tinge pink.

He clears his throat, his hands settling on the curve of your waist.

"Well, that's different," he says. His voice pitches lower, his green eyes taking on a slight mischievous gleam. "You're just teasin' the cave. You're not looking for coal."

Laughter bursts out of you like a gut punch. Your forehead falls against his chest as your entire body shakes with giggles.

Beau wraps you up in his arms. He tries and fails to temper his grin, even though his cheeks are still burning.

"All right, fine. I'll go," he says. "But I don't want to hear a damn peep out of you when I get back."

Soldier Boy (Ben)

(Oh, good fucking luck on this one.)

Ben rarely, if ever, gets sick. Of course, he's also nearly invulnerable.

However, you've been trying to get him to see a different kind of medical professional.

"Excuse me?" he growls. The first time you suggest it, he dismissed the idea with a roll of his eyes, thinking you were just trying to get a rise out of him. He doesn't appreciate you bringing it up again. "You better be fucking kidding."

"Ben..." You try to ply him with a gentle hand on his arm, but he shrugs you off, too irritated to curb the impulse.

"I'm fucking crazy, is that it? That what you're trying to say?" His voice raises, notch after notch. "I don't need a goddamn shrink!"

"I didn't say you were crazy!" you say. It's hard not to match his volume, but you manage to stand your ground while he huffs and puffs and eventually storms out.

You get discouraged and frustrated yourself, but you cling to every scrap of patience you can muster up for this man.

It's gonna take a few tries.

You start to suggest that maybe he should start easing up on the weed and the booze too.

Any time he snaps at you, you remind him that for as much shit as you've put up with him so far, this is the kind of shit that'll send you packing. Leaving his ass. For good.

He volleys back with empty words. "Fine, fucking leave."

You know they're empty, because every time you've called his bluff and packed a bag, he stops you.

"All right, enough. You've proved your fucking point."

After that, he tries to cut back on the booze, at least. He watches you pour out the Grey Goose and the Patrón.

Fucking fine by him. He's lost the taste for vodka, let alone that frilly French shit, and the cheap tequila.

But choking off the vein of one vice just makes another twice as strong.

Ultimately, it doesn't fix the problem either.

There's the time Ben blows a hole in the roof of your house (after a nightmare, he refuses to admit).

And there's a second time too. A third close call, and Ben pushes you clean off the bed so you won't get hurt.

If that didn't do it, he finally gets the picture after the second pink line appears on that white stick.

It now lies on your nightstand while you and Ben lay tangled together, bare skin against bare, flushed, sweaty skin.

A celebration, if you will.

His big hand lies splayed over your belly, protective, possessive, and deep down...grateful.

You glance up at the patched ceiling. Ben follows your gaze. His contentment fades into a frown, just like yours.

Both of you are thinking the same thing, if in different flavors of concern. Anxiety. (Guilt.)

"It's different now. You know that, right?" you say quietly. "If we're going to do this, you and me together, then I need you to protect us. Protect us from you."

At this point, you know he won't see a psychiatrist for his PTSD; not if it's to help himself (God forbid he admit that he needs it).

But if it's to protect you and your child, his own child...

Ben swallows a few acidic ounces of his pride.

Despite every cell in body that fights against it, he gets in his car the very next day and shows up for the appointment you made for him with Dr. David.

("What kind of quack fucking doctor goes by his first name, anyway? Christ.")

After the first couple of painfully awkward sessions, it's not so bad, Ben discovers.

He has a willing (heavily paid) audience for all of his stories from "the good old days."

Every gushy detail.

Russell Shaw

Russell is always quick to give reassurances, to downplay, to tell you that he's good.

But the day he comes home from a job with his bag hanging from his fingertips, almost dragging on the floor, his movements stiff as a rail — your heart sinks into your stomach.

"Hey, baby," he greets you tiredly, even tries to kiss you, but you're too busy running gentle hands over his arms and chest. Searching.

"Hmm, someone's missed me. Miss Handsy-yy-ahhh..." His playful quip dies the moment you find it.

Under his jacket lies the shoddy patch job on the bullet wound in his arm, located a few inches below the shoulder, just barely hidden by his sleeve.

"What the fuck is this?" you snap, half in anger, half in worry as tears spring hot in your eyes.

Russell immediately goes into damage control, soothing a hand down your arm and meeting your gaze.

"Hey, I'm okay. It's just a graze."

"Yeah fucking right. You're still bleeding!"

"Ehh, yeah, but no biggie. I've got some tools in the car—"

"No! We're going to the hospital."

"Sweetheart—"

"Right now! Let's go."

The man doesn't have the heart to argue with you too much after that. He knows he should've taken proper care of this before he got home. He really just wanted to, well, get home. To you.

But he regrets scaring you. He regrets making you worry.

He brushes the tears from your eyes and is grateful you don't ask what happened. He can't really tell you, even if he wanted to. His contract work with Horizon keeps his lips sealed for your safety, above all other reasons.

Only now does he begin to realize just how fucking unfair that is.

It really hits him when you sit with him for an hour and a half in the Emergency Department, waiting after the guy who fell off his moped, a kid with a little green army man stuck up his nose ("Hey, retro," Russell whispers to you), and a lady who can't seem to stop hiccuping.

Russell takes in a deep breath. He leans over to your ear.

"You know, we could just fix this up at home. A little needle and thread and some alcohol. Perfect First Aid kit," he says.

You narrow your gaze at him. "We're waiting to see a doctor. And don't think I'm done with you. When we get home, prepare to get punished."

A little smirk tugs at his lips. He brushes said lips across the back of your ear. "What am I, a little kid?"

You smile slightly as well.

"Well, if you're not going to tell me when you're hurt and try to cover it up like a little kid, that's how I'm gonna treat you."

Russell chuckles. His hand slips over your thigh.

"Gotta say, I'm kind of liking the sound of punishment. What'd you have in mind, sweetheart? Gonna spank me?"

And he's willing to give you more ideas.

You roll your eyes. Despite wanting to remain strong, his touch, the sensation of his lips brushing your ear sends a shiver curling down your spine.

"Oh, you just wait."

AN: lol I always have so much fun writing these. Let me know which one was your favorite this time! 💕

@waynes-multiverse You gave me another perfect little tidbit for Beau on Man Flu that made it into this one. 😂

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Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Beau Arlen Masterlist

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist 

Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Russell Tag List (Part 1)

@kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @luci-in-trenchcoats @lamentationsofalonelypotato

@mostlymarvelgirl @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester

@deans-spinster-witch @sanscas @hobby27 @kaleldobrev @spnwoman

@samanddeaninatrenchcoat @pieandmonsters @globetrotter28 @midnightmadwoman @chevroletdean

@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @chernayawidow

@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky

@my-stories-vault @0ccvltism @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @mrsjenniferwinchester

@fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused

@mrlonelycat @deans-daydream @leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989

@siampie @rubyvhs @winchestergirl2 @winchester-whiskey

[lologoinsolo]

Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Cats and Their Men Masterlist.

“Sir, I’m telling you.” You sit up a little more, “you cannot get a rabies shot from the vet.” You can’t believe what you’re hearing but also, you can believe it. “If you are worried that you have rabies then you need to go to the doctor.” You’ve repeated this so much that the man finally leaves in a huff. Well not before cussing you out for being a bitch to him. “Not shopping here anymore, my ass.” Mocking how he yelled that out before he left the store.

You take a breather when you start to get worked up. Rubbing your face like one would a cat, the smock you’re wearing is slightly wet and it’s making your skin prickle. You managed to get Jessica to let you start bathing two days ago. You figured it would be easier than working the register up front. Boy… were you wrong. The dogs are great, usually, but the pet owners or “Pet Parents” as the groomers say are not great, mostly.

Your eyes flicker over to the computer, you were making a ton of cold call to entice people to take their dogs in for bath or haircut when that guy was very insistent about needing to a rabies shot. “Can’t believe this—“ you start off but something catches your eyes. A man with a beard and a dark blue beanie is walking by holding some kitten salmon bags. A cat is walking right behind him. “Uh, sir!”

You stand up and come around to greet him. He must not’ve heard you with how he still walks. “Sir!” You yell a little louder and he pauses, turns around and looks at you. “Your cat,” you point down to the cat that’s now licking their toe beans. “They need to be leashed or in a kennel. They can’t be walking around.” It’s not safe, especially with other animals. The cat could get lost or worse! You start walking towards him, you plan on offering to help at least hold his cat for him.

He looks where you pointed and then looks at you coming up to him. “That’s not mine.”

You blink at him, your hands start to land on your hip. You’ve heard a lot of dumb things today but this is taking the cake. “Really?” You squint at him when the cat starts to rub at the man’s leg. “Sir, I understand that they are doing well by staying by you but it’s not safe—“

“Miss,” he cuts you off, he moves the kitten food to one arm, “I don’t have a cat.” He leans a little on his side, his chin tucks to his chest. There’s a spark of amusement in his deep blue eyes.

You can’t believe this. He’s holding kitten food in his hands, granted that cat isn’t a kitten but still! You take a deep breath, your patience has been running from you and you try to catch it once more. “Sir, the cat—“ just as you’re about your speech a man starts running up in your peripheral.

“Ah, there you are, love!” A familiar sound comes from the side, a dashing smile as always and slightly messed up face. “Was wondering if I’d catch you again— Sir?” Kyle turns from you and then looks slightly shocked. They know each other? “What are you?” He trails off when he sees the bag, “Oh, you’re cat sitting, I thought Johnny was gonna cat sit Bailey?” His arms cross a little, the puzzled look on his face brightens when he spots the cat doing a figure eight around the bearded man’s legs.

The man’s lips thin into a line, “Johnny’s needed, he had to head out.” Sadly, he ignores the cats affection, and then the older man looks from you to Kyle and then back to you. Something must’ve clicked in his head as his heavy brows lift just the slightest “I don’t have a cat, Miss,” he says to you, “bloke probably followed me in.” Kyle comes close and crouches, squatting right in front of the man. The cat perks up and nudges right against Kyle’s waiting hand.

“Looks like you, sir.” And the cat kinda does, there’s matching brown on the cats face, almost like a beard, and deep blue eyes, same as the man’s. “Just missing a cigar and fishing hat. Or beanie.”

“Garrick.” The older man’s voice is tight and looks on the edge of sounding like authority.

“Sir?” Kyle seems either none the wiser or is purposefully playing ignorant. He looks up with a grin, “it's fate, that’s your cat now.” He laughs and the older man looks none too happy. “Cat distribution center is at it again. Johnny will not be pleased one bit.”

“I don’t want the cat.” He looks to you and you shake your head side to side, same for your hands as you shake them in front of you.

“Sir, we can’t hold animals here.”

The man sighs long suffering like and Kyle laughs a little louder. “Face it, John,” he moves his hand down the cats back, who is now purring up a storm at all the loving, “he’s yours,” he lifts the cat's leg slightly to see the gender and the cat must think Kyle’s playing. He lets out a little noise and proceeds to curl and grip Kyle’s hand. Bunny kicking and licking at Kyle’s fingers. “Playful little guy.” Wiggling his hands some more and the cat pounces.

John, now that you know his name it’s rather suiting for him, tilts his head back with a sigh. The dark blue beanie he’s wearing scrunches slightly at the top. He mutters something under his breath about needing a smoke. Kyle continues playing with the cat and you wonder if that’s how he’s gotten more cuts on his hands and face. His kitty probably plays too roughly.

But, what are the odds that 3 men are back to back finding cats? You laugh a little and John tilts his head down towards you. Your laughter does and give him a sheepish smile, “don’t laugh now, sweetheart. You’re gonna help me with him.” His beard moves slightly as he looks none too happy. His cat really does look a little like him. Grumpy. You look to the empty grooming salon and then back at the two. Kyle has long since stood with the cat now up in his arms.

“Wonder if he’s old,” Kyle muses as he stands beside you, you in the middle of the two walls of man and muscle. “Would be a real match, eh, John?” The little nudge at age merely makes the older gent huff a laugh.

“Don’t test me, Garrick.” There’s no real bite in his words save for the twinkle in his eyes. You excuse yourself to go grab a cart for the two men, the grooming salon is as empty as can be. Jess can handle it, you think with a shrug as you walk on back. Pushing the cart and when you get close, you hear that they’re discussing names. Well, Kyle is at least.

“Could call him John Jr.” he holds up the cat a little, “beard boy, cigar, wonderer.” His names get worse and worse and you finally step in with a—

“How about Louis?” Both men look at you and you shuffle under their gaze, “that’s an old man name. I don’t really think the cat’s old though. Maybe 3 or 4 years old?”

There’s a little pause and you wonder if you should have went back to the grooming salon. “Old man name, huh?” John places the salmon kitten bag in the cart and quirks a brow to you. Kyle plops the cat down in the cart and already he’s off to sniffing the contents. “Just looks old, got a good amount of years left on him though. Ain’t that right, boy?” He moves his hand slowly to the cat. Louis purrs deeply and rubs right against his dad’s hand. Kyle says something, probably a tease, but you’re too entranced at what you see. A man that oozes strict authority, is being incredibly gentle in petting.

You really do need to work on your judgement. “Speaking of names,” you cough slightly, looking to Kyle whose’s already grabbing a nice looking cat bed. 2 to exact, his cat is definitely spoiled, “What’d you name your girl after all?”

“Oh, yeah, that…” He gives a small smile making your brows turn up. You think the worst, you really hope he didn’t give her away but you don’t know his circumstance or his home life. Just before you spiral he speaks, “don’t laugh, but her name is Marina.” You breathe a sigh of relief you didn’t know your were holding in. But you start to look downright puzzled at why he think you’d laugh. “She’s,” Kyle starts, he seems a little squirmy now, “she’s named after that lady on Sinbad… you know… the one with Eris in it and Sinbad had to—“ it starts to click.

“Oh!” Your noise alerts Louis who was making biscuits on one of the beds, “I remember that movie. Very regal sounding and I think it’s very fitting considering Marina was a bit sassy.” You loved her character in that movie. “She’ll look even cuter in that pirate costume with a name like that.”

“Thank you,” he sighs in relief, “Johnny thought it was dumb. Wanted to name her Rugrat,” he scowls, “course he was taking a piss but still.”

“Well,” you pull a face at that, “this Johnny has no idea what he’s talking about. I thought you said he was good with names?”

John’s eyes squint as he scoffs. “He can’t name shit.” He’s heard all the stupid names that the Scot has given his bombs. Cannot hear about another ‘BoomBoom’ or ‘Bigbooming’ without wanting to roll his eyes. Hard.

You laugh at this Johnny’s expense. You have a feeling that with the way this has been going… you’ll probably meet him sooner rather than later. It’s a real small world that the men you’re talking to also happens to be friend. Weird coincidences…

You end up joking back and forth with Kyle the entire time you take them around the store. Kyle’s been picking up more things for his baby and Louis is snoozing on the cat bed like the “old man” that he is. You give John the full rundown just like the two men before. He takes in your information like you’re giving him instructions on how to build a ship, very laser focused. Every time you looked away he’d follow you to keep eye contact. Your cheeks have never been warmer…

Eventually you get them both back to the grooming salon. Rather than making them go up front you use the register here to start scanning their items. Even slid them some coupons and discounts much to John’s strong disagreement. You bagged all their items and passed them both their receipts, giving Louis one last rubbing that wakes the old grump up. You quietly apologized for your transgressions and wave at the men once they take their leave. John gives a nod but Kyle waves back, you barely catch what Kyle says as they start walking away.

“…m’s gonna be back this week or next, sir?”

“This week, Gaz. Now help me load my truck.”

“Yes, sir. Johnny is gonna be livid that you have a cat now.”

[meazalykov]

running on empty

barcelona femeni x picadisordered!reader with features of platonic!alexia putellas x f!reader, and platonic!ingrid engen x f!reader

warnings: pica disorder, eating disorder mentions, health issues like anemia involved, fainting. id research what pica disorder is since some details might be uncomfortable or unfamiliar to read.

some people would call pica a mental disorder as much as it is a physical one. 

it’s not just about chewing things that aren’t food like ice, or napkins, or chalk. it’s the pull and relentless need that is buried deep into your thoughts.

for you it’s a secret you thought you’d left in your childhood, locked away with memories of sneaking paper scraps or nibbling on ice when no one was looking. 

secrets don’t stay buried, do they? 

they creep back when you’re not looking, when life gets too loud to notice the cracks forming under the facade of everything.

everything like the fact that you’ve been with barcelona for two seasons so far. fans adore you since you came from your last club in germany. all of your teammates rely on you for many things. 

alexia’s sharp passes find you on the pitch, kika’s need for advice all of the time keeps you busy off of the pitch, doing esmee’s hairstyles keeps you concentrated, and vicky and salma’s pranks keeps you alert. 

you’re a footballer and a person who’s fought for every inch to get here. 

unfortunately off the field, something’s shifting. 

it started after the olympics, that blur of gold medals and exhaustion with your national team. you forgot to keep taking your iron pills. it wasn’t deliberate; they just slipped from your routine, like a misplaced sock. 

you didn’t notice at first. 

you were fine while training, laughing, pushing through the ache in your legs. you simply ‘blamed it on the grind.’ 

with your low zinc and iron levels… those, yes those, cravings came back. it was so subtle at first, like a whisper. ice, crunching between your teeth in the locker room, passed off as a quirk. napkins, torn from the bottom of takeaway bags, chewed until they dissolve into nothing. 

things like cornstarch and chalk…god, the thought of it makes your mouth water, that dry, dusty texture calling like an old habit from your childhood. well, it was.

you haven’t given in to that one, but the urge is there, sharp and persistent. every time you pass the tactics board in the training room and notice the chalk. your heart races just thinking about it, a mix of want and shame.

you don’t tell anyone. 

how could you? 

your teammates would stare, their eyes flickering with confusion or pity. 

“y/n, you eat what?” 

you imagine the whispers, the sidelong glances. you’re the one who’s supposed to have it together, the one who scores under pressure and who fights for every ball. not the one who craves things that could break her and the inside of her body. 

pica’s one thing, but you’ve noticed other signs.

example.. the skipped meals, and the way hunger feels distant when you’re chewing ice or shredding napkins. it’s not just pica anymore; it’s teetering on the edge of something darker.

the thought makes your chest tighten, so you don't think about it much.

you hide it well. gum during training keeps your mouth busy. you dodge team meals when you can, slipping away to crunch ice in private or tear at paper when no one’s watching. 

you tell yourself it’s fine, just a phase, but at night, alone in your apartment, the cravings hit hardest. 

you sit on your bed, staring at a glass of water, ice cubes catching the light. you fish one out, feel its cold bite against your fingers. it’s not enough to hold it…you need it in your mouth, need the crack of it shattering. 

the sound soothes you, but the guilt doesn’t.

it’s heavy, that guilt. it is heavier than sprint drills or double sessions. you know this isn’t normal. you know you should tell someone…your doctor, a therapist, even patri, who’s always got your back and never judges you for even the weirdest shit. 

however, saying it out loud means admitting it’s real, that this thing from your past has its claws in you again. 

what if they think you’re weak? or stupid? what if they bench you, citing “health concerns”? what if this costs you barcelona? the new season’s coming, and you’re running out of time to keep this contained. 

your energy’s slipping, your focus fraying, and the line between pica and something worse, food wide, is blurring. 

you’re still fighting, still scoring, but it’s harder now. especially after coming back from the pre-season in the united states, you’re not sure how long you can keep this from spilling over.

in your apartment, you’re sprawled on the couch with the hum of the nugget ice machine in the kitchen a constant background noise. it’s late and  where the world feels too quiet, with your thoughts being too loud. 

you’re scrolling on your phone, mindlessly, when you stumble across a website selling edible chalk. it’s marketed as “safe” and “natural,” and the pictures…smooth, creamy sticks in pastel shades…make your mouth water in a way that feels both familiar and dangerous. 

you don’t think about it too much; you just order a pack. 

it arrives two days later, and now it’s sitting on your coffee table, a small box of chalk sticks staring back at you.

you tear open the package, the powdery scent hitting you immediately. it’s not food, you know that, but the urge is overwhelming, a strange feeling crashing over your better judgment. you pick up a stick, roll it between your fingers, feel its grainy texture. 

your heart’s racing, part shame, part anticipation. you take a bite. it crumbles in your mouth, dry and earthy, coating your tongue in a way that’s both strange and satisfying. you chew slowly at first, savoring the texture, then faster, taking another stick, then another. 

you eat until your stomach feels heavy, full in a way it hasn’t in days. 

you don’t think about the protein shakes or the fiber-packed meals you’re supposed to be eating to fuel your body for the season. you don’t think about how this fullness isn’t the kind that nourishes. 

you just eat, and for a moment, the craving quiets.

it’s not enough. the next morning, you wake up and make breakfast…two pieces of toast, a scrambled egg, a handful of strawberries. it’s a good meal, one your nutritionist would approve of, but it’s only half of the truth. 

the other part of the truth is the bowl of nugget ice you crunch through while the eggs cook, the cold numbing your teeth, filling the empty spaces in your stomach. it’s not hunger, not exactly, but it’s something.

you tell yourself it’s fine, that you’re eating enough. deep down, you know you’re replacing real food with ice, with napkins, with chalk. you’re not starving, but you’re not feeding your body what it needs, either. 

at training, you’re warming up with the team, the barcelona sun already warming the pitch. alexia’s beside you, her presence grounds you. you’re close with her, always have been since even before you came to barcelona thanks to social media. 

she’s the captain, the one who knows when to push everyone and when to listen. 

before the last set of drills, your stomach rumbles which is loud enough to make her glance over with a chuckle. 

“did you eat breakfast, y/n?” she asks, tossing a ball your way.

“yeah,” you say, catching it with a forced grin. 

it’s not a lie since you had toast, eggs, and strawberries. again, it’s not the whole truth either. the ice takes up space in your mind, in your stomach, and you can’t tell her that. 

ale has no reason to doubt you, so she just nods. you both jog ahead to join the others. you push through the last drill, your legs moving and your lungs burning like usual. 

however, there’s a heaviness you can’t shake. by the end of the session, you’re weaker than usual. your passes are sloppier, your sprints are slower. 

irritation prickles under your skin, sharp. you bite it back, focusing on your breathing until it passes.

ingrid finds you after, her dark hair pulled back, her smile always so easy. you’re close with her too, her quiet strength a contrast to alexia’s. she notices you chugging your water bottle, nearly draining it in one go, and raises an eyebrow. 

“good practice?” she asks, leaning against the bench.

you snort, going for sarcasm to mask the exhaustion, “oh, yeah, best day of my life.” 

she laughs, taking it as a joke, not catching the edge in your voice. your stomach rumbles again, louder this time, and her expression shifts to concern. 

“come on,” the norwegian says while nudging you, “let’s hit the lounge. they’ve got lunch.”

you hesitate but follow her. 

the lounge is full of your teammates, plates piled with protein filled chicken tacos, rice, and vegetables. you grab a plate, load it with a few tacos, and sit across from ingrid. the napkin beside your plate catches your eye, thin and crinkly, and the craving hits hard as if you didn’t have real food right in front of you. 

it’s like an itch you can’t ignore, a pull stronger than hunger. when ingrid looks away to talk to frido, you tear off a corner of the napkin and slip it into your mouth. 

you chew slowly, the paper softening, dissolving. it’s not food, but it feels like it fills something. ingrid turns back, oblivious, assuming you’re chewing taco meat. 

you force a smile, swallow, and take a bite of your taco. 

a week later, the exhaustion is undeniable. 

your face shows it with dark circles under your eyes. 

it’s been three months since you stopped taking your iron and zinc pills, and your body’s screaming for them now. you’re tired all the time, your muscles aching even on rest days. training feels like wading through quicksand or mud. you’re snappier, less patient. 

you catch alexia watching you during a water break, her eyes narrowing. 

“you okay, y/n?” she asks, her english accented which is gentle and firm.

“yeah,” you say, too quick. 

she doesn’t buy it. you can tell by the way her lips press together, but you don’t give her a chance to push. 

“just tired. long week.” you turn away, focusing on your cleat laces, and your water bottle, anything to avoid her gaze. 

she lets it go, but you feel her eyes on you for the rest of the session.

that afternoon, the heat is brutal at 97 degrees (fahrenheit), the air is super thick and humid. you’re running drills, sweat soaking your kit, when the world tilts. 

dizziness hits like a wave, stars bursting in your vision. 

your stomach churns, bile rising in your throat. you slow, then stop, sinking to the grass as your legs give out. 

you lie back, the ground cool against your burning skin, and try to breathe through the nausea. 

you’re not injured, not in the usual way, but something’s wrong.

alexia’s there first, her shadow falling over you. 

“y/n, what’s going on?” her voice is sharp with worry. 

ingrid and esmee are right behind her, their faces a mix of concern and confusion. the rest of the team stands ten feet away in confusion, not wanting to overwhelm you with so many faces at once. 

“where are you hurt?” ingrid asks, kneeling beside you.

“not hurt,” you mumble, your voice weak with your hands rised above and resting on your forehead. 

“just… dizzy. seeing stars.” your head spins, and you close your eyes, trying to keep the world still. 

you hear alexia call for the medic, her tone urgent. after a few minutes, some hands belonging to esmee and caro guide you up, and you’re half-carried to the medical area at the training center. 

the cool air inside is a relief, but the dizziness lingers. your body is heavy, and your mind is foggy. the medic checks your vitals, asks questions you answer in half-sentences. 

you don’t tell them about the chalk, the ice, the napkins, or the iron and zinc thing. you don’t tell them about the meals you’ve skipped, the way your hunger feels like a distant thing.

you just say you’re tired, dehydrated, maybe didn’t eat enough. 

it’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

you’re back in your apartment by 8pm, the sterile chill of the medical center still lingering on your skin. the doctors chalked it all up to dehydration, hooking you to a couple of IVs and sending you home with instructions to “drink more water” and “take it easy.” 

you nodded, mumbled your thanks, and left. your body feels heavy but you’re home now. 

you’re sprawled on your couch, crunching ice from a glass, when a knock at the door startles you. it’s just past 9pm. you walk slowly to your door and check the peephole…kika and esmee, your best friends on the team, stand outside, their faces a mix of concern.

you open the door, forcing a smile. 

“hey,” you say, stepping aside to let them in. 

kika’s quick to pull you into a hug, her energy as bright as ever, while esmee’s quieter, her eyes scanning you like she’s trying to read a playbook. 

“oh my– are you okay, love?” kika asks, plopping onto your couch. 

“you scared the hell out of us today.”

“yeah, i’m fine,” you lie, the words slipping out too easily. 

“just dehydrated, like the doc said.” you sit across from them, tucking your legs under you, hoping they don’t notice the tremor in your hands. 

believing you, kika launches into a rant about next week’s el clasico, her hands flying as she talks about madrid’s defense and how barcelona is going to tear through it. 

you nod, laugh at the right moments, even throw in a comment about the last clasico game. it’s easy to fall into the rhythm with kika… she has no filter, and it distracts you from the emptiness in your chest.

esmee’s different. 

she’s quieter tonight, her eyes drifting around your apartment. you catch her staring at the kitchen counter, where the open box of edible chalk sits, half-hidden behind a bag of grounded coffee. 

your stomach drops. 

you meant to put it away, but you were too tired, too distracted. 

esmee’s gaze lingers, her brow furrowing slightly. edible chalk? 

you can almost hear her thoughts…why would y/n have that? esmee joins the conversation, though, her voice soft as she teases kika about her obsession with beating madrid. but you see it…the way her eyes flick back to the box, the question she’s not asking yet.

“so, uh, what’s with the chalk?” esmee says finally, pointing at the counter with a casual tilt of her head. 

the dutch watches you closely. 

kika pauses mid-sentence, looking confused, and you feel your heart lurch.

you laugh, a little too loud, and wave it off. 

“oh, that? just some dumb tiktok trend,” you say, leaning back to seem relaxed, “you know, those weird food challenges people do.” 

it’s a weak excuse, and you know it. 

esmee’s lips twitch, like she’s holding back a response. 

the ditch girl is chronically online and she knows there’s no tiktok trend about eating chalk. hwoever, she just nods, says, “huh, weird,” and lets it drop. 

kika’s already back to talking about el clasico, oblivious, and you’re grateful for the distraction. 

you keep up the act, joking with them, but your mind’s racing. 

esmee isn't buying it, and that scares you more than the dizziness did.

they stay for an hour, the conversation looping from football to random gossip about things happening in the team. 

when they finally leave, you hug them both, promising you’re fine, that you’ll see them at training tomorrow. 

the second the door closes, you bolt to the kitchen, grab the chalk box, and shove it into a cabinet behind a stack of protein powders. 

your hands shake as you close the door, your pulse loud in your ears. you can’t risk anyone else seeing it…alexia, ingrid, anyone that is not already esmee and kika. you’re already skating on thin ice, your body betraying you with every skipped meal, every piece of ice or napkin you chew instead of real food. 

the chalk’s just the latest piece of a puzzle you’re too scared to look at, one that’s starting to look less like a pica disorder and more like something you can’t name.

you drag yourself to training the next day, your legs feeling super heavy. the weakness hasn’t let up since you fainted on the pitch last week, and it’s starting to show in every step. 

you’re in the dressing room, lacing up your boots, when alexia’s voice cuts through the chatter. she’s standing by your locker, arms crossed, her eyes locked on you with that intensity that makes it impossible to look away. 

“y/n, have you eaten today?” she asks, her voice full with concern.

you force a nod, the lie coming too easily. 

“yeah, i had breakfast.” 

it’s not true. you had a handful of nugget ice and half a protein bar you couldn’t finish because the chalk from last night still sat heavy in your stomach. you’re not hungry, not in the way you should be.

you try to meet alexia’s gaze, but her eyes narrow, and you know you’re caught.

“i don’t believe you?” she says flatly, stepping closer. 

the catalan’s voice is low, but it carries the weight of someone who’s seen you slipping and isn’t about to let it slide again. 

“you fainted last week, y/n. you’re pale, and you’re slow, which is unbelievable to say about the fastest player on the team yet here we are, and you look like you’re about to collapse again. you’re not going out to train until i see you eat something healthy.” 

ale is not asking since she’s telling you, her tone leaving no room for argument.

you sigh, long with the fight draining out of you. 

“fine,” you mutter, grabbing your water bottle to avoid her stare. 

you can feel esmee watching from across the dressing room, her eyes quiet. she hasn’t said anything, but you know she’s been piecing things together since she and kika visited your apartment. 

you’d caught the way she looked at the edible chalk box, the way the “tiktok trend” excuse didn’t land. 

you’re not sure what she knows, but the thought of her suspecting anything makes your stomach twist.

alexia gestures toward the door. 

“come on. upstairs, breakfast lounge. now.” you don’t argue since you can’t, not with her like this. 

you follow her out, feeling esmee’s gaze on your back as you leave. the walk to the lounge is silent, alexia’s presence is a pressure beside you. 

she’s not just your captain since she’s your friend, and one of the few you’ve let get close. 

this secret you’re carrying about the cravings is a wall you’ve built even against her.

back in the dressing room, esmee’s still sitting on the bench, her hands fidgeting with her shin guards. she’s been quiet since she left your apartment last week, her mind turning over what she saw. 

the edible chalk box stuck with her, nagging at her until she googled it later that night. 

“pica disorder,” the search results said about craving and consuming non-food items, often linked to nutritional deficiencies or stress. 

she read about ice, paper, chalk, even cornstarch, and her stomach sank as she thought of you, pale and dizzy on the pitch, your energy fading. 

she didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but the pieces were starting to fit together.

ingrid notices esmee’s silence and slides onto the bench beside her. 

“is everything okay?” she asks, her voice soft but probing. 

the norwegian has always been good at reading people, her quiet aura pulling people out of silences.

esmee hesitates, then sighs, her shoulders slumping. 

“i don’t know,” she says, glancing at the door you and alexia just walked through. 

“it’s y/n. when kika and i went to her place last week, i saw this box on her counter. edible chalk. maybe im just overthinking it but she said it was some tiktok trend, but…” she trails off, shaking her head, “i looked it up. there’s no trend like that and then i found stuff about pica disorder. it’s when people crave things that aren’t food like chalk, ice, and paper whenever they are stressed or have low iron levels. it’s not normal, ingri. now she’s fainting, looking weak all the time. i don’t know if it’s serious, but it’s weird, right?”

ingrid’s face shifts, her dark brows moving as she processes esmee’s words. she’s quiet for a moment, her mind drifting back to you…specifically, to the way you always ask for extra ice in your drinks. 

she’d noticed it before, thought it was just a quirk. 

you’d down the liquid in seconds, then crunch through the ice like it was the main course. your jaw always works as if it was the most satisfying thing in the world. she’d laughed about it once, teasing you for “eating your drink,” but now it hits differently. 

pairing with esmee’s discovery, it feels like a warning sign, one she can’t ignore.

“ice,” ingrid murmurs, almost to herself. 

“she’s always chewing ice. i thought it was just… her thing. but if she’s eating chalk too…” her voice trails off, and she leans back, her expression heavy. 

“pica can be linked to deficiencies, right? like iron or zinc. i know what you’re talking about, es. if she’s not eating properly, if she’s replacing healthy food with… this stuff…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, but the implication hangs in the air. 

she’s scared now, wondering if you’ve been neglecting your health, unintentionally or not, chasing these cravings instead of the nutrients your body needs to survive the demands of football.

esmee nods, her eyes wide. 

“exactly. and she’s not herself. you saw her out there last week and she could barely stand. today, she looks worse. i didn’t want to say anything to her face, but i’m worried.”

ingrid’s mind races, piecing together the signs she’s missed. the skipped meals at team lunches, the way you’ve been quieter, more withdrawn. she thinks about the protein and fiber you’re supposed to be eating to keep up with the season’s intensity, and how your body must be screaming for nutrients you’re not giving it. 

pica’s one thing, but the way it’s intertwining with your eating habits by skipping real food, and filling up on ice and chalk…it’s starting to look like something worse. 

the thought makes her chest ache. 

you’re her friend, her teammate, and she feels like she’s failed you by not noticing sooner.

“we need to keep an eye on her,” ingrid says finally, her voice firm but quiet. 

“alexia’s already on it, but she doesn’t know about the cravings. we should tell her…carefully. y/n’s not going to like it, but she needs help.” 

esmee nods, but there’s a heaviness in her expression.

upstairs in the breakfast lounge, alexia’s watching you like a hawk. she’s pushed a plate of scrambled eggs, avocado, and whole-grain toast in front of you, her arms crossed as she waits. 

“now let's eat,” she says, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. 

you poke at the eggs, your stomach churning…not from hunger, but from that stupid piece of chalk you ate last night, and the ice you crunched this morning. 

you force a few bites, each one feeling like a chore. 

alexia’s eyes soften slightly, but she doesn’t let up. 

“all of it, y/n. you’re not leaving for training until you do.”

you nod, swallowing hard, the food tasting like ash compared to the chalk’s gritty pull. 

you’re not sure how much longer you can keep this up. 

the lies, the cravings, the weakness dragging you down. 

esmee’s suspicion, ingrid’s worry, alexia’s insistence…they’re closing in, and you’re running out of places to hide.

you’re sitting in the breakfast lounge, the plate in front of you holding the remnants of a protein bar and a few egg bites. alexia’s been watching you like a hawk. you’ve managed to get through most of it, the food sitting heavy in your stomach, but it’s not what you want. 

the thin, brown paper napkin beside your plate is calling to you, its crinkly texture practically begging to be chewed. 

your fingers twitch, itching to tear off a piece, to feel it dissolve in your mouth. you know it’s not food, but your body… aka your iron-deficient, zinc-starved body…craves it like it’s the only thing that matters.

ingrid interrupts your thoughts, she walks into the room but stays by the door, her voice is casual but its clear she needs something. 

“alexia, i need you in the locker room for a sec,” she says, standing up and giving you a quick glance. 

alexia hesitates, her eyes flicking to your plate. 

she’s seen you eat enough to satisfy her for now with the protein bar, and the egg bites so she nods, pushing her chair back. 

“i’ll be right back, y/n,” she says, her tone light but with that edge that means she’s still keeping an eye on you. 

they leave, and you’re alone, the napkin staring you down.

you don’t hesitate long. your fingers snatch the napkin, tearing off a corner and slipping it into your mouth. the paper is rough at first, then softens as you chew, the faint woody taste soothing something deep inside you. 

it’s not enough, but it’s something, and you keep going, tearing another piece, then another, until half the napkin is gone. 

your heart’s racing but not from guilt, not yet. 

it is from the relief of giving in.

down in the locker room, ingrid doesn’t waste time. the second they’re out of earshot from you, she turns to alexia with her expression too serious for a woman like her. 

“it’s y/n,” ingrid says, “esmee told me something last night. when she and kika went to y/n’s place, she saw a box of edible chalk on the counter. y/n said it was a tiktok trend, but esmee looked it up since there’s no trend about that. it’s a pica disorder. people crave non-food things, like chalk, ice, paper. i’ve noticed her with ice, ale. she’s always chewing it, like it’s her meal and now she’s fainting, losing weight, looking weaker every day. i’m worried she’s not eating enough real food, that this is turning into something worse.”

alexia’s face hardens, her jaw tightening as ingrid’s words sink in. 

she thinks back to your pallor, your sluggishness, the way you’ve been dodging team meals. she’d suspected something was off, but this is bigger than she thought. 

“pica,” she repeats, the word unfamiliar, “and you think she’s… what, not eating? like an eating disorder?”

ingrid nods, her eyes troubled. 

“maybe. pica can be tied to deficiencies, like iron or zinc. if she’s filling up on chalk or ice instead of food, her body’s not getting what it needs. we need to get her to the doctor, ale. she’s not okay.”

ale doesn’t wait. 

she turns on her heel, striding back to the lounge, ingrid close behind. when they walk in, you’re mid-chew, the napkin in your mouth, and you freeze. alexia’s eyes zero in on the empty spot where the napkin used to be. 

she steps closer, her voice calm but firm. 

“y/n, where’s the napkin that was right here?” she asks, pointing to the table.

your heart lurches. 

“i, uh, spilled some water,” you say, the lie is clumsy, “used it to clean up and threw it away.” there’s still a piece of napkin in your mouth, and you want to try and swallow it discreetly, but alexia’s not buying it.

“spit it out,” she says, her voice soft but strict, “whatever’s in your mouth, y/n. now.”

your heart drops, a cold sweat prickling your skin. 

you want to argue, but her eyes are locked on you, and there’s no escaping it. slowly, you lean over the plate and spit out a wet, chewed-up ball of brown napkin. 

it lands with a soft thud, and the silence that follows is deafening. 

ingrid frowns, her expression a mix of worry and sadness. 

alexia sighs, running a hand through her hair.

“how long has this been going on?” alexia asks, her voice still gentle but with a weight that makes your chest ache. 

“the pica and the cravings, y/n. how long?”

you look down, your hands trembling in your lap. 

“most of my life,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper, “it… it went away for a while. but it came back after the olympics. i don’t know why.”

ingrid steps closer, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder. 

“we’re getting you to the team doctor,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument, “today.”

you nod, too tired to fight. the walk to the medical area feels endless, alexia and ingrid flanking you like protective older sisters. when you reach the doctor’s office, you hesitate, the thought of spilling everything overwhelming. 

“can… can you both stay?” you ask, your voice small. 

they nod, no questions asked, and you’re grateful for it.

the doctor, a kind-faced woman who’s seen you through sprains and injuries, listens as you explain. you tell her about the ice, the napkins, the chalk and how you’ve been craving them, how they fill a void food doesn’t. 

she asks when you last ate a full meal, and you freeze. 

you can’t remember. a protein bar here, a few bites of eggs there, but a real, complete meal? 

it’s been weeks, maybe longer. 

ingrid and alexia exchange a glance, their worry palpable.

the doctor has you step on the scale. the number flashes…eight pounds lighter than your last weigh-in a month ago. 

“that’s not healthy, y/n,” she says, her voice matter-of-fact but kind, “have you been taking your iron pills?”

your heart sinks, the realization hitting you so hard that a tear threatens to come out of your eye.. 

“i… forgot,” you admit, “after the olympics, i forgot the pills in my paris hotel room and forgot to buy more… i stopped.”

the doctor sighs, nodding as if she expected this. 

“pica is often linked to deficiencies, especially iron and zinc. without those supplements, your body’s craving things to compensate. but this—” she gestures to the scale, “this is affecting your health. you’re not getting the nutrients you need, and it’s showing.”

alexia and ingrid listen, their faces a mix of concern and determination. 

the doctor lays out a plan: the club will administer your iron and zinc pills before training or game days to ensure you take them. on vacation, you’ll set phone reminders to take them with breakfast. she emphasizes eating full, balanced meals like protein, fiber, all of the works.

sge suggests keeping ice as a “dessert” since it’s hydrating and less harmful. 

“but no more chalk, no more napkins,” she says firmly, “those aren’t food, y/n. theres dyes in the napkins that can harm you and your body needs real fuel.”

back at your apartment five hours later, ingrid’s with you. she's not overbearing thankfully. she hands you a trash bag, her eyes gentle. 

“you know what to do,” she says. 

you nod, your throat tight, and pull the box of edible chalk from the cabinet. it’s half-empty, the pastel sticks mocking you. you toss it into the bag, the weight of it hitting the bottom with a thud. 

next, you find the two containers of cornstarch which was another pica favorite you’d stashed away and throw them in too. 

your hands shake, but ingrid’s there, her hand on your back, grounding you.

“you’re doing the right thing,” she says softly. 

you nod, but it doesn’t feel right. it feels like losing a piece of yourself, even if that piece was hurting you.

the first few weeks are brutal. 

the cravings did not stop just because the chalk and cornstarch are gone. you catch yourself staring at napkins during team meals, your fingers itching to tear them apart. the ice is easier since you can still have it. 

you do, crunching it after meals like a lifeline. but eating real food feels like a chore. the protein shakes, the grilled chicken, the vegetables…they taste bland compared to the gritty pull of chalk or the soft dissolve of paper. 

you force yourself to eat, plate after plate. alexia and ingrid, along with the other older adults like marta and irene, are watching. 

the doctor checks in weekly, because you know you can’t keep feeling weak on the pitch.

your body’s still recovering, your energy low from months of neglect. 

you’re slower, your passes less sharp, and it frustrates you. people start to notice and wonder if you’ve been okay lately. is your passion for football still there? some fans wonder.

alexia notices your frustration, pulling you aside after a session to remind you to be patient. 

“you’re rebuilding,” she says, her voice kind, “it’s not going to happen overnight.” you nod, but the frustration still lingers. it is a constant reminder of how far you’ve slipped.

ingrid starts checking in daily, sometimes showing up at your apartment with groceries, cooking meals with you to make it less daunting. 

she doesn’t push, but she’s there, chopping vegetables and stirring sauce. 

one night, as you’re eating a bowl of quinoa and salmon she made, you catch yourself reaching for a napkin but not to wipe your hands, but to chew. 

you stop, your hand freezing mid-air, and ingrid notices. 

she doesn’t say anything, just slides the napkin out of reach and hands you a glass of water with ice. 

“dessert,” she says with a small smile, and you laugh, the tension breaking.

the iron and zinc pills help a lot, but slowly. the club’s staff hands you your iron and zinc before training, and you take them without fail, the routine becoming a small victory. you set reminders on your phone for off-days, the chime a nagging but necessary thing. 

your energy starts to creep back. a month goes by and you’re the fastest player on the team again along with salma, and your dribbling is up to excellent standards again. it feels nice that your sprints are less labored now. 

at least you’re eating again, wel at least eating real and edible food. it’s still a fight every day, a battle against the part of you that still craves the wrong things. 

luckily, you have so much physical and mental support that beats the unfortunate craving.

masterlist

[deepestnightcolor]

Oml I love your writing, I just binged all the Sam fics! I saw you take requests for Harvey 👀 any chance for a “confidential check up?”

Hello, dear anon!~ Thank you so much for both the compliment and request. This was my first time writing a full-blown Harvey fic - and I hope I did suffice :D

Thanks for your request, and thank you so much for your time and love! <3

ᴀ/ɴ: as I said, this is my first time writing a Harvey fic and I am still sick, so I hope it will suffice!!

PS: I hid two Easter eggs this time. >:)

PPS: maybe 2,5, one being a slight nod at @sashiavi >:))

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Harvey (SDV) x Fem!eader

ᴡᴄ: 4194 words

ᴍᴅɴɪ ✧ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: medical misconduct, unprotected sex, light nipple play, seductive reader, Harvey's a little insecure.

☾ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ, ɢɪᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ᴀ ʀᴇᴍᴇᴅʏ ☽

A secret that you'd never share? Simple and carnal, your secret was. Primitive, even. You had only made the appointment with Doctor Harvey to finally wrap the man around your finger.

You had tried it fair and square at first, you seriously had! Coming by whenever he had time, bringing him little gifts you were sure he'd like; trying to engage him in conversation.

However, Harvey always seemed so busy, so professional. Telling you to take care and stay healthy and giving you advice on how you achieve just that. Always looking out for you, always gentle in his words and behavior. And by Yoba, it made you want to break him even more.

Also, what better way was there to implement your plan than to catch the little lamb where it felt the safest and most confident? Of course, it was a little unfair, pretending you needed his help and skills to treat an injury, but then again you did. Just not in the way Harvey would expect. He had loads of chances to get the hint, but nothing had worked. Not even when you had fished out the shortest skirt possible out of your closet and wore it with a top that left barely anything to one's imagination, accidentally falling on your knees right in front of Harvey, showing off those lace panties of yours. No, that hadn't worked either. Harvey had let out a gasp that made you believe you had finally done something to him, just to rush to your side and ask if you were okay. If you needed help, if you were dizzy. Fuck did you want to cry out that you were dizzy for him, his touch. Instead, you gave him a sweet smile, fluttering your lashes at him as you told him no, you were fine. But thank you so much, Harvey!

You had scrambled to your feet and made your way back to the farm with your head hanging, and that was the point you decided it would probably need to be all or nothing.

“So, what brings you here today? Maru only noted that you requested to see me. I hope you didn't hurt yourself?” Harvey asked, scooting closer on his rolling chair. You were already propped up on the table, smiling sweetly at Harvey.

You had picked out an excellent outfit for the day, if you were allowed to say so. A blouse that was easy to open up and discard, and a skirt that seemed modest enough yet was nothing but of the mere purpose of covering up your lack of panties. And you were hurting. Terribly so, even. For him.

“Nono, Doc. I just, you know. I've been feeling some kind of way. Under the weather, you might say.” You leaned forward a bit now, running your fingers through your hair before twirling a strand around your finger. You were met with a pair of green-brown eyes, so full of consideration and empathy. It made you want to just sit on his face and make him spill all of his care onto your sweet pussy until you could feel it in every part of your body.

“I see! And how does that show? Do you have a headache? Do you feel more tired than usual?”

So sweet and caring, Doctor Harvey. Too cute to not bite.

You let out a sigh as if you were contemplating, biting around on your lower lip. “No, that's not it. I don't know how to describe it, it's…embarrassing.”

The doctor looked up at you again, putting away his notepad now. He gave you a sweet, genuine smile. A hand landed on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"There’s absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about. This is a safe, confidential space; nothing will leave these walls.”

Go on, little lamb. Step right into the trap.

You leaned back a bit, pushing out your chest now. “Well, it's my chest. It's been so…so tender lately.”

A hum. That's all you got. A hum. Or so you thought. Because if you looked closely, you could see more. His moustache was twitching as his eyes flickered down to your breasts. Harvey was a professional, though. He quickly cleared his throat, nodding at you.

“Alright, I will glad- I would be happy- let's take a look, shall we?”

It took a lot from you to not break out in a grin; having the man break out in a stutter like that? It definitely was a step forward.

“Yes, please.” You needed to pretend to be innocent now - you didn't want to scare him away, after all.

Your fingers were quick to unbutton your shirt and your upper body was already bare before the doctor could even properly turn back to you. For a moment, his motions seemingly stuttered to a halt, his hands still clasped together from rubbing the disinfectant on them.

His moustache twitched again as he approached you, taking a seat on the chair again.

“Alright, my hands might be a little cold from the disinfectant, but I should be quick.”

Fuck, you hoped that he wouldn't be. You gave him a nod and what you hoped to be a shy smile, pushing your chest towards him a little.

And then, finally…Fucking finally you felt tender fingers on the soft skin of your breasts. It left you breathless for a moment, helpless as he traced the curves of your tits so expertly.

The moan falling from your lips really wasn't an accident, but Harvey, dear sweet Harvey, decided to let you off the hook. Ever the gentleman, wasn't he?

“Did that hurt?” He asked, his eyes flickering up to you, gently squeezing the flesh again. This time you looked straight into his eyes as you moaned, licking your lips. “No, it just…tingles,” you grinned, eyes following Harvey's dropping hands with dismay. 

“Well, I did not find any lumps or irritations that could explain the tenderness. Did any lifestyle changes happen? Or perhaps a new medication?” 

Pretending to be thinking, you swung your legs back and forth. One of your feet got in contact with his shin, slowly tracing upwards only to slide down again.

The man’s face was stoic, eyes trained on your face with a stern look. 

Yet again, the twitching of his moustache betrayed him.

The thought that you hadn't responded yet reeled you in a little: “No…Well. Maybe kind of? You know…I've been having, well. Thoughts about someone. Thoughts about them touching me, wanting me,” you began, your foot wandering to his knee.

“Could that be it?”

A blush had spread on his cheeks now, and Yoba did you love to see it. He picked up the notepad and quickly jotted something down, then nodded.

“I assume that could be it-”

“And what do I do about it, Doctor? It hurts, after all.”

Immediately, his attention is  back on you completely. “Hurts? Where?”

A vague pointing to your body made Harvey's hand reach out, touching your stomach. “Here?”

You shook your head, letting your foot wander down again. “Lower.”

His brows furrowed now and he let his hand slide towards your abdomen. “Here? Are they cramps?”

Again, you shook your head.

“Lower.”

He was hesitating now, looking up at you with an uncertainty you had never seen before, and it felt like another small victory.

“Could you…uh. Point me to where it hurts?”

Click - the trap was snapping shut.

It didn't need many words; you opened up your legs without an ounce of hesitation, revealing your cunt, all wet and ready for the doctor. “There.”

Harvey swallowed thickly, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to find the words. Words that wouldn't have him lose his license. It wasn't like he hadn't seen genitals before - much more than one would expect from a small town like this - and he had never been affected. So why was his throat dry now? Why was his heart pounding like this?

“It's getting like this whenever I see handsome men like you, what could that be?”

“It’s getting like…what?” by now he was thankful that he was able to get some words out with his head feeling as light as it did right now.

“I dunno…wet?”

His eyes went straight back to your pussy, staring at it. You were wet. And you looked delicious. But he was a doctor. A professional. He had done so much to be where he was right now!

“Oh! That…uh. That…it- well. It stems from attraction. It's so..so sexual intercourse can happen more easily, you see. All natural. There's no need to worry at all.”

He was pulling back, this damn professional. Even though you could see that you were getting to him. “But…isn't there a remedy?”

Harvey wanted to just sink into the ground. His head still felt light, and he could feel his pants tighten - he had been mesmerized by you ever since you had introduced yourself. And of course, he had noticed your attempts to catch his attention - he wasn't stupid, after all. Yet Harvey had promised himself. Promised himself to not get too involved anymore. And now you were here. Exposed, and seemingly ready for him. So close but- he had to be strong. Be a doctor.

“Well, for one…You could do some self-care. Masturbation is quite healthy for the human body and mind.”

Like hell he'd recommend you to have sex with someone else, not even someone like him could be so professional. You called him handsome after all, for crying out loud!

“Oh! And…how does that work?” 

Your patience was running thin now, but you felt like you were so close to having him where you wanted him, despite him being so oblivious. His face was motionless now as he stared at you, Adam's apple bobbing up and down. He was obviously looking for words.

“I-”

“Come on, Doctor Harvey. You're supposed to help me, aren't you?” You cooed, interrupting the clouding thoughts before they could really rain on him.

“But- that is the thing. I am your Doctor-”

You didn't answer him right away, your hand wandering to your clit first, giving it a gentle flick.

“And what if you prescribed yourself to be my remedy? I think you're the only thing that can help me,” you moaned.

The groan coming from his direction certainly wasn't professional anymore. A hand, now warmer than before, settled on your thigh. “You said it hurts here?” 

Before you could look where his finger was pointing you could feel the pad of it trace through your wet folds. 

“Exactly,” you breathed, spreading your legs a little further. 

“I can't see much,” he murmured, his cock twitching painfully in his pants. “I'd need to clean you up first before I run some more tests...is that okay with you?”

The bobbing of your head was enough for Harvey to finally break down.

He leaned forward faster than he would have guessed from himself, his fingers spreading your folds, and by Yoba, you were wet. All the more reason to examine you closely, wasn’t it? Keeping you healthy wasn’t bad, after all. It was his job. And if that was what it took, he would oblige – for the sake of medicine, of course. Not because of his throbbing cock and the desperate need to taste you on his tongue; not because he was salivating from the thought alone.

His tongue slowly slipped out of his mouth, a sliver of hesitation lingering in the air. He could see your hole contract when you thought him close, he could see the shivers making the muscles of your thighs twitch whenever his hot breath hit the wetness of your cunt, and yet…wasn’t this wrong? Had he somehow taken advantage of you?

“Harvey, fuck, please?” A small rock of your hips followed your words. Urging him closer. He could smell you now, and holy life, did you smell good. Lured him right into taking a deep whiff, as if he didn’t know he would get drunk on you immediately. Yet he did know and he willingly took another deep inhale. The impatient whine above him caused his eyes to flicker up to your face. You looked down at him, your lower lip tugged between your sets of pearly whites. No words needed to be spoken, and yet Harvey still followed your order.

His tongue slowly slipped out of his mouth; eyes glued to your face. He wanted to see how you would react to that first contact, wanted to see if you felt as hot as he did right now. His pants were really straining against his aching erection, his zipper pressing against the shaft through his boxers. He was pretty sure those were wet too by now, with all the pre-cum he had been leaking. He finally pressed the muscle against your entrance, licking a flat, thick line upwards. And he took his time doing it; so much so that it had your toes curl and your thighs close in around his head. The brunet was quick to react, though, one hand holding your leg open, while the other busied itself with spreading open your pussy for his hungry tongue. His licking had become faster now, but precise enough to avoid your clit. He was, after all, only cleaning you up now, wasn’t he? Still, that didn’t mean that his hot tongue licking up whatever you gave him didn’t make you moan for him. How long had you been thinking about this? Having Harvey between your legs, in any which way he would have offered? Too long. And now he finally had his head buried between your thighs, licking and sucking you up like a starved man offered a meal after ages of going hungry. His tongue licked up and down, from one side to the other, but he still ignored your hardening clit with apparently the same professionalism he had ignored your advances before.

He gave your lips a light suck, then sunk his tongue deep inside of you. A groan left his glistening lips, eyes shut tight while he lapped at your walls eagerly, trying to get as much of you as possible into his mouth. “Harvey, oh fuck, right there,” you breathed, hand flying in his hair to hold onto the strands between your fingers tightly, giving a tug that was harder than you had intended it to be. But that only seemed to spur the male on more, his face burying deeper, tongue and lips working in unison now. And by Yoba, he had never tasted anything this good; so sweet, so…you; and you were addictive.

Your hips bucked upwards for him, if to grant him easier access or just because you couldn’t keep them down anymore, you didn’t know. You didn’t really care, either. Harvey’s moustache rubbed against you in a way that made your head spin, his lips sucking on you while he circled his tongue within you made your whole body tense. Even when pussy-drunk he seemed incredibly precise, knowing just where to brush past, when to suck and when to lick.

 You weren’t able to do much anymore, just hold onto his hair and wait for the sweet, sweet release to wash over you and in turn, Harvey’s tongue.

It was close; you could feel it in the ripple down your spine, in the way you clenched around him, you could feel it in the pit of your stomach, too. You were dangerously close to the edge, and one well-placed flick would push you over. You were ready for it; the string of moans that left your lips were dirty, raw, carrying all the words you couldn’t form anymore.

You awaited the feeling of your orgasm crashing over you, not to suddenly feel empty and cold after being engulfed in the warmth of his mouth. But Harvey was standing now, his face wet and his glasses fogged up from the heat that had reached the cool surface, and yet you knew that he was staring right at you. You opened your mouth, but you didn’t trust your vocal cords just yet, so all you did was letting out a confused hum, to which the brunet in front of you smiled.

“You are all clean now- I believe you are ready for further tests.”

Fuck, you were. More than that. By now, you really felt an ache in your body, and the only remedy was there, right in front of you, fumbling with the buttons of his pants. His hands were shaking, enough so for you to lean forward, popping the button open for him. The doctor let out an awkward laugh, moustache twitching from the embarrassed rumble that went through him. “Sorry,” he whispered but quickly switched gears when you pressed a kiss to his lips. The taste of you mixed with his spit made you whimper, the appetite for him only growing within you. You wanted to help him tug down his boxers as well, but instead of fabric, you were met with the soft skin that had been hidden beneath until now. Your throat went dry; you just had to pull away and look at him. He was big, tip coated in a layer of pre-cum, his shaft girthy.

“Harvey, please,” you stammered, leaning back on the table so he could lean over you more easily.

The brunet followed you like a well-behaved lamb, leaning in again to kiss you. You could feel the tip of his dick against your entrance, slowly pushing forward. The stretch the head of his penis caused made your eyes roll back, excitement for the rest of his girth stretching you bubbling inside of you.

Harvey, ever the gentleman, took it slow. Rutting inside of you, centimetre after centimetre, eyes fixed on your face for any signs of pain and discomfort. He brushed your hair to the side to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how good you felt, how wet you were for him, and holy Yoba, did he ever feel anything like this before?

You had to admit, at first, the stretch did hurt a little, but with both him being so tender with you, so gentle, the pain quickly turned into a cloud of lust and despair. You wanted him, and you weren’t afraid to show him anymore. “Harvey, oh, for fuck’s sake, fuck me.”

A twitch, and then a shove that made him bottom out inside of you. A groan from him bled into the moan that tore from you, but that didn’t make Harvey pause. Not anymore.

His thrusts were shaky, unsure at first. He was just so adorable, wasn’t he? His eyes searched yours as if to ask for approval, as if to make sure he was doing this right, and it made your heart swell within your chest.

“You are so good to me, Harv,” you whispered, shamelessly letting your moans slip for him. The brunet’s eyes lit up, and he pushed his hips forward faster, more eagerly now.

Smiling to yourself, you let your head lull back. Harvey’s dick felt so good within you, filling you out with clumsy thrusts that steadied the more confidence he felt. Your back arched in as the brunet found a rhythm that seemingly fitted both your tastes; fast strokes that reached deep within you. The little grunts that left his slightly swollen hips only added fuel to the fire, only made you want him more.

Your legs hooked around his soft hips as he fucked into you with quick thrusts, body working with him to get him to go harder, more ruthless. Lucky for you, Harvey was a quick learner. Dick now fucking into you harder, red tip still pounding as deep as he could go.

The man’s face was a mix of pleasure and astonishment as if he wasn’t able to believe this was really happening to him. You just felt so damn good around him, walls clinging to his hot cock, sucking him off with each thrust. If he had a say in it, he would have never left your sweet pussy again, keeping his dick buried inside of you, thrusting into you whenever he deemed fit.

The moans and whines of his name that filled the examination room made his vision blur; his balls incredibly tight all of a sudden.

“Harveeey,” you gasped out, your hand reaching for his in an attempt to hold onto something again, fingers gently brushing along his knuckles before intertwining. The brunet above you was panting now, his hips never stilling as he fucked into you. His eyes, however, weren’t focused on your face anymore; they had fallen onto your tits that were bouncing oh so nicely for him with each of his thrusts. He just couldn’t help himself; it was too tempting – his head dipped down, teeth catching one of your pretty pink nipples, nibbling on it just to suck it into his mouth moments later.

You could feel the feeling start to grow inside of you again, your orgasm approaching you, even though you didn’t want this to stop yet. You didn’t want this to end just now, now that he was filling you up so perfectly, cock sliding against your squishy walls with such ease; you didn’t want his balls slapping against your wet cunt to stop just yet, you wanted, no, needed, more.

As if hearing your thoughts, Harvey picked up his pace just a little more, his mouth switching to the other nipple to pay it the same amount of attention. The squelching sound of the wetness between your legs was to die for, just like the feeling of his orgasm hot in his veins.

You just felt so deliciously good, better than any neat whiskey ever could have, and it made him go crazy. He felt hot, he felt like he was just about close enough to heaven to feel it, but not quite there. The bucking of his hips grew more desperate as he chased his orgasm, going hard and deep inside of you while his mouth busied itself leaving hickeys on your bouncing tits. The insecurity from before had vanished, and the groans, the begs, the whines, the praise, all coming from you was enough to keep it away.

“Harvey, I am- fuck, I am so close-“

He would have answered, had he been able to. But he had basically gone mute, aside from the whimpers and groans, as well as high-pitched moans that dared to tumble from his tongue. Instead, he just nodded at you and did his best to pick up the pace some more. It was just so hard with you sucking around him so nicely, drooling all over his dick. So hard to focus when he could feel you shake beneath him, making his body ache for the final push.

The bite to your tit he gave you, combined with his deepest thrust yet was enough for you. You squeezed his hand tightly, your toes curling and your back arching in as finally allowed the release to flow over you. You cried out his name, your sweet, pretty cunt spasming around poor Harvey, who was, admittedly, both absolutely pussy-drunk and empty-minded.

His breathing now came in forceful, laboured pushes, and if he had ever heard a patient breathe like that, he would have sent them straight to bed and run endless tests on them. But this – this was nothing but the sheer hunger for one person.

He suddenly slammed forward once more, his back arching in as he moaned out your name loudly, penis twitching as he came inside of you, cum painting your walls white. He had to squeeze his eyes shut to not lose focus, his mouth hanging open as he fucked you through your orgasm. Your legs were quivering with each thrust that sent shocks up your spine from the overstimulation that slowly started to nag at you.

Panting, the brunet tried to keep himself from crashing down on top of you, a thin layer of sweat covering his forehead. His eyes were still hazy as they took in your fucked-out expression. You looked ruined but also completely…satisfied.

Your hand was still shaky as you reached up to let it run down his flushed cheek, a smile on your lips. “That definitely helped, Harv,” you whispered, voice slightly more hoarse than it had been that morning.

Harvey cleared his throat, and after a moment or maybe two – maybe also three, he just felt so good inside of you – pulled out of you, shaky legs carrying him over to the sink where he wettened some paper towels to clean you up.

“I am glad I was able to help.”

Disappointment settled in your stomach. Was that it? Did he just go back to his professional self like the table beneath you wasn’t drenched in your wetness and his cum?

“But I need to run a few more tests. I think home visits would be best; I’d need different surfaces and times.”

Click. Two lambs had fallen for the trap