#Heart Artery Scan

[usmanpuraimaging]

Learn about CT Coronary Angiography at Usmanpura Imaging. Discover how it works, what it detects, why it's preferred, procedure details, and associated costs.

[bpod-bpod]

Risk for Rupture

CT scan study finds an increased risk of diseases in the wall of the aorta [the body's largest and central artery] called aortic pseudoaneurysm and penetrating aortic ulcer in individuals with aortic calcification, which causes narrowing

Read the published research article here

Image from work by Siting Li and Haoxuan Kan, and colleagues

Department of Vascular Surgery, Department of State Key Laboratory of Complex Severe and Rare Diseases, Peking Union Medical College Hospital, Chinese Academy of Medical Sciences and Peking Union Medical College, Beijing, China

Image originally published with a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International (CC BY 4.0)

Published in Scientific Reports, January 2024

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[spencewalterreid]

what if…don’t hear me out on this, i’m sleep deprived and projecting…reader is something of a favorite student of spencer’s whom he confronts about the, erm, suspiciously increasing bandages he’d been noticing on their leg or smt? he’d probably frantically point out the abundance of arteries there at some point 😭 please ignore this so hard if you don’t feel like it lmao

In The Morning, I'll Make Cereal

Summary: When Spencer notices you've been in a daze, he checks on you and finds bandages on your arm.

Pairing: Professor Reid / Reader (p)

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Suicidality, self harm, scars, surviving an attempt

Word Count: 2,262

Author's Note: I loved this prompt. I hope you appreciate my interpretation of it:) it wasn't very specific but I did what I could!

It had been a long fucking week. Finally, at long last, it's your last class on Friday, But Professor Reid has been rambling for the last two hours. This class is only supposed to be an hour and forty-five minutes, but good God, this man can drone. Generally, you wouldn't mind it. On a better day, you would relish in his tangents, on and on about victimology and how parents not kissing their children enough makes them kill people or whatever, you're just not into it today.

Squinting, you scratch a few more lines of graphite into the head of the portrait you're drawing in the margin of your notebook, trying to shape the hair properly. It's giving you fits. You knock your knee against the side of your desk absentmindedly to the rhythm of the music in your wired headphones.

Spencer pauses mid-sentence, his brow furrowing as he sees you. There’s at least a hundred kids in this room, so he hadn’t noticed it before now. His amber eyes scan the classroom as they always do, but keep returning to you; head in your notebook and your bouncing knee. He sighs softly, rubbing his temple before continuing his lecture.

"…and as we've discussed, the lack of proper familial affection in the formative years can lead to a host of psychological issues that may manifest in aggressive or criminal behavior later in life. Take, for instance, the case study of Ted Bundy, who…"

Spencer's voice drones on, the words blurring together as you tune out, focused on the intricate details of the portrait taking shape beneath your pencil. You lean forward slightly, squinting as you shade a particularly difficult shadow, your tongue poking out the corner of your mouth in concentration.

"That's all. Thank you for your patience, I know today ran long. I'll see you all on Monday," Reid says, his gaze lingering on you. You’re always so attentive, hanging on every word. What the hell? He waits a moment at his desk, looking over the notes the students had dropped in the tray before leaving, but keeps glancing up. A few minutes pass and you’re still scribbling away, making no move to pack up. His face pinches in worry.

“Hey, class is over now. We just ran a bit over today," he says, projecting his voice to reach you.

Spencer stands up, straightening his suit jacket as he walks over to where you sit when you don’t reply, still scribbling away. He glances down at the notebook, his eyebrows raising as he recognizes the portrait beginning to take shape.

"I didn't realize you had such skill," Spencer comments, unable to hide the note of surprise in his voice. He leans down a bit closer to get a better look.

You don't reply at all until he leans down and you finally notice his presence. Your pencil scrapes across the portrait when you damn-near jump out of your skin. "Jesus!" you gasp, then place your hand over your heart. "You scared me." The corner of your lip twitches up into a smile, and caught up in your embarrassment that he saw the portrait of him, you didn't even realize that your long-sleeve shirt rode down a bit, revealing a bandage wrapped firmly around your forearm.

Spencer takes a step back, looking mildly alarmed at having startled you so severely. "I apologize, that was not my intent. I didn't mean to frighten you." His gaze drifts down to your wrist, his eyes widening briefly as he notices the bandage. "Are you… are you alright? That looks bad," Spencer asks, taking a knee and reaching for your hand to take it in his to assess the damage before you subtly pull it away.

Your heart falls through the bottom of your ribs, clashes against your intestines, and tumbles straight out your ass. "Uhm." Words. Form them. Hang on, do I even know any? Shit. You force a wry chuckle, dropping your hands to your lap and wringing them together, knocking your sleeves down enough to cover your wrists again. "I just." Ahem. "I just dropped a knife last night when I was making dinner. No biggie." Please, Please believe me. You thank any God that might be out there for having everyone else clear out before he approached you.

“Okay,” he agrees with a nod, letting you believe that he buys it. “Uh, you should be more careful, though,” he continues hesitantly. He reaches for your arm again and you let him. He pushes up your sleeve, and you swallow an argument. “Right here,” he says, dragging a finger gently along your forearm, the inner part of the left side, along the outer part of the bone. “This is the ulnar artery. You’ve got a lot of smaller veins in your arm, too, that could be dangerous if nicked, but that could have been really bad.” You don’t tell him how close his finger was to the gash made only hours ago.

Spencer wanted to pretend not to notice all the smaller scars dotted along the base of your wrist, and a couple on your hands that you could more believably wave off as accidents. He rests his elbow on your lower thigh, above your knee and a bit inward, making you wince. Again, he doesn’t say anything. Not yet.

“This,” he draws another line, this time down the side of your arm, “is the anterior condylar vein, or ACV. Easier to hit because it’s more shallow.” Spencer sighs, dragging a thumb across one of the smaller, now raised and white nicks. “I didn’t want to say anything, but-”

“I know,” you interject. “You have to report this. I get it.” The beginnings of tears nudge at the back of your throat, agitating a lump into it, and threaten to fill your eyes. “It’s okay,” you add, yanking your cheeks up into a suggestion of a smile.

The professor huffs again, revoking his touch and shifting from a one-legged kneel to a squat, resting his elbows on his own knees and looking up at you. “I’m not going to report you. I don’t think-” He runs a hand through his dark curls and puts it back on his leg. “That has only exacerbated the issue, in my experience. I need you to know… to know that I care.”

You shift uncomfortably, staring at your fingernails as you drag dirt out from under them. “Okay,” you mumble. To say you believed him in the slightest would be a falsity of the highest order.

“I do,” Reid insists as though he read your mind, craning his neck down and chin up to catch your eyes under the curtain of your hair. “I do care. I know you’ve been going through something, and I’m sorry, but I’m here.”

Spencer reaches out to gently tilt your chin up with his fingers, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that managed to escape. The empathy in his eyes makes your stomach churn. He’s just so genuine.

"Listen to me. I know you're hurting. I know you feel alone. But you're not alone right now, do you understand that? You have me, and I promise I will help you through this, any way I can. My offer to talk stands, anytime, anywhere. My door is always open to you."

“I heard you.”

“No, I know you heard me. I asked if you understood me. There’s a difference.”

Your lip wobbles against your will and you know you’re about to cry. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away from him, a last ditch effort to hide your face. “I can’t-”

He leans in, pulling you into him, his voice lowering to a low, soothing murmur. "Please, don't let anyone else see these scars. Not until you're ready. I need you to take care of you. You're stronger than this. You have so much potential, so much to offer the world. Don't throw that away. Not now, not ever.”

Sobs wrack your body, and as the breaths leave your lungs in short, desperate hiccups, his embrace is an anchoring force. “You’re okay,” he whispers. “You’re okay. This isn’t your fault.” One of Spencer’s hands card through your hair, gently massaging your scalp. “I’m here, alright?” He doesn’t expect you to answer.

“I almost killed myself last night,” you sob, pulling away with great reluctance.

Okay, he really wasn’t expecting that. The look in his eyes, despite his trepidation, encourages you to elaborate. He only now notices how pale you are, and the dots connect.

“I–” You take a deep breath, centering yourself before you continue. “I had a spiral. I called- called everyone. My mom, my best friend, even the fucking hotline. And you know what? It was busy,” you laugh incredulously. “The suicide hotline was busy!”

He doesn’t get a word in, you’re too busy in a tear-fueled tangent. “And I- I cleaned my room. Spotless. I made my bed, and put on a good outfit, and I wrote a letter, and I, uh-” you smile, and it’s sad, a macabre thing. “I knew about the arteries.” Your spine straightens. “Anyway. I ended up sleeping in, so I guess that’s good, but when I woke up… it felt… it felt so dull.”

“What do you mean?”

“It felt small. My arms had scabbed over, miraculously, and I got up. I wrapped them, and I brushed my teeth, and I made cereal. I got in the car and drove 120 on the highway to get here, and I didn’t crash. I jaywalked across a busy street and nothing happened, and I just-” a shaky breath flowed over your lips and you slumped down in your seat. “I failed, and the world kept turning. I could have died last night, should have, and… nothing changed. Nothing at all.”

Spencer listens intently, his face twisted in something that looks an awful lot like heartbreak. When you finish speaking, he takes a deep breath, choosing his next words carefully.

"I'm so sorry you felt you reached that point, but I'm nothing short of relieved at your survival. You did the right thing by reaching out, even if the support you needed wasn't immediately available. That takes courage and strength."

He places his hand on your shoulder, warmth seeping through your jacket, and squeezes. "Feeling small and insignificant after a crisis like that is completely normal. It's a common reaction, but it's a lie. Your life has value. Your existence matters, and the world changing or not is not a reflection of your worth."

Spencer studies you like at any moment, you could fade into smoke. "You didn't fail last night. You survived. That's not a small thing, it’s significant. It means you have the strength to keep going, to keep fighting. And I will be here to support you in that fight, in whatever way you need. It means,” he pauses to gently jab a finger at your chest, above your heart. “It means that this doesn’t care about your feelings, and I apologize if that sounds harsh. When you… When you did that, your baroreceptors activated, which monitors your blood vessels, and caused your heart to start taking blood away from your limbs to keep it in your core, keep you warm. That caused vasodilation and a decrease in heart rate, which lowered your blood pressure back to a survivable rate.”

“What’s your point, Professor?” you ask, rolling your eyes in frustration.

“My point,” he continues firmly, “Is that your body is stronger than your mind sometimes. It fought to keep you alive, even when you felt you wanted to let go. That's a testament to your innate will to live, to survive. It's not a reflection of your feelings or wishes, but it's a part of you that can't be ignored."

Spencer takes your hand, covering it with both of his. "Please don't dismiss your survival as insignificant. It matters, and I believe it's a sign that you have the strength to keep going, to keep living. I know it's hard, and I know grief and pain can feel all-consuming at times, but you have so much life ahead of you. Your mind and your body are connected, but they are also their own beings in a way. Your body has carried you your whole life. Your blood cells have fought sickness, your muscles have soothed their own aches, and your bones have held you up. Your body isn’t attacking you, but you’re attacking it. How is that fair?”

You’re not sure what to say to that.

Spencer looks at you intently, pressing your hand in his tightly to ground you. "I know this is difficult to process. I know you're hurting. But I need you to understand that your body and your mind are not your enemies. They are part of you, and they need your care and compassion. I’m not going to make you promise me you’ll seek help, or that you’ll stop. I know it isn’t that simple. But I will ask this,” he says, and your heart contracts. “Be kind to yourself. Have compassion. Try to put things in perspective. You deserve so much better than this.”

“Can you feel that?” he asks, tilting his head to your hand.

You consider it, and you notice the steady throbbing from his unforgiving grip. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be okay,” he whispers, and the sweet look in those beautiful brown eyes almost makes you believe it. “You’re gonna save your life, and I’m gonna cheer you on.”

[julieverne]

Maura thinks of Jane every time she has a human heart in her hands. Severed arterials, the scrape of a snapped ribcage, the blood that no longer pumps through a circulatory system.

Maura misses Jane; more than she should, as they have been polite colleagues more than friends for the past few years. She'd thought Paris was going to be Something, that Something would finally happen, but Jane just kept looking at her with those big doe eyes and never said anything. Never touched Maura. Never once, in eight - nine years - never once said she loved Maura.

Maura didn't know what love felt like. She knew attraction and affection, she knew anger and disappointment. She knew what a human heart felt like, cradled in the palm of her hand. Mostly because she cradled one gently right now, examining the tear. An undiagnosed hole. She knew how it felt; metaphorically, of course, because her chest scans had all come back too perfect to explain this pain in her chest since Jane had left.

She works longer hours than she used to. She sees Susie in the shadows sometimes, her beautiful dark eyes watching Maura slice everyone else open. She's good, if macabre, company.

Maura contemplates the heart again. So fragile it needs a cage to dwell in, but so strong it sends blood hundreds of miles every hour. She doesn't believe in miracles, but the heart comes pretty close.

"That might as well be mine, the way you hold my heart," a familiar voice comes from nearby. Maura doesn't flinch; it's her thirtieth hour at work. She often hears Jane's voice haunting the halls. But when she weighs the heart and makes note of the location and depth of the tear in the connective tissue, she sees Jane.

She's in a suit - a proper one, tailored to her hips and waist. There's a visitor's badge on her hip instead of a gun, which means this isn't a hallucination. The Jane of her dreams wears a gun and sometimes little else.

Maura slides on fresh gloves and continues emptying the abdominal cavity.

"You're not happy to see me." Jane's voice is flat and disappointed. "Well, I guess I deserved that. And worse."

Frost doesn't show up in the morgue; he'd always hated it down there. He shows up at his old desk. The blue gardian action figure never moves around; Frankie inherited it and Frost's desk.

Maura doesn't see dead people. She's just very, very tired.

"I'm working, and you shouldn't be in here," Maura says. Her voice is sterner than she intended but also more resigned. "Visitor's pass is only good for my office."

Jane slinks away like Maura has yelled at her. Maura completes the autopsy and scrubs up after putting the body in cold storage with the help of Todd. He prefers nights. He doesn't like people, although he tolerates Maura. He liked Jane.

Maura liked Jane. No, Maura loved Jane.

And Jane is in her office. Maura can sense her pacing before she even opens the door, but Jane is sitting sedately on the couch, looking down at the scars on her hands. Maura has assumed it's night but her watch tells her it's day again and she wonders how long she's been working.

"You look exhausted." Jane's voice is concerned. "When did you last sleep?"

"Tuesday?" It's a question. It's a guess; Jane loves those. She doesn't love Maura. Maura feels a fist slowly clench around her heart. "I don't see how it's any of your business."

"You are my business," Jane says, her voice so low that Maura's heart cracks. It's too late. Jane is relying on a shared past rather than their current relationship. They're acquaintances, if that. It was Jane's choice to pull away, and Maura let her.

"Not any more," Maura says. Her voice is steady. She could use some sleep but Jane is on the couch. She wants, more than anything, to lie down with her head in Jane's lap and have those strong fingers smooth through her hair, to rub the stress from her forehead and shoulders. Instead she sits at the desk, the sturdy wood between Jane and herself. "What do you want, Jane?"

"What I've always wanted. I want you."

Maura shakes her head. Hallucinations are common after a certain number of hours awake. Even though Jane is dressed and wearing a visitor's badge doesn't mean she isn't a hallucination. Jane would never say something like that. Jane has never, never wanted her.

"Can I take you home? You shouldn't drive like this."

"And you shouldn't drive at all. You're not real. You're not really here. You're not here."

Maura panics and calls Washington. They say Jane is on leave.

Of course they'd say that. Maura is nothing to Jane. She's not next of kin. She turns back to Jane.

"I loved you, you know," she tells Jane's ghost. "More than I ever thought a human heart was capable of. I thought it was all hormones and chemistry but it was my heart."

Jane looks worried. There is a reddish brown stain at her waist and her throat and her hands; all her old wounds are breaking open and bleeding on Maura's floor and couch.

Jane always was a slob, was Maura's last thought before darkness took her.

+++

Maura wakes on her own couch to the smell of roasted coffee. She wakes to hushed voices arguing. She wakes to Jane's face peering anxiously down at her.

"Ma said you'd thrown yourself into your work when you came back. She's worried about you. I'm worried about you."

"You've never cared about me." Maura takes the coffee and avoids the look on Jane's face; she might as well have slapped her.

"I might not have been able to say it, but you know I care about you, don't you?" Jane says. She crouches at Maura's feet, looking up at her. "It's why I'm here."

Maura's lived a life feeling unloved and lost. She doesn't know what to say.

"I don't."

"You don't care, or you don't know I care?"

Maura shakes her head and drinks her coffee, avoiding Jane's gaze. She remembers now all the things Jane used to do for her. Her comforting touch, the way she'd stay with Maura when something bad had happened, the way Jane used to hold her.

Used to, as in not for years.

"I'm a coward. You know that."

Maura has seen Jane throw herself off a bridge. She's seen Jane shoot herself. Jane's no coward.

"I didn't know how to tell you. I didn't know how to even admit it to myself. But it's always been you, you know that, right?"

She still hasn't said anything, still hasn't admitted anything. Maura sips again; the coffee is good. Jane paid attention to the details.

"I - Christ. I -" Jane doesn't manage to say what she so wanted to say. She reaches for Maura's hand instead. "Why is this so hard?"

"Because you're not really here," Maura says. "I'm hallucinating again. It's common in people who don't sleep, and I haven't slept since you left. I haven't felt safe since you left."

"I'm a hallucination, huh?" Jane's lips twitch as though she finds that amusing. "I think you should go back to bed."

Maura checks her watch. She should be working. But none of this is real. But she should be working; it's the only thing that makes sense since Jane left. It's the only thing that fills the void Jane left.

"Will you come with me? I'll keep you safe. I promise."

Maura nods; she always believes Jane even though she knows Jane lies. She lets Jane help her to her feet and up the stairs, and then out of her shoes and dress and onto her big soft bed. Jane even uses the facial wipes Maura keeps at the bedside for nights too late for skincare. Jane hovers over her.

"As long as I'm a hallucination," Jane says, and then her eyes soften. All her shields drop and she looks at Maura like she is the single most precious thing in the world. Jane leans down and kisses her, just a press of lips against Maura's. "I've always loved you," Jane whispers, her fingers brushing Maura's hair out of her face. "I was scared. I've been so scared. But a life without you in it isn't worth it. I had to tell you. If you hate me I can leave again, knowing I tried. I'm a coward because I never tried; I had so much to lose. You were too much to lose."

Maura's eyes slip closed. Hallucination Jane is kinder than Jane ever was. She always is.

+++

Maura wakes nearly a full day later. She's cold; her immune system hasn't been coping with her long hours. She shivers and digs out a big, fluffy robe that Angela bought her for Christmas one year. It's not her aesthetic, but it's thick and soft and warm. She showers, aware of the smell of her own body. She puts on pyjamas and calls out sick, then heads down to the kitchen for some hot lemon water. There should still be lemons in the bowl on the counter; they're about the only fruit TJ won't eat.

Jane's there. She's not watching the tv or doing anything. She's just there. Haunting Maura. Maura needs to call Washington again; if they've told Angela she'll need to be comforted. Everyone will be devastated, but Maura is numb.

She's been numb since Jane left.

She makes lemon and honey and yawns so hard she feels her jaw shift. Jane watches, the way Susie does in the lab.

Maura knows Jane will haunt her everywhere. She was in every element of Maura's life; her home, her car, her work. Boston is filled with the ghost of Jane.

"I missed you," Jane says quietly and Maura shrugs.

"I didn't go anywhere."

Jane chuckles but she's hurt rather than amused. Maura wonders who got to cut her open, if they were careful with her magnificent heart.

"I shouldn't have left."

"You shouldn't have." Maura would never have said this to Jane when she was alive. But she's not so it doesn't matter. She vaguely remembers a kiss. She wants to remember a kiss, so she takes one from Jane. She closes in on her and sets her mug down, pushing Jane against the counter. She looks up into a face she once knew so well and sees only -

An emotion she doesn't know. She sees all the love Jane had hidden over the years, all the cues Maura didn't take to confess her own feelings.

She's angry at herself, at Jane. Her mouth is hard and closed when it meets Jane, like a bullet into flesh. She wonders where Jane's body is, if she's in cold storage somewhere. If she's being cut open at that moment.

Jane kisses her back so softly that Maura's entire heart shatters in her chest. She knows it's not real but Jane is soft and warm and yielding in Maura's arms; she kisses like it's something she's wanted to do for a long time.

Maura can't stand it. Her brain has failed her once. She can't stand it. She pulls away.

"I've always loved you," Jane says, and her voice is so tender and honest, her fingers gentle on Maura's cheeks. "Always."

"And you waited until you were dead to tell me."

Jane looks surprised, like she doesn't know she's dead yet.

"I'm not dead," Jane says. "I came home because I was worried about you. I came home because I felt so guilty."

Maura rolls her eyes.

"Why do you think I'm dead?"

"I see Frost, sometimes," Maura says gently. "Susie, too. I figure it must have happened when I saw you last night. Washington said they couldn't locate you."

"They're not supposed to give out my location. But I assure you, I'm not dead. You're seeing dead people? Is that to do with your Chiari?"

Maura shrugs; Jane doesn't care. Jane isn't here.

"What can I do to convince you this is real? Or should I take you to the hospital?"

"Probably the hospital. I don't feel very well. You can't drive though; you're not real."

Jane doesn't complain this time.

+++

Maura wakes. There's an IV in her arm and Jane holds her hand. Jane is slumped in the same suit she'd worn to the morgue, asleep with her head lolled back against the single chair in the room. Maura head hurts.

A doctor comes in and explains the surgery they did. Maura explains that she can still see Jane.

"Of course you can. She's been here all night."

"You can see her?"

The doctor nods and makes a note on her chart.

+++

Maura wakes. Jane is smiling down at her. The smile broadens when she sees Maura looking up at her.

"Hey."

Jane helps her sit up.

"They fixed it. They missed something last time."

That means no more sweet Frost, no more smart Susie. Not that they were ever really there but they'd been good company in Jane's absence.

"You're really here?"

Jane nods and lets her fingers brush Maura's cheek.

"I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

"Good," Maura says, and she falls back asleep.

+++

It takes weeks for Maura to adjust to being alone in her own head. She watches Jane hawkishly but she never shows any signs of not being real, and Angela and Frankie respond to her in ways they don't respond to Frost. Maura had seen Frankie sit on Frost at least twice, but Frost had always joked about wanting a lap dance anyway.

It's hard. She feels alone, even though Jane has moved in with her. Jane always looks on the verge of saying something but she never does. She just watches Maura with wounded doe eyes and Maura wonders if there's something she's forgetting.

She remembers the kiss too late. Almost too late.

"I kissed you," Maura says one night. Jane is in soft cotton clothes to sleep in and her hair is its old untamed mess. Jane doesn't meet her eyes. Maura's heart sinks. "Oh. Oh. I'm sorry."

Jane's eyes snap to hers. Her mouth tightens like she wants to say something, then her shoulders slump.

"Don't be. I was too late, wasn't I? I'd already hurt you. And it wasn't like you thought I was alive at the time."

"I just figured there was no way you'd have let me if you were alive. And all the rest. I don't know. I don't really remember."

"That's a shame," Jane says lowly. "It was really nice."

"It was?"

"It was everything I'd hoped for. And I'd hoped for a lot. It was worth coming home for, even if your brain is fixed now and you don't need me. I'll find somewhere else to live soon, once you've fully recovered."

"I don't want you to live anywhere else," Maura says before she can think about it.

Jane's smile is tentative, like she knows she can't fix everything overnight. But she's not running away any more.

"It's always been you," Jane says, and she sits up. She looks at Maura's mouth, then back up to her eyes. "And now that I'm real, I'd like to start making it up to you."

Maura tilts her head in consent, and Jane cups her cheek and wends her fingers into Maura's hair. She exhales and Maura feels it on her lips, in her lungs, in her heart. Jane's lips brush hers and Maura's breath and heart catch, then resume. Jane's lower lip caresses Maura so gently that Maura's eyes water with the tenderness of her touch. Maura finds herself moving closer, finds her lips and heart opening to Jane. Jane feels so good; her touch is gentle and reverent and her lips are soft and delicate.

Jane pulls away; not far she presses her forehead against Maura's.

"I missed you. It felt like I broke my own heart." Jane's tone is low and raw and honest, and Maura pulls herself close, forcing Jane to hold her the way she used to.

She settles her head against Jane's chest and listens to the healthy heart of the woman she loves.

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Stars in Her Eyes

Part 2 here

Do you ever have thoughts that are absolute bangers, then realize “man I wish I was a better writer.” Anywho, brain worms, back again, Price is fighting self doubt about decisions in the field. Reader is fighting self doubts of ability and also a head ouchie. This was the compulsory preface my brain forces me to write before I can write the cool sex stuff. Metaphorical dinner before dessert. Big inspired by @beloveds-embrace , particularly the designationless!reader.

—

The blood today was excessive, to say the least. Bad intel, having to navigate this lab in the middle of nowhere Russia by foot in real time. Casualties. Thankfully the other side took more. And thankfully, none on the team, although the injuries were plenty. You were all very cognizant of the mental load needed to be a soldier but some days were easier than others. This one was the worst in a while.

Price and you were clearing a section of the building, warehouse by the looks of it. Doors locked leading to it, just to be met with rockets having eaten away at the walls like rats on the other side. Basically just outside, you thought to yourself, looking at the edges of concrete leading to treeline. Already beating yourself up about things outside of your control, Price sensed a distance in you. He felt it before you did half the time, although you’d never tell him that. “Head in the game, sergeant.” He pushed out.

You were a “great addition” to the 141, so sayeth official mission reports and calls to Laswell. Focused, fast, malleable in the field. But distant sometimes when out of the field. Not quite reclusive, like your lieutenant, but just distant. You were funny, sometimes even extroverted when you wanted to be. But something pulled you back, like a hand down a long hallway, snatching you into a dark room. Locked away and the key long gone.

Prices bite in his voice brought you back momentarily. “Hey, I said get in the fucking—“ A door blasts open and enemies filter through, a large man grabbing you amidst the motion, bringing you close to the edge of the floor that fell away to empty space, a few floors of nothing and the Siberian wilderness. Patting yourself down for a knife with one hand, and defending from being choked out with another, you start half in, half out mentally. Fighting should have been your priority, but the disappointment in Prices voice had you a little fractured. “I’m fucking this up, they won’t want me anymore, please don’t get rid of me, you’re the only—“

Price fighting through the rest of them, took cover as he saw you struggle. If you weren’t so distracted this would be one of the moments you’d love to watch him in. “A real flow state” Gaz called it once, as he moved as fluid as the wind. No wasted motion, a knife here, a bullet there. Propelled purely by the sake of making sure his team was okay. But you had his heart pounding. More than usual anyways. A half dozen men down, you stab at your assailants neck as Price makes it to you.

A double misfire in decision making, you think. As you stab at the man’s carotid arteries, Price heard more footsteps approaching. You just heard blood rushing and doubts. You just saw Prices angry face push you back into the void, hoping to god the snow and dead body behind you would break your fall. Your eyes would haunt him for a while. A broken “No” laying on his ears as he turned back.

—

Soap stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on his captain. Price was tearing through the now silent building, kicking doors in and scanning everything. Price reached them in a sorry state, covered in other people’s blood and moving as if he stopped he would die. “Lost ‘er in the east wing, need to get ‘er.” The rest of the team a little shaken by his lack of composure.

“Why the hell would she still be there?” Ghost fussed, making his way through hallways with the rest of the team.

“This part of the building was locked down tight. Seemed like they were protecting something, before Marakov damn near tore the fucking place down from the outside.” Gaz relayed. “She’s either there or in the woods shooting bears.”

Reaching the door to the wing, Price crowbarred it so fast, Ghost thought he threw his shoulder out. Wind and snow blasted down the corridor, as they filtered into the… room? Floor level hallway straight to the outdoors? Broken racking and file cabinets littered the floor, alongside snow and other detritus. Gaz noticed the bullet holes and gashes in the steel door. Someone tried to leave, but was unsuccessful. Sweeping the area they moved with purpose, until Price heard you first. Sniffling and singing, voice shaky. Coming around a corner to the view from the lower level this time, he saw you two. A large Russian, face down and bloodied in the snow. A missing jacket. A trail of various pieces of gear, and lastly you, curled up in a corner. Blood coming down your face from your hairline.

Their collective hearts broke at the sight, but only Ghost noticed his captains hands shaking. You were humming and singing a tune to yourself, rocking and rubbing your own chest, eyes unfocused watching the treeline.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take

My sunshine away”

Without a word, your team got to work. Gaz and Soap called for evac, thanking god there was enough flat ground for the heli to land next to the building. Ghost went back to secure the door to other visitors, giving Price some privacy to approach you.

He put a hand on your shoulder, as you jumped. A secret he held close to his heart was how much he enjoyed looking in your eyes. Like those fancy pictures the satellites take. Dark at first glance but always more to see the longer you look. Like stars were born in them. But all he could see now was the dark. No lights present in the deep space. A concussion very present however. And, confusion. Then hurt. Whatever knife he didn’t know he had in his chest twisted as you spoke. “You threw me away, I’m—“ A gasp of air as you fought to navigate the fractured thoughts. His eyebrows twisted as he tried to understand. “It’s not like last time, like home. I belong here, with you all. I… I’m. I earned it this time. Please don’t leave me here.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t, no tears sweetheart. What are you talking about, who’s throwing you away?” He choked out as he snatched you into his chest, fingers gingerly holding your scalp and his lips whispering into your hairline, fighting tears of his own. “I would never throw you away, love. I’m so sorry, I needed you safe. I… I needed you safe.”

The other three approached slowly, wind preventing them from hearing the interaction. Price saw you shift to look behind him as he composed himself. Standing up slowly he turned to the team. “Evac in 10. How is she?” Soap asked kneeling next to you, taking your hand in his.

“Concussion from the fall, cuts and bruises. Fighting hypothermia.” He replied, voice rougher than usual. “Take it easy, not sure she knows where she is right now.”

As the heli landed, hands grabbed and led you gently, a seatbelt around your waist and pats comforting you. Most eyes were closed on the ride back, trying to get some rest after a nightmare of a day. John’s eyes stayed on the horizon.

[sematarygirls]

꒰ sonny carisi x doctor!reader — mentions of blood & violence, doctor/patient relationship, copious medical inaccuracies ꒱ 𝅄

  ／ the fluorescent lights of the trauma bay reflected off the linoleum floor at mercy general hospital as you readied yourself for an incoming ambulance.

the paramedics rush into the e.r, pushing a man on the gurney. his shirt had been cut open by the paramedics in the ambulance, blood glistening on his skin. a pressure dressing had been applied to the wound, the blood soaking through and staining it crimson.

"gsw, through-and-through to the right shoulder. no visible arterial bleeding. his vitals are stable, but there’s significant blood loss," one of the paramedics informed you, stepping away to let you and the other doctors work.

you quickly moved to his side, your eyes scanning over the wound as you listened to the paramedic's report. you snapped on a pair of gloves and carefully peeled back the blood-soaked dressing. the entry and exit wounds were clean, but the muscle tissue was torn and bleeding.

"how bad is it, doc?" the man groaned, wincing as you peeled back the dressing.

you glanced up at him, offering a reassuring smile. "well, it looks like the bullet passed through cleanly, but we're going to need to get some images done just to be sure," you explained, transferring him from the gurney to a hospital bed with the help of some other doctors.

he groaned, pain flaring up during the move. he gritted his teeth, trying to stay still as a low groan fell from his lips. once he was settled on the hospital bed, you applied a fresh bandage to keep the bleeding under control.

he watched you carefully, his face contorted in pain, but his eyes glimmering with curiosity. his gaze lingered on your face as you tend to him. despite the throbbing ache in his shoulder, he couldn't help but notice how beautiful you were. his gaze fell to your badge, reading the name in his head before echoing it aloud. "that's pretty."

"thanks," you said absent-mindedly, brows furrowing in concentration as you grabbed his arm, tying a tourniquet onto his bicep briefly to accentuate his veins, so you could insert an iv. if you weren't in work mode, you probably would have gotten flustered. you weren't blind. you could see how incredibly attractive he was, but it was hardly appropriate to flirt with a man who had a hole in his shoulder.

he held still, his heart racing not just from the pain, but from the closeness of your hands on his arm, the warmth of your touch seeped into his skin, and he felt himself relaxing ever so slightly in your care. as you worked, he studied your face, committing every detail to memory.

he probably should've been much more focused on the fact that he had been shot, but something about you drew him in. he found himself wanting to know more about you, despite how wildly inappropriate the situation was.

"so... doc," he began, wincing as you gently inserted the iv into his arm. "how long have you been working here?" he asked, desperate to keep his mind off the pain and his eyes on you.

you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow at his casual, conversational demeanor, but you decided to humor him. he was the one suffering from a gunshot wound, after all. "a couple years. i just finished my residency."

he hummed, nodding as if he had any idea what that meant. his forte was law, not medicine.

"alright, let's get you to imaging just to make sure everything is all good before we patch you up," you gave him a small smile, beginning to wheel him toward the imaging room.

he gripped the bed's side rail tightly with his left hand, his knuckles turning white as the motion jostled his shoulder painfully. he hissed through his teeth, trying to mask the pain. "so, uh, what do you like to do for fun, doc?" he asked, trying to distract himself.

"patch up talkative detectives," you teased him with a playful grin, carefully pushing the gurney through the doorway.

he chuckled, the sound a little strained as the movement sent a sharp pain through his shoulder. "well, i'm glad i can provide some entertainment for you then," he said, looking around the imaging room as you prepared to get him settled onto the table.

"alright, try to sit still. we're just gonna take some pictures really quick," you said softly, your expression filled with care and warmth.

he took a deep breath, steeling himself for the movement. he bit his lip, trying to stay silent as you and another doctor helped him onto the table. the pain was intense, but your gentle touch and soothing voice made it bearable.

you gave him one last smile before heading into the little viewing room, a row of glass windows allowing you to see him. your eyes stayed trained on the computer screen as you waited for the images to come up.

"no fractures, looks like the bullet missed the bone and major vessels. some soft tissue damage, though," one of the other doctors thought aloud.

you nodded, studying the images. "alright, let’s clean the wounds and get him stitched up. he’ll need a sling and antibiotics to prevent infection, but he got lucky." you reentered the room and moved him back to the gurney, once again, with the assistance of the other doctor. "you're gonna be just fine, detective," you reassured him with a smile. "we're gonna stitch you up and get you settled in a room."

he let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing as the tension ebbed away. "thanks, doc. i owe you one," he said, his voice soft as he gave you a grateful smile. his pain seemed to be lessening now, probably because of the pain drugs you'd administered.

"i'm just doing my job," you laughed softly, wheeling him back to the emergency room to patch him up.

as you got him back to the e.r and worked on stitching up his wounds, he couldn't help but stare at you again. "you know, for a doctor, you're really pretty," he blurted out, the pain meds making him a little loose-lipped. "i mean, not that i was checking you out or anything. just... noticing."

you grinned, laughing softly. it wasn't the first time you'd heard that from a patient hopped up on drugs, but something about him saying it made your heart flutter. "thank you."

he chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "sorry. i'm normally smoother than that." he grimaced as you tugged at his skin to tie off another stitch. "and i swear, i wasn't hitting on you. well, not intentionally, anyway."

"good," you smiled, glancing up to look into his eyes. "because, as your doctor, that would be wildly inappropriate." you said it, but there was no real conviction behind your words.

he looked into your eyes and felt his heart skip a beat. there was something about the way you were looking at him, something warm and gentle that made him feel all sorts of fluttery inside. "right," he said, his voice a little shaky. "doctor-patient relationship and all that."

"mhm," you hummed, continuing to stitch him up with practiced efficiency.

he couldn't help but stare at you as you worked. the concentration on your face, the gentle touch of your hands. he found himself wondering what it would be like if those hands were touching him elsewhere.

"alright, all done," you said, pulling him from his inappropriate thoughts as you finished off the last stitch and pulled away. "now, i'm just gonna wrap you up with a bandage to keep it all clean and catch any residual bleeding," you explained, turning to grab a fresh bandage.

he watched you carefully, his eyes following every minor movement with interest. he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that you were almost finished with his arm. he wanted to keep talking to you, keep feeling your gentle touch on his skin. "so, doc... do you ever go out?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

"do i ever go out?" you laughed at the silly question, turning back to him, bandages in hand.

"yeah, you know, date. have a life outside of the hospital." he grinned, watching as you began to wrap his arm. "i mean, not that i have room to talk, being a detective and all, we work crazy hours."

"honestly," you said, wrapping his shoulder carefully, trying not to let your gaze linger on his chest, which was glistening with sweat. "i don't remember the last time i was on a date."

"well, that's a crime," he joked, his eyes wandering over your face.

"you would know, huh?" you fired back, a grin on your face. the playful banter was something you hadn't experienced in a long time, and you found yourself craving more time with him.

he chuckled, liking the easy back-and-forth with you. "yeah, i'd know," he said, his gaze drifting to your lips. "so, doc, what do you say to me taking you out on a proper date?"

you bit your lip, pulling away as you finished up. "well, i would say that's incredibly unethical." you were trying to maintain a professional demeanor, but truthfully, you wanted to go out with him more than anything.

"right," he said, nodding. "but once i'm all healed up, i won't be your patient anymore. technically." he grinned hopefully at you. "come on, doc. let's go out. let me take you to dinner."

"one date," you relented, smiling at him. though, you were sure you'd probably end up agreeing to many, many more dates. you knew it was unethical and wrong in probably about a dozen ways, but you couldn't resist his charm or his boyish good looks.

he grinned broadly, his face lighting up. you noticed how his eyes crinkled and his dimples deepened. "one date," he agreed. "and who knows? maybe i'll get shot again, and we can make it two."

"as your doctor, i'm going to have to strongly advise against that," you laughed. he opened his mouth to say something else, but your pager cut him off. "shit," you muttered. "i've gotta go, but," you grabbed a pen and the first thing you could find, which just so happened to be a clean bandage—ironically fitting—and jotted down your number. "here's my number. call me when you're all healed up," you paused, giving him a stern look. "and not a second before."

"yes, ma'am," he nodded, smiling widely as he took the bandage from you, his gaze darting to take in the sloppily scribbled number before looking. back at you. his eyes followed you as you rushed away, his smile never faltering. he couldn't wait for his shoulder to heal.

[zhenne]

dr.zayne + reader blurb

wc. ~715

warnings. fluff, gn reader, use of y/n, medical procedures (echocardiogram), established relationship

a/n. i’m fr giggling @ this, it’s so stupid. i saw this tiktok and i instantly thought of zayne lmao

You’re sat on the edge of the examination table, swinging your legs slightly as you watched Zayne flip through your chart. The familiar scent of antiseptic and clean linen filled the small room, but it didn’t feel sterile or cold—not with him standing there, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

“You know,” you say, tilting your head, “it’s a little weird having my boyfriend as my cardiologist. Feels like you have way too much medical authority over me.”

Zayne hummed distractedly, still focused on the file in his hands. “It’s not weird. It’s convenient.”

“For you, maybe,” you muttered.

He finally looked up, one brow arching. “It’s been over a year since you started your job with the Association,” he said, cutting straight to business. “I know how physically demanding it is, and I also know you’re not exactly great at pacing yourself.”

You’re about to scoff something along the lines of, “Excuse me?” but he ignores the signs of protest, flipping a page in the file.

“Your condition presented some arrhythmia issues in the past, and I just want to make sure the increased workload isn’t putting unnecessary strain on your heart.”

“I feel fine,” you assured him. “No dizzy spells, no palpitations, nothing.”

Zayne sighed, closing the folder. “Y/N.”

The way he said your name—gentle, but firm—made you shift slightly. You knew that tone. It was the same one he used when you pushed yourself too hard, the same one you pretended not to hear when he told you to take it easy.

“I know you feel fine,” he said. “But I’d rather check now than wait for a problem to show up later. A routine ultrasound gives me a clear picture of how your heart is handling the extra strain. That way, if there is anything, we catch it early.”

You exhaled slowly, studying him. His arms were crossed now, his fingers drumming absently against his bicep. He was worried—not in a dramatic, overprotective way, but in the quiet, steady way that made it impossible to find the fault in the logic.

“Okay, Dr. Zayne. I trust your judgement.”

—

Ten minutes later, you’re laying back on the exam table and your shirt has been replaced with a thin hospital gown that’s pushed a few inches from your clavicles. The gel on your chest cool against your skin as Zayne guided the ultrasound probe over the left of your sternum with practiced ease. The dim light of the room cast a soft glow on the monitor, where the rhythmic movement of your heart pulsed in shades of gray and white.

"Here," Zayne murmured, pointing at the screen. "That’s your left ventricle, doing its job, nice and strong. And this—" he adjusted the probe slightly, "is your mitral valve—working exactly as it should. Aortic valve looks good too, no signs of narrowing or backflow. And your coronary arteries—" He traced the movement with a gloved finger against the screen. "Nice and clear. Everything is moving and functioning as it should.”

You watched the screen, listening to the steady whoosh of blood flow amplified through the monitor’s speakers. His voice was calm, methodical, the same tone he used with all his patients. But you knew him too well—there was an extra softness when he spoke to you, a quiet attentiveness that betrayed how much he cared.

You stayed quiet for a moment, your eyes following the rhythmic motion on the monitor. Then, with careful composure, you asked, "So… is it a boy or a girl?"

Zayne froze mid-scan. For a beat, he just stared at the screen as if he hadn't heard you correctly. Then, with an exaggerated sigh, he shook his head.

"It's tachycardia," he said flatly.

You blinked. "Wait, what?"

He turned to you with a smirk. "Your heart. It's racing. Probably because you're trying not to laugh at your own joke."

Your lips parted, feigning offense, but the amused flicker in his eyes made it impossible to hold back a grin. "I was being serious!"

Zayne scoffed. "Uh huh. And I suppose you were hoping for a left ventricle with your eyes?"

"Wouldn't that be adorable?"

He chuckled, shaking his head as he wiped the gel off your skin with a warm towel. "You are impossible."

[hatsukeii]

"WE ARE THE BLOOD IN OUR...WAS IT VEINS OR ARTERIES AGAIN?" / T. KUROO

PROLOGUE | M.LIST | NEXT. |

warning(s): a very offhanded, not serious mention of suicide, also ochem and bio!

wc: ~1.0k

When Kuroo Tetsuro sees another glaring "2" that bleeds into the white paper of his chemistry exam, he has to consciously restrain his fingers from curling up around the cover and crumpling it until it is unrecognisable to the naked eye.

"Great work, Kuroo, as expected. 84%, keep it up!"

He smiles at his teacher, only customarily, with a grin that presses tight against his lips to hide the grinding of his teeth.

"Yeah...thanks."

For the second time in his life, somebody; some monster, or formidable foe, has pushed his head into the ground and risen from the dirt in this subject. From the front of the room, Kuroo slams his paper into the desk face down, a thud sounding from the slapping of paper on wood. His head snaps around his shoulder, eyes scanning his classmates behind him for a gleam in someone's eyes, or a face that tries to stay still, but trembles at the apples of its cheeks. Chatter about specific questions drones on, heads bury themselves into clammy hands, pens tick as impatient thumbs tap anxiously at the clicker shafts. An air of dread and nihilism paints the room grey, white lab lights buzzing and flickering more like that of a morgue as hopes and dreams are slowly, but surely, dissected with the flick of a pen that etches numbers into a test paper.

He should be glad, after all, he's in second place! Just barely grazing the top spot of the cohort! The education system is largely flawed anyways! Life is not a grade! He is still worthy of merit!

Kuroo's mind races for consolation, only to find sarcastic, half-hearted sentiments plucked from inspirational TED talks watched in his showers, and mandatory wellbeing assemblies enforced by the school to prevent students from finding the urge to launch themselves off bridges. He rips through the pages of his exam, picking at every calculation error, and missed argument, and misused theory that emerges from his work. He can almost hear their laughter, screechy and squeaky as they wiggle and twist on the paper, before shooting out of the page to laugh a little louder in his face.

"Guys, just take a look over here, since almost everyone messed up drawing this diagram. LDPE is supposed to be branched, but I still need to be able to read how many carbons and hydrogens are on each chain."

The projector ahead flicks on to reveal a perfect diagram, branches and webs of polyethylene connected neatly to one another, carbons and hydrogens labelled between each spot. Kuroo stares at his own diagram, a mess of lines and scribbled letters, all rendered futile beneath the ink red cross of judgement. He bets that whoever beat him wouldn't have gotten the words "illegible" stamped beside their polyethylene diagram. Wait, is that an S, or a 5?

From four rows behind, a pair of eyes train onto a sticky note stuck on a page of the exam. Just beneath the outline that houses the same polyethylene diagram on the projector screen, a labelled neuron is sprawled across the fluorescent yellow of the note. You rip the note off, clicking your tongue at the loss of a mark on the next question, before sticking the neuron diagram into a lined notebook. Peeling a new sticky note from your notepad, a pen spins between the joints of your fingers, rolling in steady backs and forths along your hand. You bite down on the hard plastic of the clicker shaft, flipping through the rest of the pages as you wiggle the pen up and down with your teeth to ease your bubbling annoyance. Seriously, who even cares about the difference between "suppose that" and "assume that" anyways?

A flick of the page with your hand flips the test back on its cover, and you slap the fresh sticky note onto the circled "1" that graces the top of the page, before scribbling the frontal lobe of a brain on the fluorescent green square in preparation for your lunchtime duty.

author's note:

to say that i haven't been either reader or kuroo would be a lie because you bet your ASS i am arguing for anything and everything i can get in an exam paper.... ANYWHO welcome to the new series!!! I've decided to make this into a series because of both the poll and personal planning preference LOL don't hate me pls but i hope u enjoy!!!

tags: @staraxiaa @iiwaijime @hiraethwa @akaakeis @wyrcan @chuuya-brainrot @catsoupki @bailey-reeds @fiannee @cupidsblonde @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @kuroppiii

ok love u guys see u soon bye bye

[aggro-my-beloved]

I Bleed For You (And Now I'm Gushing)

note: you've heard of tooth-rotting fluff, now get ready for jaw-clenching angst >:)

pairing: quinn x gn!tank, sam x gn!tank

summary: a glimpse of one of tank's many nightmares centered around quinn. in this particular universe, they were unable to escape him...

warnings: manipulation, non-consent biting, graphic descriptions of blood and violence and an almost character death.

word count: 1.1k

estimated read time: 5.5 mins

Tank wasn’t sure they had ever fallen victim to an adrenaline rush this powerful, when Quinn’s teeth sunk into the vulnerable flesh of their thigh. The pleasure masking the pain remained incomparable to all of their tattoos combined. A buzzing flooded their brain and their heart rate kept climbing, unable to find a rhythm. Quinn became giddy at their sporadic pulse humming against his jaw and was urged by their hands in his hair to bite harder. 

When he did, the squeak Tank emitted caught both of them to a great surprise. He released their femoral artery from the reign of his fangs with a chuckle, scooping up the droplets escaping from their wound with his finger and a chuckle, and bringing it to their mouth. Tentatively, their lips parted open, imploring him to drag the pad of his thumb down their bottom lip. It wobbled as his digit grazed the interior of their mouth, and his eyes scanned over their canines. Sharp, he observed, but missing potential. 

“That’s it, precious.” He praised them through the closing of their mouth. “Can’t let a drop go to waste now, can we?” Tank’s poker face had become an art form since knowing Quinn, and him ravishing them in their private moments, The metallic taste still urges for their tongue to curl and drool to form–a psychological preparation for their oral cavity spit and hack and get rid of the substance. Their mind tells them to purge it, but they swallow it to witness his smile. Whether or not Tank has realized, their comfort is worth vastly less than his satisfaction. 

“Good.” His sultry voice guides their eyes to stare deep into his. Simultaneously, the hand clamping down their thigh–which will no doubt be littered with bruises in the morning–slithers up to take purchase on their neck. His thumb (no longer blood-soaked) caressed their collarbone with a delighted hum. 

“Precious, have I told you what a great mate you make for me?” His eyes crawled down their face and stopped at the gap beneath their ears. Tank only pondered the question, unbothered by the wandering stare. They’ve heard Milo mention the term a time or two in past meetings when illustrating the latest adventures between him and a department investigator. Albeit the notion of being bound with Quinn had been swirling subconsciously around their mind, Tank was still unsure of where they stood with him but refused to voice their concern. Like blood, they’ll swallow this down too.

“What do you want?” They inquired with a smirk. All at once, his gaze darkened, and Tank’s eyes grew. The blood rushing through their system picked up pace once more, but they and Quinn both knew it was from trepidation rather than excitement. 

“I want to be more intimate with you.” The hold on their neck grew firm. “We could take our relationship to a level much deeper than mates. We could be maker and progeny. You would belong to me, and I, you.” It wouldn’t be the first time Quinn’s brought the subject to light. The last time he did, he made transforming Tank’s entire shifter DNA to be a different species sound like a fun fact, as opposed to a pressing suggestion. But the act of succumbing to him completely, let alone as a disloyal member of David’s pack, was not agreed upon prior to this rendezvous. The metallic taste was back, marrying an unpleasant churning in their stomach and curling toes. As much as they yearned to, Tank couldn’t bottle those words up even if Quinn shoved them down Tank’s mouth himself. 

“I don’t want that.” A few beats of silence followed. Immediately, it became clear how displeased Quinn was by the answer. Tank wants to cut out their tongue. They want to rewind to a minute ago when the endorphins were still high and the tension between them and the vampire was all sexual. They want the pain to be masked by the pleasure of his teeth buried in their skin, tangling with their muscle and veins–not just the searing anguish of his stare peering into them.

 

“Oh, precious.” His grip on their neck never loosened. “I thought you would’ve been smart enough to understand the whole dynamic of this relationship by now…” He rolled his eyes with a sinister chuckle. “I take what I want, permission be damned. You take what I give you and like it.” The end of his declaration morphed into a snarl as the same fangs that dangled heaven in front of Tank’s face threatened their demise in a matter of seconds.

He ripped into his mate’s throat unapologetically and ravenous, no longer savoring the taste of them but picturing what a poised thrall they would become beneath him. Tank screamed and writhed at the feeling of skin and muscle breaking in the wake of his pearly daggers, vision turning crimson from the utter mess he was making of their body. As they brought both hands to claw at the one chained to their neck, Tank thought back to their conversation earlier in the day, where they brought up the idea of learning healing magic to clean up the more vicious wounds Quinn would leave on them. Something about the way the ceiling fan keeps sounding more distorted, and the weak feeling overcoming them tells Tank that this session may not be one they could bounce back from without Quinn’s empowered ministrations. 

“Please,” they manage to choke out, nails clawing at his unrelenting hand. “Don’t, don’t do this.” 

This is the universe where they don’t walk away. One that has tormented their subconscious several nights, and left them to wake up alone in a pool of sweat and blood-curdling screams. Tonight was no exception if you pay no mind to the Solaire Clan vamp urging her awake. 

“Come on, Darlin, open those pretty eyes for me,” he pleads incessantly. Moments later, they shoot up from where they are lying, gulping sharp breaths of oxygen down like it's the last ones they will take. It sure felt like it a few seconds ago.

“Hey, you.” Sam greets them with a relieved sigh. Tanks felt a stinging sensation on their neck, no doubt from where they were clawing themselves in their sleep. They silently pray the next round of scabs heal over without interference, but aren't sure if they’ve landed on the side of good karma with all of the luck this past year has brought them. “You scared me for a second, looks like one hell of a nightmare you just woke up from…you get those a lot?” 

Their throat feels like sandpaper as they swallow, and shake their head. "Never."

[tomtomsaywer]

Just the beginning of a cardiophile short story I'm writing. Let me know what you think. I am still working on the technicals as well (syntax editing etc etc.)

Ryan shifted uncomfortably in the stiff vinyl chair, arms crossed, fingers drumming against his bicep. A four-hour cardiac exam—what a waste of time. His schedule was already tight with the new job, and now he had to sit in this sterile clinic, dressed in a crisp oxford shirt, fitted trousers, and polished leather shoes, waiting for a test he didn’t even believe he needed.

The air smelled like disinfectant and aging paper. A television murmured in the corner, playing some medical news segment he ignored. His gaze flicked to the clock. **Twenty minutes** already. Too long.

His fingers twitched toward the gym bag at his feet. *"Bring your workout gear—you'll be working up quite a sweat,"* the nurse had said when scheduling the appointment. The warning had irritated him then, and it irritated him now. His heart was fine. He exercised. He didn’t smoke. He could take the stairs without feeling winded. His chest had never given him a reason to worry. But that dumb DNA test flagged him for a "routine cardiac screening"—some nonsense about genetic predisposition, a weak correlation between his Northern European ancestry and heart disease.

If he hadn't taken that test, he wouldn't be here. He'd expected something interesting from the results, something that could make for a good anecdote at parties. Maybe a surprise lineage. Instead, the test had confirmed exactly what he already knew: just white, just plain. And now, thanks to that, some doctor was about to strap electrodes to his chest and make him run on a treadmill like a lab rat, and whatever else.

He exhaled sharply and shifted in his seat, feeling the quiet, rhythmic thud of his heart against his ribs. It was steady, slow. The thought of someone listening to it, pressing a cold stethoscope against his chest, feeling his body, made him oddly self-conscious. His heart was just... *there*, beating away, keeping him alive. But now, under scrutiny, he couldn't stop thinking about it. He ran a hand absently over his chest, fingertips pressing into the firm muscle just above his heart, feeling the pulse beneath. The process made him feel uneasy, almost vulnerable. He worried—irrationally—that somehow, his nerves would show up in the results, that his slightly elevated heart rate would be misinterpreted as a sign of something wrong.

His heart gave a quick, irritated kick at the thought.

*"Mr. Cromwell? Mr. Ryan Cromwell?"*

A voice snapped him out of his thoughts. A nurse stood in the doorway, flipping through a chart.

He stood, rolling his shoulders, forcing himself to breathe evenly as he followed her into the exam room. The walls were painted a dull beige, and a large medical poster of the cardiovascular system hung beside the examination table. It was an intricate illustration—arteries and veins, thick and branching, pumping life into the muscular chambers of the heart. Across the room stood an elliptical, a treadmill, a weight scale, and a height measure.

*"Alright, Ryan,"* the nurse said, scanning his file. *"Dr. Connor will be in shortly."*, she said, her eyes connecting with ryans only briefly before she made her way toward the door.

*"Thanks,"* Ryan muttered, his voice coming out tighter than he intended.

He set his bag down beside the workout equipment and took a seat on the exam table, his heart continuing its steady, expectant rhythm.

Ryan sat on the examination table, shifting slightly as the paper crinkled beneath him. The air was crisp with the scent of antiseptic, the faint hum of medical equipment filling the silence. His pulse beat a quiet, steady rhythm in his chest, but now that he was thinking about it, he could feel it more than before—pressing against his ribs, throbbing beneath his sternum.

The cardiovascular poster beside him caught his eye again. The heart, large and anatomically precise, sat at the center, its chambers vividly labeled, red and blue blood vessels sprawling outward. His gaze trailed down the superior vena cava, following the pathway of blood into the right atrium, then through the tricuspid valve, down into the right ventricle. His own heart mirrored those motions, a constant cycle of contraction and release, a mechanical efficiency he’d never really considered before. Again, his hand absent mindedly felt around his own chest. "Here" he thought, the atrium, just here, and here, the left ventricle, feeling the thumping inside, He looked down almost expecting to see the anatomical drawing within his chest.

The door clicked open.

Ryan sat up straighter as a man stepped inside, he felt as though he had been caught, his hand feeling the pumping of his beating heart. What a bizzare thought, and yet, his pulse quickened

The man, clearly his doctor, mid thirties, wavy blond hair, scruffy dark beard, and chestnut eyes, smiled, seeing Ryan quickly shuffle his had away from his heart. "Beginning the heart exam without me, are you?"

"Uh, no I-I" Stammered Ryan, immediately feeling his face turn bright red.

"Hahaha, great to meet you Ryan, my name is Doctor Connor.

Dressed in a white coat over dark scrubs with a name badge read **Dr. Connor, Cardiology.** The two Ns, stylized to look like an ECG reading.

He was a very handsome man, tall, broad shouldered wavy blond hair, and a dark stubble beard across his face. Clearly he was someone who hit the gym.

Probably a runner, thought Ryan, which, given his medical focus, a high intensity cardio workout, seemed just right for the doctor.

Ryan noted the way the coat fit tight across his chest, and the deep V in his scrubs, giving almost too much visibility to the doctors collar bones and neck. Finally The doctor spoke again his throat flexing as he spoke.

"you are Ryan Cromwell, yes?" he said, looking with a furrowed brow, at a clipboard Ryan didn't even notice he was carrying.

"Yes, sorry, you just surprised me" A garbage excuse Ryan thought, for being so enamoured by the doctors good looks he nearly forgot how to speak.

"Ah great then sorry to have spooked you", shutting the door behind him, his voice a calm baritone. He flipped open the chart, on his clipboard. *"Four-hour cardiac exam today. Routine screening flagged by genetic testing, correct?"*

Ryan nodded. *"Yeah, I guess so."*

Dr. Connor pulled up a stool, sitting just in front of him. *"Do you have any symptoms? Chest pain? Shortness of breath? Dizziness?"*

*"Nope. Feel fine."*

Doctor Connor, looked directly into ryans eyes.

*"Good,"* Dr. Connor murmured, writing something down.

"Ryan, are you nervous?" Asked Dr Connor, his eyes darting up and down ryans body, clearly noting the physical indications.

"Uh to be honest, I do have a bit of white coat nervousness", Ryan admitted.

"Oh, no worries, we can solve that" Dr. Connor announced standing up, and removing the doctor coat, and hanging it on the wall.

He turned to back to ryan, and asked "Better?"

The doctor now stood in tight scrubs, hugging the curve of his pecs, biceps, and abs. The pants, held tight to the doctors tight ass. Ryans jaw nearly dropped to the floor, but he managed to slow the racing of his heart, just slightly, and compose himself long enough to say "Uh, thank you, but, that's just slang for medical procedures make me nervous"

"Hahaha, I know, sometimes humour helps people calm down" Dr. Connor said, as he strode back to the table, taking a seat, extremely close to Ryan, rubbing shoulders, as it were. "Don't worry, I wont let anything happen to you, I promise" He said, and he put his right hand on Ryans knee, stroking it gently with his index finger.

Ryans cock, gave an immediate twinge, Ryans heart skipped a beat in his chest, Ryans face flushed even more red, and Ryans throat tightened to the point he could hardly speak. "Thank you" he whispered.

"Excellent, Now, we need to get at your heart" Doctor Connor shifted his hand from Ryans knee, to the small of his back, while his left hand moved to touch ryans pec. The fingertips pressed lightly against the crisp fabric of ryans shirt, and pressed ever so slightly into Ryan’s pec, just over the exact spot where his heart struck against his ribs. Through the thin barrier of his shirt, the doctor could feel it, steady and insistent beneath his index finger. Ryan’s breath shuddered.

"Good rhythm," Dr. Connor grinned.

The doctor was becoming increasingly unprofessional, Ryan thought, but he wasn't about to complain. This pivot definitely made him forget about his nervousness.

Doctor Connors finger touched the fabric just above ryans nipple, as he stood letting his hand slide away from ryans chest.

"Ok well, I'll give you some privacy, and you can change into your workout gear, and then we will start" Dr Connor said moving for the door.

As he opened it, Ryan realized just how quiet it was in this little exam room, the barely noticeable noise from the waiting room, seeming deafening as it poured in the open door.

"I'll wait outside the door, just give a firm knock, when you're ready and I'll come back in." He said as he left

Just before closing the door he turned his head back in to say "See this room is extremely private, we can get up to anything we need to, and have no interruptions" and the door closed.

Ryan sighed, shaking off the lingering tension as he pulled his trousers down, stepping out of them carefully. He folded them neatly—more out of habit than any real concern for wrinkles—then reached for his athletic shorts. The material was cool against his skin as he pulled them up, adjusting them around his waist.

The room was still and quiet, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lighting. He bent down, grabbing his left sneaker and sliding his foot in, tightening the laces with practiced ease. He moved to the other, balancing on one foot as he tugged the shoe over his heel.

As he shifted, his elbow accidentally knocked the aluminum height ruler against the wall. Clap! The sharp noise cracked through the stillness like a gunshot.

Ryan flinched, jerking upright—just as the door swung open.

Dr. Connor stepped inside.

Ryan was not ready.

He stood there, half-dressed—his pants gone, replaced with gym shorts, but his shirt was still fully buttoned, crisp oxford fabric hanging over his waistline.

The doctor’s eyes flicked over him, brows raising slightly in surprise before his lips curled into an amused smirk.

"Didn’t mean to rush you," Dr. Connor said smoothly, stepping inside as if this was completely normal. "Heard the knock—thought you were ready."

Ryan’s face burned. He swallowed hard, his heart hammering too fast, the sound suddenly deafening in his own ears.

"Uh—yeah, just finishing up," Ryan muttered, his voice tight. He should have reached for his buttons, started undoing them, but somehow his hands refused to move.

Dr. Connor shut the door behind him, his expression still amused, but there was something else in his gaze—something unreadable as he took a slow step closer.

"You don’t have to be shy, or nervous Ryan. " the doctor said, his voice dipping just slightly. "I’m going to see your chest in a few minutes anyway. Here let me just help."

Ryan really wished his heart wouldn’t react to that statement the way it did.

He felt as though Dr. Connor could already hear it—the quickened rhythm, the sudden change in cadence. The way it wasn’t the smooth, controlled pulse it had been just minutes ago.

Dr. Connor’s gaze flicked down, just for a second, to the spot over Ryan’s left pec—exactly where his heart pounded the hardest. Ryan wondered if somehow doctor connor had xray vision and was looking directly at his heart now.

Ryan swallowed.

Dr. Connor’s voice was softer when he spoke next.

"Let’s make this easier. Here—" He took a step closer, lifting his hands toward Ryan’s shirt.

Ryan’s breath caught.

The doctor’s fingers brushed against the first button, just beneath his collar. His touch was slow—deliberate—as he popped it open.

One.

Then the next.

Two.

Ryan couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He stood there, the hammering of his heart, pounding in his ears and neck.

Dr. Connor continued, unbuttoning with methodical, no medical precision, revealing inch by inch of smooth, warm skin, until—

Ryan’s heart gave a violent thud as the final button slipped free, the fabric parting fully.

Dr. Connor exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the shirt aside, and skimming lightly over Ryan’s now-bare sternum, pressing just enough to feel the movement underneath.

"There it is," he said, gently tappying ryans pec. "Your heart, it's beating so, so fast, Ryan".

His palm settled flat against Ryan’s chest, directly over his heart. His thumb brushed absently over the curve of his pec, rubbing ryans nipple, before moving underneath his pec, as if feeling for something specific.

Ryan’s pulse slammed against his ribs, hammering into Dr. Connor’s palm. The sensation was intimate, too much, too close.

Dr. Connor smiled, just barely.

"Yes, very fast, dont tell me you're still nervous?," he murmured.

His fingers pressed deeper, feeling the thick pectoral muscle beneath, and the steady contraction and release of the hard-working organ deeper still. Ryan could practically feel the blood being pushed through the chambers, the power behind every beat, and the pressure of doctor connors hand.

"Uh yeah, a little, sorry.." murmured ryan.

Dr. Connor’s fingers lingered for a moment longer, pressing gently into the firm muscle of Ryan’s pec, feeling the strong, rhythmic thudding of his heart against his palm. The sound of their breathing filled the quiet space between them.

Then, slowly, he pulled back.

Ryan exhaled sharply, the absence of contact leaving his skin tingling. He swallowed, unsure if his heart was racing from nerves or something else entirely.

Dr. Connor smiled, just slightly. He reached for the stethoscope draped around his neck, the black tubing shifting as he lifted it with practiced ease.

"Let’s get a proper listen," he said.

Ryan nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak.

Doctor Connor motioned with his stethoscope, for Ryan to remove his shirt entirely.

Ryan dutifully obeyed. Shrugging his opened shirt off, and setting it on the exam table before turning once more back to dr Connor.

Doctor connor placed the earpieces of the stethoscope in his ears, and rolling his shoulders slightly as he adjusted the diaphragm between his fingers. Then, with a quiet, deliberate motion, he reached out, pressing the cold metal of the stethoscope against Ryan’s bare chest.

Doctor Connor had a renewed focus on his face, and a deliberate target within ryans chest.

"Ryan I'm going to check the valves of your heart, 1 by 1" Doctor Connor said.

"I'm going to start with the aortic valve"

just to doc connors left of ryans sternum.

Ryan inhaled sharply at the sudden chill, his pec twitching involuntarily.

"Deep breath," Dr. Connor instructed, his voice a low hum.

Ryan obeyed, sucking in a slow lungful of air, his chest expanding against the pressure of the diaphragm.

The doctor’s expression shifted slightly as he listened—focused, intent. His fingers curled lightly around the stethoscope, keeping it firmly in place over ryans chest.

"Good," he murmured. "Steady. Strong. Your aortic valve sounds excellent."

He moved the diaphragm slightly, sliding it just to the right, and the other side of ryans sternum. Again, listening intently with a slightly furrowed brow. "I'm going to listen to your pulmonic valve now".

Ryans eyes glanced over to the poster of the heart, and could clearly see "pulmonic Valve" labeled. Ryans eyes darted back to dr connors intense look as he was listening.

"Okay", dr Connor said and now tricuspid.

He moved the stethoscope down further, closer to the bottom of Ryans pec. Ryan could feel his heart pumping hard deep inside his chest. The pressure of the stethoscope against his chest only made him feel more pressure pushing out against the doctors hand.

"Great, and now for the apex, or mitral valve" said Dr Connor. As he removed the stethoscope from ryans chest, and was about to place it back, just below ryans left nipple he paused. Ryans heart was beating so hard in his ears, he thought he might pass out, but he persevered.

The doctor placed the stethoscope right under ryans nipple. The now warm metal, making contact, Ryan felt a rush. His heart was literally centimeters from the handsome doctors hand, and the intensity which Dr Connor was looking at his chest made Ryan nearly dizzy. Ryan could feel his heart hammering against doctor connors hand. The beating being measured, carefully by Dr Connor.

"Ok ryan" dr connor said breaking ryan from his though. "Your heart, at least while resting sounds excellent." Dr connor said.

"Your heart is still beating quite hard, and fast, for being at rest, Ryan. But you did say you were nervous." Dr. Connor said, as he shifted away from Ryan, and took a step into the middle of the room.

Turning back to ryan, dr Connor said "I think we will move on, and move to exercise", he said while extending a finger and prodding ryans left pec. "Yes, let's get this really hammering, shall we?".

Ryan felt a twinge happen again in his pants. The way the doctor kept touching his chest, and feeling his heart, was a totally different feeling for Ryan. And, now, the thought of his heart, racing while Dr. Connor felt and listened to was beginning to feel, exciting.

Ryan feeling excited by the prospect thought, what an odd feeling. Then he wondered if the nurse might walk in and see Dr connor, holding his pecs and feeling his pumping, pounding heart, and that might be embarrassing, somehow. Looking at the poster of the heart on the wall, Ryan began to wonder what his heart even sounded like.

"Uh, of course yes, let's move on to exercise..."Ryan managed to say. "It is private in here, right? Like nobody is going to come in?" He followed up. "Lub-dub, Lub-dub, lub-dub." He thought to himself, that's what it always sounds like in movies and games. Certainly that's it?

"Of course. The door is locked, and the room soundproofed, so nobody can hear. The treadmill and other equipment can get quite loud, so this room was soundproofed to make sure that the other examinations going on are not disrupted." Dr. Connor said calmly. "Why, are you worried someone will barge in, or...?" He trailed off unsure of what else to say.

"No, no not at all". Ryan said, glancing at the labeled anatomical poster of the heart.

"I was just thinking about the exam, and all the different parts of my heart" Ryan said absently raising his left arm to his chest again. Feeling the thrusting of his heart, deep in his chest behind his pec. "And i was thinking about the sound the heart makes, and I just, I don't know was worried someone might walk in".

"Well, it's perfectly private! So no worries there."

"Ryan, have you ever heard a heartbeat in person?" Dr connor asked.

The question took Ryan by surprise. He tried to remember, but nothing came to mind. "Only on TV, or video games or whatever, so I guess, No?"

"Well it's something really special. I do it for a living, so I forget that most people haven't heard a heart, beating, in real life."

"As you can see on the poster there, there are four chambers to the heart, and we listen to the valves that let the blood flow out, but not back." Dr connor continued, "the apical, pulmonic, tricuspid, and mitral valve all serve to let blood flow one way. During an exam doctors listen to make sure the valve sounds strong, and that there isn't any backward blood flow."

"If you've never heard a heartbeat before you might not know the sounds." "You know what Ryan, i think you should use my stethoscope, and try it out for yourself!, what do you think?"

Dr. Connor removed the stethoscope from around his neck and handed to ryan.

"Oh, ok, yeah, that would be really cool!" Ryan said. He felt some calm come over himself, but that washed away at the prospect of feeling Dr. Connors chest. Ryan inserted the ear pieces into his ears, and the room went totally silent, except the distorted noises funneled through the stethoscope head.

"Exaclty Ryan, try it out!". Dr connor said. His voice slightly muffled by the stethoscope.

Ryan reached out, and placed the head of the stethoscope, on the doctors chest, just under his monogrammed "Dr. Connor".

The crinkling of his scrubs, made a lot of racket in ryans ears but he could hear the faintest lub-dub sound behind the crinkling.

"Ryan, I meant for you to use the stethoscope on yourself..." Dr connor said interrupting ryans thoughts.

"Ohhhh" said Ryan immediately growing red, and pulling his hand away from the doctors body. "I am so, sorry, of course that's what you meant...".

"Hahaha it's ok, you know what, you should listen to my heart, maybe that white coat nervousness will go away, if you know I'm human too". Dr connor knealt down, in front of ryan on the exam table. He looked up, and guided ryans hand down, through the V neck of his scrubs and onto his firm left pec. Ryan could immediately feeling the throbbing of Dr Connors heart, pushing hard against his hand. It was so very slow. Dr Connor guided ryans hand just below his pec. The entire firm, and taught pec was moving with every beat of the doctors heart. Dr. Connor guided the stethoscope head, and ryans hand just below his left nipple. It was an odd sensation, Ryan thought he could literally feel Dr. Connors heart poking through the ribs at this point. Dr connor removed his own hand and let Ryan hold on by himself.

Ryan shifted his grip on the stethoscope holding the head with his index and middle finger, while his palm cradled the doctors pec, ryans thumb, delicately touching his nipple. "Wow". Ryan said softly. He could feel the doctors heart, the atrium, pumping in his palm. He could feel the left ventricle literally tapping his fingers. And all the while the sound of the doctors heart was filling his head. Lub, ryans palm filled with pec muscle as the throbbing heart pushed up. Dub, the ventricle tapping ryans fingers. Whoosh, the sound of the blood moving out, and ryans hand sinking back into pec, as the heart surged blood outward.

Lub, dub, lub, dub, lub, dub. "So slow, so strong" Ryan thought to himself. "The heart of a runner?" Ryan whispered.

Ryan could feel his own heart rate surging. He could feel himself, now fully erect, against his abdomen. "I really hope the doctor doesn't notice how hard I am" he thought to himself. He looked up from the doctors chest, and saw Dr Connor smiling, faintly with an odd smirk. "Oh god, did I say that out loud?" He again thought to himself.

Lub, dub, lub, dub. Time seemed to slow down, had he been here for hours?

"Well then" Dr connor said breaking the silence of the room "are you feeling less nervous? You look, less nervous."

"Yeah I'm feeling -something- less nervous" Ryan struggled to maintain composure, as he pulled his hand away from the Dr's chest,his thumb, drawing along the Dr's nipple as he spoke the words.

"Great, did you enjoy that?" Dr. Connor said with a coy smile.

"Honestly, yes. Yes I really enjoyed that" the reply came out before he could even think. "I mean, wow", --"stop, just stop speaking!!"-- Ryans mind went, but his mouth wasn't listening. "Like, your heart was incredible sounding, and your chest, was just amazing, hahahahah" a nervous laughter erupting from his mouth. "I really liked how i could feel your heart, and listen at the same time"

--"stop it stop it stop it"-- ryans mind pleased to his mouth.

"And like, i just want to say, you're really fit, and I liked that, so thank you".

--"what the fuck"--

Dr. Connor maintained his smile.

"Well thank you for the compliment. Usually these cardiac exams, aren't a 2 way thing, but, I have to say it was kind of fun. And I'm very happy you enjoyed it too" giving a slight nod, down toward ryans shorts. Ryans hard cock gave a quick little thrust, shifting in his shorts, as the doctor looked.

"fuck he knows"ryan thought. "Wait, is he into it?" He noticed the slightest hold in the gaze Dr. Connor had toward his cock. Ryans balls pulled tight to him, at the thought, and his cock gave another little thrust, shifting his shorts as he sat.

"Ok, right then, it's time to move on the more physically taxxing part of the exam." Dr. Connor said, again breaking another long silence. "Ryan, my expectation for this part of the exam, is that you get your heart beating as fast, and as hard as possible."

"For the exam, we want to put stress on your heart, and see how the valves perform at high rate, but also, I would like to know the volume and size of your heart. Once you complete your exercises, I'll take a listen, and feel your chest, to measure the amount of expansion."

"I'd like to get a good feel of your apex, right after the exercise as well" Dr connor reached out and proded ryans chest, just under his pec. "Ideally, we would get this really thrusting hard"

[french-unknown]

𝕋ℍ𝔼 𝔼𝕋𝔼ℝℕ𝕀𝕋𝕐 𝕆𝔽 𝔹𝕃𝕆𝕆𝔻

ℂℍ𝔸ℝ𝔸ℂ𝕋𝔼ℝ: trafalgar law ℂ/𝕎: hurt/comfort (sickness), established relationship 𝕎/ℂ: 3.1k + 𝕊𝕌𝕄𝕄𝔸ℝ𝕐: What could be worse than a doctor condemned to watch his lover waste away from a fatal illness? Perhaps a vampire witnessing his companion's failure to access eternity at his side. Law has never had a chance in life.

| m a s t e r l i s t |

𝕃𝔸𝕎

You were comfortably lying down on your bed, your back against your soft blankets, while Law's body was lying on top of yours. His head was nestled comfortably in the crook of your neck and you felt his hair, free from his usual hat, tickling your neck as well as your jaw.

In your happy state, you laughed lightly at the situation while gently tugging on a handful of hair that came your way.

Above you, you felt his soft growl against your touching chests before he buried his head even further against you. The grip he also had on your hips tightened and you felt the coolness of his icy hands pierce the thin fabric that covered you. A shiver went up your spine. However, far from being disturbed by the rapprochement, your blissful smile widens and you resume your caresses on his scalp. His messy hair was soft under your fingers.

Your brain was foggy but the pleasure you got from it felt good.

Suddenly, Law shifted against you.

Still in the clouds, you didn't quite understand why your lover released himself from your neck before getting up on his elbows. Your faces came face-to-face. You looked at him in awe as his fangs slowly retracted and he wiped away the few drops of blood that had rolled down the corner of his mouth. You surrounded his chiseled jaw in your hands to brought him closer to you until he was lying on you again and you placed a loving kiss on his lips.

He stayed there briefly, temporarily enjoying the contact, but he rose again.

You saw him looking at you with his eyebrows furrowed.

“Your blood tastes weird.” He announced with annoyance.

You laughed discreetly.

“You never told me this one.” You answered him with a smile.“New catchphrase?”

But Law didn't share your good humor.

“Of course. I was torn between «your blood tastes weird» and «you make weird noises when you chew» so I hope you're flattered.” He muttered.

“I think I prefer the one about my chewing.” You laught again but, when he moved further away, you complained, “Come on, it's nothing. Come back to me.”

You then tried to wrap your arms around his neck to pull him back onto you but he pulled away. You let out a sound of sadness as he propped himself up on his elbows before sitting on his knees around your thighs.

“Law!” You moan.

The loss of contact caused a cold draft to pass over your neck and make you shiver. You missed his warm, heavy body on yours.

Yet your grumpy lover leaned to the side to retrieve his sword and repositioned himself on you with his weapon.

“Room, scan!” He declared in the darkness of your room.

The room lit up in blue and, among the idyllic setting that this formed, you emerged even brighter. Indeed, your body glowed with the same bluish hue while your veins stood out a blood red. They sparkled in your body like an infinite tree that multiplied and became more and more refined as it approached your extremities. And, in the middle of it all, your arteries were pulsing bright red.

The light eventually faded, leaving only you and Law in near darkness.

You still made out his indecipherable face in the darkness so, still peaceful, you held out your arms for him to come back and settle between them. But he didn't move.

“Law.” You called to him in vain with necessity.

Your body was gradually cooling down and you just wanted to savor your post-meal moment with your lover. But he didn't move except to lower his emotionless eyes from your eyes to your heart. Then he brought them back up to your eyes.

"You will die." He blurted out without the slightest tact.

You laughed in disbelief this time.

“Stop saying stupid things.” You replied before you were finally able to grab his hands in yours.

You laced your fingers together then roughly pulled him towards you until he collapsed onto your chest. His frame, wider and taller than yours, suddenly crushed you - sending a pain signal to your brain - but you didn't pay attention because you were too happy to have your man back. You were too happy to have him against you again while he also tangled your fingers with his and rested his head under your chin.

You gently kissed the top of his hair.

"You're tired." You resumed calmly. “Sleep, we'll see about it tomorrow.”

And you let yourself be carried peacefully into the arms of Morpheus as soon as the last word left your lips.

When you woke up the next morning, the bed was empty.

You stretch your foot out of your mountain of blankets before building up the courage to get out from between your sheets. Law was already long gone if you stuck to his neatly folded side of the bed. You groaned. Your mind was no longer as fuzzy as it was last night—one of the happy effects of having your blood drawn by him—but it was nevertheless still clouded by the mists of lingering sleep.

You then went into the corridor in search of your grumpy lover.

Even though he was his usual grumpy self, you didn't doubt for a second your ability to make him cuddle you.

You passed a few members of the crew along the way who greeted you happily and, at the end of the way, you finally arrived at the captain's office. You knocked on the door before entering without waiting for his signal.

You found him sitting in his chair behind his desk. He was bent forward with his elbows on the surface while his open hands supported his lowered head. You hesitated for a second before he heard you enter. However, he slowly raised his head to gaze into yours with his steely eyes. From where you stood, you could see the grayish dark circles that stained the underside of his eyes.

"What?" He asked dryly.

You cringed at his tone.

“Wow!” You exclaimed, clearly unsettled. “Bad night, sleeping beauty?”

He growled in response.

“Well, I might as well leave if I piss you off.” You replied, annoyed by his behavior.

"Wait." He hurriedly stopped you while you had your hand on the handle.

Behind you, you heard the crunch of his chair against the floor followed by the sound of his footsteps going around his desk. When he stopped moving, you turned back to him with a suspicious glance.

He was simply standing behind you with his arms limply at his sides. His gaze was slightly shifty, unlike usual, as well as you could see in the nervous movements of his fingers that he wasn't comfortable. Finally, he took a deep breath before shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He raised his steely eyes to yours.

“Do you remember about last night?” He asked sharply.

You turned toward him and leaned your back against the door.

"Yes." You replied still annoyed by the start of the conversation. "It makes me high. It doesn't make me so stupid that I forget my evening."

You saw a nervous twitch pass his lips but he did nothing.

"There is a problem with your body." He continued without getting angry despite the fact that he seemed to be seething inside. His nervous movements resumed discreetly. "Your blood isn't like usual and you lit up like a lantern when I scanned you."

You stared at him in silence. You felt accused by his remark. Defensively, you crossed your arms over your chest without even realizing it.

“You must have made a mistake.” You explained.

“I never make a mistake.” He immediately retorted, almost growling.

“And yet you were wrong.” You affirmed.

The air began to crackle with tension around you. Far from avoiding your gaze now, his eyes were firmly planted on yours as he seemed to probe your mind. His face was completely expressionless, if we forget the irritated grin that twisted his lips. His parasitic movements had also completely ceased, leaving behind only his impassive frame which towered over you coldly.

Faced with the situation, which was getting worse, you decided to calm things down.

“Look,” You started, trying to take a softer tone. "you clearly look like a zombie now and you must not have slept all night given your dark circles. There must be a little mess, okay? I'm not sick. I didn't have temperature. I don't hurt anywhere."

You noticed his shoulders unwind and drop as you spoke.

Slowly, you moved from the door before slowly getting closer to him. You approached him as you would with a wild animal. Once in front of him, you raised your hand which you delicately placed against his cold cheek. With the tip of your thumb, you tenderly caressed his cheekbone. You still noticed that, although he didn't lean into the contact, the muscles in his jaw relaxed against your palm.

"I'm fine, Law." You finish smiling.

Then, to your complete astonishment, his hands rested on your hips over the fabric of your t-shirt and pulled you against him. Caught in his embrace, you felt him bend forward to rest his forehead against your shoulder. His cold breath hit your collarbone and made you shiver.

However, you raised your arms and wrapped them around his neck to bring him even closer to you. You placed a kiss against his temple at the same time.

"I'm fine, Law." You repeated it to reassure him. "Everything's fine."

From that day on, your relationship with him changed.

Whereas before you both had been quite laid-back and independent, you soon noticed that he appeared in your field of vision a lot more. You had always been this quiet couple who did their activities separately before meeting in the evening to discuss them. But now, he was always in the corner of the room.

You found it quite endearing at first: he was worried about you, unlike some times when he could be quite insensitive.

After so many years living on Earth as a vampire, he had a perception of time quite different from yours which meant that he didn't place as much value on the time spent together. He valued the quality of your time together over its quantity. And it was indeed very pretty on paper but that unfortunately meant that days or even weeks could go by without him giving any sign of life. He would simply show up at the end of the day to naturally ask for some time together—or even just to feed on you—before going back to his studies or his occupations.

It weighed heavily on you at the start of your relationship. You had sometimes wondered if he just saw you as a pleasant way to pass the time or as a simple blood bag. But you knew now that he loved you, after he finally grumpily admitted it after years of dating.

Yet, while you could have sacrificed your entire family at the beginning of your relationship for him to give you this much attention, now it annoyed you.

You saw the doubt in his eyes and it irritated you. He watched you like a babysitter watching over a baby he had to take care of. Or out of fear that you would escape if he looked away for even a second. Except you weren't a child. You were an adult and you would have liked to get this fact into his vampire head.

Besides, he probably must have told the rest of the crew about his paranoid doubts because you also had the impression that they were taking turns keeping an eye on you. When Law was locked in his library or office, they would mysteriously appear one by one at your side.

Bepo asked you to come take a nap with him because he couldn't sleep on his own.

Shachi and Penguin asked you to decide which one of them won after their prank competitions.

Ikkaku asked you to be her partner for a card game since no one else was free to play with her.

The more time passed, the more their attention suffocated you.

Their fear was increased tenfold when, while you were eating dinner together in the Polar Tang refectory, you tried in vain to contain a cough. You had the impression since you woke up that morning that a weight was pressing on your chest while a cat seemed to have taken up residence in your throat. You barely suppressed a groan of annoyance at having coughed at the worst possible time. All the crew's horrified eyes were pointed at you.

“It’s okay,” You tried to justify yourself, laughing. “the water went down the wrong pipe!”

But no one laughs with you.

You heard Law's chair creak precipitously against the floor in the silence of the room and then you felt the icy grip of his fingers between yours. You were immediately lifted from your own chair and he carried you with him down the halls to your room. You tried in vain to explain during the ride but, despite your efforts, he didn't listen.

As soon as your bedroom door closed, he picked you up and threw you onto the bed. He then sat on your lap in a parody of his last meal and pinned you against the mattress to retrieve his sword.

“Come on, Law!” You moan, dissatisfied, for him to stop his cinema.

“Room, scan!” He still whispered seriously above you.

The same shade of blue seeped into your room. Your eyes, however, remained fixed on your lover's and you waited for the moment of realization where they would relax. When he finally saw that you had nothing.

You were okay.

But you looked and all you saw was his eyes widening as a glint that you recognized as fear lit up in his eyes. His mouth opened blissfully in shock, revealing his white teeth with retracted canines that you knew were sharp. His grip loosened around your wrists and he leaned back, stunned, as if he had just been punched in the face.

Faced with this reaction, you felt fear begin to tickle unpleasantly in your stomach. You got up like this, worried, in order to reassure him but the vision you had froze you.

In the mirror that decorated your room behind your lover, you saw your reflections.

The blue light of his Room contrasted harshly with the bright red that spread across your body where all your veins should undoubtedly be. You saw them going in all directions in the smallest corners of your body while giving it a slight reddish tint by proxy. And what mortified you the most was the enormous center of neon red light pulsing from your lungs. They were so clearly visible in the mirror that you had no trouble recognizing the lobes and structures you had seen so many times in Law's scientific journals.

It wasn't possible, you were fine!

You certainly had a little cough a few minutes ago but it was perfectly normal. You lived in a damp and sometimes a little cold submarine that was submerged for more than half the year. You didn't see much sun so your immune system wasn't always at its highest potential. You had caught a cold, that was all.

You turned your confused face towards Law's who was still looking at you in amazement.

"It's just a cold." You tried to soothe him.

"It's not a cold." He countered by recomposing himself. "It's more than that. It's in your blood and it got into your lungs. I don't know what it is, I've read every book I have and I still don't know what it is."

You sighed as you tried to approach him but he moved away from your touch as if you had burned him. Inside, you felt the rejection like a slap in the face.

"It's nothing." You started again anyway. "I just have a little virus or something. I'll be better in a few days."

He glared at you.

"It's not nothing!" He growled now, clearly. "Do you think my Devil Fruit helps me spot birds in the sky? It spots illnesses. Serious illnesses!"

You were going to growl at him for not speaking to you that way, but he cut you off.

"If it's on my scan, it's dangerous. And it's everywhere in your body. In your blood, in your lungs. It's killing you!"

The poorly concealed despair you detected in his tone made you calm down. Even though he was currently annoying you prodigiously, you knew that he really wouldn't get angry in vain. It must have really worried him for him to lose his usual sarcasm and get to this point.

You took a few seconds of silence to let down your irritation.

“Okay,” you continued after calming down. "I understand it could make you panic. It's true that your scan detects anomalies that could be worrying. But it could just be a false alarm, right?"

You saw him take a deep breath.

"Is there anything I could do to reassure you? To prove to you that I'm okay." You asked to appease him.

“Let me replace your lungs.” He announced seriously.

You stood staring at him in disbelief.

"No?" You started in shock. "No! You're not going to replace my lungs for a few doubts!"

"Honestly, it's either this or I turn you into a vampire like me." He explained with a semblance of calm. "It won't change anything for you if I do it with my Ope Ope No Mi. I don't know what molecule is screwing up your body so I can't take it out like that. But I can swap your lungs and try antibiotics and anti-inflammatories to weaken the thing in your blood.”

"No!" You defended yourself, offended.

“Please,” he continued. "I promise I won't let anything happen to you. It's really the only thing that could reassure me. Please."

He looked at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

A heavy silence ruled around you.

“I’m ready to beg you on my knees if necessary.”

You stayed still, shocked by the offer.

“Do you promise nothing will happen to me and that you won’t make a fuss about it again?” You asked him, perplexed.

"I promise."" He affirmed.

You swallowed nervously.

Alright then." You accepted.

[dangerpronebuddie]

WIP Wednesday!!

Tagged by @tizniz who shared BRILLIANT stuff from Cupid Buck that is going to kill me!!

I promise, I promise, I am almost done with Severed Artery. I'm trying to decide if I want to add just a little bit more whump but we'll see. I'm debating it. While I do, here's some more whump. (Sorry Eddie) 😁:

“Help!” Eddie shouts again. “Stop,” the man growls. He lunges at Eddie, wrapping his hands around his neck and squeezing tight. Eddie brings the heel of his hand to the man’s chin. The sound of his teeth clacking together echoes in the room and it dislodges his grip. Eddie gasps for breath as footsteps clamber down the hall. The man bolts for the door. He looks left before running to the right. Two hundred pounds of Buck goes flying past the door. Something thuds loudly on the tile floor. “Stay down!” Buck commands. Eddie wishes he could see what was happening. He sees officer Williams run past the door, followed by Bobby and at least three nurses. Eddie takes slow, measured breaths, trying to get his heart rate back to some semblance of normalcy. There's still shouting in the hallway. If he had the energy, he'd get up to see what was happening. “Eddie!” Familiar scrambling footsteps pound the tile floor. Buck appears in the doorway, his eyes wild, his chest heaving. In the blink of an eye, Eddie has his arms full of one Evan Buckley. “Are you okay?” Buck asks, hugging him as best he can before perching on the edge of the cot and running his hands over Eddie, checking for injuries. It's not often the roles are reversed like this. Nine times out of ten, Eddie is the one scanning every inch of Buck, looking for the smallest scratch. “Tell me you're okay, baby.” “I'm okay,” Eddie says, ignoring the skip in his heartbeat at the pet name for the moment. He lets Buck keep checking, watching the furrow in his brow as his hands roam over his arms. He reaches Eddie's wrist and Eddie can't help but yip. “It doesn't sound like it, what happened?” Buck asks. His eyes land on Eddie's neck and he brushes his fingers gingerly over what will soon be deep bruises. “What did he do to you?”

(tags under the cut! As always please let me know if you want to be added/ removed):

@lover-of-mine @loveyouanyway @daffi-990 @kitteneddiediaz

@ronordmann @steadfastsaturnsrings @inell @exhuastedpigeon @hippolotamus

@thekristen999 @monsterrae1 @diazheartsbuckley @wildlife4life @misshiss727

@rainbow-nerdss @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove @lunarspark-cos @idealuk @shipperqueen6 @slowlyfoggydestiny @eddiesfagstache

@lin27 @jshadow01 @orangeboxfox92 @thegeekcompanion @emilybahu @lemotmo @awolfnamed-nyx

@kaseysgirl86-blog @darkrose6578 @totallynotagoraphobic @dandelioncasey @bibuckbuckgoose @whatsgoodinthehood22

@lady-elaine @buckley-diaz-rules @buddiedaydreamer911 @monroemary @pirate-hunter @snowviolettwhite @hermoineindisguise @tidesreach

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@lyricfulloflight @charlzie-ghost @hypersensitivitywitch @kindlingtotheflames @wallywise @zerokrox-blog @hawaiianlove808 @retromodgirl @allygateobeanz and anyone else who wants to share!! 🥰🩷

@gnoeltop @keynb @cassi-brooks @-syrup-sue @punkrock00 @shannonhutchins @aroqueerfandoms @unlifeira @marissaleec @kissyboytroye

[poeproductions]

Poe update: Baby boy is home and has a huge appetite! After a CT scan we think we know what's up. It turns out Poe's heart is actually fine! Buuuut he has some arterial constriction, which is what caused the fainting episode that got him hospitalized.

Poe has to get a biopsy and one more scan to determine the source, but the great news is he should be okay with medication and will start meds once we identify the cause. His arterial constriction will be chronic, but manageable with medication.

Thank you from the bottom of our hearts for the outpouring of support we've gotten on his Ko-fi since yesterday. Each scan is about $1.5k so it really helps so much, thank you. 🙏

[dragonsarecool]

Febwhump Day 8 - Bleeding Out

A/N: As usual, Kira unreported her injuries and continued fighting. What if she hadn't been so lucky that it 'was' just a flesh wound? Set during 'The Way of the Warrior'.

Her left leg buckled beneath her, pain and fatigue quickly overwhelming her will to stand. She slumped back against the console, panting as she tried to breathe through the fiery-hot agony in her side. The fabric of her uniform was now stained a darker shade of red, the amount of which seemed to be growing by the second.

Praying that the Prophets were sending her a hallucination, Kira shakily touched the wet fabric, her breath hitching as her hand came away with blood-stained fingertips.

Oh, denai…

"Major!" Sisko appeared in front of her, his face coated in a mixture of sweat and bruises. His eyes were immediately drawn to her side, his hands floating hesitantly above her own.

"I'll be okay," She whispered, shifting her hand slightly. A fresh spurt of blood squirted between her fingers and dripped onto her boots. "It's not as bad as it looks."

"I'm afraid I'll have to disagree," Sisko bent down to inspect her wound further, his face betraying his undisclosed worries. "Looks like it goes pretty deep. Dax, can we treat this from here?"

The Trill ran over with a tricorder, hurriedly scanning Kira's abdomen. Her lacerated brow furrowed as she shook her head. "There's significant internal trauma, and she's already lost over a litre," Dax looked up with an almost-exasperated expression. "It's a miracle you haven't bled to death, Major, but we need to get you to sickbay now."

Kira realised how lightheaded she was becoming as she gave an affirming nod. Her heart was pounding awfully loudly in her ears; she could barely hear the console vibrating behind her head.

"Dax to Bashir," Jadzia tapped her com badge before pulling Kira's right arm around her shoulders. "The Major and I are beaming to you immediately; she has significant bleeding from a torn artery. I can't repair it from here."

"Understood. I'll have the trauma team on standby. Bashir out."

If not for Dax's grip, Kira was sure she would've tumbled to the floor. The rest of ops was falling in and out of focus; she struggled to place one foot in front of the other, relying on Jadzia to pull her towards the transporter bay.

She vaguely heard someone speaking, and felt her body disappear into the abyss before rematerialising under a collection of bright lights.

"..ira?"

Her limbs felt lighter than air. A strange sense of euphoria flooded her body, and she welcomed it.

Maybe this is the Temple after all…

****

"Kira! Dammit, she's lost consciousness." Jadzia hoisted the senior officer off the floor, depositing her on the closest biobed. She tried to ignore how slippery her hands were with the amount of blood coating them, and focused on applying pressure. "Julian!"

The young man bounded from across the infirmary, three nurses quickly accompanying him with a collection of equipment and medications. He pulled a tricorder out, his eyes nearly falling from their sockets at the scan's results. "There's damage to the inferior part of the left diaphragm, not to mention a significant tear in the left superior mesenteric artery. Blood loss now at two and a half litres, haemoglobin dropping as we speak."

Jadzia was lost for words. "How the hell is she not dead?!"

"She will be in the next couple of minutes if we don't get a move on," Julian said bluntly. "Jabara, get me two bags of universal and some tranxemic acid!"

He grabbed a cauterising tool before pushing one of Jadzia's hands aside, shoving his own hand into the abdominal cavity. "Jadzia, hold that tricorder for me. I need to see exactly where the tear is."

Complying quickly, Jadzia took a second to glance at Kira's face, which was now a sickly shade of grey. One of the nurses hooked up the vitals monitor, which immediately began alarming.

"Got it," Julian navigated the cauteriser into the correct position, a small whirring noise signalling the device's activation. He withdrew from Kira's abdomen and administered the hypospray Jabara had provided him. "Prepare the operating theatre."

Jadzia barely registered what had happened until Kira's body was suddenly moved from under her. She watched as her colleague was wheeled into the back of the infirmary, her bloodied hands shaking with adrenaline.

She barely realised she was crying until Julian grasped her hands in his own, both of them now decorated with Kira's blood.

"It's alright, Jadzia," Julian said soothingly. "She'll be alright. I managed to stop the bleeding. I just need to repair the torn artery and transfuse what she lost."

"Why didn't she tell us sooner?" She whispered.

"Because she's a soldier, Jadzia. She probably thought it was just another flesh wound. Now, go freshen up and have something to drink before you go back to ops," Julian instructed. Before she could reply, he finished her thoughts for her. "Sisko would tell you to do the same."

Not trusting her voice, Jadzia nodded in reply. She gave Julian a teary but grateful smile before heading for the infirmary restrooms.

It took a long time before she finished scrubbing the blood from her body.

And despite multiple showers and a fresh uniform, she still didn't feel clean.

[salstray]

Keegan P. Russ x fem!Reader - Guardian Angel - part 3 3rd person pov warnings: blood, guns, knife wounds 1.8k words

--

~The Meet Cute~

Part 1 = Part 2

--

No one was invincible. 

Keegan was always careful to remember that. It didn’t matter how much training you had, how many years you’d been at it, and sometimes it didn’t even matter how careful you were. Sometimes it was just sheer luck that got you where you were. 

In this case, it was bad luck.

It wasn’t life threatening. A knife wound on his thigh, a few inches off from his artery, but leaking blood like it didn’t matter. Like it wanted to kill him or, at the very least, leave a crystal clear trail of crimson in the snow. A perfect path for every Fed soldier combing the mountain side to use like birds following breadcrumbs.

It wasn’t life threatening. Not in the traditional sense at least, but he was alone out here. Alone, unlucky, and outnumbered. 

He needed to move. To push himself away from the tree against his shoulder and head deeper into the frozen underbrush. Hide himself somewhere low and quiet where he could deal with his leg and wait for the all clear from Merrick, but it wouldn’t matter where he hid, how well he covered his boot tracks, if the blood was still dripping from his heel with every step. 

The not so distant sounds of Spanish reached his ears and he resisted the urge to swear into the open. They were too close. Too damn close for him to do anything. 

Keegan crouched low, wincing silently at the pull of flesh at the edges of his wound. The warm gush of his blood squeezing out of his veins made an unpleasant shudder roll up his spine, but he took a deep breath and raised his gun instead of dwelling on it. Getting hurt was never fun, yet it was still part of the job. 

He put his scope up to his eye, slowly scanning it back and forth, spotting the shifting of his enemies and their snow-colored camo through the trunks of the surrounding pines. Keegan counted six men and pressed his lips together under his mask. They way they were spread out? He’d get two… maybe three before the others clocked his position and pinned him behind his meager cover. Even so, just because he counted six didn’t mean there weren’t more. Fuck knows there had been more in the convoy he’d been following-

Keegan almost jumped right out of his skin at the feeling of warm, soft fingertips barely brushing against the nape of his neck. The only sliver of flesh he showed besides the painted space around his eyes and the newly exposed tear in his own white and gray patterned cargo pants. 

He whipped around, gun barrel at the ready, sweeping it from side to side into the empty air behind him, panting at the sudden rush of adrenaline and the surge of fear that pulsed through him. 

Suddenly, something snapped. Loud and echoing, on the other side of the enemy, the opposite side of the forest from where he was hiding. Distant. Distracting. Sending them off shouting, weapons ready, crashing through the dormant shrubs and low hanging branches like hunting hounds after a fox. Keegan turned back to watch them, noting in his mind as his heart steadied again that he now counted eleven men tromping their way through the snow. 

He was touched again, feather-light, warm against his frigid skin, and Keegan flinched. 

“Easy,” that voice called, making him freeze all at once. “Let me help.” 

The hand at his scruff gently slid to his shoulder, but before it could settle there, before the other hand could slide past him to rest on his thigh and heal the wound that was still dripping onto the snow, Keegan stood and turned. 

His gun was up, the hot end pointed directly into a pair of shimmering eyes. Wide and worried, but not at all afraid and not even slightly surprised. 

“Who the fuck are you?” Keegan growled, low and quiet, well aware of the fact that he was still in enemy territory. Still close to a lot of people that wanted him dead. 

“Your leg-” 

“Answer me or I will shoot you.” 

It was a woman. Shorter than him, softer than him. Not even dressed for the weather… no vest, no radio, no flag to show her loyalty to one side or the other. Just… clothes. She wasn’t even shivering and the mountain was nearly below freezing at this time of year. His brow pinched ever so slightly and his eyes narrowed harshly as he took her in. Watched her stand there, her hands slightly raised in surrender, her flickering eyes dancing between his own and the place he’d been stabbed. 

When she spoke to him again, it was a name. Her name. Then a small smile curled at her lips and Keegan’s heart did something… funny at the sight of it. Something he didn’t exactly like that it was doing. 

“What are you doing out here?” He hissed, keeping his gun level with the tip of her nose. “Where did you come from?” Keegan’s eyes barely moved. Barely glanced at the fresh, unbothered snow behind her. It was pushed up around her shoes, bunched up at her ankles and near her calves, but there was no trail behind her that suggested she’d walked up to him. It looked more like she’d just… appeared where she stood.

“I want to help you.” 

“How?”

Her eyes, still bright with emotion, fell back to his thigh. “You’re bleeding.”

“Not the first time,” he grunted.

She huffed, her smile twitching up on one side. “Not the last either, I’m sure, but I’ll be there for you then too. Like I was up in that sniper nest… remember? The house on the hill?” Keegan’s jaw shifted under his mask, the rough, aged fabric rubbing uncomfortably against the stubble that grew there. 

It had been four months since that day. Since he’d been shot, nearly killed, yet got up and walked off like it had never happened. He dreamed about that night. Constantly. Vividly. A picture perfect reenactment his unconscious mind gave him to analyze over and over and over again. A situation that he’d still not come to terms with. Something he still couldn’t rationalize in any way that made sense.

“You…,” he muttered, voice barely more than a rough, ragged whisper. “...that was you.” 

She beamed at him, her smile full and bright and… beautiful.

“Yeah. That was me.” She clasped her hands behind her back. Again, her gaze fell to his leg. “Will you let me do it again?”

“M’ not dying this time.” 

“Don’t need to be dying for me to help,” she stated. “Just need to be hurt.” Then she looked right down the barrel of his rifle and Keegan, for some fucking reason, felt himself flush under all the paint. Slowly, he let it fall back down towards the ground, the butt of it sliding loose from the nest of his shoulder. 

“Right.” Maybe it was stupid, maybe she was some Fed assassin that had come down from the trees or something, but he took his eyes off of her. Turned to look the way his known enemies had gone, making sure they were still running off after their red herring, then turned to face her again, nodding once. 

He was tense when she took a trudging step forward. Had his fingers tight against the icy metal of his gun, all his muscles wound up and at the ready, should he need them. 

She didn’t attack him, however. Didn’t pull out a knife and gut him where he stood. Just reached forward with one hand, splaying her fingers across the now ruby red fabric, her palm pressing into the gore with a silent squelch that made him press his lips together under the mask. His eyes flickered down to the contact, then back to her face and he decided all at once that he didn’t like the way blood looked on her skin, but he did like the look of concentration that twisted her features. It was… cute.

Keegan almost had to shake his head to dislodge the thought from his mind. Now was not the time.

He’d already felt the warmth of her hand through his layers. She wasn’t even touching him skin to skin, but he could feel it through everything. Feel the way it poured into his bones, into the twitching skin as it slowly sewed itself back together. The chill of drying blood vanished too and Keegan’s eyes widened a touch as it faded from his white camo. First a bright sort of vermilion, then a rapidly vanishing pink, then back to the broken pattern of gray, white, and black that hid him in the mountains and the forest. 

When his eyes met hers she was smiling again and he felt the absolutely traitorous pull of a matching gesture at the right side of his lips.

He’d never been more thankful for the mask. 

“There. All better.” 

“What are you?” he breathed, blinking a few times as his thoughts caught up to him. As the reality of what had just happened was finally carved permanently into the wrinkles of his brain. 

“Just someone that wants to keep you safe,” she answered simply. She took a step back, her feet planted back into her original prints and bent to the side to look past his arm, out towards the trees. “You shouldn’t stay here. The Federation is still too close.” 

As if on queue, the low growl of Merrick’s voice filtered through the static of his radio and Keegan jolted as it sounded in his ear.

“Keegan! Time’s up, Hesh’ll be waitin’ for ya by the river mouth. Haul ass, Feds aren’t happy and they know we’re here!”

The motion he made to reach up and respond was second nature at this point. “Copy,” he rasped, eyes still locked on the strange, pretty thing in front of him. When his glove settled back on his weapon, he spoke again. To her. “When am I gonna see you again?” 

She shrugged. “Depends on when you get hurt again.” 

What if I wanna see you outside of that? He had so many questions he wanted to ask. So many things he didn’t understand about her and why she was even here. To help him, sure. She’d said that point blank, but why him? Why not any of the other Ghosts? Why not any other soldier out there, fighting to take back their home? 

Keegan didn’t voice any of them, though. He simply grunted, adjusted his hold on his rifle, and glanced over his shoulder, back out over the snow. 

And when he turned to give her some sort of goodbye, he found only fluttering snow and frosty wind in front of him. Along with two deep pits where she once stood. The only evidence that he hadn’t, in fact, lost his mind up on that hill, in that house. 

So, instead of speaking, he sighed. Heavily. 

Then turned and bent at the knee, gun barrel raised and eyes sharp.

--

[nerdraging4point0]

Blood of Eden // Chapter Fourteen // Bad Omens Urban Fantasy Romance

Tropes and Tags: MM, MF, MFM, MFM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed men, polyverse, shapeshifters.

CW: 18+ only minors DNI. Urban Fantasy romance, Smut. Angst. Fluff (ish), Story includes D/S themes, mentions of blood and gore, mentions of drug use and distribution, mentions of prostitution, unprotected sex, male receiving oral sex, female receiving oral sex, cuckolding, P/A sex, P/V sex.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Taglist(click to be added): @ladyveronikawrites @mysticdoodlez @poisongirl616 @shilohrosechicken @cookiesupplier @meliferafaerie @concreteemo @itsafullmoon @letmeadoreyoux @transparentwitchnightmare @spicywhenspeaking @somewhere-diamond @iknownothingpeople @darling-millicent-aubrey @somebodyels3 @jakeygvf21 @badomensls @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @darkmxgician

As soon as Noah picked himself up from the floor he crawled into the passenger seat of the Denali, wiping the tears from his cheeks and desperately trying to scrape the blood off his knuckles. His fingers cracked each time he opened and closed his fist, his accelerated healing making quick work of the mangled hand. The denali cruised easily out of the compound trying their best not to draw suspicion, as soon as they were clear and onto the freeway Jolly pressed the accelerator to the floor. 

Noah had tried repeatedly to dial Maria or Oli, there was no answer, the phones immediately going to voicemail. He tried Nick whose phone only rang and rang with no answer. 

“I don’t like this,” he growled.

“Nothing for Maria or Oli?” Jolly’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Not even Nick.” Noah confirmed. The pair drove in silence, Noah still trying his best to reach out to Rosa, he watched billboards pass and his body swerved as Jolly weaved through traffic. Noah grew frustrated more and more by the minute, trying to reach out to an empty void. 

As Noah and Jolly approached the city exit, they were immediately struck by the eerie emptiness of the streets on what should have been a typical bustling Thursday afternoon. A palpable sense of unease crept up the back of Noah's neck, causing the fine hairs there to stand on end. Jolly, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, began to gradually slow the car's pace, his eyes scanning the deserted roads for any sign of activity or explanation for the unsettling silence.

With growing trepidation, Noah peered out the windows, his gaze darting from one abandoned sidewalk to the next, spotting only the occasional solitary pedestrian or idle vehicle - far fewer than the usual throngs of people and congestion that normally clogged the city's arteries at this time of day. "Something's off, master," Noah murmured, his words barely escaping his lips before the car lurched forward as he slammed on the brakes, causing Noah to brace himself against the dashboard.

There, standing brazenly in the middle of the street, was a figure they both recognized - Oli, his trademark leather jacket collar popped up to obscure his features, a twisted grin plastered across his face as his long, unkempt hair fell haphazardly over his eyes. 

Noah's heart raced as he scrambled out of the car, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Steading himself on his own two feet, Noah wasted no time pulling Oli into a tight embrace, relief washing over him. Jolly had quickly pulled off the side of the road, as Oli clung to Noah, his own panic evident in the way he gripped his friend's shoulders. "What are you doing? I've been calling you all day!" Noah sneered, his voice laced with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Oli's response was hurried and apologetic. "I'm sorry, my friend," he said, ushering them both off the road and towards a waiting car just down the block. "But we need to move fast. We've found a tracker in your car, and we're worried they might be closing in on you." Oli's words spurred them into action, and Noah quickly gathered their belongings, his mind racing as the trio made their way to the car, their only priority now being to get as far away from this place as possible before their pursuers caught up to them.

As they made their way slowly through the vacant streets, the group navigated their way down multiple city blocks, the homes in this part of town packed tightly together and visibly run-down. Oli led them through a creaky old chain link gate and up some dilapidated wooden stairs, finally arriving at the entrance to a weathered, aging house. "It's the safest place we could find," he said quietly, closing the door behind them as they stepped inside.

In the front room, several familiar faces were seated, all seemingly engrossed in the various tasks at hand. Jethro sat hunched over an old dining room table, a scattered array of computers, screens, and other technical equipment spread out before him. His fingers flew across the keyboards as he seamlessly shifted his attention from one monitor to the next, his salt-and-pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses giving him an aged, experienced appearance that contrasted with his relatively youthful frame. Despite the casual nature of his slacks and button-down periwinkle blue shirt, Jethro's green eyes remained locked with laser-like focus on the screens, occasionally pushing the glasses up the bridge of his nose as he worked tirelessly, undoubtedly carrying out some critical function in this hidden refuge they had found.

Skylar sat perched on the arm of the couch, her leather boots tapping an anxious rhythm against the hardwood floor as she circled her eyes around the dimly lit room, her gaze periodically drifting to the window where she kept a watchful eye on the activity outside. Her appearance was a striking contrast - part badass and part ethereal beauty, with her black roots cropped short at the base of her skull and teal locks flowing in soft waves over one shoulder. The tense set of her jaw and the restless energy thrumming through her body betrayed the worry and uncertainty she felt in this moment.

Meanwhile, Noah caught fleeting glimpses of shadowy figures moving about at the back of the house, and soon Folio and Amber came into view, exchanging a slight nod with him before resuming their hushed, hurried work. Across the open kitchen, Maria and Mark stood in tense conference, papers and files scattered between them as they pored over the results. Suddenly, Maria's eyes flashed up, locking onto the trio by the door, and with a muttered curse, she hastily shoved the documents into Mark's hands and padded across the room, bare feet slapping against the tile. Without a word, she pulled both Jolly and Noah into a desperate embrace, her body wracked with sobs. "I'm so sorry, boys," she choked out, her voice thick with anguish. "I thought she'd be safe with him. I didn't realize..." Her words trailed off, the weight of her unspoken fears and regrets hanging heavy in the air.

“Maria, don’t worry yourself, we’ll get her back.” Jolly said, stroking his friend's hair. 

“What is all this?” Noah's eyes darted around the makeshift living quarters, taking in the hastily assembled yet functional space that served as a safe haven for his companions. "A safe house," Oli explained, his voice tinged with a mix of relief and concern. “Jethro and Mark got out a few days ago, setting up shop here before the meltdown. I barely made it out of Skytower with Maria before the Magistrate moved in. We meant to take Rosa but it was too late.”

Maria's expression grew somber as she cleared her throat, wiping away tears. "Mark and I have been pouring over every historical and scientific clue we could find, but there's been frustratingly little to go on." She paused, her gaze hardening with determination. "The best lead we have is sending Skylar on a hunting mission." Noah turned to the woman, who now stood at attention, silently awaiting his response.

Noah's brow furrowed as he processed this information, his lips pursing in a mix of worry and frustration. "How does this help me get Rosa back? What did they do to her?" he demanded, his voice rising in anguish. 

“The magistrate found the test results for the Nightshade concoction Jolly sent for analysis,” Jethro’s eyes still focused intently on his screen, gravely explained. "My guess is they're using it to harness Rosa's powers while they prepare her for trial," he said.

"Trial?" Jolly exclaimed, the shock evident in his voice. Maria nodded solemnly, revealing that Jethro had been hacking and monitoring the Magistrate's private communications. "There's been a lot of chatter about a trial at the compound in two days," she said, her words laced with a sense of dread and urgency.

Noah's heart raced as he considered the bold plan to break their friend out of custody. "So we break her out!" he shouted, the adrenaline coursing through his veins. But Oli quickly placed a calming hand on his shoulder, shaking his head. 

"Not a good idea, my friend," he cautioned, his voice low and measured. "You'd be arrested on sight if you tried something so reckless." Skylar's brow furrowed as she contemplated their predicament. 

"He's right, you know," she said, her tone level and pragmatic. "The authorities have eyes everywhere and would pounce the moment you made a move." Noah's shoulders slumped, the wind taken out of his sails, as the reality of their situation set in. But then Skylar's expression shifted, a flicker of hope kindling in her eyes.

 "But," she continued, "there may be a way - a more subtle approach that could work." 

It had been the longest, most agonizing night Noah and Jolly had ever spent away from the comfort and familiarity of their own home. As Jolly watched his beloved pet pace restlessly through the unfamiliar rooms, whimpering and scratching at the doors, his heart broke to see the animal's desperate attempts to reach their missing girl. Tears streamed down Jolly's cheeks as he witnessed the dog's futile efforts, his loyal companion clearly distressed and confused by their sudden displacement. That morning, as the first golden rays of dawn began to peek over the horizon, Jolly joined Maria, Oli, Noah, and Skylar in quietly slipping out of the nondescript safe house where they had taken shelter. Blending seamlessly into the steady flow of early commuter traffic, the group made their way further south, leaving the city limits behind as they headed into the more suburban outskirts. Though the change of scenery provided a sense of increased distance and safety, the ache of separation from their home and loved ones weighed heavily on them all.

As Skylar and Jolly strolled down the quiet, tree-lined street, they couldn't help but notice the warm, neighborly atmosphere surrounding them. Friendly strangers waved cheerfully as they passed by, their faces alight with genuine friendliness. The scene painted a picture-perfect portrait of small-town community - neighbors out and about, tending to their daily tasks like taking out the trash or walking their beloved pets. It was the quintessential image of the ideal, close-knit neighborhood.

Skylar gestured ahead, guiding Jolly's gaze towards a picturesque modern ranch-style home nestled at the street corner. The neatly manicured green lawn and meticulously maintained front porch, which wrapped nearly all the way around the house, gave the residence an inviting, well-cared-for appearance. Out front, a young girl darted about, her laughter ringing out as she chased what Jolly assumed were her older twin brothers, the siblings playfully splitting off in different directions as she tried to decide which one to pursue. The joyful, carefree scene perfectly encapsulated the charming, family-friendly vibe of the neighborhood - a place where children could safely roam and neighbors looked out for one another, fostering a warm, close-knit community atmosphere.

Jolly took a deep breath as he pulled the car over to the side of the street, parking directly across from the modest two-story house. Biting down on the inside of his cheek, he knew he was taking a risk by even being here. One by one, the rest of the group followed Jolly's lead, exiting the vehicle and gathering on the sidewalk. Jolly led the way, carefully crossing the street, hyper-aware of the three children playing in the small front yard. As soon as the group set foot on the sidewalk, the children's playtime came to an abrupt halt, all three young faces turning to regard the newcomers with curious expressions. 

"Guardians," the little girl giggled, her eyes sparkling with wonder as she pointed towards Oli and Noah, the tallest members of the group.

"Father is inside," one of the boys said, his gaze fixed intently on Jolly. Jolly gave the boy a small nod, forcing himself to continue forward up the walkway to the front door. Before he could even lift his hand to knock, the white door swung open, revealing a man just a few years older than Jolly himself. The man's brown hair was slightly receded, a small scar running between his furrowed brows, his blue eyes tired yet twinkling with a hint of warmth. The stubble on his face gave him a distinguished, almost rugged appearance, but his soft, friendly smile put Jolly and the others at ease.

 "My name is Joshua," he said in a gentle, melodic tone. "Please, come in."