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all-purpose-dish-soap · 23 days ago

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57 / 3.2k / medic reader + Ghost + coworkers with benefits (part 1 here)

kinktober keywords: subtextual authority kink, workplace smut, rivals to rivals who fuck, coworkers with benefits?, voyeurism, edging, fingering, distracted sex, anxious sex

...

As soon as you lay back--before your back can meet the bed--Simon's hands are gripping your hips, your waist, pulling you higher on the bed, situating you the way he wants.

You’re already breathless by the time he's handled you. You stare up at him, flushed and embarrassed at your uneven breathing.

As he guides you into a comfortable position, he can feel the tension in you, the way you tense up and the way your breath comes in short, frantic bursts. "Breathe. That's it." His voice is a warm, comforting murmur.

Then he slides his hands to your thighs. His rough palms send heat to your core, and you can't help how wet it makes you. You shift, breath stopping altogether in your throat as he moves your thighs in his hands, coaxing them up and open.

A dozen catastrophic thoughts whirl around your mind, but you don't quite voice any of them. The feeling of his hands is just enough to keep you focused. You let your eyes slide closed and try to make your body relax in his hands.

He doesn't rush, Simon. But he's efficient. He puts in just enough time with your thighs--squeezing, rubbing up and down, letting his hands wander from your hips all the way to the backs of your knees--to make you pliant. You barely notice him slide your skirt up to your hips and remove the cloth barrier between him and your heat.

nsfw ⬇

He can tell you're overwhelmed. His sense of pride swells as he watches you trust him anyway. He waits for you to relax a little more before dragging his hands to your inner thighs. He slides his fingers up slowly, an agonizing crawl, until he finally reaches your heat.

The way his fingers press into your folds and his touch causes your muscles to loosen is more than enough to have you shifting around on your back, letting out a soft groan. You can't keep from twitching.

He takes notice of it. He’s careful not to show how gratifying it. His pupils dilate.

Every single movement he makes, down to the smallest gesture, adds to the unbearable heat building in the pit of your stomach. With his every touch, he slowly, agonizingly reminds you how badly you need this. He isn't gentle. Not rough, either, although you get the sense he could be. Instead, his movements are practiced. Focused. Technical. You try to match him. You focus on the release you want, trying to help him by speeding things along. You swallow the sounds that threaten to tear out of your throat. The walls are thin, you remind yourself. Just focus on what you both need to do.

The tension starts to build, and you let your breathing quicken. Every little touch feels like it's bringing you closer and closer to your breaking point. The sensation of his fingers stroking you, homing in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, sends electricity up your spine.

Your nerves begin to light up in his hands, and your body responds even more sharply as Simon begins getting a little rougher. He doesn't want to hurt you--he wants to drive you over the edge and give you what you need.

He wants you to moan, to squirm, to cry, to let it all out in front of him. And he's not going to stop until you do.

"Talk to me, love." His voice is husky, punctuated by the wet sounds of his fingers. "Let me know what you like."

His words send another flood of heat straight to your core. Your muscles twitch and pulse and clench around nothing. Your legs start to tremble. Desperation threatens to scatter the few frayed thoughts left in your mind. His fingers work you over faster, small circles growing faster and harsher. He knows you’re close.

God, he's wanted to see you like this for so long. You look starved. Your legs tremble. your hands grip the sheets. Despite how you try to control yourself, your hips move in circles, desperate to work against his hand. As your breath grows more ragged, his hands work faster, rougher. He wants to hear you moan for him. His eyes blaze with heat as he watches you struggle to keep control. He wants you bucking and twisting, desperate to reach your climax. He wants to be the one who feels you fall apart on his hand.

You want it too. You see feel how hard he's working to get you there. But as close as you are, you can't reach it. The anxiety is still there. You’re too inside your own head, worrying that you won't finish, that you’re boring him, that this is a selfish inconvenience.

You try to banish those thoughts. But the further you try to push them down, the more they build. A groan of frustration leaves your lips as you slow, settling back into the bed. "I can't," you mutter.

He stares down at you. The frustration etched in your expression sends a pang of guilt through the pit of his chest. He watches as the anxiety takes you over, slowing your breath and undoing the intoxicating tension he'd bound up in your body. You're barely moving now. You're already resigned to ending it here. Frustration sweeps over him.

"Can't?" He tries to speak like he's not desperate to push you harder, rougher, to rail you into the mattress right now. He leans forward and lets his fingers slow but not entirely still. Is there something else bothering you? Is he not doing something right? Are you thinking of someone else?

But those questions won't help. You're overthinking already. Despite that, he can't accept that it ends here. He'll fight to keep you under him, even if you’re already resigned.

"That's alright," he murmurs. "You don't have to finish, hm? Just get yourself used to my fingers. How does this feel?"

You turn your head to the side, feeling a pang of irritation. He should just leave well enough alone. You tell yourself that, not him, because deep down you know it's an excuse. You hate that sinking feeling of disappointment, shame, self-blame. You should be able to finish, you just... can't focus.

You open your mouth to tell him off, but when he presses just a bit harder, picks up his pace just a bit more, your voice dissolves into a breathy groan.

"It feels good," you admit, your eyes fluttering closed again. "But I can't... can't get where I need to... be..." you trail off, distracted by the way his fingers circle and press that bud. Your hips move of their own volition again. It feels nice, the oxytocin washing through you. You don't want it to end. Maybe if he says you don't need to finish, it's okay for him to keep going a little longer. Just a little.

He glances down, repositioning his hand, but his gaze is snagged by your folds. Your flushed, glistening folds, dripping fluid down his hand, coating your thighs. He was so busy watching your reaction and reading your tells that he didn't realize just how goddamn wet you are.

Your heat is so inviting. He knows he shouldn't--knows he should be restrained, be clinical, at least for now--but resisting that dark impulse is impossible. His fingers stray from your clit to your slit, sliding up and down, feeling you pulse with need.

He muffles a groan, part sympathy and part lust. You really do need this. You need someone to help you. And he's nothing if not a problem-solver, right? He's the man for the job. He'll find out what you like, what makes you comfortable, what makes you cum your goddamn brains out.

You stretch your hips down with a small sigh, not quite having the presence of mind to protest as his fingers slip inside of you. The heat in your core builds in small amounts, enough to intensify the pleasurable feeling but not enough to make you feel like you’re losing control of yourself.

"Simon, you okay?" you ask, knowing he's been at it for awhile now. His hands must be tired. His wrists must be cramping. You don't want this to become a burden before he feels like he can speak up. Meanwhile, you shift, spreading slightly wider to give him more room, and let your hips glide back and forth at his pace. His fingers are impressively dexterous, even with a moving, slippery target.

God, your voice. Breathy. You don't know what it does to him. His mouth goes dry before he can respond, heat running up his spine as you spread your legs wider for him. You're relaxing. You trust him. He can't let you know how badly he wants to devour you. The way you grip his fingers makes him want to climb the walls. The way you stretch your body out right in front of him and slide your hips down on his hand makes him want to force your thighs all the way open and bury his face between them.

He keeps his voice even. His desperation can wait until he gets back to his bunk, he tells himself. "Perfectly fine. You're doing well. Stunning." The word slips out before he can stop it. He quickly moves on.. "This feel good?"

"Yes," you tell him. Short and simple. If you talk too much, you won’t be able to keep your voice down.

You should be trying to relax, wind down, and let this end naturally. But then the calloused pads of his fingertips run over a sensitive spot. You jolt and hiss in a sharp breath.

He sees it--the way your face tightens and you press your breath out. You're getting overstimulated and trying to rein yourself in. Trying too hard. He recognizes it as the usual clinical approach you prefer when it comes to the field. You're keeping your voice down, breathing evenly, avoiding the temptation to let yourself get too noisy or lose too much control.

He can’t quite find it in himself to admire your self-restraint. No, he doesn't want you to relax. He wants to see you undone.

His fingers press harder, a rougher stroke, and you jerk more harshly than the last time. "Is that where you like it?" he asks.

You grab his hand. "Nnh..."

He starts to pull his hand away, but you push his hand closer. He leans over you to stare down at your hand wrapped around his. The tangle of calloused fingers coated in slick feels strangely more intimate than erotic.

You begin to undulate your hips and grind against his hand. Your breath hitches. He's got you figured out. You don't say it, but your responses indicate you're getting closer to where you want to be. You just couldn't focus. Now you're helping him help you.

You drop all pretense of propriety and chase the high. Calls of encouragement spring out of your throat. They turn needy. You rut your hips desperately against his hand.

Simon has to dig his free hand into the sheets, and fight the urge to push you down and hold you there. It takes every ounce of restraint. He's never seen you this open. All that time spent watching your back, working with you, learning how to anticipate you--as much as he wanted this, he never saw himself with you like this.

But he shouldn't think that way. Right? This is nothing. Stress relief. Trust in your lieutenant. Implicit, privileged trust.

He works his fingers faster, rougher, more beseechingly against your soft inner walls. "Come on," he growls, voice raw. "Come on. Let it out."

You grit your teeth in frustration. You need more somehow. You need his rough palm to stop slipping around your sensitive nub and press harder. Need his fingers deeper. You push yourself against his hand. He leans forward on instinct--so you don't have to move, so he can give you more--and feels a shiver roll down his spine as he does. But the more your pretenses fall away, the more he struggles to hold his own back.

His goddamn knees feel weak. You grinding against his fingers is enough to make him want to pant like a dog.

But this is a transaction. Not personal. You're not making it there and he needs to know why. "Use your words," he growls.

You groan in frustration. You're a little beyond words at the moment.

"Eyes up, medic. Tell me what you need," he demands hoarsely. His voice is raw and low. He doesn't know whether to sound encouraging or commanding--both are what he needs you to be. He presses harder with his fingers, stroking you faster. "You need just this, like this?" Another press. "Or do you need more?"

That drop into his lieutenant voice makes you tense up. You look up at him with a weak glare. Is he serious? Ordering you around right now?

The heated frustration in your glare just pushes him to press you harder. He’d dead serious; he doesn't back down. He's made up his mind that he'll see you come apart at the seams. He'll be relentless until he's figured out how to do it perfectly.

He leans in, pressing you down, his lips at your ear. "I need to know what you need. Or I can't help you. So tell me."

You swallow, throat dry. "I don't know if I can."

Cop-out. You just love making things difficult.

"Don't bullshit me," he snaps. Tension in his shoulders stiffens his fingers. "You know what you need. Tell me how to get you there."

"You said I didn't have to," you retort as meanly as you can right now.

There it is. The prickly smartassery he can't stand. Even in his hands and at his mercy. "I changed my mind. I'm your lieutenant. It's my job to help you."

"You're not my fucking therapist."

"My job to push you, then."

The way he argues with you while his fingers are still pumping in and out of you--speeding up, you'd swear--raises more heat from the pit of your stomach. One thing you two have in common: you're stubborn. He's going to give you what you need, by God. Even if he has to convince you that you still need it.

You try to ignore how much that thought turns you on.

But Simon can tell. There's more heat than anger on your face. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are wild, and he knows it's not rage alone.

You try to hold his glare. "Fine. Just... ah..." Your eyes flutter closed. Your hips buck up against his hand before you can stop it.

The way that stubbornness starts to dissolve away--that, and the way your hips buck up--makes him want to salivate. "Good work," he murmurs. "Keep going. Work with me."

"Focus on stimulating my g-spot," you manage. Then you reach down and begin working your clit with two fingers. You're all business.

Simon can't help but be a little jealous of the way you touch yourself. He wants to feel what your hands can do. At the same time, he'd give anything to have you under him like this without the pretense--but you'd never let yourself do something so unprofessional.

It's that damn professional tone that really gets to him. The way you deal him orders like the field medic you are, even now. Not commanding, not begging--but direct. Clear and concise, like you speak to him when you’re working together.

"Good," he says. "That's good. Focus."

His hand shifts and he works his fingers faster, rougher. A little too rough. You want something more direct? He can do direct.

You arch off the bed at the sudden overstimulation. "Fuck, Simon--" You grab his fingers to force him to slow down. "Don't fucking hammer me!"

"I'm doing what you asked. If you want me to be gentle, use your words."

"Not gentle, just..." You huff and release his fingers. "A little softer. Match my pace."

He can't help but smirk as you command him. You're not used to him falling in line, are you? He eases up and strokes the bundle of nerves inside you with the same rhythm you roll your fingers. "Like this?"

"Yeah." You let out a sigh that dissolves into a soft moan. "Yeah."

"Good show." He murmurs. So good. Simon's stomach tightens. The way your body twists makes him want to bend you in ways you'd never let him do. You have him in the palm of your hand. He’s doing exactly what you want, matching your fingers perfectly, as you have him so easily wrapped around them. It's on the tip of his tongue to ask you if you want more than his fingers, but he squelches it.

You focus on the feeling of pleasure building up in the base of your spine. Soon, your body is moving of its own volition, riding his fingers, wanting the feeling so badly it's willing to pretend this is normal.

"That's right," he murmurs. "Nice and easy." You're almost there. He can feel it. He doesn't know which of you needs you to come more at this point. You've been frustrated for weeks. He's never so badly wanted someone else to use him for their own relief.

You seize up sharply, arch, and cry out as the first wave hits you. You keep working yourself--you have to wring as much pleasure out of this as you possibly can, fingers slipping as they circle your bud furiously.

At the sounds you make, it takes every ounce of self-control Simon has not to close his teeth around your throat.

With his help, you work yourself through the feeling slowly. It was sorely, sorely needed, and when it fades, you let yourself collapse into the creased sheets and close your eyes.

You seem so worn out and satisfied, Simon thinks. It's a good look. He carefully slides his fingers out of you as your breath slows. You'll be asleep in moments if he doesn't disturb you.

He should leave. You've been taken care of. You'd certainly make him leave if you weren't too breathless to speak. But he can't will himself to go just yet. A little selfishly, he wants to enjoy the sight of you like this a minute longer. He sits in silence as you catch your breath. He'd never admit it, but he's smitten. Just hormones, surely. The feeling will fade.

After a moment, he clears his throat. "Satisfied?"

"Mmhmm." The sound is almost a purr. It makes something warm spread in his belly.

Your flushed cheeks, the soft look on your face, your mussed hair, eyes closed, lips parted, flushed cheeks, hair tousled in the sheets--you're so vulnerable and open. His gaze trails down to the slick gleaming on his fingers.

He should go. He needs to clean himself up.

He stands up. You turn onto your side, your back to him. "This never happened, then?"

He nods curtly. "Never happened."

"Good." You fidget with the corner of your pillowcase. "But thanks."

He'll take it.

"Anytime," he murmurs. "Get some rest, medic."

...

part 1 / [part 2]

more Ghost / masterlist

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homkamiro · 10 months ago

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HWGWWGWGGWGWGSHAHWBW OWWWWWOOOOOOO LOOK AT THIS ONGG🥺🥺😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓 ABSOLUTELY ADOREEEE IT'S PERFECT AAAAAA

i saw homa's mlp tf2 designs.. and i thought would it be cool that engie is so crazy that he made himself a fucking mechanic horn??? or just mechanic hoof is better..idk🤔 im not really an expert in mlp so

#i actually been thinking about it!!#i kinda thought that he amputated himself one of his arms to replace it with a gunslinger that'll help him build more efficiently #since hooves are yknow #not really practical #but a thought about mechanic horn is interesting!!!! not sure if it could use magic-- maybe limited?? maybe medic gave him some of his magic #i should discuss it with my mlp knowing lore friend #but either way amazing art!!!! i'm in love!!!!!

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jaewritesfic · 2 months ago

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Melon!AU Part 5

Part 4

Warning on this one for description of vivisection injuries

Bruce is the first out of the Batmobile when they pull into the cave specifically to raise a finger to his lips and sign to his collected children to be quiet.

Dick, Damian, and Tim all beat them there, and Steph seems to have invited herself back from patrol in order to see what's up with the creature nobody could see over video feed.

Alfred hovers quietly because of the unknown injuries that likely need treating.

The kids all give him varying prompting looks of confusion about the order as he moves to open Cass's door for her.

He turns and signs to them what Cass had carefully signed to him in the car.

She thinks he's asleep.

Everyone's eyes bug out in surprise, Dick and Steph both making faces like they want to coo out an ‘awwwww.’

Damian seems like he would be tempted to do the same if he wasn't still more than a little wary.

Cass climbs out of the car slowly and carefully, trying not to disturb the sinuous shadow who still has his head tucked into her shoulder and tail and arms wrapped around her.

Steph's eyes get wide, the only one of the kids present who hasn't seen him yet. Alfred barely reacts aside from a slight rise of the brows.

Alfred inclines his head towards the medbay, but Cass hesitates and shakes her head.

It's a little difficult when she's trying to make sure the creature stays secure, but she manages to sign awkwardly behind his back.

Very scared when I mentioned doctors. Probably trauma.

Waking up in anything resembling a medical facility probably wouldn't go well, in other words. Alfred hums quietly, mulling that over for a moment before he nods and gestures for the kids to come help him.

Quietly and efficiently, the group pulls a bed and supplies out of the isolated medbay and into the cave at large, closer to the lounge area the kids have slowly built up through the years than anything.

Ideally the change of venue will be unnecessary, but if the creature does wake up it's worth trying to lessen the chances of immediate backlash.

It's really no wonder he passed out, Bruce thinks. Cass had made it clear he was exhausted and on the verge. None of them are under any illusions that that's not why he accepted her help.

She was the least terrifying option and he was running on fumes.

Alfred glances at Cass, and that's all the prompting she needs to come over and very gently lean down to set the creature on his back on the bed.

Alfred is just as gentle when he has to carefully pluck the shadowy claws out of her cape in order to get him to let go, and Cass carefully unwinds the long tail from her waist and legs.

When she straightens back up, Bruce closes his eyes hard for a moment and bites back a wave of nausea.

Jesus Christ. Medical trauma? No fucking wonder.

Bruce forces himself to open his eyes and look.

Whatever this creature is, whoever he is, he must have escaped straight off of an operating table. The green blood is leaking from haphazard stitches just barely holding a massive Y incision on his torso together.

Vivisection.

Distantly, Bruce hears Dick retching. Sees his kids in varying states of distress over the same conclusions Bruce has just come to.

Mostly, he's focusing on trying to breathe through his anger. It's of no use to any of them right now - they need him calm.

It's strange, looking at the creature's face now. With eyes and mouth closed it's a blank slate of black, no features to be found. Like a mannequin head, misty white hair still unbound by gravity.

Parts of him are just barely translucent, mostly the edges of limbs. Bruce has never seen anything like him.

Alfred catches his eye with practiced ease, signing quickly and looking solemn. Bruce can see the pain hidden behind his calm features, his dismay that something horrific has been done to a living creature.

There is not much I can do without opening him back up, especially not knowing what he is or what is normal. Disinfect, stitch and bandage. Then hope for the best.

Bruce sighs slowly through his nose, feeling helpless but nodding.

Alfred turns to Cass for a moment.

I assume because you are calm that he is not meant to be breathing?

Bruce nearly chokes, eyes darting back to the dark figure on the bed. Indeed, there's no motion.

Cass nods. Her chest is very green.

Hasn't been. Seems fine.

He doesn't breathe - at least not visibly. Is he like a salamander, does he take oxygen in through his skin?

It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter right now. This creature - this boy - needs help. He needs his chest disinfected and his scant few stitches redone.

From the looks of them, Bruce would bet money that he did those stitches himself not too long ago.

Masterpost

#melon!au #creepy danny phantom #eldritch danny #cassandra cain #dc batfam #dick: shaking with rage and rinsing his mouth out #“this is fine.” :)#you know his ass is looking for a repeat of the joker incident over this #he just needs a target

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fictionally-driven · 6 months ago

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Bruises and Blossoms

Pairing: Jiyan x f! Midnight Rangers reader Word count: 3165 words Trigger warnings: Injuries, mentions of blood, violence, mentions of death. Plot: Jiyan is gravely injured and saved by the resilient and resourceful field medic, (Y/N), whose unwavering dedication and quick thinking catch his eye amidst the chaos of war.

Author Note: I have been writing fics about WuWa characters developing feelings for someone. I could not help but indulge in this after playing WuWa from the past few days. If you liked it, then reblogs are appreciated, Thank you!

The battlefield was a symphony of chaos, the air thick with the metallic tang of blood and the acrid stench of smoke. Tacet Discords, their dark forms swirling like a malevolent storm, descended upon them. Jiyan led his troops into the fray against the looming threat to Jinzhou and Huanglong. His blade cut through the fog on the enemy with lethal precision.

But the Tacet Discords were relentless, their numbers seemingly endless as they swarmed over the battlefield. It felt like an other outbreak was on the verge of breaking through and Jiyan was resolved to quell it before it got to that point. Jiyan fought with all his strength, his heart pounding with adrenaline as he pushed himself beyond his limits to protect his troops from the brunt of the attacks.

Suddenly, amidst the chaos, a joint attack from the Crownless and the Tempest Memphis caught Jiyan off guard. Despite his best efforts, he found himself overwhelmed, his vision blurring as pain seared through his body. Blood filled Jiyan's mouth as he struggled to maintain his footing, his ears ringing with the clamor of battle. But even in the midst of his pain, he refused to yield, his determination unwavering as he faced his enemies head-on. Slaying the crownless, Jiyan collapsed to his knees, trying to catch his breath and recover. Black spots emerged in his vision and he shook his head, trying to remain focused. Amidst the chaos, a familiar voice cut through the din, pulling him back from the brink of darkness.

An on-field medic approached at Jiyan's side "General! focus on me," she urged, her voice firm yet comforting as she assessed his injuries. Her hands moving with practiced precision as she tended to his injuries with the supplies she was carrying. "Let me patch you up."

But Jiyan, his resolve as strong as ever, swatted her hand away. He insisted that he was fine, his voice strained with pain. "There are others who need your help more than I do," he protested, his gaze flickering with concern for his troops. “I’ll be alright.”

Yet the medic, undeterred by Jiyan's protests, remained steadfast in her resolve. "You need medical attention, General," she insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Let me do my job."

"I'm not leaving you like this," She retorted, her tone firm as she continued to patch up Jiyan's injuries. "No man left behind, remember?"

As she outlined Jiyan's injuries in her terminal, recording and transmitting the message to the infirmary, she detailed the extent of his wounds. "He's broken his arm, sustained a deep femoral artery laceration, and has multiple contusions and abrasions," she reported, her voice steady despite the urgency of the situation. "We'll need a transfusion and surgical intervention."

With practiced efficiency, she stabilized Jiyan's broken arm, carefully wrapping it in a makeshift splint to prevent further injury after removing his signature midnight green gardebras. Administering pain medication, she sought to alleviate his discomfort, her hands moving with gentle precision as she worked.

As she wrapped a tourniquet around his open wound to stem the bleeding, she barked commands to the surrounding troops, directing them to cover their path back to the infirmary. "We need a clear path, now!" She pointed to two soldiers. “You two. Cover for me and the general till we make it to the infirmary. Take defense positions at the back.” She then points to another soldier beside them. “You take the front. What? Do I look like I have sprouted two horns? Move. Now!” With Jiyan's uninjured arm draped around her, she lifted the general up, staggering a bit due to his weight before stabilizing herself.

Despite his delirium from the pain and blood loss, Jiyan couldn't help but notice the warmth of her presence, her lively nature. "You're like a whirlwind, aren't you?" he murmured, his voice laced with admiration as she dragged him towards the relative safety of the infirmary.

Despite the chaos and confusion of the battlefield, Jiyan finds himself drawn to the medic at his side. Was she glowing? He couldn't help but wonder as he struggled to keep up with her brisk pace. How could someone be so beautiful, almost amidst the carnage of war? Though the scent of blood and smoke filled his senses, he could still smell was the antiseptic and medicines that she had used on him, comforting him. As she dragged him towards the infirmary, Jiyan weakly protested against her, insisting that he would be fine. She seemingly ignored his words, only to focus on the task at hand. And in that moment, as he clung to her for support, Jiyan knew that he was in good hands.

Inside the infirmary, the harsh lights made everything seem too bright and painful. Jiyan was gently lowered onto the bed, his muscles screaming in protest with each movement. Through bleary eyes, he watched as the medic busied herself. Jiyan’s eyes fixed on her, noting the blood, his blood, smeared on her skin and on her clavicle. He noticed the small injuries that marred her too. Her hair, disheveled from the chaos, fell out of place from its tie, framing her face. With his uninjured hand, he reached out and tucked a stray strand behind her ear, his touch lingering for a moment. “You are injured too. Make sure to get it patched.”

She glanced at him, a mix of frustration and tenderness in her eyes. "You need to rest, General," she admonished, her voice soft yet firm. "Let us handle the battlefield for now. Your troops need you to recover."

Jiyan managed a weak smile, his vision blurring again. "You... you're quite something," he murmured, his voice trailing off. “What is your name, soldier?”

She stood up, her expression softening as she looked down at him. "And you're quite stubborn," she replied, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Take care and recover soon. Your troops have got this, and you need to focus on resting." She wiped his blood off her using a few wet wipes as more medics gathered to tend to the general. “My name is (Y/N).” She said, as the medics began working on treating him.

Jiyan managed a weak smile, his eyelids heavy with exhaustion. "Thank you, (Y/N)." he murmured, his voice barely audible.

"You're welcome," she replied, still smiling. “Let the medics tend to you. I’ll be off now.”

As she turned to leave, her figure was haloed by the harsh light, making her seem almost ethereal. Jiyan watched her go, the scent of antiseptic and the warmth of her presence lingering even as he drifted into unconsciousness.

Days had passed since the chaotic battle, and Jiyan, who transferred to the hospital in Jinzhou city was gradually recovering. His body, still wrapped in bandages and dressings, bore the marks of the intense skirmish. His broken arm was securely cast, the deep laceration on his hip stitched and bandaged, and the myriad of contusions and abrasions were cleaned and dressed. The medics had done their job well, but amidst their care, Jiyan's mind lingered on one thought: the medic who had saved him.

(Y/N), she had said her name was. She hadn't served directly under him before, always stationed at a distant outpost. The recent upheavals had brought many changes to their forces, including her reassignment to the Northern border of Huanglong. He'd learned through her records that she was exemplary, her combat skills and medical background making her a perfect fit for an on-field medic. Jiyan knew he needed to thank her, not just for her skillful treatment, but for her unwavering determination to save his life.

Her image was etched into his mind: her firm yet gentle hands tending to his wounds, her unwavering resolve, and that fleeting moment when he had tucked a stray strand of her hair behind her ear. Despite the pain and blood loss, he remembered the warmth of her presence

The Tacet Discord outbreak from that fateful day had been contained, though at a grave cost. Several lives had been lost, each one a heavy burden on Jiyan's heart. As he regained his strength, he prepared himself for a somber duty he never neglected: honoring the fallen. With a pouch of Emortia seeds in his hand, Jiyan made his way to Knell Square, the hallowed ground where he planted these seeds to commemorate the soldiers who had perished in battle.

Stepping out into the streets of Jinzhou, Jiyan felt a wave of nostalgia wash over him. The city was alive with activity, but he sought solace in the quieter parts. His path took him away from the bustling marketplace, past the familiar landmarks of the city, and towards Knell Square.

As Jiyan approached the square, the familiar sight of Emortia flowers greeted him, their delicate petals swaying gently in the breeze. He paused for a moment, taking in the serenity of the scene, his heart heavy with the names and faces of the comrades he had lost. But then, his gaze caught sight of a solitary figure standing by the flower bed, lost in thought.

(Y/N) stood there, her posture relaxed yet somehow somber. She seemed absorbed in the sight of the flowers; her eyes distant as if she were communing with the spirits of those who had passed. The soft light of the late afternoon cast a gentle glow on her, highlighting the subtle strength and grace that had left such an impression on him.

Jiyan's heart skipped a beat as he watched her. He hadn't expected to run into her here, and the sight of her brought back a flood of memories from the battlefield. He wondered what she was thinking about, what memories or emotions had drawn her to this quiet place. He took a moment to observe her, the way her eyes seemed to soften as she looked at the flowers, the way her hands gently brushed against the petals. He cleared his throat, stepping beside her. "I didn’t expect to run into you in Jinzhou."

(Y/N) turned to him, a gentle smile forming on her lips. "General Jiyan," she greeted, her voice soft. “I see that you are recovering quickly.” She turned back to the flowers. “I was here to collect some personal supplies and stopped by to admire these flowers. They are quite beautiful, aren’t they?”

Jiyan nodded, stepping closer to stand beside her. "They do. Each one represents a life, a sacrifice. It's a way for me to remember and honor them. I plant these seeds for the rangers who lost their lives." he said quietly.

She looked back at the flowers; her expression thoughtful. "These flowers... they carry so many memories…”

There was a moment of silence between them, the weight of their shared losses hanging in the air. Jiyan took a deep breath, summoning the words he had been wanting to say. "Thank you," he began, his voice earnest. "For saving me that day. I owe you, (Y/N)."

(Y/N) waved a hand dismissively, but there was a twinkle in her eye. "I was just doing my duty, General. But next time, let me do my job without fighting back.” There was a hint of frustration in her eyes. “You of all people should know that without a general, the army would have fallen into disarray."

Jiyan felt a pang of sheepishness at her words, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "You're right," he admitted. "I was stubborn. But so were you. Your quick thinking and actions saved me. Your efforts will be formally acknowledged."

A soft chuckle escaped her lips as she shook her head. "No need for formalities, General. Knowing that you're alive and well is enough for me. I don't want praise," (Y/N) said, her voice firm yet soft. "I didn't do it for the recognition. I did it because it's my duty, and I want to be more efficient in that duty. I could have saved more lives that day if I was better."

Jiyan nodded slowly. "I do. It's a heavy burden, knowing lives depend on your actions. But that's also what makes it so important."

(Y/N)'s eyes widened slightly, a spark of recognition flashing in them. "That's right. You were a medic before you became a general. I'd almost forgotten about that."

Jiyan smiled faintly. "It's not something I talk about often, but it's a part of who I am."

She gave him an incredulous look, almost looking offended. “You, of all people, should know better than to resist treatment on the battlefield! Next time, I'll tie you up if I have to."

A chuckle escaped Jiyan before he could stop it, and (Y/N)'s eyes widened in surprise. "Something the matter?" he asked, bemused.

She shook her head, a look of astonishment on her face. "I don't think I've ever heard you chuckle before," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "It suits you more than your usual frown and scowl."

Jiyan was momentarily stunned by her words. He wasn't used to such candid observations about his demeanor. "I suppose I should thank you for that," he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

(Y/N) returned his smile, her gaze focused on the sky for a moment, "I'll leave you to your moment with the flowers, General," she said, stepping back to give him space.

As she began to walk away, Jiyan found himself not wanting her to leave just yet. "Wait," he called after her, his voice catching slightly. "Would you... would you help me plant these seeds?"

(Y/N) turned back, her smile widening as she walked back to him. "Of course, General. I'd be honored."

They knelt together by the flower bed, the pouch of Emortia seeds in Jiyan's hand. He handed a few seeds to (Y/N), their fingers brushing lightly. Together, they dug small holes in the soil, carefully placing the seeds within.

"Each seed represents a life," Jiyan said quietly, his voice filled with reverence. "A sacrifice that must never be forgotten."

(Y/N) nodded, her eyes reflecting the same solemn respect. "And each flower that blooms is a reminder of their bravery and our duty to honor them."

They worked in silence for a while, the act of planting the seeds almost meditative. The gentle rustling of the flowers and the distant sounds of the city created a peaceful backdrop to their task.

As they finished planting the last of the seeds, Jiyan looked at (Y/N), admiration evident in his eyes. "Thank you," he said, his voice sincere. "For everything."

(Y/N) smiled, her lively spirit shining through once more. "You're welcome, General. And thank you for your service. We all rely on your strength and leadership."

With the seeds planted, they stood together, taking a moment to appreciate the serene beauty of Knell Square. The Emortia flowers swayed gently in the breeze, their delicate petals a symbol of hope and remembrance.

"I should be going," (Y/N) said softly. "But if you ever need someone to tie you down for treatment again, you know where to find me, General."

Jiyan chuckled, a genuine smile breaking across his face. "I'll keep that in mind," he replied. “And please, call me Jiyan.”

“Jiyan…” She repeated, nodding at him. “Alright then, I’ll do just that.”

As (Y/N) repeated his name, a warm feeling spread through his chest. He didn't want her to leave just yet. There was something about her presence that he found comforting, something that made him want to know more about her.

He recalled Mortefi's words, a dear friend who often chided him for being too stoic and reserved. "You need to put yourself out there, Jiyan. Go on dates, meet new people, relax a little. Stop being a tragic brooding hero all the damn time and go live your life."

Jiyan had never thought he desired companionship. After all, the Jué had entrusted him with a duty, a responsibility that he had always taken seriously. But this woman, (Y/N), had come out of nowhere, stirring feelings within him that he had never felt before. It made him yearn for more and all he wanted was to be the subject of her attention at the moment.

Summoning his courage, Jiyan hesitated for a moment before calling out to her, his voice slightly awkward. "Um, (Y/N), wait!"

She turned back, a curious expression on her face as she regarded him. Jiyan stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. At this very moment, he felt as if he would rather fight a horde of the Crownless than speak his mind. "I, uh, I was wondering if... if it would be alright for us to, um, go out for a nice dinner? And maybe catch a lion dance performance after?"

(Y/N) turned back, a slight smile playing on her lips as she observed Jiyan's flustered state. "Are you asking me out on a date, General?" she teased, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

Jiyan hesitated, first blurting out. “N-no…that’s...” He immediately corrected himself. "I... uh... yes, I suppose I am," he admitted, his voice slightly uncertain. "If... if that's not out of line, I mean. I'm sorry, I should probably let you be..."

(Y/N) giggled, the sound light and musical, easing some of Jiyan's anxiety. "It's endearing to see the General so flustered," she said, her tone gentle and kind. “I’d like to see more of this side of yours, Jiyan.” She met his gaze, still amused. “So yes, I'd like to go on this date if you're still up for it."

Relief flooded through Jiyan, mingled with a newfound sense of excitement. He hadn't expected her to say yes, but now that she had, he couldn't help but feel a surge of happiness. “Yes. It... Its settled then.”

(Y/N) nodded, her smile warm and inviting. "Alright then, Jiyan. When and where?"

Jiyan thought for a moment, his mind racing. "There's a lovely restaurant near the theatre. How about we meet there at seven tonight or is that too soon...?"

"Seven sounds perfect," she agreed. "I'll see you then."

As they exchanged contact information on their terminals, Jiyan's heart thudded in his chest, a mixture of nerves and excitement coursing through him. He watched as (Y/N) took off, her graceful form moving with purpose, and he couldn't help but admire her even more. With a final wave and a cheerful reminder to take care, she disappeared into the bustling city streets, leaving Jiyan standing there with a smile playing on his lips.

His gaze lingered on the spot where she had vanished, the memory of her infectious laughter and warm smile etched into his mind. For a moment, he placed his uninjured hand on top of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his palm. Yes, even he, General Jiyan, renowned for his stoicism and unwavering dedication to duty, found himself looking forward to tonight and the possibility of many more nights spent in (Y/N)'s company.

WuWa Masterlist

#lina writes #wuthering waves fic #wuthering waves fanfic #wuthering waves #wuthering waves x reader #jiyan #wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x reader #jiyan wuwa #wuwa #jiyan oneshot #wuwa fanfic #jiyan fanfic

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unabashegirl · 4 months ago

Text

Echo — Dr. Styles

Harry is a cardiothoracic surgeon and Aurora is just one of his students...

Author's note: Hello everyone, this one shot has been posted a long time on Patreon. I'm finally happy to release it for all of my Tumblr followers. I hope you enjoy it. It's quite long so happy reading!

check out my patreon and get access to more :)

word count: 7.5K

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The operating room hummed with a symphony of beeping monitors and the steady rush of air from vents. He stood at the center, surrounded by a team of skilled medical professionals, each playing their part in the delicate dance of a heart transplant.

Dressed in his scrubs, His focus was unwavering as he gazed down at the patient lying before him. The heart monitor beeped steadily, a reassuring rhythm amidst the controlled chaos of the surgery.

"Scalpel," He called out, his voice calm yet commanding. A nurse placed the tool in his outstretched hand, and with practiced precision, he made the first incision.

The room seemed to hold its breath as Harry worked, his movements sure and steady. The transplant was a delicate procedure, requiring absolute precision and unwavering focus.

As he meticulously dissected the damaged heart from the surrounding tissues, Harry's mind was a whirlwind of calculations and decisions. Every cut, every stitch, held the patient's life in the balance.

"Alright, let me have a retractor," he requested, his eyes never leaving the task at hand. A nurse handed him the instrument, and he gently maneuvered the tissues aside, revealing the beating heart beneath.

The sight never failed to awe Harry, even after years of performing surgeries. The human heart, a marvel of nature, beating with the rhythm of life itself.

With a sense of reverence, he reached for the donor heart, carefully preserved in a chilled solution nearby. As he lifted it into place, a collective breath seemed to fill the room.

"Clamp," The doctor instructed, and the new heart was secured in its rightful place. With meticulous care, he began to stitch the arteries and veins, connecting the life-giving vessels of the new heart to those of the patient.

Time seemed to both stand still and fly by in the OR. Each stitch, each suture, brought the transplant closer to completion. The team around he moved with practiced efficiency, a well-oiled machine working in perfect harmony. After six hours of standing with no breaks, he stepped back. The heart transplant was a success.

The room seemed to exhale as the monitors beeped steadily, the sound a comforting reassurance of the patient's stable condition.

"Get him to the ICU and keep me updated every hour," the surgeon instructed his intern firmly. "Stitch him up," he commanded, swiftly removing his disposable gown and gloves.

"Dr. Styles? Should I inform his wife and family? What should I say to them?" the intern asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

"No, I'll take care of it. Thank you, everyone," Dr. Harry Styles replied, his voice steady and reassuring, before exiting the operating room.

As Harry stepped out of the operating room, the weight of the surgery lingered in the air around him. The hushed tones of the hospital corridor offered a stark contrast to the controlled chaos of the OR.

With a purposeful stride, he made his way to the waiting area where the patient's family anxiously awaited news. The sense of anticipation was palpable, the air heavy with worry and hope.

The patient's wife sat on the edge of her seat, her eyes red-rimmed from hours of anxious waiting. As she caught sight of Harry approaching, her heart leaped into her throat.

"Dr. Styles," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "How is he? Is he going to be okay?”

Harry paused before her, his gaze gentle yet unwavering. "Your husband is out of surgery," he began, his voice steady. "The transplant was successful, but he's still in a critical condition. We'll be monitoring him closely in the ICU."

Tears welled up in the wife's eyes, a mix of relief and fear washing over her. "Can I see him? Can I be with him?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Harry nodded, "Of course. He's being prepared for transfer to the ICU now. You'll be able to see him soon. Now it's a matter of time and his body's response to the new heart. I’ll go check on him in a few hours. Excuse me” He gave her a small smile before disappearing down the corridor to complete charting and also get to a meeting with the attendings and the chief.

Morning," Harry greeted as he stepped into the conference room, juggling his charts and a cold brew he'd snagged from the coffee shop outside.

"How'd the surgery go?" Niall, the attending for emergencies, inquired as Harry settled in beside him.

"Alright," Harry shrugged, already engrossed in his notes. "What's this meeting about?"

Harry and Niall had struck up a friendship recently. Niall was a natural conversationalist, known for his boisterous laughter and infectious smiles. In contrast, Harry tended to keep to himself, often lost in his thoughts.

"It's about the new surgical interns starting today," the doctor seated across from Niall shared, catching Harry's attention. He frowned, already dreading the inevitable chaos that came with the arrival of new interns. Teaching was never his favorite part of the job, but he endured it for the greater good.

"Oh, I'm excited!" Niall beamed, a glimmer of enthusiasm in his eyes that Harry couldn't quite match. He knew Niall's fondness for charming the new interns, often leading to more than just professional relationships.

"Morning," the chief greeted as he entered the room, his presence commanding attention. In his mid-sixties, the chief had hired Harry, yet their interactions remained minimal. Harry preferred it that way; he kept his circle small, especially in a place where boundaries could easily blur.

"This will be a quick meeting about the incoming interns and the duties and expectations for the next few weeks," the chief explained, setting the tone for the discussion.

Harry listened attentively as the chief outlined the responsibilities and expectations for the upcoming weeks with the new surgical interns. His gaze wandered around the room, noting the varied reactions of his colleagues.

Niall seemed positively thrilled, nodding along eagerly and already making mental notes about which interns he would be taking under his wing. Harry couldn't help but shake his head at his friend's predictable enthusiasm for the new arrivals.

On the other side of the room, Dr. Patel sat with a look of quiet determination, her focus unwavering as she absorbed every detail of the chief's instructions. Harry respected her dedication and work ethic, knowing that she would undoubtedly excel in guiding the interns. She was one of the most famous gastroenterologist surgeons in the hospital.

As the meeting progressed, Harry found himself growing more apprehensive about the impending arrival of the interns. The first few weeks were always a whirlwind of orientation, training sessions, and long hours in the OR. He knew it would test his patience and ability to teach effectively.

"Any questions?" the chief asked, bringing Harry's attention back to the present.

Harry glanced around the room, noting the silence that followed. He cleared his throat, deciding to speak up. "Just to clarify, are we each assigned specific interns to mentor, or is it more of a collective effort?"

The chief nodded, addressing Harry's question. "We have a list of assigned mentors for each intern, but I encourage all attending physicians to participate in their training and offer guidance when needed."

he chief distributed the lists of mentors to each of the attending physicians. Harry glanced down at his list and noted that he had five interns assigned to him, the majority of whom were male. It brought a slight sense of relief, knowing he might have more common ground for discussion with them, than with the female ones.

"They should be up in a few hours. They are getting introduced to their residents and the program before they're sent your way," the chief informed the group. "That will be all. Have a good day."

With that, the meeting was adjourned, and the attendings began to gather their things and prepare for the arrival of the new interns. Harry folded his list neatly and tucked it into his pocket.

After attending to some of his post-op patients, Harry returned to his rounds before a page from Camille, one of the cardiology residents, summoned him to the cardiology wing. He knew exactly what that meant – it was time to meet the new interns.

"Doctor Styles! There you are," Camille exclaimed, waving him over as he entered the room. Before him stood a group of about twenty eager faces, all eyes on him. "This is Dr. Styles, one of the leaders in our cardiac surgery program. Any decisions made here will be run through him first."

"Good morning, everyone," Harry greeted, offering a warm smile to the group. "Congratulations on being accepted into the program. It goes without saying that this will be a demanding journey, but I hope it proves to be fulfilling for each of you. I'll be mentoring a few of you directly, but please know that I'm always available for questions or guidance."

"Any questions for Dr. Styles?" Camille interjected before Harry could slip away.

One voice rose from the group, breaking the brief silence. "About the mentoring. How does it work?" the inquiry came.

"Is that you, Knight?" Camille scanned the crowd until her eyes landed on Aurora, who stepped forward, no longer hiding behind a taller colleague. "Yes," Aurora confirmed, her voice steady. "I'm just wondering when we'll find out who our mentors are and when we should meet with them?"

"We don't have a set schedule for that," Camille replied, turning to Harry for confirmation. He nodded in agreement before she continued. "It usually happens when you and the attending find a bit of time between their duties and cases. As for when your mentors will be revealed, they will progressively become known as we introduce you to the rest of the attendings," Camille explained. She then turned to Harry. "Dr. Styles, do you have your list?”

"Right," Harry acknowledged, reaching into his pocket to retrieve the list. Unfolding it, he scanned the names before finding the one he was looking for. "And Aurora Knight," he announced.

"There you go," Camille said with a smile. "Thank you for your time, Dr. Styles. We'll see you in a bit."

Aurora Knight had always been sharp, bright, and endlessly curious, but above all, she was remarkably disciplined. So, when the time arrived to select a career path, her parents were taken aback by her choice of medicine. Aurora's unwavering discipline had guided her through many challenges, yet the surgical program posed an entirely new and demanding playing field.

At 27 years old, Aurora Knight was a striking figure with her long, tousled blonde hair framing her face. Her hazel eyes sparkled with intelligence and a hint of mischief, reflecting her sharp wit and curious nature. Despite her petite stature, there was an undeniable presence about her, an aura of confidence and determination that seemed to radiate from within. With a warm smile that could light up a room, Aurora carried herself with a grace.

"We'll be dividing into groups now," Camille announced, her voice carrying over the bustling activity of the surgical wing. "Each group will be assigned a new case, with an attending and resident in charge. Please listen to your resident and attending," she emphasized, gesturing for the interns to pay attention.

Aurora listened attentively as Camille began calling out last names, assigning each intern to their respective groups. As the names were called, excitement buzzed through the room, mingled with a touch of nervous energy.

"I hope I get to be with Dr. Styles," Aurora heard a voice beside her murmur. She couldn't help but smile at the comment, the sentiment echoing her own thoughts about the charming head of the cardiac surgery program.

Aurora kept her gaze fixed on the floor, not bothering to glance up at the others around her. Despite her outward confidence, it was all a facade. In truth, she was more of an introvert, often finding solace in the quiet moments of reflection.

However, being reserved didn't mean she was blind. She couldn't help but admire his striking features from the corner of her eye.

"Knight," Camille's voice finally broke through her thoughts, and Aurora looked up to see Camille pointing to a group of five. She was the last to be called, completing the group.

"You five will be heading down to the emergency room," Camille commanded, her voice firm. "You do remember where it is, right?" All five of them nodded in response. Aurora, however, couldn't recall, but she still nodded, not wanting to risk embarrassing herself and standing out.

The group of interns began to make their way downstairs in silence. None of them knew each other, but circumstances had brought them together on this task.

"Does anyone actually know where it is?" one of the men finally broke the silence, voicing the question that had likely been on all their minds.

The question hung in the air for a moment before Aurora spoke up, her voice steady despite the slight nervous flutter in her stomach. "I'm not entirely sure," she admitted, her hazel eyes meeting the gaze of her fellow interns.

The man who had asked the question nodded in understanding, a small smile playing on his lips. "I guess we’ll figure it out all together" he reassured, his tone friendly. “I am Milo”

“Aurora” She shook her hand.

The group continued down the corridors of the hospital, following the signs that pointed toward the emergency room. As they walked, conversation began to flow more freely, the initial awkwardness of being strangers starting to fade.

Aurora found herself drawn into the discussions, her curiosity piqued as she listened to her new colleagues share their experiences and aspirations. Despite the nerves that still lingered in the back of her mind, she couldn't deny the sense of camaraderie that was beginning to form among them.

Soon, they reached the bustling entrance of the emergency room, the controlled chaos of medical staff and patients filling the space. Camille had mentioned they would be assisting with a new case, and Aurora felt a surge of anticipation mingled with a touch of apprehension.

"We should check in with the attending," one of the interns suggested, breaking the silence that had fallen over the group as they took in the scene before them.

Aurora nodded in agreement, the group moving towards the attending physician who was overseeing the ER that day.

They stood awkwardly a few feet away from Niall as he diligently checked over some charts and finished a note on a patient. All five of them glanced at each other, silently urging someone to muster the courage to approach.

Eventually, Niall felt the weight of their glances on him and spoke up without looking up from his work. "I won't bite," he said, trying to ease the tension. “He is in there”

Just as they were about to make a move, the voice of Dr. Styles boomed through the room. "About time! Where the bloody hell have you been?!" he yelled, the urgency evident in his tone.

The interns hurried into the room, where they found Dr. Styles performing CPR on an unconscious patient. "What are you doing? Get in here!" he commanded, his voice urgent as he gestured for them to join him.

Aurora struggled to maintain focus, but it was nearly impossible not to be captivated by Dr. Styles' striking appearance as he fought to save a life. The muscles beneath his uniform strained with effort, his hair falling in disarray as he applied pressure. Despite his intense concentration, a furrowed brow revealed his determination to revive the patient. Suddenly, his commanding voice snapped her out of her reverie.

Without hesitation, she reached for a pair of gloves and swiftly approached the table.

"Let's get an EKG on him, Dr. Knight. You know how to do that, right? Or do I have to draw it for you?" Harry's voice cut through the urgency of the moment. Aurora nodded, her focus already on the task at hand. She began placing the electrodes on the patient's chest, each one carefully positioned. She ignored his harsh comment doubting her abilities.

"You, intubate him," Harry's next command came without pause as he assessed the patient's vitals.

Milo, one of the other interns, tried to not hesitate. He moved to the head of the bed, positioning himself to intubate the man efficiently.

"He's still bradycardic," Aurora muttered to herself, her eyes scanning the monitors as the rest of the team worked swiftly around the patient. Aurora looked down at her shoes and noticed the blood that was pooling under the stretcher. " he's bleeding from somewhere," she added, her gaze shifting to the man's sides.

"Can we roll him over?" Aurora looked up, meeting Harry's gaze with determination.

Harry nodded in agreement, quickly commanding the nurses to assist.

"I'll help," Autumn, another intern, offered, stepping forward to join Aurora.

Together, they carefully maneuvered the patient onto his side, revealing the source of the bleeding. There, in the fourth intercostal space, was a large and ominous laceration. The sight sent a jolt of urgency through the team as they assessed the severity of the injury and prepared to take swift action.

As the patient's vital signs continued to plummet, Harry's urgency grew palpable. "Dr. Madden, were you able to intubate?" he pressed, his gaze fixed on the worsening situation.

"Just give me a second," Dr. Madden muttered, his focus intent on getting a clear view of the vocal cords.

"We don't have a second, Dr. Madden. Did you do it or not?!" Harry's voice rose with frustration as Aurora and Autumn applied pressure to the wound. "Dr. Madden!"

"I-I..." Dr. Madden hesitated, faltering under the pressure of the tense situation.

Harry wasted no time. With decisive action, he stepped in and pushed Dr. Madden aside, taking control of the intubation process himself. In a matter of moments, the patient was successfully intubated, the urgency of the situation leaving no room for hesitation.

"Let's get him to the operating room," Harry declared, his voice commanding as the team mobilized to move the patient to the next phase of treatment.

The tension in the room was palpable as the chaos of the moment began to subside. It felt as though a storm had swept through, leaving behind an eerie calmness in its wake. All five interns remained rooted to their spots, their expressions a mixture of shock and disbelief.

"He absolutely despises us," Autumn broke the silence, her voice tinged with frustration as she began to remove her gloves.

"Speak for yourself. He hates me," Milo sighed, his tone resigned. "I just couldn't get a clear view."

"At least he didn't offer to draw it out for you," Aurora quipped, attempting to inject a bit of levity into the tense atmosphere. The others chuckled nervously, their laughter quickly fading as they realized Harry had come back into the room.

Aurora, unaware of his presence behind her, continued to face away, while Autumn's eyes widened in apprehension. The realization dawned on them that their mentor had witnessed their candid conversation, adding another layer of tension to the already fraught situation.

"As soon as you're changed, I'll meet you all in the operating room," Harry announced, his pager interrupting the moment. Once the door closed behind him, a collective sigh of relief filled the room.

"Shit," Aurora thought to herself, the weight of the situation settling heavily on her shoulders.

"Good morning, everyone," Harry greeted as he entered the operating room. Aurora lingered in the back, blending into the crowd, attempting to mask her rising anxiety. Despite her efforts, she couldn't shake the nagging fear that Harry might use her comment to have her expelled from the program.

As Harry began to address the team, Aurora's heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with worry. She had worked tirelessly to earn her place in the program, but one wrong move, one mistake, and it could all be taken away.

She watched as Harry moved about the room with confidence, his presence commanding attention from everyone present. His expertise was undeniable, his reputation as a skilled surgeon preceding him.

Aurora couldn't help but feel a pang of inadequacy as she compared herself to him. She was still learning, still finding her footing in the high-pressure environment of the operating room. The thought of disappointing him, of failing to meet his expectations, filled her with dread.

As the surgery got underway, Aurora focused on her tasks, trying to block out the persistent voice of doubt in her mind. She knew she had to prove herself, to show Harry and the rest of the team that she was capable, that she belonged here.

But with each passing moment, the weight of her anxiety grew heavier, threatening to overwhelm her. She couldn't afford to make a mistake, not now, not when so much was at stake.

"Dr. Knight," he called out, his voice cutting through her reverie. "Could you come here and hold the retractor?"

Aurora quietly extricated herself from the crowd, making her way to the table. With the assistance of a nurse, she put on gloves and a gown before positioning herself at the table.

"Here," he said, his hand extending the instrument towards her.

Their fingers brushed briefly as she accepted the tool. She couldn't help but notice the warmth of his hand compared to her own chill. Pushing aside any distractions, she focused on the task at hand, determined to carry out her duties with precision and professionalism.

She could only see his eyes and that was enough to make her nervous.

She tried to push aside the fluttering in her stomach and the way her heart seemed to skip a beat every time their eyes met. This wasn't the time or place for distractions. She had a job to do, a patient relying on her steady hands and focused mind.

With each passing moment, Aurora found herself slipping further into the rhythm of the surgery. The sounds of the operating room faded into the background as she concentrated on her task, her movements precise and calculated.

"Alright, that's all," Harry declared as he completed the final stitch. "Thank you, everyone." With that, he was the first to leave the room.

Aurora hesitated, waiting until Harry had exited before entering herself. Alone with him, she couldn't shake the sudden surge of apprehension. Despite her nerves, she couldn't fathom why he had specifically called upon her to assist him.

"Dr. Knight. A moment," he intercepted her as soon as she emerged from the scrub room. She swallowed hard, her heart pounding, and obediently followed him.

Harry led her outside of the hospital to a small coffee cart situated right by the entrance.

"Dr. Styles, I—"

"Latte or Americano?" He cut her off before she could finish, his question unexpected.

"Latte," she nervously replied as he ordered an Americano for himself and a latte for her.

"Dr. Styles, I just wanted to apologize for my comment. I want you to know that it won't happen again," she confessed, her words rushed and tinged with remorse.

"I wanted to apologize. I didn't mean to underestimate you in any way, Dr. Knight," he began after handing her the coffee and settling the bill with the vendor. "I'm certain that you're more than capable of handling not just an EKG, but any task thrown your way." He paid the woman and handed her drink. "I suppose I let the situation get the best of me. Just keep working as diligently as you have been, and you'll go far," he concluded before disappearing into the hospital.

Aurora remained behind, stunned by his words. As she processed his unexpected encouragement, she felt a newfound confidence settle within her.

Two months had passed since they began their tenure at the hospital. In that time, Aurora had forged strong bonds with Milo, Autumn, Daniel, and Abigail. However, Greyson had proven to be a persistent issue from day one. His reluctance to collaborate made him a challenge in a profession where teamwork was paramount.

As for Harry, he had remained standoffish. Since their last encounter, he hadn't directly addressed Aurora. Known for his impartiality and lack of favoritism, Harry maintained a neutral stance, assessing everyone solely on their ability to perform and execute.

“Right. Who will be assisting me today?” Harry asked as he looked around the operating room. His patient was being intervene due to a gun wound. He had already started operating, but though it would be a good idea to allow them to stitch up. “Milo and Aurora”.

Most of them had assisted him in the days prior, and today, Harry wanted both Milo and Aurora to have the opportunity to experience stitching up cardiac muscle.

Aurora silently recited the steps she had meticulously studied from textbooks and articles before entering the operating room. She made a conscious effort to recall every detail, anticipating that Harry might quiz them verbally. The nurse assisted Aurora in donning a gown and gloves, mirroring the nervous expression worn by Milo.

They positioned themselves opposite to Harry around the patient, they awaited instructions.

"Dr. Madden, could you assist me with this stitch?" Harry directed, prompting Milo to retrieve the necessary tools from the instrumental nurse. With careful precision, Milo attempted the stitch, mindful of Harry's guidance to ensure it held securely without compromising blood supply.

"I think that should do it," Milo ventured uncertainly, recalling Harry's recent advice on the importance of confidence in one's work.

"Very well. Dr. Knight, if you would?" Harry indicated to Aurora. Milo stepped aside, allowing her to take her turn. Aurora's task involved suturing the left coronary artery, a delicate procedure made more challenging by its angle relative to the heart. With a steady hand, Aurora cautiously slipped her fingers into the chest cavity, her nerves palpable.

Harry's reassuring voice broke through her anxiety. "Don't let it intimidate you," he encouraged, their eyes meeting in a moment of shared determination.

Aurora nodded silently, her focus returning to the intricate network of arteries illuminated by her headlamp. With determination, she began stitching, her concentration unyielding. The heart before them was far from healthy, but the man on the table had a family anxiously awaiting good news - a wife and two children relying on their expertise.

Suddenly, the monitor's alarming beep shattered the tense silence. Aurora's heart raced as she looked up, instantly gripped by nerves.

"What's happening?" Harry demanded, his voice sharp with urgency as he leaned over the cavity. "What did you do?" His tone rose with concern as he hurried to assist her in exploring the cavity.

"I didn't do anything!" Aurora protested, frantically searching for signs of bleeding around her stitches. "I followed the textbook guidelines," she muttered, her fear palpable.

Harry met her gaze, sensing her distress. "Find the source of the bleed," he instructed firmly, but the cavity was rapidly filling with blood. "Get a bag of O neg."

"I can't see anything," Aurora admitted, her panic mounting as she struggled to maintain composure.

"Think, Dr. Knight!" Harry urged, the urgency in his voice escalating. "The patient is crashing. What's your next move? Find the bleed!" His words reverberated in the operating room, but Aurora remained frozen in fear.

"Step away from the table, Dr. Knight," Harry commanded, his tone firm. "Leave the OR."

Feeling overwhelmed, Aurora hastily removed her gown and other attire, desperate for relief from the constriction. It was as if everything had become too tight, making it difficult to breathe or see clearly. Without a moment's hesitation, she fled the operating room and scrubbed out.

Navigating the hospital corridors, Aurora was acutely aware of the rising panic within her. Recognizing the signs of a panic attack, she sought solace in a nearby supply closet, allowing herself a moment of privacy to release her emotions. Though tears flowed freely, she couldn't shake the memory of her mother's advice never to cry in public, especially at work. Despite the overwhelming urge, Aurora remained composed, and like a good girl she followed the rules.

Twenty minutes elapsed before Harry emerged from the operating room. With a heavy sigh, he immediately noticed Aurora's absence, both outside the OR and in the scrub room. Removing his surgical cap, he made his way to the waiting room, his heart heavy with the weight of failure. Despite their efforts, the patient had succumbed to their condition, even after receiving extensive treatment with blood and adrenaline. Harry's attempts to resuscitate them had been in vain.

"I'll see you all in the conference room, and make sure the autopsy authorization is filled out by then," Harry commanded, addressing Milo, Autumn, Daniel, Greyson, and Abigail. "Where is Knight?" he inquired, noticing her absence. The interns remained silent, unsure of her whereabouts. "Regardless, proceed with requesting the autopsy."

After speaking with the family, Harry embarked on a search for Aurora. He scoured every corner of the hospital until he finally heard her sobbing in the supply room. Without hesitation, he used his key for access and entered, ensuring the door was closed behind him.

Aurora hastily wiped her tears and stood up from the floor as Harry entered.

"Dr. Styles," she managed to say between sobs, attempting to compose herself but unable to stop the tears from flowing. "I am sorry for what happened—"

Before she could finish her sentence, Harry's lips met hers. A rush of unexpected emotions flooded through him at the sight of her tears. He had always found her attractive, but he had maintained strict boundaries. Yet, in that moment, something shifted.

His fingers entwined in her hair as their kiss deepened. Initially taken aback, Aurora's confusion gave way to surrender. She allowed herself to be carried away by the intensity of the moment. Harry kissed her with a tenderness, but Aurora could feel the passion bruising her lips and swelling them.

As their kiss continued, time seemed to stand still. In that fleeting moment, Harry and Aurora were lost in each other, their worries and inhibitions fading into the background.

But just as quickly as it began, the reality of their situation came crashing back. Harry reluctantly pulled away, his fingers lingering on Aurora's cheek as they shared a silent, knowing look. They didn’t interchange any words. With a heavy heart, Harry turned and left the supply room, leaving Aurora alone with her thoughts and the echoes of their forbidden kiss.

"What happened to you? Are your interns driving you crazy already?" Niall inquired, joining Harry in the cafeteria where he sat with an untouched tray of food.

"Pretty much," Harry chuckled nervously, attempting to distract himself from the recent kiss he shared with Aurora.

"At least, there are some attactive ones," Niall added, digging into the burger he had ordered.

As Niall continued to talk about the interns, Harry found it increasingly difficult to focus on the conversation. Thoughts of Aurora and their momentary lapse in judgment lingered in his mind, casting a shadow over everything else.

"Yeah, they're certainly... interesting," Harry mumbled absentmindedly, his mind wandering back to the supply room where he had left Aurora.

Niall noticed the distraction in Harry's demeanor and raised an eyebrow. "Everything alright, mate?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Harry shook his head slightly, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just a lot on my mind, you know?" he replied vaguely, not wanting to delve into the details.

Niall nodded understandingly, but the concern in his eyes didn't waver. "Well, if you ever need to talk about it, I'm here," he offered, placing a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Thanks," Harry said sincerely, grateful for his friend's support. But even as he tried to push aside the tumultuous thoughts swirling in his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to become even more complicated.

Harry contemplated confiding in Niall. He longed for advice, a listening ear to untangle the mess of emotions swirling inside him. But the fear of Niall inadvertently disclosing their conversation to the chief held him back. Despite his growing feelings for Aurora, Harry hesitated to jeopardize his career and reputation over a fleeting attraction.

He departed that day after assigning a substantial list of tasks that needed to be completed.

He had hoped that by leaving, he could silence the relentless thoughts racing through his mind. Yet, even after hitting the gym and attending pilates classes, nothing seemed to make a difference. Harry remained plagued by confusion over why he had walked away without a word.

Now, he realized he needed to have a conversation with her. He needed to explain why it had happened, to assure her that it was just a single mistake and nothing more.

The following day, Harry arrived at the hospital earlier than usual. After grabbing a coffee, he began his rounds, checking on his patients. However, just as he thought he would have some time alone and that Aurora wouldn't be around, he unexpectedly encountered her. She was seated on one of the vacant stretchers on the OR floor, engrossed in what appeared to be studying.

Not wanting to interrupt her concentration, Harry debated whether to approach. Yet, he knew he needed to pass by her to reach his destination.

"Dr. Knight," he addressed her, making a conscious decision to acknowledge her presence. Continuing on his path without expecting a response, he felt a surge of nervousness. His heart raced, pounding in his chest as if it might burst. Despite his expertise in cardiovascular surgery, his palms sweated profusely, giving the sensation of a heart attack to someone less accustomed to such symptoms.

"Dr. Styles, could I speak with you, please?" Her soft voice caught him off guard from behind.

"Sure," he replied, attempting to appear composed though his nerves were anything but. "Follow me." Leading her upstairs to the rooftop, Harry sought solace in his refuge during the most challenging times.

"Listen, Dr. Knight. I know that I was completely—"

"Dr. Styles, I just wanted to apologize for what happened in the OR—"

Their words collided as they spoke simultaneously, their apologies hanging in the air between them.

"I crossed a boundary yesterday, and I shouldn't have kissed you. I'm your superior, and I'm supposed to be your teacher instead of..." Harry rushed out, "It won't happen again."

Aurora was taken aback. She wasn't inclined to apologize for the kiss; in fact, she had quite enjoyed it. Nor did she want him to apologize for it. The realization that it wouldn't be repeated left her feeling disappointed.

"Yeah, alright, Dr. Styles," Aurora nodded, feeling as though her apology for the incident in the OR had been rendered unnecessary and brushed aside. Disappointed, she managed a small smile before leaving, too disheartened to continue the conversation or remain in his presence.

Harry remained upstairs, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like an eternity. Suddenly, he heard the door open, accompanied by the sound of giggles. Glancing over his shoulder, he instantly recognized the couple: Niall with a third-year intern. Harry recalled her; he had been her advisor during her second year. They shared a kiss, and as Niall pulled away, his eyes met with Harry's.

Upon noticing Harry on the roof, the intern hastily retreated, eager to vacate the scene. Niall allowed her to run out before he approached Harry.

"Why are you here?" Niall asked, standing beside him, his embarrassment and nervousness palpable. He wasn't ashamed of their relationship, but he understood the potential consequences if they were discovered and reported.

"Just getting some air. You?" Harry replied casually.

"Look, Harry—" Niall began, but Harry interrupted him.

"No need to explain, Niall. I won't say anything," Harry reassured him. Even if he hadn't kissed Aurora, he wouldn't have exposed Niall's secret. "Is it worth it?"

"She is," Niall replied after a moment of silence. "Not everything is about work. We all need to enjoy life a little. What kind of life would it be if we never took any risks?"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Harry admitted after a few moments. Life had grown mundane and routine lately. However, since Aurora had entered his life, things had become more exciting. Now, he found himself looking forward to going to the hospital.

As Harry reflected on the newfound excitement Aurora had brought into his life, he couldn't help but acknowledge the subtle shifts in his routine. Each day at the hospital held the promise of unexpected moments, whether it was a challenging surgery, a meaningful interaction with a patient, or even the briefest exchange with Aurora herself.

Despite the complications and risks inherent in their budding relationship, Harry felt a renewed sense of vitality and purpose. Perhaps taking a chance on love was worth the potential consequences. After all, life was meant to be lived fully, even if it meant stepping outside the boundaries of what was considered safe and predictable.

In the bustling atmosphere downstairs, Aurora found herself engrossed in the tasks of tending to outpatient consults and suturing wounds in the emergency room. It was a deliberate effort on her part to refine her skills; the prospect of returning to the operating room filled her with trepidation. Despite her best efforts to dissect every detail of the previous surgery in her mind, she remained uncertain about what had gone awry. Tempted to lay blame on Harry and the intense exchanges they had shared across the operating table, she struggled to shake off the lingering doubts.

Just as she was completing the discharge process for a woman who had sustained a laceration to her eyebrow, Aurora's pager buzzed urgently, summoning her to the cardiology wing. With a sense of urgency, she set aside her current tasks and hastened towards her next destination.

Much to her surprise, when Aurora arrived, Harry had summoned everyone.

"The autopsy has been completed. I thought it would be a good exercise to review it and identify where we may have gone wrong," Harry announced as she entered the room. "Dr. Knight, please take a seat," he instructed, handing a copy of the autopsy report to each person present.

Nervously, Aurora settled between Milo and Autumn, her apprehension palpable.

"Dr. Madden, please begin," Harry prompted, and the group delved into dissecting every detail of the report.

"So, what was the issue? Where did we go wrong?" Harry inquired after they had finished scrutinizing the final word.

Silence filled the room as everyone hesitated to speak. Aurora knew what had transpired, but she hesitated to voice her thoughts; she was reluctant to assign blame to anyone.

Silence lingered in the room as Harry's question echoed, met only by the sound of his watch ticking away the seconds. He glanced at the time, realizing his own time constraints. "I don’t have all day," he stated firmly, casting a discerning gaze over the assembled group. Among them, Aurora's eyes met his, devoid of the confusion evident in the others. He hesitated to call on her, torn between the desire for her insight and the fear of alienating her.

Before he could make a decision, Milo spoke up, his tone tinged with shame. "My stitches came undone, causing the cavity to fill with blood," he admitted, eyes downcast. Harry nodded, a plan forming in his mind.

"I'll arrange practice sessions for each of you next week to work on your skills. You're all dismissed. Dr. Knight, a word," he instructed as the others filed out of the room without protest. Once they were gone, Harry locked the door behind them.

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face Aurora, his demeanor softening. "I don't regret our kiss," he confessed, a wistful smile playing at the corners of his lips. "If it were up to me, I'd spend the whole day doing just that."

Despite her efforts to conceal it, her smile threatened to reveal her true feelings, while the blush creeping up her cheeks betrayed her nervousness. Stepping closer to him, Aurora closed the distance between them, her arms encircling his neck as Harry's hands found their way to her hips. He pressed a kiss to her forearm, his gaze locked with hers, and in that moment, the world seemed to fade away around them.

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, the tension between them palpable, Harry couldn't help but feel a rush of conflicting emotions. He knew the risks involved in pursuing anything beyond a professional relationship with Aurora, yet he found himself unable to resist her magnetic pull.

Taking a deep breath, Harry leaned in closer, his lips hovering just inches from hers. In that moment, the world fell away, leaving only the two of them, lost in the intensity of their shared desire.

Aurora's hands deftly slid Harry's white coat off his broad shoulders, a sense of urgency in her touch. Harry reciprocated, lifting her effortlessly off the floor as their lips met in a fervent kiss. With a swift motion, he gently placed her on the nearby table, his hands moving with purpose to rid her of her scrubs.

"God, I've been craving this moment since the day we met," he murmured breathlessly, the heat between them igniting with his words. Every touch, every caress sent waves of pleasure coursing through her body, building a fire of desire that threatened to consume them both.

As Harry peeled off her top, Aurora's breath caught in her throat at the sight that greeted her. She hadn't expected to find intricate tattoos adorning his skin, each one a testament to a hidden side of him she longed to explore.

Aware of the ticking clock, Harry felt a sense of urgency creeping in. He understood the fleeting nature of the moment, knowing his beeper could disrupt their intimacy at any instant. With a swift motion, he lowered his pants just enough to free himself, his focus fixed on savoring every second.

As his lips trailed down her body, Harry uncovered her breasts, his mouth eagerly seeking out the tender breasts. With delicate precision, he lavished attention on each voluptuous, perky nipple, relishing the taste and texture beneath his touch.

"We're running out of time," she moaned, urgency lacing her words as she struggled to discard her pants. "I need you, now," she pleaded, her desire palpable. Harry's smile deepened as he peppered kisses along her neck, swiftly removing her pants with eager hands.

With a sense of determination, he pushed aside her underwear, his touch eliciting a shiver of anticipation. Slowly, he teased her wet folds with his head, each caress heightening her arousal. Finally, he entered her, their synchronized moans echoing in the room as they became one.

Their union was a symphony of passion and desire, the intensity building with each rhythmic thrust. Harry's movements were primal, driven by an unquenchable hunger for her. Aurora arched into him, her nails digging into his skin as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Lost in the sounds of ecstasy, they surrendered to the moment, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. Every touch, every kiss, ignited a fire within them, consuming them with a raw, primal need.

As their climax approached, the world around them faded into oblivion, leaving only the pulsating rhythm of their entwined bodies. In that fleeting moment, they were consumed by an overwhelming sense of bliss.

As they reached their climax of pleasure, they let out a simultaneous cry of release, their souls intertwining in a moment of pure bliss.

But as the echoes of their passion faded into the night, reality came crashing back, reminding them of the world outside their cocoon of desire. With gentle kisses and whispered promises, they held onto each other, knowing that their love would endure whatever challenges lay ahead. Because even though Harry was risking his entire career by having sex with her in a conference room at the hospital, it was all worth it to him because he finally felt like he was living again.

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brucewaynehater101 · 5 months ago

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Batfam Suicide Squad AU:

Villainous versions of all of the Bats are shoved into one universe together. Up until this point in the AU, they do not know each other well. They've maybe seen each other on the field (which probably ended in fights and held grudges), but they aren't family. They are practically strangers.

Amanda Waller just wants to kill them. However, somehow, there's a force that's even worse than these fuckers. She needs a team to take that down, even if the participants are unwilling.

Bruce Wayne:

A cunning villain who can naturally lead teams. He primarily works alone but has proven to be efficient with any person he has to work with. He can bring out their better attributes, but he's ruthless, wary, and an asshole. He has contingency plans to take down anyone and everyone

Dick Grayson:

Practically immortal half-Talon assassin for hire. His rumored mentors are other Talons, Deathstroke, Superman, and various Titans. His skills in combat are fierce, his abilities are enhanced by his state, and his early childhood acrobatics do wonders for his abilities to escape and fight. These pale in comparison to his natural charisma and ability to turn enemies into allies.

Barbara Gordon:

The best hacker on this side of the galaxy. While she mainly stays off of the field due to her being paralyzed from the waist down, she is a formidable opponent. A significant number of politicians worldwide owe her favors, heroes and villains work for her, she knows top secret information, employs a number of traps to protect herself, and understands the nuances in social structures.

Jason Todd:

A brutal enforcer who utilizes fear, power, and death in his territory to demand obedience to his rules. Extremely skilled in various weapons, hand-to-hand combat, bomb making, and demonstrations of force. His senses, healing speed, and reflexes are uniquely enhanced by his exposure to Lazarus Pits. Despite his persona of being quick to anger, he's a masterful tactian and manipulator.

Cass Cain:

The only candidate who does not kill. Her combat prowess exceeds all other candidates and is rarely defeated in battle. Her eerie silence, ability to read others far more accurately than even psychics, and her stealthiness lead her existence to being more of a feared rumor than a confirmed sighting.

Tim Drake:

While he can defeat a range of opponents in combat, his strength lie in the plots he enacts anonymously. He is skilled in plucking strings and dominoes to create the outcomes he desires. Other abilities include hacking, combat, stealth, disguises, and manipulation. For any battle he prepares for, he rarely loses. Only a small handful of his crimes can be proven to be caused by him.

Steph Brown:

She is skilled in deflection, disguises, social circumstances, combat, and observations. Brown utilizes a variety of personas to distract her victims and lead them astray. She's deadly, but hides this aspect well.

Duke Thomas:

A daring and charismatic leader of a meta rights movement. His group has committed various crimes in their pursuits. He is the only born meta of the group, extremely skilled in utilizing his powers, decisive in outcomes, skilled in combat, and ruthless to prejudice. He can be charming and is extremely emotionally intelligent, which is a skill he uses to subtly influence others.

Damian Al Ghul:

Due to his high kill count, special permission has been given to allow the sixteen year old to be entered into the program. He's exceptionally skilled in all weapon combat but primarily uses swords and knives. He's astute and can utilize his age as a finely tuned weapon to infiltrate, distract, or disappear. He has experience with leading, murder for hire, and complex missions.

Alfred Pennyworth:

A formidable marksman and retired serviceman for MI6. His skills with all styles of guns, acting abilities, unflappable manner, medic training, vehicle maneuverabilites, and sharp tongue aid him in any supportive role. Although he is unlikely to assist on field, he will provide necessary background aid.

Tim and Barbara, in this AU, have both grudges and respect for each other. Tim does not match Barbara's computer skills, but he's a far better foe to her than most. Usually, Tim has a policy to bow out when Barbara is involved or find a way to hide his involvement from her.

Bruce doesn't know Damian is his biological son. Damian hopes to keep him in the dark. Dick, due to his training with blood scents, is the first to know about their relationship. This only occurs after Bruce and Damian get injured on separate missions and Dick makes the connection.

Jason and Damian both have tried to kill Tim. Because Tim seemingly can't die to their attacks, the two have made a game out of trying to kill Tim whenever they see him. Jason and Damian do not know the other also does this. Jason refers to Tim as a "cockroach-like bastard."

One of the batkids jokingly refers to Bruce as "Dad" and Alfred as "Gramps" due to their older age. This catches on with the rest of the batkids until it becomes a regular and fond nickname for the older men.

Bruce had a plan to escape with the help of Kate. After seeing Damian (he doesn't know that's his son), Bruce decides he can't leave a kid. Then he becomes fond of the rest of the group and delays his escape plan again until he can escape with them.

Which of the Bats know each other from encounters in the field? Who holds grudges against each other? What led each Bat to become a villain?

As far as background shit, idk.

I might update with a criminal dossier for each bat later

(In case it wasn't clear, this is a batfam meet late forced found family AU)

@hisaribi helped me with this ^^

#bruce wayne #dick grayson #talon dick grayson #barbara gordon #jason todd #steph brown #tim drake #duke thomas #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #dc comics #dc universe #dc au #batsquad au

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jmtorres · 2 months ago

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i just saw a post about how we just have to "live with" covid and wanting more protections from our government is unreasonable because we'll never wipe it out, it jumps species and is in all sorts of animal populations (like, true ok) so why even try to

and apparently the argument was aimed at people (who I haven't seen in the wild) who are arguing we should still be in lockdown. and i have mixed feelings about the idea of extended lockdown or attenuating isolations; but my main feeling at this point is not that the government should keep us apart but that the government should be trying to make it safer for us to be together

things the government could/should be doing about covid:

we know that ventilation/air movement helps a shitton. we should be incentivizing upgrades to ventilation systems in all public buildings with shit like rebates or tax deductions, while phasing in eventual legal requirements. (and uh. it has occurred to me that the US might actually be doing this sideways by there's currently this decade enormous tax incentives in re energy efficient upgrades for slowing climate change and you know. energy efficient hvac does tend to improve ventilation. extra point to biden here.)

mandatory paid sick leave so workers aren't under social or economic pressure to work when sick

passing out RT-LAMP tests like metrix that actually work instead of the rapid antigen tests that have become less and less reliable as the virus mutates

i don't know how you'd write this law but like 95% or more of computer-based work can be done remotely and companies should not be allowed to force people to return to the office. I know there's people who want to be back in person and I'm not saying they should be forced to stay home but ffs I know of at least two people CLOSE to me who worked remotely before the pandemic and at some point their workplaces tried to tell them they weren't allowed to do that anymore despite the pre-existing contracts. stop canceling remote work for people that want, need, or prefer it.

for that matter, every college lecture that was an online class during covid should still be offered as an online class, there is no reason to force students into auditoriums in person. you got the communications infrastructure up and running, why are you tearing it down. give people the OPTION. it increases accessibility for everyone!

covid vaccine immunity lasts about four months. this should be well-publicized and everyone should be able to re-up for free every four months. "every year, like the flu vaccine" is demonstrably not often enough. actually "for free" isn't good enough start handing out $10 gift cards you will be shocked at how many people who are resistant to the idea of vaccines will fold for $10 a shot

are there already laws on the books about masks in medical settings that some medical professionals are blatantly ignoring because they forgot what best practices were before the plague and they're 'tired of masking'? if not, pass laws. if so, fucking enforce them

oh another incentives for upgrades phasing into legal requirements thing: brass doorknobs and railings over stainless steel or whatever. microbes do not survive on brass surfaces

i mean. i know this one sounds too extreme to a lot of people but. UBI.

most if not all of these measures will prevent or ameliorate other pandemics of different diseases that may arise in the future. and just. generally improve our health and quality of life for other reasons.

I haven't felt safe to go to a concert since 2020. Maybe if I knew a venue was legally required to have ventilation to a certain standard and that none of the ticket takers and ushers were on the job sick to avoid risking loss of paycheck or job, and knew a larger percentage of the crowd had up to date vaccinations--maybe if any or all that, I might ever feel comfortable going to a show again.

wouldn't it be nice if those of us who have been disabled, by covid or other conditions, had accessible remote options but also occasionally felt safe enough to interact with and participate in wider society?

one of the arguments on the post I saw was how isolation was massively psychologically damaging and various strata of society were affected in all sorts of ways, from undersocialized kids to increased depression in--well across the board, I think. and here's the thing: WE KNOW. PEOPLE WITH CHRONIC HEALTH CONDITIONS, LONG COVID OR OTHERWISE, KNOW ISOLATION SUCKS REAL BAD. because we, both for our own health and due to disability ostracism, are still isolating and isolated more than most.

what are you as individuals or societies, what are our governments, doing to help make it safe and accessible to rejoin you????

#long covid #covid #chronic illness #us politics #disability

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zaerilyn · 5 months ago

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Turbulent Waters

Jiyan x Female!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Porn With Plot, Reader-Insert, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Childhood Friends, Romance, A Bit of Fluff

Summary: The unexpected return of General Geshu Lin and swirling rumors about Y/N's connection with him test the unspoken feelings between Jiyan and Y/N. Long-buried emotions erupt in a heated confrontation, pushing Jiyan to face his love and fears head-on. Amid the resulting tension and misunderstandings, a fervent confession emerges, culminating in a passionate encounter that forever alters their relationship.

Or basically,

Jiyan’s been secretly crushing on his childhood friend since forever. Then he finally snaps one night after hearing rumors about you and Geshu Lin getting freaky.

The campfire’s flickering glow painted the shadows of soldiers onto the walls of the tents around you. The chatter was alive with discussions of strategy, victories, and idle gossip. Jiyan’s presence commanded respect among the men, his stoic nature and tactical brilliance earning their loyalty.

You walked through the camp with your medical bag, your mind focused on the task at hand. General Geshu Lin had returned from his mysterious absence, wounded and needing your expertise. As the head doctor, your reputation for unparalleled medical skill and your willingness to step into the battlefield were well-known among the troops. Often, you worked late into the night, tending to injuries with a deft hand and a caring heart. Your dedication had earned you the respect and admiration of many, including Jiyan, your childhood friend and now the general.

From a young age, you and Jiyan had been inseparable, growing up in the same village and training together. Over the years, your bond had deepened into something more complex. While your teasing often veiled genuine affection, the weight of your respective responsibilities and unspoken fears kept both of you from confessing your true feelings. Jiyan, in particular, struggled with the burden of his role, fearing that any deeper connection might bring you pain if he were to fall in battle.

You had just finished stitching a soldier’s wound when a familiar voice called out to you.

“Y/N!” Jiyan’s deep voice reached you through the din.

You turned to see him striding towards you, his expression as unreadable as ever, but with a flicker of something you couldn't quite place.

“Jiyan,” you greeted, flashing a quick smile. “I’m on my way to check on Geshu Lin. He needs some attention.”

His jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Geshu Lin. “I’ll accompany you,” he said, falling into step beside you.

“Jiyan, you know I can handle this,” you said softly, glancing at him. “I’ve done it countless times.”

He shook his head, determination etched on his face. “I know. But I’m coming with you anyway.”

The path to Geshu Lin’s tent was quiet, the sounds of the camp fading as you approached the general’s quarters. Jiyan’s presence was a comforting weight beside you, though you could sense the tension radiating from him. Usually, Jiyan was not one to interfere with your work. He respected your medical expertise, often admiring your dedication and skill. He had once dabbled in medical training himself, understanding the crucial role you played. His protectiveness tonight was unusual, spurred by the whispers among the soldiers and the sight of you heading towards Geshu Lin.

When you reached the tent, Jiyan hesitated outside, giving you a look that was both protective and conflicted. You stepped inside, finding Geshu Lin reclining on a cot, his torso bare and bandaged.

“General,” you greeted, setting down your bag and moving to his side.

Geshu Lin gave you a weary smile. “Y/N, just the person I was hoping to see. How have you been?”

You began to check General Geshu Lin's bandages with practiced efficiency. Your fingers moved deftly, unwrapping the old gauze to inspect the healing wounds on his torso. The soft glow of the lamp illuminated his muscular build, and you could see the edges of the scar tissue starting to form.

“Busy, as always. Let’s see how you’re healing.”

You examined the wound, carefully cleaning it with antiseptic. The sharp scent filled the air as you dabbed at the raw edges with a soft cloth, your brow furrowing in concentration.

“You have quite the delicate touch, Y/N. I can see why you're the head doctor. It’s reassuring to have someone so skilled attending to my injuries.” He winced slightly as you applied a fresh bandage, securing it with precise movements. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he remained composed, his eyes studying your face.

“Just doing my job. Try to avoid any strenuous activity for a few more days. The wound’s healing well, but it still needs time.”

As you worked, you couldn't shake the feeling of Jiyan's presence just outside the tent. His familiar aura seemed to permeate the air, adding a layer of tension to the enclosed space.

Geshu Lin’s eyes glinted with a mischievous light as he watched you, leaning back slightly to give you more access to his wound.

“You know,” he said casually, a smirk playing on his lips, “Jiyan seems rather protective of you. Quite the guard dog, isn’t he?”

You glanced up, surprised by his comment, your hands pausing briefly in their task. “He’s just looking out for me.”

Geshu Lin chuckled, the sound low and slightly mocking. “Is that what you think? I’d be careful, Y/N. Someone might snatch you away if he’s not careful.”

His gaze lingered on you, filled with a subtle challenge. The way he spoke to you, with a flirtatious undertone and easy familiarity, unsettled you slightly. You could sense the underlying tension between him and Jiyan, the rivalry simmering beneath their polite interactions. You finished applying the bandage and pulled away, your eyes meeting his briefly before you stood up.

Before you could respond to his insinuations, the tent flap rustled, and Jiyan entered with a controlled intensity. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene, your proximity to Geshu Lin and the casual atmosphere between you two.

“Am I interrupting something?” His voice carried a restrained edge, the calm before a storm.

Geshu Lin smirked, a knowing gleam in his eyes as he noticed Jiyan's reaction. He shifted slightly, exaggerating the nonchalant attitude.

“Just receiving some excellent medical care, General.” His tone was smooth, almost taunting. “Y/N here has been doing an admirable job.”

You quickly shook your head, sensing the brewing confrontation. “No, Jiyan. Just finishing up here.”

Jiyan’s gaze flicked to Geshu Lin, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His eyes then softened slightly when they met yours, but the tension in his posture remained evident.

“We need to talk. Now.” His voice was firm, leaving no room for argument. He reached out, his grip on your arm assertive but not harsh, guiding you out of the tent. The night air hit you as you stepped outside, and you could feel the storm brewing beneath Jiyan’s composed exterior.

As you walked away, you caught a glimpse of Geshu Lin's smirk, a triumphant light in his eyes. He watched you both leave, clearly satisfied with the effect his words had on Jiyan. The sense of rivalry was palpable, his earlier words echoing in your mind and adding to the weight of the situation.

Jiyan led you away from Geshu Lin's tent with a firm grip on your arm, the urgency in his steps matching the storm brewing in his eyes. He didn’t stop until you reached the dimly lit interior of his own tent, the flap falling shut behind you. The space felt immediately more intimate, with the scent of burning candles mingling with the earthy aroma of the canvas walls.

He finally released your arm and turned to face you, his eyes dark with a mix of anger and frustration.

“Jiyan, what’s going on?” Confusion laced your voice as you tried to understand his sudden agitation.

He stopped abruptly in the center of the tent, turning to you with a fierce intensity.

“Do you realize what people are saying about you and Geshu Lin?” His voice was low and intense, each word biting into the charged air between you.

Your brow furrowed in bewilderment. “What are you talking about?”

“I heard the men talking,” he said, his eyes blazing. “They think… They think there’s something between you and him. They’re saying he’s lucky to have you visiting him late at night.”

You blinked, taken aback by his words. “That’s absurd. I’m just treating his injuries.”

His expression hardened, his frustration clear. “Is that all?” he demanded. “Because it doesn’t look that way to them. Or to me.”

Indignation flushed your cheeks. “How dare you? I’m clearly only doing my job. Just because he’s my patient doesn’t mean there’s anything else going on.”

Jiyan’s eyes softened for a moment before hardening again, a conflict of emotions playing across his face. “I know you, Y/N. But I can’t stand the thought of you with him. Of him thinking he has a claim on you.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are you saying, Jiyan?”

He took a step closer, his hands gripping your shoulders, his touch firm yet filled with a desperate intensity.

“I’m saying I can’t lose you. I won’t.” His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken emotions. You searched his face, seeing the raw vulnerability in his eyes.

“Jiyan,” you said softly, your voice trembling, “I’ve always been here. I’m not going anywhere.”

A flicker of relief crossed his features, but it was soon replaced by a fierce determination.

“I can’t stand seeing you with him, hearing those things. I…” His voice trailed off, and he seemed momentarily lost.

You took a step closer, your heart aching at the conflict you saw in him. “If you want me, you just have to say it.”

His eyes locked onto yours, and before you could react, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, desperate kiss. Your hands flew to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart through his clothes.

The kiss deepened, a raw, unrestrained intensity igniting between you. Jiyan’s hands roamed over your back, pulling you closer, his touch both demanding and tender. You responded with equal fervor, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed yourself against him.

Jiyan’s tent became a cocoon of heightened emotions and physical desire, the soft glow of candles casting flickering shadows on the canvas walls. His usual stoic demeanor had shattered, replaced by a primal need that matched your own.

His hands moved to unfasten the ties of your tunic, each movement deliberate and urgent. You mirrored his actions, your fingers fumbling with the fastenings of his uniform, peeling away the layers that separated your bodies. The cool air of the tent brushed against your heated skin, heightening your senses.

As you both shed the last of your clothing, the intimacy of the moment deepened. Jiyan’s gaze was intense, his eyes tracing the contours of your body with a mix of awe and hunger. He guided you towards the sturdy wooden table in the center of the tent, the coarse surface pressing against your abdomen as he positioned you with your belly flat against it.

Your body trembled with anticipation, your senses heightened by the unfamiliar position. Jiyan stood behind you, his hands exploring the soft curves of your hips, the firmness of your back. He leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back, his breath hot against your ear.

“Is this what you wanted?” he growled, his voice rough with need. “Me, claiming you from behind, making you mine?”

A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine. Your response was a breathless moan, your hands gripping the edges of the table as you arched your back slightly, offering yourself to him.

“Yes,” you gasped. “I want all of you.”

His eyes darkened with a fierce possessiveness. He aligned himself with your entrance, the tip of his erection pressing against your slick folds. The anticipation made your body tense, the heat between your thighs intensifying.

He entered you slowly, the initial stretch sending a shockwave of pleasure and slight discomfort through you. Your body adjusted quickly, accommodating his size as he pushed deeper. You gasped, your fingers gripping the table’s edge tightly, your hips instinctively pushing back against him to take him fully.

Jiyan’s movements were deliberate at first, his hips rocking gently as he set a rhythm. Each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through your body, the friction of his length against your inner walls intensifying the sensation. He began to move faster, his breathing growing ragged, his need evident in the urgency of his thrusts.

You matched his pace, your hips lifting to meet his, creating a rhythm that was both urgent and perfectly attuned to each other. The table creaked beneath you, a steady counterpoint to the rising symphony of your moans and gasps.

He leaned over you, his chest pressing against your back as he slid a hand around to cup one of your breasts. His fingers teased your nipple, the combination of sensations making your body arch into his touch. His other hand moved to grip your hip, holding you steady as he increased the intensity of his thrusts.

His lips found the sensitive skin of your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the curve, his breath warm against your ear.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice a low, rough whisper. His teeth grazed your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “Say it.”

The pressure built within you, coiling tighter with each passing moment. Your climax was imminent, the tension in your body reaching a fever pitch.

“I’m yours,” you cried out, your voice breaking. “Only yours.”

The admission seemed to ignite something in him. His thrusts became more forceful, each one driving you higher. His hand slid down your body, his fingers finding the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. He rubbed it in time with his thrusts, the combined stimulation pushing you over the edge.

The intensity of his words, combined with the relentless assault on your senses, sent you spiraling into climax. Your body tensed, and you cried out his name as the wave of your orgasm crashed over you. The pleasure was so intense that it left you trembling, every nerve ending alight with sensation.

Jiyan followed moments later, a deep groan escaping him as he found his release. You felt the pulsating warmth of his ejaculation filling you, his body tensing above you as he drove into you one last time, then collapsing onto you in a spent, panting heap. The connection between you pulsed with the remnants of your shared ecstasy, the room filled with the sound of your mingled breaths.

With a gentle, yet firm motion, Jiyan lifted you from the table, your body still sensitive and trembling from the intense experience. You instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, your head resting against his chest as he carried you across the tent. The big-sized cot in the corner awaited, a simple but welcoming reprieve after the raw intensity of your encounter.

Jiyan laid you down on the cot with a care that belied the ferocity of his earlier actions. The coarse blanket beneath you felt cool against your heated skin. He joined you, lying down beside you, his arms wrapping around you protectively. The proximity allowed you to feel the steady beat of his heart against your back, a comforting rhythm that helped soothe the lingering intensity within you.

Your breathing synchronized with his as you nestled against him, feeling the solid warmth of his body and the lingering glow of your climax. You reached up to cup his cheek, your fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. Jiyan’s eyes softened, a look of tender affection replacing the earlier passion.

As you lay there, the sounds outside the tent slowly filtered back into your awareness. The quiet murmur of the camp, the occasional footsteps of patrolling soldiers—sounds that had been completely drowned out by the fervor of your connection. You realized that your earlier cries had likely been heard by those outside, a fact that made your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and pride.

Jiyan seemed to read your thoughts. A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes as he tightened his arms around you, his breath warm against your ear.

“I made sure they heard,” he said, his voice a low, satisfied murmur. “Let them know you’re mine. Let them hear your pleasure.”

You blinked, taken aback by his admission. Your heart raced as you processed his words. This side of Jiyan—bold, possessive, deliberately exposing your intimacy—was completely at odds with the gentle, respectful friend you had always known. His usual demeanor was composed, his actions always measured and considerate. The idea that he would consciously ensure that others knew what was happening between you was both shocking and electrifying.

It then clicked. After all, you had tried to stifle your screams earlier, biting your lip to keep from making too much noise. But Jiyan had been relentless, finding ways to make you cry out despite your efforts. His hand had clamped over your mouth briefly, only to slide away as he increased the intensity of his movements, making it impossible for you to remain silent.

“You… you did that on purpose?” you asked with cheeks flushed red, barely able to believe this new side of him.

“I want everyone to know that you’re with me. That you’re mine.” His eyes locked onto yours with a possessive gleam.

“I didn’t know you had this side to you, General Jiyan,” you said in a teasing tone.

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” he replied, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

“But you’ll learn. I want you to know all of me, Doctor.”

#wuwa jiyan #wuthering waves #jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x you #jiyan x reader #general jiyan #geshu lin #wuthering waves smut #jiyan smut

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natsaffection · 5 months ago

Text

Paramedic. | N.R

Paramedic!Natasha x Reader

Warnings: Motorcycles Accident, detailed first aid, Imjurys

Word Count: 2,3k

A/N: I had a dream about this last night and just had to write it. 🫠

The sun was setting, painting the city a warm golden hue as you rode your motorcycle down the quiet street. The wind whipped against your helmet and you felt an intoxicating sense of freedom. But in an instant, everything changed. A car slammed into your path and you had no time to react. The impact was brutal, sending you rolling across the asphalt before everything went black.

When you came back to consciousness, the world was a blur of flashing lights and distant sirens. A sharp and unrelenting pain coursed through your body. You could hear voices, but couldn't make out the words. Panic began to set in as it became clear that you couldn't remember what had happened.

"Hey, can you hear me?" a voice called out, clear and strong. You blinked, trying to focus on the face above you. A woman with red hair, dressed in a paramedic uniform, leaned over you, concern etched in her face.

"Stay with me," she said softly, scanning your body for injuries. "I'm Natasha. You're going to be okay. We'll take good care of you."

You tried to speak, but your throat was dry and the words wouldn't come. You felt the panic rising again, the fear of not knowing what had happened or how badly you were hurt.

"Can you tell me your name?" Natasha asked, keeping her tone calm and reassuring. "Y/N," you whispered, your voice barely audible "Good, Y/N. Can you tell me what day it is?" Natasha's question was met with silence as you tried to remember.

"I... I don't know," you stammered, your eyes wide with fear. "I don't remember.." Natasha exchanged a quick glance with her colleague Sam, her concern clearly visible. "It's okay, Y/n. Sometimes our brains are a little foggy after a shock. Just focus on me and breathe."

When Natasha's team arrived with a stretcher, she turned to them and gave them instructions with practiced efficiency. "We need to remove her helmet, but very carefully. I don't want any further damage to her spine."

Two paramedics were treating at your side, their movements precise and monitored. Natasha knelt next to you and spoke softly. "We're going to take your helmet off now. It might hurt a little, but we have to do it. Just keep breathing for me, okay?"

"Okay.." weakly, bracing yourself. As she began to lift the helmet, you winced in pain, a soft moan escaping your lips. "you're doing great, just a little more."

Natasha could feel her anger bubbling just beneath the surface. The driver who had caused this was nearby and she had to pull herself together not to punch him in the face. Especially now, as she took in your features, absolutely beautiful even in distress.

"All right, Sam, let's put the neck brace on her," Natasha said. "Y/n, I'm going to hold your head completely still. This might be a little uncomfortable, but it's important. Ready, Sam?"

"Ready," Sam replied, getting into position. Natasha gently supported your head and held it completely still while Sam put the neck brace around your neck. "You're doing great, Y/n. Just keep breathing with me."

When the neck brace was secure, Natasha checked to make sure it was in place. "All right, now let's carefully lay you down on the back plate. Sam, you take her shoulders, I'll take her hips. On the count of three. One, two, three.”

They gently lifted you onto the back plate, Natasha's hands not letting go of your body. You winced in pain as Natasha's hands brushed over a spot. She turned to her team. “We need to check her chest. Get me some scissors.”

One of the paramedics quickly handed Natasha a pair of medical scissors. Natasha looked you in the eyes, her expression serious but gentle. “Y/N, I need to cut open your shirt to see what's wrong, okay? This might be a little uncomfortable.”

You nodded and tried to stay calm. Natasha carefully cut open your shirt and exposed your chest. She could see that it was slightly swollen and bruised. Natasha carefully felt the spot, feeling if anything was wrong.

“Does that hurt?” Natasha asked, squeezing lightly. You winced, tears welling up in her eyes. “Y-Yeah..”

“Looks like you took quite a hit. Can you feel this?” She lightly touched your legs, checking to see if she could feel anything. “Yes,” you answered, your voice shaking. “I can feel it.”

“Good, that’s a good sign,” Natasha said, relief evident in her voice. “It’s going to be okay. Just hang in there.” As your eyes wandered, you saw your motorcycle lying bent and broken on the road. Panic flooded through you and you began to hyperventilate. “My bike… oh my god, what happened? W-What happened?”

“Hey, hey, look at me,” Natasha said firmly, taking your face in her hands. “I know it’s scary, but you have to stay calm. Your motorcycle can be replaced. You can’t. You’re what’s important now.”

Just then, the driver who caused the accident tried to get closer, but a police officer held him back. "I just want to see if she's okay!" the driver shouted in a desperate voice. "Stay back!" the officer barked, pushing him away. Natasha glared at the driver and muttered under her breath. "Damn idiot."

Turning her attention back to you, Natasha's expression softened. "We're taking you to the hospital and they'll take care of you." As the paramedics lifted you onto the stretcher, Natasha stayed by your side, holding your hand and speaking in a soothing tone. "I've been in your situation once. I'm a rider too. I know how it feels. But you're strong and you'll get through this."

As they loaded you into the ambulance, you caught another glimpse of your broken bike "I need to see it, please.." Natasha held you in a gentle but firm style. "No, you have to stay still. Your head and neck are injured and we can't risk making it worse. The bike is just metal and rubber. You're what matters."

Your eyes filled with tears, frustration and fear overwhelming them. "But..." Natasha wiped away a tear that had slipped down your cheek. "I promise when you're better we'll sort everything out. But for now you have to trust me. Stay calm and focus on getting through this."

As the ambulance doors closed, Natasha kept her eyes locked on you. The ambulance was a controlled frenzy. Monitors beeped softly and the smell of disinfectant filled the air. Natasha sat next to you, holding your hand and constantly checking your vitals.

"Keep breathing, Y/n," Natasha said, her voice firm and reassuring. "We're almost at the hospital. You're doing great." You nodded weakly, your eyelids fluttering as you fought to stay conscious. The pain was relentless, but the fear was even worse.

Natasha picked up the radio and began relaying information to the hospital. "Unit 3 here. We're with a Y/A -year-old woman who was the victim of a motorcycle accident. Conscious but disoriented. Possible concussion, multiple bruises, and likely broken ribs. Vital signs stable but in severe pain. Estimated arrival in five minutes.”

After putting the radio away, Natasha turned her attention back to you. “How are you?” she asked softly. You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat. You didn’t know how to describe the pain, the fear, the confusion. You just wanted it all to stop.

“Y/n, can you hear me?” Natasha asked again, her voice growing more urgent. “How are you feeling?”

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, your voice shaking. “I… I feel sick.” Natasha’s expression hardened with concern. “Okay, hang in there. We’re almost there. Try to breathe slowly and deeply for me.”

As they raced to the hospital, Natasha continued to watch you closely. She reached out to adjust an oxygen mask on your face and make sure you were getting enough air. "It's going to be okay," she repeated, her voice determined. "Just keep focusing on my voice."

Your eyes fluttered open and closed, your breathing unsteady. "I'm scared," you whispered. "I know," Natasha replied quietly. "But you're not alone. We're here for you and we'll make sure you get through this."

The ambulance pulled into the emergency room and the doors swung open. Natasha and her team moved quickly, transferring you from the ambulance to a waiting stretcher. As they wheeled you into the hospital, Natasha stayed by your side, never letting go of your hand.

"Y/A -year-old female, motorcycle accident," Natasha reported to the emergency room team. "Possible concussion, multiple bruises, suspected broken ribs. She's in severe pain and nausea."

As they prepared you for further examination, Natasha leaned forward and whispered, "Remember, you are strong. You will get through this." Your fear began to fade in the face of Natasha's unwavering support. As you were wheeled away for further treatment, you clung to the promise of those words, knowing you were not alone in this fight.

In the days that followed, you recovered slowly but steadily. You spent a lot of time in the hospital regaining your strength and processing the accident. "Hey," she greeted. "I heard someone is being discharged soon."

Your face beamed at the sight of Natasha. "Yes... What are you doing here?" Natasha pulled a chair next to your bed. "Do you mind if I sit down with you for a moment? I brought coffee."

"Of course not," you replied, your eyes shining. “Thanks for stopping by.” You spent the next few minutes chatting, and the conversation went smoothly. Natasha pulled out her phone and showed you pictures of her own bike. “This is my baby,” Natasha said proudly. “I’ve had it for a few years now.” Your eyes widened in admiration. “Wow, it’s beautiful. What kind is it?”

“A Ducati Panigale V4,” Natasha replied, her eyes lighting up. “I’ve had some amazing rides on it.” You smiled, feeling a sense of camaraderie. “It feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been on a bike.”

Natasha nodded sympathetically. “You’ll be getting back on one soon. For now, just focus on healing.” Your smile faded slightly. “I… I’m a little scared, to be honest. What if something happens again?”

Natasha's eyes softened with understanding. "It's perfectly normal to feel this way after an accident. It can be scary to get back on a bike, but you can't let fear control you. Take it one step at a time."

"How did you do it?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "After your accident?" Natasha had to smile, "Someone remembers, good." She took a deep breath and thought back. "It wasn't easy. I took my time, started with short rides and gradually built up my confidence. And I always remembered why I loved riding in the first place. It gave me a sense of freedom and peace."

You nodded, taking in Natasha's words. "I guess I just need to find that courage again."

"You will," Natasha assured her. "And I'll support you every step of the way." As they continued talking, the topic changed to Natasha's job. "So, how did you become a paramedic?" you asked, genuinely curious.

Natasha leaned back and sipped her coffee. "Well, I've always wanted to help people. After some time in other fields, I realized that being a paramedic is my true calling. It's hard, but it's worth it."

"I can imagine," you said quietly. "You were incredible to me. I don't know how I would have done it without you."

Natasha reached out and squeezed your hand gently. "You would have done just fine. You're strong, Y/N. But I'm glad I could be there for you."

There was a moment of silence, a pleasant one as they both seemed to reflect on the bond that had formed between them. You looked at Natasha, your eyes filled with gratitude and something more.

You smiled, a feeling of warmth spreading through you. "Maybe when I'm better we can go for a ride together?" Natasha had to smile, "I'd like that," Natasha replied, her smile widening. "I'd like that a lot."

Days later one afternoon, as you were preparing for your discharge, Natasha came into your room with a helmet in her hand. "Ready for a little surprise?" she asked, her eyes sparkling.

Your eyes widened with excitement. "Is this for me?" Natasha nodded. "It is. I thought we could go for a quick drive if you'd like. Just around the hospital grounds."

Your heart swelled with gratitude and excitement, but also a hint of concern. "I'm a little nervous," you admitted.

"That's totally fine," Natasha said in a gentle voice. "We'll take it slow. You don't have to do anything you don't feel comfortable with."

But with Natasha by your side, you felt a surge of courage. "Fine. Let's do it." As they walked out to the hospital parking lot, Natasha handed you the helmet and helped you onto her own motorcycle. The engine roared and for the first time since the accident, you felt a sense of freedom and elation.

You drove slowly across the hospital grounds, the wind in your hair, the sun on your face. In that moment, everything felt perfect. When she stopped, you turned to Natasha with your whole heart. "Thank you for everything, Natasha. You changed my life."

Natasha smiled and her eyes reflected the same feelings. "And you changed mine, Y/N. Here's to a new beginning and many more journeys together."

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #dom!natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #nat x reader #natasha romonova #the avengers #natasha #natasha x you #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader

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p0orbaby · 5 months ago

Text

Spring

summary: the biggest challenge you and Alexia have had to face

warnings: child loss, grief

a/n: this is pretty fucking sad so I’m sorry in advance

word count: 2.4k

It was written in the stars, you thought.

Aligned with the season of fresh starts and soft breezes. Sunny evenings and cups of tea sipped on the back porch as the birds sing their morning chorus.

Aurelia, golden like the sun. Silvio, strong and steady.

Either would be fine. Either would be perfect. As long as they had Alexia’s eyes and her determination to make the world a better place, you’d be happy.

The days leading up to the birth were a blur of last-minute tasks and impatient preparations. Nights were spent lying in bed, imagining the future. First steps in the garden, lazy Sunday mornings filled with laughter, and the simple joy of watching your child grow. Each conversation was a step further into the dream you both held dear for so long.

One evening, as the sky blazed with the colors of sunset, you and Alexia sat together outside. Garden chairs close and knees touching. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers, and the sounds of the neighborhood settling into the evening. You felt the world around you slowing down, relaxing.

As though the earth was taking a break just for the two of you.

One last moment of peace.

It was that night that there was a shift.

One you’d been waiting for for nine months.

You woke with a start, a sharp pain cutting through the haze of sleep. Alexia was beside you in an instant, her eyes wide with concern and excitement both. The contractions had begun, each one marking the imminent arrival of your baby. The room seemed to hum with anticipation as the two of you prepared to leave for the hospital.

The hospital bag finally picked up from its spot by the front door.

The drive was surreal, the world outside passing in a blur. Alexia held your hand, her grip reassuring as she whispered calming words to quell your nerves. The hospital loomed ahead, a beacon of hope and anxiety. Inside, the staff moved with practiced efficiency, guiding you through the steps with gentle encouragement.

Hours stretched into a timeless void, filled with the ebb and flow of labor. The pain was intense, but Alexia’s presence grounded you. Her voice, her touch, her unwavering support carried you through the toughest moments. The delivery room fizzed with activity, the air thick with expectation.

And then, the moment arrived. The baby’s first cries filled the room, a sound so pure and full of life that it brought tears to your eyes. The nurse placed your baby in your arms, and you looked down at the tiny, perfect face. Alexia leaned over, her green eyes shining with tears you wished to bottle for eternity.

A miracle. A door is yet to be opened and here lies new life.

Strong and steady. The sycamore trees in the garden will keep watch.

For a brief, fleeting moment, the world was perfect. Your hearts swelled with joy, your minds filled with visions of a future that seemed bright and boundless and exciting. The exhaustion, the pain, all of it was worth it for this precious new life cradled in your arms.

The world stopped turning.

Your baby’s cries grew weaker, then stopped altogether. The nurse’s smiles faded as one gently took the baby from your arms. The room, once filled with warmth and life, grew cold and sterile. You watched in stunned silence as doctors and nurses rushed in, their movements urgent and efficient and practiced, you realised.

Alexia’s grip on your hand tightened painfully, her eyes wide with fear. No one answered your unspoken questions, the minutes stretching into forever, the silence broken only by the muffled sounds of medical equipment and hushed whispers. You felt a hollowness growing in your chest, a cold, creeping dread that settled deep in your tired bones.

Finally, a doctor turned to you, his face a mask of professional sorrow. He spoke softly, his words a death knell. The world shattered around you. Alexia’s sobs echoed in the emptiness, a sound of pure, unfiltered grief. And though you felt yourself slipping, it was those sounds, the raw stripped back emotion she kept hidden from eyes that weren’t yours that broke you completely.

Alexia Putellas has shown the world she is human.

The ground beneath you gave way to a chasm of despair. Your baby, your beautiful, perfect baby with your nose and your wife’s hair, was gone.

“It’s like you don’t even care!” Alexia’s voice is harsh, cutting through the oppressive silence that has settled over the house.

You look up, startled and defensive from where you’re sitting on the sofa. “What are you talking about? How can you even say that?”

Alexia’s face is flushed with anger, something you don’t see off the pitch often. “You sit there every day, doing nothing. You don’t talk to me, you don’t look at me. It’s like I’m living with a fucking shell of a person”

“I’m trying to cope, Alexia” you snap back. “We both are. Just because I’m not falling apart at the seams doesn’t mean I don’t care”

“Falling apart?” Alexia’s eyes widen, her voice rising. “You think this is falling apart? Our baby died, our son, and you’re acting like it’s just something we can just move on from!”

This all started because she caught you putting his clothes into boxes.

Caught is the wrong word. You weren’t hiding from her. But the day after everything happened she just sat in the rocking chair you picked out together and cried. Her nose buried in an unworn onesie. The label still attached.

You didn’t want that room to become a shrine to a boy you held only once.

“Don’t you dare,” you say, your voice shaking with fractured fury. “Don’t you dare tell me how to grieve. Everyone deals with things differently”

“And what, ignoring it is your way?” Your wife’s words are like daggers, each one hitting its mark. She always was a perfectionist. “Because that’s what you’re doing. You’re pretending everything’s fine when it’s not”

“You think I’m pretending?” you shout, finally standing up. “Do you think I don’t feel it every second of every day? The emptiness, the loss? It’s killing me too!”

“Then why don’t you show it?” she screams back, tears streaming down her face. “Why don’t you let me in? We’re supposed to be in this together, but you’ve shut me out completely”

“You don’t understand,” you mutter, turning away, unable to face her pain on top of your own.

The sycamores are casting shadows over the grass. How dare the sun shine so brightly.

“What don’t I understand?” Alexia demands, stepping closer, her voice trembling with desperation. “What do I not understand about losing our boy?”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I can’t talk about it because it makes it real. Talking about it means accepting it, and I’m not ready to do that”

Her expression softens for a moment, as if she forgot she is supposed to be angry with you, then hardens again. “So what, you just shut me out? You leave me to deal with this alone because you’re too scared to face it?”

“It’s not that simple,” you reply, your voice barely audible to your own ears. “I’m doing the best I can”

“Well, your best isn’t good enough,” she shoots back, her voice breaking. “We’re falling apart, and you don’t even care”

“Don’t say that,” you plead, her words cutting deeper than you can bear.

“Then show me,” Alexia says, her voice softer but no less in pain. “Show me that you care, that you still want this, us”

You look at her, your heart breaking all over again. “I don’t know how”

The days after the argument with your wife feel like the twilight zone. Your home, once a sanctuary, now feels more like a prison, each room echoing with the whispers of what could have been. Friends and family, well-meaning and kind, flock to your side, but their presence often brings more discomfort than relief.

Salt in the wounds.

You're sitting on the couch, a half-drunk cup of tea cooling in your hands, as Alexia’s mother sits across from you. Her eyes are filled with sympathy you don’t want, her voice too gentle. "I can’t imagine what you’re going through," she says, her words meticulously planned out. "But we’re here for you, both of you”

You nod, forcing a smile. "Thank you," you reply, though the words feel empty. You appreciate their concern, but it does very little to fill the hollow ache inside you.

Eli reaches out, placing a hand on yours. "If there’s anything you need, anything at all..."

Before you can respond, the doorbell rings, and soon the house is filled with more people offering condolences, bringing food, and trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere.

Teammates with lopsided smiles. Friends with tears and hugs and sticky words. Nothing helps these days, not even your wife.

None of it seems to work.

You move through the crowd like a scent on a breeze, your smiles and nods automatic, your mind elsewhere and nowhere all at once.

In the kitchen, you find Alexia talking to her sister. The sight of them together, their heads bent in quiet conversation, brings a fresh wave of sorrow. You miss her, miss the connection you once shared. Now, even in the same room, she feels like she’s miles apart.

"How are you holding up?" Alba asks as you join them, her eyes wet.

Should you be crying more?

"I’m managing," you say, the lie slipping out effortlessly. It’s easier than trying to explain the turmoil growing inside your chest. Your mind.

Alexia glances at you, her eyes searching your face. "We’re taking it one day at a time," she adds, her voice strained, composed. You can tell she’s just about holding it together for your guests.

The support from friends and family is constant, yet it feels like a barrier rather than a bridge. They don’t understand the depth of your grief, can’t comprehend the void that has opened up inside you. Their attempts to comfort you only highlight the isolation you feel.

You think Alexia feels abandoned. She reaches for you every time you cross paths in the house. She hates that you pull away, skin prickling at the thought of being held. You hate that you crave her touch just as much but can’t bring yourself to seek it out.

How can one feel so alone when they are surrounded by so many? The same way you’re can be lost at sea and getting swallowed by waves that won’t leave you to die in peace.

One afternoon, when the house has finally quieted down, you find yourself standing in a patch of sun in the garden. The warmth on your skin felt almost foreign, a stark contrast to the coldness that had settled in your heart. The sycamore trees stood tall and proud, their leaves rustling gently in the breeze—a painful reminder that not everything gets the chance to grow.

As you stand there, lost in thought, you hear the door open behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was; you sense Alexia’s presence like a shadow that had become a part of you. She walks up beside you, her steps hesitant and heavy.

"They mean well," she says softly, coming to stand next to you.

"I know," you reply, your voice void of anything but impatience to finish the conversation. "But it doesn’t help”

Alexia sighs, her hand reaching for yours. "We’re surrounded by people, but I’ve never felt so alone”

You look at her, the weight of her words mirroring your own feelings. "Me too," you admit, pulling your hand away.

For a moment, the connection between you feels almost tangible. But the pain is still there, a barrier neither of you knew how to breach. The love that had once been your refuge now felt like a distant memory, overshadowed by loss and grief.

Nights are the hardest. The quiet hours stretch to the milky way and back, filled with the echoes of dreams that would never be. You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of each day pressing down on you. Alexia’s presence beside you was both a comfort and a reminder of how far apart you have drifted.

Her snores keep you awake.

You slip out of bed and wander through the house. The nursery door stands ajar, a silent sentinel to your shattered life. You step inside, the faint scent of baby powder and fresh paint lingering in the air.

The cot stands in the corner, empty and pristine, a cruel reminder of what you had lost. You reach out, your fingers grazing the soft fabric of the blanket, and the tears you’d held back for so long finally break free.

The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. Shadows dance on the walls, a silent audience to your sorrow. The room feels both alive and desolate, filled with the unspoken dreams and hopes you had cherished.

Their favourite colour will never be green.

You sink to the floor, the weight of everything pressing down on you. The silence is deafening, filled with the murmurs of laughter that will never be heard, the soft coos that will never come.

The final cry that haunts your mind.

You wonder how the world can continue to turn, how the universe can remain unchanged, while your life has been irreparably altered.

Spring is in full bloom, the world outside your window bursting with life and color. The garden is a riot of flowers, vibrant reds, yellows, and purples dancing in the gentle breeze. Birds sing their songs, and the air is filled with the sweet scent of blossoms. It is as if nature itself was mocking your grief, the beauty and renewal of the season a sharp contrast to the desolation you feel inside.

You stand at the window, watching as a pair of robins build a nest in the sycamore tree. Their industriousness, their instinctive drive to create and nurture new life, is a painful reminder of what you have lost.

Strong and steady, that’s what you need to be.

Though you're a leaf in the wind, ready to be carried away.

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