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[mc1810]

I'm ready

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[yandere-daydreams]

Screening: Rosemary's Baby (1968)

Pairing: Yandere!Ieiri Shoko x Reader (JJK).

Runtime: 3.2k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con (False Pretenses), Mentions of Pregnancy, Cheating (Reader is in an Established Relationship With Gojo), Fingering, Medical Malpractice, Manipulation, and Overstimulation. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

The examination table was cold as ice against your back.

She’d been nice enough to put down a sheet of sterilizing parchment, but not much more. You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt as you waited, too nervous to check your phone and risk seeing the newest addition to Satoru’s never-ending barrage of texts, too obedient to do anything other than stay where you were and stare blankly at the chipped, white tiles of her ceiling. That was what she told you to do – or, at least, what you thought she’d told you to do. It’d been difficult to understand her through her surgical mask, only pulled down slightly to accommodate the cigarette she was holding up to her lips, and come to think if it, she might’ve just meant to wait near the table, not strictly on—

The door opened, creating a break in the silence just long enough for you to pull yourself back together, and you bolted upright before your thoughts could start to slip, again – the stiff parchment crackling in protest underneath you. Your eyes found Shoko just as she slipped inside, letting the door fall shut on its own behind her.

Out of all of Satoru’s friends, Shoko had always been your favorite. There was obviously the gender bias (you’d be lying if you said you wouldn’t have gravitated towards any woman in Satoru’s overall civil, but absolutely male-dominated social sphere), but even if that hadn’t been the case, you liked to think that you would’ve gotten along with Shoko, regardless. She was always so calm, always so level-headed, rarely smiling but slow to lose her temper, too. Being around her made you feel a little less like the awkward, oblivious non-sorcerer who’d stumbled into a world you still didn’t completely understand and a little more like someone who knew what they’d gotten into and who to rely on, when your own limited abilities fell short. You trusted Shoko, even if you’d only talked to her alone a handful of times. If you didn’t, you never would’ve come to her for something like this.

She stopped at the nearest counter, retrieving a pair of latex gloves from a nearly empty container, before coming to stand next to your table. You knew she’d been smoking, but the heavy scent of disinfect and rubbing alcohol smothered any traces of lingering smoke there might’ve been. You were thankful. You’d been sick with nerves for the better part of the past week, and you didn’t need another reason to feel like you were on the verge of throwing up.

(In the back of your skull, something cruel and vile whispered that there might be another explanation for your sudden bouts of nausea – something less ignorable than pure, ungrounded anxiety. You drowned it out before it could reach your conscious mind.)

Shoko broke the silence without prompting. You were grateful for that, too – you really didn’t have the courage to speak up first. “So,” she started, leaning on the edge of your metal slab. “You wanted to see me because of a… late period?”

Her mask hid most her expression, but you could make out the faint hint of a chuckle underneath her bedside manner. Your eyes fell into your lap. “A missed period,” you corrected. “I haven’t gotten it this month, either.”

She hummed, but didn’t respond. You sighed. Shoko was grounded, but she wasn’t kind. You should’ve known she wouldn’t make this easy for you.

“I’m worried I might be pregnant.”

To her credit, if she was surprised, it was impossible to tell. “Have you been taking your birth control?”

“Yeah, obviously, but I’m terrible about remembering condoms and Satoru never manages to pull out.” It felt strange to describe your sex life to your boyfriend’s closest friend, but you soldiered on. She was a medical professional, a doctor. Your preferred methods of protection (or lack thereof) couldn’t have been the worst thing she’d heard that day. “I’ve already taken a test, but I just want to make sure. Cursed energy is already so complicated, and I know Satoru exceeds a lot of expectations. I don’t know if he, like, has—”

This time, she cut you off with an airy, but blatant laugh. “You think he’s got magic sperm?”

“He fights invisible monsters and teleports,” you snapped, your anxiety turning into irritation in the blink of an eye. “I don’t think ‘magic sperm’ is that unrealistic!”

For a moment, she seemed to regard you – her dark eyes boring into your wrinkled clothes, your disheveled hair, the bags under your eyes nearly deep enough to match her own. Even if she didn’t understand why you were worried, she’d have to recognize that you were, in fact, worried. And, if she really was your friend, she’d at least offer to help.

You held your breath until finally, she cracked, straightening her back with and audible sigh. “And why, exactly, couldn’t you go to a standard obstetrician about this?”

“Because you’re the best doctor I know and I’d trust you with my life?”

“Try again.”

“Because I can’t afford the co-pay and if I use Satoru’s card, he’ll find out.” You deflated after finishing, crossing your arms over your chest. “I… I really just want to know. If it turns out I did have a reason to worry, I’ll figure out what to do next, but—” This time, your voice cut out all on its own. You forced yourself to swallow before going on. “I just want to know, first. Satoru doesn’t have to be involved.”

It was an awful position to put her in, you knew. For as much as you trusted her, she’d known Satoru for years. She had every right to go to him about this, even if you really, really wished she wouldn’t. She didn’t owe you anything, much less her help. Much less her silence.

But there was a reason you trusted Shoko, that you felt as unreasonable close to her as you did. Above her mask, you saw her eyes soften before they flickered away from you, landing on the counter she’d already visited. “Lay down and take off what you need to,” she said, her gruff professionalism back in full force. “It might not be conclusive, but the most I can do is a physical examination. It’s not much, but if you don’t trust a real test, it’s the best thing I can offer you.”

You couldn’t help yourself – nearly falling off the table as you pulled her into a bone-crushing, lung-flattening hug. “Ieiri, you’re the best,” you nearly shouted, your voice bouncing off the blank walls of her office. You moved to thank her again, and again, and again, but she pried you off of her before you had the chance, muttering a curt ‘you’re welcome’ before turning away to make her preparations and escape your unwanted gratitude. You managed to stop yourself from chasing after her, and yet, you were still smiling as you settled back onto the table.

Still, embarrassment quickly dampened the brighter edges of your relief as Shoko glanced over her shoulder. “Are you comfortable with undressing here, or would you rather leave the room?”

You blanched, and Shoko was kind enough not to laugh before going on. “You did know you were basically coming to be for a gynecological exam, right?”

“I mean, yes, but—” You hadn’t, but then again, you weren’t sure what else you’d expected. This made sense, even if it was leagues beyond anything you thought to brace yourself for. If Shoko thought it would help, then it’d help. “Do I get a gown, or…?”

Her eyes fell to your skirt, long enough to fall just an inch or so above your knee. “That won’t be necessary. Take off your panties and lay down – I’ll be over in a second.”

Your face burnt, but you nodded, and she turned away. Biting your inner cheek, you swung your legs over the side of the table and kicked off your shoes. Shoko pretended to be preoccupied while you shrugged your panties down your legs and, with no other option, stuffed them into the pocket of your jacket. It was awkward – lying down and spreading your legs with Shoko less than a full ten feet away. It was one thing to ask your acquaintance for medical advice, and another to let your boyfriend’s friend act as your pro-bono gynecologist.

You heard a few tools clatter onto a metal tray, the padded feet of a stool scrape across the tiled floor, and wordlessly, Shoko positioned herself at the foot of the examination table. “This should only take a few minutes,” she said, as her gloved fingers skirted along the inside of your knee, then your thigh, before reaching your pussy. Your labia, you corrected, internally. If she could be a professional about this, so could you. “Let me know if you feel any pain.”

You nodded, keeping your eyes focused intently on the ceiling above you. Even if you had looked down, your skirt would’ve blocked most of your view, which was how you preferred it. You couldn’t see Shoko, and hopefully, she couldn’t see the way you flinched as she spread a cold, pricking sort of lubricant over your entrance, as she eased two fingers into your otherwise dry cunt. You’d assumed she would use a tool, but then again, you couldn’t imagine what kind. And besides, you really shouldn’t have been questioning a doctor.

Shoko’s voice was gruff, distracted. “How’s that?”

“F-Fine,” you squeaked. “Please, do whatever you need to.”

“Satoru’s got you that worn down, huh?” She let out a breath of a laugh, but leaned in, easing her digits into until she was knuckle deep. Her fingers were thin, but long and graceful in a way that made them difficult to ignore when paired with the strange tactility of her gloves. Her free hand curled around your ankle, as if to hold you in place. “I’m going start the test. It might feel a little strange, so try not to move.”

She gave you a moment to brace yourself before spreading her fingers apart, inadvertently pressing against the sensitive walls of your pussy. On reflex, you snapped your thighs shut, but Shoko caught you by the knee before you could attempt to break her arm. “Easy there.” And then, as her thumb pushed slow circles into your skin, “Think you can hold these open for me?”

You didn’t try to say anything, but with more than a little effort, you spread your legs – planting your feet more firmly on either corner of the table. “Thatta girl,” Shoko muttered, seemingly more used to comforting scared pets than nervous patients. “Remember – we’re here because you wanted to be. If you want to back out, just say the word.”

You shook your head furiously, instinctually. You’d never do that to Shoko, and she seemed to know that – not waiting for verbal confirmation before starting to move. She seemed to need to stretch you open, judging by the repetitive, scissor-like motions of her fingers, the way she huffed in irritation as she slipped yet another digit inside of you. You knew it was inappropriate, but it would’ve been impossible to stop yourself from heating up, from squirming, from dampening around her in a way that you couldn’t entirely separate from arousal. You kept your hips still and dug your teeth into your bottom lip with enough force to break the skin (you would’ve rather died than moaned during a medical exam), but your cunt wasn’t as easily reigned in. It wasn’t long before a sickeningly slick clicking-type noise accompanied every little movement of her fingers. Hopefully, she’d just assume she’d used more lube than she’d meant to. You didn’t know what you’d do with yourself, if she didn’t.

“Like I said – it’s a quick procedure, not a comfortable one. Most patients have a difficult time staying still.” It was humiliating – how steady her voice was while you were falling apart, fighting just to keep yourself from bucking into a medical professional’s hand. It took everything you had not to whimper when the scissoring slowed, then stopped altogether, only to be immediately replaced by the awful, terrible, embarrassingly wonderful feeling of her fingers curling inside of you, grinding against the most vulnerable part of your cunt. “It’s important to be thorough, though. I’m sure you understand why this is necessary.”

She couldn’t have done it on purpose. Nothing about this could’ve ever been intentional, and yet, when her wrist slipped, the heel of her palm seemed to land perfectly onto your neglected clit. It wasn’t much, just the hint of stimulation, but it was enough for you to seize-up – your nails scrambling helplessly over smooth titanium as you came, silently, around her fingers. Shoko, ever the professional, didn’t so much as slow down.

She only hummed, keeping her hand where it was – her palm now grinding broad, harsh patterns into your clit. “Are you usually this easily stimulated?”

You opened your mouth, but all you could seem to choke out was a single, jagged whimper. Shoko clicked her tongue. “I’m sorry, I should’ve phrased that in a way you’d understand.” And then, as she spread her fingers apart cruelly, “Do you normally cum in less than a minute with Satoru?”

This time, a strangled cry was as much of an answer as you could’ve possibly given. You weren’t sure why she was asking, but… this wasn’t normal for you, was it? And now that she mentioned it, you did feel more stimulated than you should’ve during anything remotely medical. Your skin felt hotter, more sensitive where it’d come into contact with her lubricant, and it was getting hard to think, hard to justify not grinding into her hand as she curled and twisted her fingers inside of you. God. You knew you’d been a wreck, lately, but you never would’ve thought that it gotten this bad.

The nails of Shoko’s free hand bit into your ankle, and too strung-out to stop yourself, you let out a whine by way of protest. She chuckled, and suddenly, you were empty, left bucking your hips into vacant air as she drew back. “Poor thing,” she muttered, her sympathy tinged with a sardonic sort of condescension. “I’ve got one last test. Think you can bear with me?”

“Ye—Yes,” you chirped. At that point, it was meaningless – you would’ve agreed to anything so long as she was the one suggesting it. You’d shut your eyes at some point, but you could still hear Shoko’s footsteps, feel her standing above you as she positioned herself at your side. One gloved hand cupped your cheek while the other pressed something blunt and thick against your cunt and, with no warning other than a mumbled reminder to ‘breathe, pretty girl, breathe’, thrust it inside of you.

Her reminder, sadly, proved useless. The air hitched in your lungs as a ribbed shaft filled your overeager pussy, the object curved in a way that made it feel like it was pressing into every fucking part of you at the exact same fucking time. Your hands shot to Shoko’s wrist, searching for something more forgiving than cold metal to ground yourself with. You tried to pull yourself together, and you might’ve been able to if two distinct, silicone-wrapped prongs hadn’t slotted against your clit or, even more damningly, if whatever tool Shoko was using hadn’t started to shake.

Saying you came embarrassingly quickly would’ve been an understatement. There was no pretense of dignity, this time; just grit teeth and twitching legs and one long, miserable sob. Shoko nursed you through it, rocking her vibrating tool inside of you gently until your climax had died into total limpness and the occasional, unsteady gasp. The tool was drawn back, but Shoko’s hand lingered, her thumb tracing patterns into your cheek. “Such a good girl,” she mumbled, and you melted into her touch. “Feeling a little tired?”

It was sickeningly guilt-inducing, just how nice she was being to you after you’d done nothing but humiliate yourself in front of her. “A little,” you admitted, smiling sheepishly. Shoko smiled back. You couldn’t remember when she’d taken off her mask.

“Close your eyes and catch your breath. I’ll finish up while you get a little rest.”

It was all you could do to nod before slumping into yourself, your body going slack despite your best attempts to hold yourself up. Her reassurance was nice, but unnecessary.

In less than a full second, you were out like a light.

~

In Shoko’s defense, she did actually take the time to check. After you passed out, as delicate as Satoru had always bragged you were, she tested the blood sample taken prior to your “exam”. It took a total of three minutes, and left her with good news and bad news to deliver when you woke up.

The good news was, predictably, that you’d been right. You were pregnant. About a month along, in fact. Congratulations, mazel tov, etc.

The bad news was, of course, that you were pregnant, and that Satoru had finally managed to knock you up. Thoughts and prayers, get well soon, etc.

 From her make-shift desk on the far side of the room, she spared a glance to where you were still sleeping on her autopsy table. You’d rolled onto your side since she last checked on you, your pleated shirt bunching at your waist as you used your arms as a rudimentary pillow. It’d be a lie to say she didn’t understand why Satoru had gone so crazy about you so quickly. What you were – an ordinary human with enough cursed energy to see, but not act – was rare, your continuous ability to gloss over the uglier parts of their world in favor of perpetual, delusional optimism even more so. It’d be impressive, if she didn’t know it was going to get you fucked over eventually.

You were cute. It’s surprised her when she first met you in-person, when she first realized that.

It’d surprised her a little less when she realized that you even cuter mumbling gibberish as you came around her fingers.

Her eyes fell back to the phone in her hand. Her messages with Satoru were already open, what she’d been deliberating on telling him already typed out. She sighed, checked the picture she’d taken of you sprawled out on her table, three of her fingers buried in your cunt, and hit send.

[1 attachment]

your girlfriend has something to tell you.

sending a bill for my time btw.

Three dots appeared at the bottom of the screen, signaling that Satoru was typing a response, before disappearing just as quickly. He tried calling her a second later, and she muted her phone before tossing it half-heartedly in the nearest drawer and turning back to you. Judging by your durability (or lack thereof), she’d have a few more minutes before you woke up, and another half an hour before the aphrodisiac gel she’d used on you started to wear off. You’d likely want to rush home to Satoru, when you finally got your hard-earned results.

Again, Shoko sighed, a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

It’d just be a waste not to have a little fun while she could, right?

[rcmclachlan]

Uh-oh spaghettios, I accidentally wrote more pregnant!Buck.

+

In a shocking twist, the squirrelly-looking resident who's tasked with administering the spinal (and who Tommy keeps side-eyeing like he's mentally preparing himself to take her down if she makes any sudden movements) turns out to be a rockstar, because Buck doesn't even feel the pinch of the local anesthetic, never mind the actual horse needle. Even Nadine, their nurse, blinks after it's over and says, "I've been doing this for thirty-three years and I've never seen a spinal go that smoothly."

Which means the two weeks Buck devoted to reading Reddit posts about bad experiences with pre-C-section subarachnoid blocks were all for nothing. He could've done something more productive with that time instead of silently spiral. Like deep clean the bathroom or build a birdhouse.

He forgets to be mad about it the moment his legs start tingling, and from there it's only a few minutes before his body goes completely numb from the chest down. "Holy shit, that is so weird. It's just—it's a complete void. Babe, punch me."

One of the nurses is in the middle of putting a sterile blue scrub cap over Tommy's hair and stops what she's doing to stare at Buck in horror. Tommy just sighs through his surgical mask and says, "No thanks."

"You could stick your entire arm inside me and I wouldn't even know," Buck tells him, delighted, as they wheel him into the operating room. It really is like there's nothing below his sternum. "You could carry me around and work me like a muppet."

Dr. Esfahani must catch the second half of that because she starts laughing so hard she almost falls off the stool she's sitting on.

"Glad to see we've got our head in the game," she chortles. "How are you feeling, Evan?"

"I'm not!" He says cheerfully while two nurses set up the curtain across his belly. "Doc, have you ever had a spinal block?"

"Sadly, no." Dr. Esfahani's eyes curve above the edge of her mask. "And when I had my kids, their labors were so quick that I didn't have time for an epidural, either. Be grateful you'll never know what it's like to push the equivalent of a Ferrari through a keyhole unmedicated."

"Bad ass," Buck whispers, and she laughs again, then spends the next two minutes introducing everyone on the surgical team. They're all standing at the ready like a NASCAR pit crew.

Once the introductions are over, Dr. Esfahani turns her attention elsewhere. "How about you, Tommy? You ready?"

Tommy's sitting at Buck's shoulder like a particularly attentive German Shepherd, his gloved fingers trembling where they're slotted between Buck's. "I'll just be glad when she's out and Evan gets the all clear."

Months ago their OBGYN walked them through the reality and the risks of carrying to term—for whatever reason, male anatomy means there's a much higher risk of atony, which means a higher risk of hemorrhaging—and Tommy's been a nervous wreck ever since. He thinks Buck doesn't know, and to his credit he's hidden it well. Not once has he ever shown Buck anything less than bright-eyed enthusiasm and excitement about starting this next chapter of their lives, but Buck has woken up more than once in the middle of the night to find himself clutched against a rabbiting heartbeat while Tommy whispered, voice cracking in half, "Please, please, God, please..."

Buck turns his head to look up at him. He looks like what's-his-name at the very end of The Departed: goofy as shit in all the sterile wear the nurses made him put on. He even has to wear the puffy shoe covers. Between the scrub cap and the mask, his face is almost completely obscured, but all it does is highlight his eyes, which are fixed on Buck like there's no one else in the world, let alone the room.

"You look so stupid," Buck says thickly, squeezing Tommy's hand hard enough that something audibly pops. For a second, he thinks he might explode from the sheer build-up of love in his body, which would be so embarrassing, considering everyone in the room is there specifically to make sure he makes it out of here intact. "I've never been more attracted to you. Wanna make out?"

"You know I would, but I don't think they'll give us new masks," Tommy murmurs, every bit as tender and sincere as he was five months into dating, when he'd interrupted Buck's passionate defense of ocean sunfish to say, "I'm in love with you. Sorry. I just—what were you saying about swim bladders?"

"He's right," the scrub nurse says, deadpan. "We're rationing those. You take it off, you're outta here."

Buck squints at her. "I don't think no shirt, no shoes, no service rules apply."

She squints right back. "Please tell me more about the rules of this hospital, Mr. Buckley."

"Evan, stop antagonizing the very nice, very knowledgeable person holding the tray of very sharp instruments," Tommy says. The corners of his eyes are crinkled in a specific way that means it's taking all his willpower to play the rational adult and not join in on the snarkfest.

Seriously. The human body can't hold an entire baby and all this love without serious complications, right? What if they cut into him and he just starts flying around the room like an untied balloon?

"All right, all right," Dr. Esfahani says, clapping her gloved hands together. "Time to add one more child to this veritable daycare. What do you say, Evan, Tommy? Are you ready to become parents?"

The reality of the situation hits him suddenly like a second lightning strike, and he grips Tommy's hand hard as he rides the waves of excitement and terror, inhaling and exhaling through his nose to help ground himself.

He closes his eyes and thinks of Evan Buckley of nine months ago, sliding to the floor of Tommy's bathroom and weeping bitterly because the test in his hand was a death knell for the relationship he'd finally found after searching his whole life.

If he could go back in time—before Tommy got so freaked out by Buck's incoherent sobbing and the locked bathroom door that he broke it down; before Buck babbled apology after apology for his parents' negligence by not having him tested for the carrier gene, for being the one to suggest they stop using condoms in the first place, for wanting to keep it even though it meant the end of them; before Buck took the test because Chim had jokingly said earlier that day, "you've looked and acted like a wrung-out sponge all week, are you pregnant or something?" and felt like the ground was crumbling beneath his feet when the little plus sign appeared—he would take that scared, resigned man into his arms and tell him that everything was going to be okay. Better than okay, even. Everything was going to be amazing beyond his wildest dreams.

"He stays," Buck would whisper, and hold him so tight they'd start to merge. "Not because he thinks he has to, but because he wants to. He stays because he loves you and what you've made together. You're enough. Isn't that wild?"

When Buck opens his eyes, Tommy's right there, looking at him with so much love and pride in his gaze that it's palpable. Literally. She's moving around in his belly like she's doing stretches to prepare for what's about to happen. Like she's every bit as impatient as they are to finally be part of the life they're building.

"I'm not scared if you're not," Buck rasps, and tilts his head up as Tommy leans down and kisses him through the mask.

"Speak for yourself: I'm terrified. But when has that ever stopped us?" Tommy presses another kiss to his mouth like a notary affixing an official seal. "Let's get this show on the road, huh? Let's meet our kid."

An hour and change later, they lay her, clean and perfect and swaddled into a sleepy burrito wearing a little hat, on Buck's chest where she gets to hear his heartbeat from the outside for the first time.

He stares down at her, awed speechless, and thinks, oh, now I'm going to explode from love. Everyone hit the deck.

Tommy doesn't get to hold her for almost fifteen minutes because he's crying so hard that Dr. Esfahani refuses to hand her over until she's reasonably sure Tommy won't drop her.

"I think Dad needs to take pointers from you," Buck murmurs to her tenderly. She squirms a little in a way that feels like agreement before she falls asleep, already bored with existence. "Your daughter says you're totally not the cool dad."

"That's fair," Tommy sobs into Buck's scrub cap.

[4x18hawkeye]

transcript:

It was well after midnight when we got the call. Picked up in military jeeps and flanked by stone-faced, machine gun—bearing soldiers, we were taken to a hospital somewhere in the city. It was an eerie ride, everything about it implying a potential attack at any moment. We entered the hospital through the back entrance and, still under guard, were brought by freight elevator to where a surgery had been set up. The patient was on a gurney, with lights and the necessary equipment around her. Having delivered us, the soldiers left, and we were suddenly confronted with a problem. Dr. S. had assumed there would be surgical nurses to assist him, but the moment we arrived, all the Salvadorans who had prepared her simply walked out. His wife, there to administer and monitor the anesthetic, would be completely occupied and unable to provide any other assistance during surgery.

At that point, Dr. S turned to me and said, “Go scrub up and put on a gown and gloves.”

Fearing that I had heard him correctly, I panicked and said, “Doc, you’ve got to be kidding.” He wasn’t. “But I’m not a real doctor,” I protested. “All that stuff we did on the show was fake: fake blood, fake wounds, fake everything.”

He smiled, and said, “You understand the process; you know sterile procedure. Without another pair of hands, I can’t do this, so get scrubbed.”

...

So I went into the scrub room and did all the things I’d done hundreds of times before for what felt like the first time, all the while telling myself not to pass out or vomit when the cutting started. Mrs. S. helped me with the gown, cap, and gloves, and soon everyone was ready. Sort of. But the doc never hesitated. He told me to listen carefully and to mirror his actions. If he moved tissue aside in one direction, he wanted me to do that same in the other. Otherwise, I should simply do as I was told.

[mc1810]

Double gloved up

[band--psycho]

Zayne x Reader - Stitches

Part one of my 'They find out you got hurt on a mission' series. This will include Zayne, Sylus, Xavier and Rafayel! I'll be posting the other stories over the next few days, please let me know if you want to be tagged in any of them!

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Thank you all for the continued support! I hope you all enjoy this! 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over.

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

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Warnings: Injuries, needles, injuries being stitched

The moment Zayne was notified that you were in the hospital because of a mission, he pretty much dropped everything. 

Was it his only day off in god knows how long? 

Yes. 

Did he care? 

No. 

The only thing he cared about in that moment, was you. 

Greyson had informed him that your injuries weren’t too bad; you weren’t going to die from them, you just needed to rest for a little while, but that still didn’t stop Zayne from breaking a few speed limits on the way to the hospital. 

“Does it really need to be stitched?” he heard you ask when he reached your room; easily noticing the panic in your voice. 

You were a hunter, and a good one at that, not much scared you, except for two things; spiders and needles. 

“I can do it,” he said; emerging from behind the open door. 

The nurse who was going to stitch you up didn’t argue with him, she just gave you both a polite smile before walking out of the door. 

Leaving you alone with Zayne.

“Zayne-” you quizzically asked, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you looked at him; you were told it was his day off today. And in all honesty, you were somewhat relieved when you found this out, not wanting to have a lecture about why going on a solo mission was a bad idea. 

He walked around to the other side of the bed; his eyes narrowing at the wound on your leg. 

It wasn’t the worst wound he’d seen; not by a long shot, but it was a deep cut and he could only imagine how much it was hurting you. 

“I thought it was your day off,” you continued, watching as he picked up the needles from the sterilized metal tray on the table next to you. 

“It is,” he answered simply, picking up the thread, slipping it through the needle with ease. 

“Then why are you-” 

You felt your words trail off as he put some surgical gloves on and sat on the side of the bed, hovering the needle over your wound. 

You knew this was going to hurt; it always did, especially seeing as you hadn’t any anesthetic to numb the area; that would’ve just meant more needles and you didn’t want that. 

You just wanted to get this wound stitched up so you could go home. 

“You need to relax,” Zayne said, his voice softer this time, as he lightly pushed the needle into your skin.

“I’m trying,” you sighed, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself down and block out the pain. 

“What happened?” he asked; hoping that his question may help to distract you from the stitching he was doing. 

Normally something like this could be treated in minutes; but because you were so scared of needles he didn’t want to rush you, especially seeing as you’d had no medication to numb the pain. But he also thought that sitting in complete silence would only allow your brain to focus more on the pain. 

“A wanderer caught me off guard,” you explained simply, purposefully leaving out the fact that you went there on your own. 

He glanced up at you with an almost knowing look before turning his attention back to stitching your wound, “Where was your partner?” 

There it was. 

The question you were dreading.

“I uh-” you began; hissing as the needle went through the middle of your wound, “I was on my own.” 

Zayne wasn’t surprised by your answer; the whole reason why hunters teamed up was to prevent things like this from happening, and if you were hurt he knew that your partner would be here with you, either injured themselves or here to support you. 

But instead you were alone. 

“You know you shouldn’t go on missions alone,” he pointed out;  and you did. You knew it was risky, hunting down wanderers on your own always was and you certainly didn’t make a habit of doing it; based on what you’d read in the report, you thought you could handle it. 

And for the most part you did; it was just that one wanderer that had been lurking behind you; you knew it was there, but by the time you’d turned around and fired your first shit at it, it was already too late. 

It was a lucky hit. That was all; and you defeated it just like you had all the rest. 

“I know,” you said knowingly, trying to ignore the pain that was rushing through your leg. 

Only a few more seconds had passed before the wound on your leg was all stitched up courtesy of Zayne; it still hurt, a lot, but at least this way it wasn’t going to bleed anymore. 

“Don’t go on a mission alone again,” he started, placing the needle back down on the tray next to you before removing his gloves, “if you need help, call me,” 

A small smile came onto your face; but Zayne was no hunter, he was a doctor, it wasn’t his job to do that, and that’s why she softly replied back to him “Zayne, that’s sweet but you’re not hunter, it’s not your job to help me,”

“No, it’s my job to look after you and keep you safe,” he rebutled; meeting your eyes before glancing down at the wound on your leg; it was going to scar, but the scar should fade in time; and he’d done his best to make sure that the stitch was as neat as it possibly could be. 

“You were lucky this time,” he continued, his fingers lightly hovering over the wound,  a million different scenarios rushing through his mind about what could’ve happened ....you could’ve died… “what if you’re not next time?”

He knew the risk of being a hunter. 

He knew that sometimes things happened that were out of your control. 

He also knew that you were a great hunter; but if today had proven anything, it was that solo missions were a bad idea, no matter how skilled you were. 

“Zayne-” you began, but your words trailed off when he placed his hand softly on yours; “No more solo missions.”

He wasn’t asking you, he was pleading with you, and that’s when you noticed the worry forming in his eyes. 

“No more solo missions,” you repeated with a small smile, hoping that that would be enough to ease his worry. 

And to an extent it was; he still worried about you of course, but he hoped your words were true, and that if anything like this happened again, you’d call him.

And regardless of what he was doing; he’d be there, to protect you.

Always.

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @the-slytherin-poet @deathkat657 @princess-harvey @callme-amaya @boobearymuch @comatosebunny09 @ryuustoru @evilldentists @hao-ming-8 @ladyparamount @ayatoq @cheesemachine44 @popcorn-mochi01 @thegalaxysedge22 @hotdogcookie @book-dragon03

[tipsynight0]

Anatomy of affection

Parings - eyeless Jack x female reader

Word count - 1.1k

TRIGGER WARNINGS - medical procedures, surgery, graphic descriptions of blood and organs, use of paralytics, body horror, gore, blood, cannibalism, descriptions of anatomy and dissection.

Summary - (y/n) is giving Jack a snack.

Author's Note: Not sure why I enjoyed writing this so much, but explaining it to my boyfriend and watching him look at me like I'm the freakiest thing he's ever seen was... interesting. Anyway, if you're squeamish about organs or cannibalism, maybe skip this one! <3

The cold metal table pressed unyieldingly against (Y/N)'s back, its chill seeping through her skin, heightening her awareness of her immobility. She lay paralyzed, her gaze locked on her lover, Jack, who moved with deliberate, practiced grace across the dimly lit room. The acrid scent of alcohol hung thick in the air, a hasty attempt at sterilization given his scarce supplies. Beside an operating tray, Jack's hands skimmed over his instruments, lingering briefly before selecting each one, his fingers brushing the tools with an expert's familiarity. He listened intently to the rhythmic pulse in (Y/N)'s neck, sensing her heart beating faster.

He leaned close, his calloused fingers tracing a gentle path over her stomach, claws lightly grazing her skin. "Don't worry," he murmured, his voice soft yet intense, "I know what I’m doing." Despite herself, (Y/N) let out a nervous laugh, nodding ever so slightly. She attempted to wiggle her toes, flex her hands—anything—but her body remained numb, just as Jack had planned with the precise dose of vecuronium. This moment was one they'd prepared for, an experience she had willingly chosen.

As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she took in her surroundings—the familiar concrete walls lined with shelves of carefully arranged medical supplies and the slight glint of tools on the nearby tray. Jack seemed engrossed in his setup, double-checking every item with a meticulousness she recognized and loved. He finally pulled off his mask, revealing his grey skin and the unmistakable gleam in his eyes. One of his many tongues darted out to moisten his lips, a glint of hunger flashing across his face. She watched, captivated, as he inspected the monitor, satisfied that her vitals remained steady. Just in case, he had an Ambu bag at the ready, a trophy from one of their nighttime scavenging trips to abandoned clinics. They had both invested in this, carefully planning each aspect of this night.

Jack leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, lingering briefly before he grasped his scalpel. "Alright, baby," he said with a smile that, despite its toothy sharpness, held a tenderness she trusted, "it’s time." His hand moved to her face, cupping it gently. His surgical gloves snapped into place, and his fingers began to trace a path down her abdomen, a silent promise of care. When he made the first incision, (Y/N) could only assume it had happened; her body remained numb, yet she could sense his excitement. Jack’s tongue flicked out, practically salivating as he worked, pausing only to press gauze to the incision and lap up the blood with reverence.

"Everything going good down there?" (Y/N) asked, her voice wavering but full of curiosity.

Jack nodded, casting her a reassuring glance. "Yes, darling. You’re doing great." For a rare moment, a look of genuine expression crossed his face—a mix of pride and fascination.

"Did you enjoy being a medical student?" she asked quietly, trying to break the silence that seemed to press down on them.

He chuckled softly, the sound rolling through the room as he continued to focus on removing layers of fat and tissue with precise, careful cuts. "It was… fine," he murmured, his brow furrowing as he concentrated. "I just wanted to help people." For a moment, his mind drifted to those less careful procedures he'd performed in the past, crude and impersonal compared to this. This was different; this was for her. Every detail mattered, every movement was intentional. She was his priority, and he’d take hours to ensure her recovery.

The procedure continued, his hands working methodically as he navigated around muscles, vessels, and organs. With skilled precision, he reached the ureter and blood vessels before finally removing the kidney. Holding it up triumphantly, he allowed himself a brief, reverent pause, admiring its color and texture. (Y/N) felt a shiver race up her spine, offering him a shy, almost giddy smile.

"It’s beautiful," he breathed, his voice filled with admiration. "The scent is… intoxicating." He placed the kidney into a basin of ice, his attention undivided as he resumed his work. The following hours passed in quiet conversation and careful stitching. His words were soothing, his lips occasionally grazing her forehead as he worked his way through the final sutures. "Almost done, darling," he whispered, his voice rich with affection.

At last, with a sigh of satisfaction, Jack pulled off his gloves, his fingers finding her face as he leaned down, pressing soft kisses along her cheeks, forehead, and neck. "Alright, alright, go eat," she laughed, flushed from his touch.

Jack sighed, nodding, but his gaze shifted to the basin, where her kidney lay on ice. Slowly, he lifted it, placing it in a pristine white bowl, adding a dash of salt and pepper. Seated near her, he picked up his scalpel and fork, slicing through the jelly-like texture. She watched, utterly fascinated as he lifted the fork, inhaling deeply, savoring the scent of iron and freshness. This was not just any organ—it was hers, a part of her.

He tilted his head back slightly, letting the first bite linger on his tongue, savoring it fully. A low, appreciative groan escaped him. "You taste… perfect," he whispered, his eyes dark with satisfaction.

(Y/N) bit her lip, captivated by his enjoyment, as he tried to maintain some semblance of decorum while eating but couldn’t help himself. Each bite was savored as though he were tasting something divine. Once finished, he leaned over her, his tongues intertwining with hers, the taste of iron and warmth flooding her senses. She gripped his sweater, pulling him closer.

Pulling back, he whispered, "I love you," his hands cradling her face as he pressed his forehead against hers. "Don’t worry; I’m going to take good care of you for the next few weeks."

[shmaptainwrites]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 — 𝐎.𝐑. [𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐒𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — James Wilson x GN!Reader (no pronouns)

SUMMARY — A child is unaccounted for and the hospital goes into lockdown which makes it a lot harder for Reader to avoid Wilson

WORD COUNT — 2.2K

WARNINGS — mentions/decriptions of blood

NOTE — Okay here's a quick little one shot that will hopefully hold you guys over until I get that series done. As you guys have probably already guessed this is set in 6x17 and I have a few more ideas of different scenarios that could happen in this episode so you may be seeing more of that :)

It was always an odd feeling when an OR was quiet. All you could hear were the sounds of your shoes, making the floor squeak as you walked, littering bloody footprints wherever you went. You still had your mask and gloves on and were about to leave so the room could be cleaned and sterilized for the next surgery when you heard an announcement over the hospital’s PA. 

You looked over to your friend and colleague who was just removing his gloves as you listened to them say the hospital was under lockdown and no one was to leave their areas until further notice. 

“Guess we’re stuck here a little longer,” he said and you looked around you. It wasn’t the most pleasant place to be stuck, blood littered the floor like a murder scene and surgical tools were messily placed on tables and stands. 

“Yeah,” you sighed and followed his lead, taking off your gloves and discarding them, followed by your mask. 

“You okay?” Wilson asked, coming closer to you.

“M fine,” you nodded and moved towards a wall so you could lean against it. “Would just…rather be at home. Or in a shower,” you looked down at your bloody scrubs. “How are mine dirtier than yours?”

“Cause you’re a messy surgeon,” he teased. 

“Right, and it’s not because you nicked a vein that sprayed all over me.”

“I said I was sorry,” he came over next to you and leaned up against the wall in the same manner you were. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If you’re thinking that if you don’t sit down your legs are gonna give out anyways then yes, I am thinking that,” you nodded and he gave you the encouragement to sit down on the OR floor by taking the lead and doing it first. 

There were a few moments of silence that passed before Wilson spoke up again. 

“Hey are you…sure you’re okay?” he asked. 

“We lost a patient, James,” you sighed. “Kinda knocks the wind out of you.”

“I know, but you know it wasn’t our fault, it wasn’t anything we could have fixed or gotten to for that matter.”

“I know, but it doesn’t really make me feel any better,” you admitted, pulling your knees up a little closer to your chest. 

Wilson reached over and took off your hair cap and you lazily turned your head around before reaching over and doing the same, messing up his now shorter hair. It wasn’t as satisfying to do as when it was longer. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked, extending his hand out for you to take. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and reached out, interlacing your fingers with his, letting your back melt further into the wall when you felt his thumb brush against the back of your hand. 

“I don’t think talking will fix my problem,” you turned your head, still letting it rest against the wall as you looked over at him. 

“This isn’t just about the patient,” he inferred. “You’ve been…distant lately.” 

“No I haven’t,” you shook your head and pulled your hand out of his hold. 

“Yes you have,” he sat upright and looked at you curiously. “You just pulled away, again.” 

You pushed yourself up so you were standing again and Wilson followed you. You’d never been claustrophobic, but in that moment, it felt like the walls of the OR were closing in on you. 

“Bee, come on, please talk to me,” he begged.

“You haven’t called me Bee since residency.” 

“You’re deflecting,” he placed his hands on his hips. “What’s going on with you?” 

“I’m trying to tell you, nothing’s going on,” you began to pace the room, wringing your hands in front of you. It’s like you weren’t even trying to be subtle that there was a problem. Every time a lie came out of your mouth your body did something to tell Wilson whatever you were saying wasn’t true. 

“No, you just don’t want to tell me what’s going on,” Wilson conceded. “I just don’t like to see you torn up like this, you know that, right?” 

You stopped your pacing and nodded your head. 

“I miss you, we don’t see each other anymore and I-,” 

“James stop,” you spoke quietly, so much so he barely heard you. 

His eyes fell on you again, watching as you looked down at your hands, your mouth partially open as if you were trying to say something else, but it wasn’t coming out.

“I-I was just trying to-,” 

“I know what you were trying to do,” you said. “Make me feel better, because you’re a doctor, it’s in your nature. You don’t have to make me feel better about this.” 

“But I want to.”

“You don’t even know what it is,” you chuckled humourlessly, moving closer to the OR doors. 

“I-I could, and you could let me try and help-,” 

“James, you're not going to want to help with this.” 

“You can’t know that unless-,” 

“I don’t know what we are,” you blurted and squeezed your eyes shut, hating yourself for being so weak, feeling your back hit the wall again.

“Y-You don’t know what we are?” he looked at you, but you could see past his furrowed brows and concerned features, the thoughts racing in his head, his hands now unsure what to do at his sides. 

“We’ve known each other a long time, James,” you licked your lips and pressed them together. “And throughout that time you have been my closest confidant, my go to person, when I think of someone I can count on and someone who cares about me, I think of you.” 

“I think of you in that way too,” he said, but you shook your head. 

“No, you don’t,” you shook your head. “Because while we joked around, and looked after each other, and followed each other from hospital to hospital you got married, and then divorced, and then married, and then divorced, and then-,” 

“Married, and then divorced,” he nodded his head, filling in the last blank for you. 

“Three marriages, I was there for all of it,” you looked up at the ceiling. “I just thought maybe…I don’t know.” 

He knew what you thought. You thought that maybe since you’d both stuck around for so long, since you’d seen the best and the worst, that maybe it meant something more. 

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you shook your head, wishing you could disappear into the walls. “You don’t feel the same.” 

“Bee, it’s not that,” he shook his head. “But I-I can’t give you what you want.” 

“If you can’t give me what I want then how is it anything else?” you didn’t understand what he was saying. 

“It’s better if we stay friends, just…just trust me.” 

You nodded and pressed your lips together, trying to push back the tears that were beginning to form, but to no avail. 

Wilson bit the inside of his cheek and shook his head, coming over to you and reaching out to offer you some sort of comfort. You wanted to turn away, shake your head and tell him to give you space, but when his hand came to cup your cheek you just leaned in closer to it, letting your tears flow silently and freely. 

“Is this your definition of friends?” you asked. “Because if it is I don’t know if I can do this.” 

“I…” Wilson closed his eyes, but he could still see the hurt and pain glimmering in your irises. “It’s not you.” 

“Oldest cliche in the book,” you sniffed and wiped away some of your tears. “Still trying to make me feel better, but I think maybe you’re more suited for treating cancer. Maybe you should stick to that.” 

“No, I-I mean it,” his hand dropped from your face and this time you reached out to gently hold his fingers, to maintain some form of contact. “It’s me. My…” he took a deep breath and tried to get himself to meet your gaze, but he couldn’t look you in the eyes. “You said it yourself. I’ve had three marriages, my girlfriend died. Every relationship I’ve had ends in heartbreak. Every person I’ve loved has eventually left.” 

“James,” your whisper drew him closer, his hands coming to rest against your arms, hesitating before moving to hold your face, the creases around his eyes having softened. 

“I thought that maybe if I pretended I didn’t love you you wouldn’t leave and I wouldn’t end up hurting you.” 

You could feel your lip begin to quiver, “You already are.” 

Your voice came out meek and strained, like it took every ounce of your strength to tell him that. 

Wilson pulled you in closer, resting your forehead against his, whispering quiet apologies. 

“I never wanted this, not for you,” he shook his head. “I’m so sorry.” 

Your hands reached out to hold onto his scrubs, the partially dried blood leaving red stains on the palms of your hand. 

“No, don’t be sorry,” you murmured. “Don’t be. Just be honest. With me. With yourself.” 

His voice became stuck in his throat and faded into a whisper, “I’m afraid to say it. I-I don’t want to ruin this…ruin you.” 

“Then I’ll say it,” you placed your hands on his shoulders. “I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

Wilson nodded his head and you could feel his heartbeat from the pulse in his neck, every move was hesitant. Pulling you even closer, your hearts next to each other, your faces only a breath away. His lips so close to yours, and you did the only thing you could think of to quiet the voices in his head, you told him again. 

“I love you, James.” 

It was like a reflexive response to your words. His lips now moved in sync with yours in tentative movements, as if one wrong move could make everything disappear. 

“I love you,” he whispered first, his lips still ghosting yours before another kiss. “I love you,” his voice now clearer, a quiet murmur. Another kiss, more firm, pushing you back against the wall while your hands moved down, finding any excuse to bring him closer. “I love you,” again, this time fully aloud because you were still there. He had said it and you hadn’t vanished, you’d pulled him closer. “Bee, I love you.”

His lips moved away from yours but only so he could wrap his arms around you, one arm across your back, the other holding your head simply to bring you into what felt like an almost frantic embrace. You reciprocated the urgency, your face now buried in his shoulder while his nose was pressed in your hair, inhaling deeply, relieved.

Wilson could feel your legs shake a little underneath you, in part from the exhaustion of the long surgery, some of it probably due to everything that had just happened. From there it became easy for you to fall back to the floor. Wilson positioned himself with his back to the wall and encouraged you to sit between his legs, leaning back into him. 

His arms wrapped around you, this time his hands now holding yours which rested on your lap. His lips pressed small kisses along your temple and you sighed, easily sinking more into his embrace like you always had, but now knowing there was always something more between you. Maybe it was naïve of you to think things would be different, but at that moment you couldn’t care about the ending, not when things were just beginning.

It felt difficult to speak, you weren’t sure what words would cut it anymore after what you’d said, nothing could be more meaningful than that.

So you sat in silence, absorbing the moment, living in it, sucking every ounce of love you could get from each other sitting in silence. 

“Bee,” Wilson spoke up, but his voice was quiet after the prolonged silence. “You won’t leave right?”

“Not if you don’t,” you shook your head. “I’ve stuck with you for a while yet, James. Just…don’t push me away.” 

He raised a hand to tilt your head back towards him, encouraging you to turn around slightly and meet him in another kiss. 

Just as you pulled apart, the loudspeaker turned on again informing you that the child was found and the lockdown had been lifted. 

You didn’t want to move, but you knew you couldn’t stay in the OR forever. So while you still had the volition, you stood up and offered a hand to Wilson so he could follow after you. 

You pushed open the door and walked out of the OR together, heading towards the now unlocked sector doors to get to the locker rooms to change before leaving the hospital. 

As you walked side by side, you could feel Wilson’s hand brush up against yours before he reached out and properly held your hand in his own. You looked down at your interlaced fingers before looking up at him again, knowing tonight would be different. Tonight you wouldn’t be alone. 

TAGLIST —

@cuntyvicodin @paola-carter @kiddbegins @il0vebeingdelulu @illicit4ff4irs @lynnsthoughts @miarabanana @iwmflbb @shots-of-wilson-and-whiskey @sarcasm-and-stiles @sun-flower-mad @x-uno @han11dh @qardasngan @alexxavicry @lemonxde @mushycore

[bttnusa1]

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[thefandomlesbian]

Thinking about House's infarction and recovery and based on the scar, I think he would have had a wound vac for a significant period of time.

(Disclaimer: I am not a doctor, this is conjecture for the sake of fandom, any misconceptions are my own.)

So this is House's scar, per the screen grab I can get off of Google.

In my opinion, the scar seems like it wasn't well-approximated at the time of closure, which makes sense; it's consistent with the idea that his leg was opened and necrotic tissue was debrided, leaving wide margins that couldn't be secured with sutures. (This is a guess; muscular infarctions are incredibly rare and I haven't found any information online on standard procedure for clearing necrotic muscle tissue surgically.) Combine with the fact that an infarction is a clotting issue that can interfere with circulation and perfusion, I think House may have been discharged with a wound vac.

A wound vac is an electronic negative pressure device that assists with wound closure for open wounds, ie the outermost layer of skin isn't sutured/stapled and underlying tissue is exposed. These devices are usually in place for a few weeks.

(This is a stock image I swiped from Google associated with a study on the efficacy of wound vac closures.)

Basically, the tubing hooks to a machine that provides suction for any drainage and helps everything remain clean, among other things. The dressing is generally changed every 48-72 hours and is pretty painful, the adhesives involved are strong to provide total suction (the machine will flag if there is any leak and start beeping, so it must be completely airtight). I've had it described to me as, "It feels like they're peeling your skin off and digging around in your wound."

So from pain alone, this is not something House would've been able to do well by himself. He also eschews nurses, so I find it most likely Wilson provided this care for him. As a surgeon, Wilson is well-acquainted with wound closure techniques and with stages of healing, this is his area of expertise. This is something that needs to be done every 2-3 days, for 3-4 weeks, maybe longer depending on how the wound healed.

Again, based on scarring, it looks like there may have been healing complications. Which, granted, it's House. We see him perform bathtub surgery with no sterile technique or gloves (he also might have had a wound vac for that, too). House attempting to perform his own dressing changes, or worse, foregoing them altogether because it's too painful, except now the suctioned drainage is green and the periwound is hot and bright red and his leg is starting to swell. He needs help, he can't do this himself.

Wilson wants to take him to the hospital to sedate him for debridement and provide IV antibiotics, but House won't go, he's afraid of losing his leg if he's anesthetized again, he'll sooner die of sepsis. Wilson, against his better judgment, does what he must. Clears the dead tissue, cleans the wound, replaces the wound vac dressing, new tubing and canister, all while House is biting a towel like a civil war soldier because he won't be anesthetized again. Wilson fills oral antibiotics to control the infection. Going forward, he religiously changes the dressing, because if the wound becomes gangrenous he knows House will die before he consents to an amputation.

We all discuss House relying on Wilson for mobility after the infarction, which I also think is true and deserves a spotlight. But wound care is such a personal act with regards to House's profession and personality that the notion of Wilson providing for House in this way has me salivating.

[bigboysfalldeep]

Serve - Soldier slave

Private Anderson was called into the medical center. The new medical officer wanted to examine all the new recruits personally, but it was Anderson's third appointment this month.

"Just doing some tests." The doctor said every time, and all the other cadets are bound to have multiple tests done as well.

Even though Anderson always felt a weird tingling sensation seeing the medical officer, he couldn't just refuse to see him.

He opens the door and steps inside, with the doctor's back turned toward him.

"I'm here, sir, private Anderson." The young soldier stutters, the tingling already intensifying at his fingertips.

"Oh, private. Good. Sit down, will you?" The doctor smiled and motioned for a bed right next to the grey wall.

With a heavy stomach, Anderson sat down and looked around. The usual doctor's office appeal is sterile yet comfortable.

A chemical smell hovered in the air all around him—nothing unusual, yet burning his nostrils slightly.

"How are we feeling today?" The doctor smiled warmly, putting on surgical gloves.

"Im alright." Anderson nodded politely.

"Good." The doctor nodded too. "Let us begin."

He grabbed a stethoscope from the table next to him while Anderson fixed his posture. He stretched his chest and lifted his shirt for the doctor to check his breathing.

"Just focus on your breathing; take deep breaths, remember?"

"Yes sir."

Anderson said that and kept breathing steadily. He focused on a bright white light from across the room and felt the cold metal on his chest. At the same time, he felt hands on his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

"Now, just like before."

The doctor said, and Anderson nodded. He started to count down from ten to five with every deep breath he took as the tingling spread further through his arms and right into his chest.

5.

His voice was a little huskier already, almost a growl.

4.

Anderson's eyes grew heavy as the tingling wandered through his legs and into his feet.

3.

He was barely able to keep a straight face. The light in front of him started spinning, switching colors, and moving closer yet farther away.

2.

The young soldier swallowed hard, unable to keep his eyes open any longer.

1.

Now swaying, his entire body felt heavy, numb, and hard.

"Sleep, cadet."

The doctor's face was now right in front of his as he breathed into his mouth. With a low, long moan, Anderson's head sank down to his chest, his limps slumping to his sides, but the doctor smirked happily.

"Very good." He said it quitely.

"Can you hear me, private?" Anderson lifted his head slowly and opened his eyes.

"Yes, sir." He said it with glassy, vacant eyes.

"Good. Then let's begin." The doctor started his actual examination.

He began to feel the soldier's chest firmly—his pecs, abs, arms, and shoulders.

"Flex and get hard, private." He demanded, and without hesitation, Anderson raised both of his arms and flexed.

All of his muscles were encouraged to grow hard, bulging against his now-tight uniform.

"Good boy." The doctor said that and felt his chest again and again, enjoying himself very much.

"Youve been doing well, I heard." He said it proudly. "No surprise."

Licking his lips, he slid one hand under the shirt, running his fingers across the tight yet soft skin again and again. Anderson started drooling, reacting to the slightest touch.

"Thank you, sir." He said it with a derpy smile.

The doctor felt his arms now and smirked once more. He then focused on the soldier's neck, stroking him lovingly before tracing the jawline with his fingers. The man placed a hand on Anderson's face, traced his wet lips with his thumb while still stroking his chest, playing with his hard nipples, and running a finger through the tangible abs with his other hand.

"I love that look in your eyes." He muttered under his breath, staring into the young guys foggy eyes before leaning in and brushing his lips across the soldiers'.

"You're ready for the next step." The doctor moved back and placed a hand on Anderson's neck, holding him gently.

"Sleep, Anderson. Go even deeper now." After a short break, his eyes rolled back before he closed them, and the medical officer could gently lay him down.

In a hushed tone, the man put him down softly, making sure not to hurt Anderson. Then he resumed touching his chest, even firmer than before. His chest was tensed, and every fiber inside his body was on edge, tingling. The private was moaning under his breath, making deep guttural moans with his voice barely escaping his lips.

The doctor then ran a hand to the soldier's thick bulge forming inside the camo pants. In one quick motion, he unbuttoned them and slipped his hand inside, feeling Anderson pulsating, still growing cock firmly.

The soldier's body reacted right away. He moved slightly and groaned, taking several deep breaths.

"Good boy." He leaned in to whisper into his ear, right into his mind.

"Youre mine, private. And mine alone."

Anderson moaned and opened his eyes just barely.

"Show me you understand."

The soldier dick grew bigger inside the doctor's hand, pressing against the fabric of his briefs. The man moved his hand up and down the ever-growing shaft until it started to leak.

"Very good." The medical officer started to stroke Anderson's cock but also his chest, flooding the soldiers minds with pure pleasure.

He's already conditioned to grow harder and harder when touched by his master, but this just made the conditioning so much smoother.

The more he stroked him, the more his body reacted. He shifted his body weight from left to right, softly purring amid the guttural groans. His breath quickened more and more, much to the doctors amusement.

"You like it when I touch you, don't you?" He smirked, and Anderson swallowed hard again.

"Yes, sir."

"You will always get hard like this when I touch you, private."

"Yes sir." The soldier moaned in agreement.

"You will get closer and closer to the edge, but you won't be able to cum."

Anderson grimaced, and his body got stiff and rigid. He was close to the edge already, but there is still room.

Painful moans escaped his mouth, one by one, and he, subconciously, grabbed himself as well. Desperate attempts to release that pressure.

The doctor just giggled at this.

"Now. I will be the only one to make you cum."

With a firm pull, he moved the rock hard, and its tip erupted simultaneously. The soldier moaned breathlessly, and his briefs got stained with his steaming cream.

"My, my." The doctor pulled his hand out of the pants and pats the patient's chest firmly. "We were eager today."

Gently, he fixed Anderson's uniform and ordered him to sit up.

"I want you to change and take a shower. Then, its time to go for a run, private."

The soldier nodded. "Wake up." With a long guttural moan, his eyes regained their focus.

He blinked a few times before he locked eyes with the doctor.

"Were done for today. A couple more tests, just to be sure." He placed a hand on Anderson's shoulder, who placed a hand at his crotch, probably feeling the wet spot all around his still bulging cock.

"Okay, sir."

"Now go." The doctor nodded toward the door, and with further hesitation, Anderson left the room.

[stuckymonkey]

Stolen

Mafia Bucky Au

Pairing - mafia!bucky x fem!reader

Summary - y/n lived an ordinary life as a surgical resident in New York. Her father left when she was young, and her mother recently passed away. Bucky was promised by her father to get his firstborn daughter, unfortunately for y/n, that fits her description perfectly. Kind of enemies to lovers.

Warnings - violence, angst, being taken against will/kidnapping, mentions of death, stitches and medical things, mentions of suicide, mild cursing

Word count - 3.5k

a/n - i was feeling some angst, let me know what you think! feedback is always appreciated!

masterlist bucky masterlist

"Clamp" Joe said from across to table to one of the scrub nurses. "Lap pads" I said. We were doing a coronary artery bypass graft on a six year old patient. Five hours in and Lena was doing really well. She had maintained stability the entire time, making recovery look good for her.

I was about to irrigate when the door to the OR burst open. Me and Joe didn't look up, too focused on finishing Lena's cabg, starting to close up her heart with delicate sutures. "Y/n Y/L/N?" a low masculine voice boomed out. My head shot up to meet Joe's eyes, silently asking what to do. Her eyes were almost as wide as mine.

That voice belonged to James Barnes, head of the Brooklyn mafia. They had access to anywhere and everywhere in Brooklyn, no questions asked.

After having a silent conversation, we both opted to go back to Lena's heart. The voice boomed again, this time louder and much closer. "Y/n, scrub out." Joe whispered. I couldn't scrub out. Not now. Not while it was just me and Joe with a few scrub nurses. She couldn't close alone. "No." I kept suturing, almost to the point where we could start to close up entirely. "What?!" her head jerked up "I said no. You can't close on your own. Lena has been my patient for six months. I know everything about her, and her family. I am finishing this surgery with you and I will be there when they see their baby girl for the first time in six hours." I clipped the last suture, ready to close up her chest. "Y/n, I think you should listen to Joe and scrub out."

I suddenly felt cold metal pressed to my temple. "Put the tools down Y/L/N. I'm not afraid to pull this trigger." I heard the click of a bullet sliding into place at the end of his threat. I was shaking with tears running down my cheeks at this point. "I'm sorry," I said to Joe, it was obvious that I was crying. Through blurry eyes, I saw a tear slide down her cheek too.

What was going to happen to Lena? And her family? What would Joe tell them? I stepped back from the table and let Mike, my favourite nurse, help me take off my gown and relieve my trembling hands from my sterile blue gloves.

Even if I wanted to, I couldn't go back to that table. By pressing a gun to my head, James had broken the sterile field. "Well done," James spoke lowly into my ear. I hadn't noticed when, but his hand was wrapped securely around my arm. He led me away from the table, out of the OR and into the hallway where he stood in front of the elevator. The entire time my sobs never ceased and neither did the grip he had on my arm.

He let go before we left the elevator. Outside, many of what were probably his men waited for us. They lined the hallways. I felt like a sheep being herded by big, powerful, scary wolves. Tears were still running down my face as I made eye contact with my Chief of Surgery and Resident Chief. I had grown close with them over the years, and now they were watching me be escorted out of the hospital.

They knew what this meant. I was taken. The mafia had me now. Tears ran down their faces, and the faces of my coworkers who I loved like family. I tried to keep my head up to let them know I would be okay, but I couldn't help the way my shoulder shook from my sobs.

James helped me into a black car. In the front seat was a blonde, with a driver who had dark skin and short hair. I didn't try to hide the fact that I wanted to be anywhere but here. I felt exhausted, more emotionally than mentally.

"Where are we going?" I asked. "Home." James said, adjusting the cuff of his dress shirt. "I hate you, James Barnes." I said, defeat laced in my tone. "Please, call me Bucky." he said. He sounded sad. That bastard. How did he have the nerve to be sad when he is the one who chose to steal me out of my OR. "What are you going to do when I kill myself?" I asked. "You won't kill yourself." the driver spoke up. "Sam-" the blonde said in a nervous and warning tone.

"She won't." he said, looking at the blonde. "You're y/n y/l/n. You're a surgeon." he said, looking at me through the rearview mirror. Everyone's attention was on him as he refocused on the road. "You saved my sister's life, Sarah Wilson. Pancreatic cancer. Four hours after being in your OR she was cancer free. We were told to start planning her funeral. I was signing paperwork to legally adopt my nephews, but you saved her life." he looked into the rearview mirror at me again. "Thank you."

We arrived at "home". During the long ride to the outskirts of Brooklyn, I learned that the blonde's name is Steve. He and Sam were Bucky's seconds in command. Steve helped with the dirty stuff like interrogations, and dealing with orders and shipments of weapons. Sam helped as well but he was also really good at chauffeuring Bucky wherever he needed to go.

There was a very very long gravel driveway leading up to Bucky's huge mansion. It was pretty, I had to admit. Nice dark brick with ivy, a beautiful garden that I bet Steve helped out with, and a peaceful fountain in the center of the drive. I noticed more fountains in the garden area. We had passed tall black iron gates on the way in, giving me an eerie feeling of what the interior of the mansion would be like. Probably dark and scary.

Boy, was I wrong. The inside was beautiful. White marble stairs, golden curtains and natural light everywhere. It felt soft and safe, while still looking professional and wealthy. I was scared to touch anything, it all looked so clean and like everything was in its place.

Bucky dismissed Sam and Steve, leading me up the stairs and to the right of the hall. We walked for quite a bit before he turned into a room. "This is yours. You are to sleep here and I will have all of your stuff here in the next two weeks." He turned to face me, "My office is down the hall to the left, first hall to your right. My room is down the hall to the right, first room on your left hand side. If you need anything, ask me, Sam or Steve. Nobody else lives here but the four of us." he sounded so calm and collected. Did he steal people often?

"I don't live here." I corrected him. The quirk in his eyebrow let me know I shouldn't have spoken. I didn't care. It couldn't get any worse than this. "You do live here. You will not leave this property until you ask me for permission and you have been assigned an escort." "I do not live here! You do not own me, and I am going home. I have to go to work, and I will not stay here." I clenched my jaw, waiting for him to say something.

"Y/n, you live here. Your father promised me his first born daughter just before your mother got pregnant. He was a horrible man, you knew that. Your mother never knew about the deal. You are mine and you will not be leaving. Are we clear?" I hated how the tone of his voice made me clench my thighs together, but I hated even more how he was speaking to me and how he thought he could just keep me here.

"No! I will not stay here! You stole me out of my OR while I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A SURGERY! An open heart surgery. A poor young girl's life was in my hands, Bucky!!!! You could have killed her!! She was INNOCENT!! I hate you. She could have died. Her parents have been in and out of hospitals with her for six years!! Six years, Bucky! She is six years old and her whole life has been within the walls of hospitals and I had a chance to change that. You could have ruined her life and I hate you." I was so angry, tears were running down my face again. I felt warm and exhausted. The urge to just sleep and hope this was a really really bad dream came over me. "Get out." I spat through my teeth, daring him to challenge my order.

He almost looked pitiful as he left my room and closed the door behind him.

The bed was uncomfortable, and I had none of my own possessions. Bucky had come in later to apologize, which fell on deaf ears. He had thankfully given me one of his shirts and some sweatpants before he went back to his office. The sheets on the bed were scratchy, and his pants were too warm.

At around 2 a.m, after no luck at sleeping, I slipped out of my room and headed towards his office, just like he had directed. I figured he would be there, being a surgeon I know what it's like to stay up late to get work done, especially if you're stressed. Which I assume he was after kidnapping someone.

I opened the door slowly to reveal Bucky. His jacket was discarded and a few of the buttons on his shirt were undone. "What are you doing here?" He asked after looking up at me. I felt his gaze rake over my body, now only clad in his shirt and a pair of my underwear. "I need your help," I said calmly. I was desperate after only a few hours with this man. I felt pathetic.

Bucky's eyebrow quirked, encouraging me to continue. "My dog, Joe is probably watching her. I wouldn't know because you took my phone, but that's what I'm assuming." he looked intrigued, with his head tilted to the side and his hands still instead of typing. "If Joe isn't watching her, she only has enough food and water for one day, unless she drinks out of the toilet bowl, but I don't really want her to do that, not that it isn't clean! But she's a big dog and-" "y/n." His cold voice stopped me right in my tracks. Shit. This is probably where he refuses to help me get my dog.

"Please," my eyes began to water at the thought of her at home, all alone, wondering where I went, and then possibly starving to death without anyone to take care of her. "She's my best friend, and I promise she won't be any trouble, I'll pay for everything, I'll even pay a rent fee or something! I just really need my dog back." I think he could see my lip wobble because that look of pity from earlier came back.

"I used to have a dog," his voice surprised me just as much as his words. I looked up at him inquisitively, "She was a Great Dane named Nala. I get it. I'll arrange to pick her up tomorrow, and some of your things later in the week." "Thank you." I whispered before turning to leave his office.

"What's her name?" I heard just before I reached the door. "Hazel," I smiled at the memory of her. "She's an Irish wolf hound." I said sheepishly. at my confession, he smiled. "Goodnight y/n." "Goodnight Bucky."

It's been a week since we got Hazel, and Bucky has seemed kinder and kinder every day. It was probably just because Hazel was such a good dog, but a part of me hoped I helped to make him happier too. When I brought it up to Steve and Sam they had both agreed it wasn't just my dog.

Another night rolled around and I still didn't have anything else of my own. I had been sharing clothes with all three of the men, including underwear. The night was the worst time for me, always leaving me frustrated at my inability to get comfortable enough to sleep. Hazel had no problems, sleeping soundly at the foot of my bed just like she would at home. Or my old house? Was this place really my home?

At 1 a.m, when I hadn't heard any movement in a while I snuck out to Bucky's bedroom where I knew he wouldn't be. He was still in his office working, I knew because I hadn't heard him walk to his room, something he doesn't usually do until at least 3 a.m. Hazel had decided to follow me, making this a bit harder to get away with when being followed by a huge Irish wolfhound.

Slowly, I opened the door to his bedroom. It was gorgeous. He had an abundance of pillows, a soft blanket at the end of his bed and thick creamy coloured duvet. Dark wood furniture decorated the room, complemented by dark curtains and hunter green walls. The place was gorgeous and very well decorated. I moved closer to his bed and found an extra soft blanket under the duvet. I slid it out and draped it over Hazel's back so my hands could hold other stuff. I grabbed a body length grey pillow, deciding he wouldn't miss it for one night.

Before he came to his room, we scurried back to my bed as quietly as possible, Hazel not dropping the blanket once.

"That's the best she's slept in weeks, boss." I could hear voices outside of my bedroom. Steve. The curtains were closed, so it was still nice and dark in my room, then another voice spoke, "Really? She hasn't been sleeping well this whole time?". Bucky. "No, she tosses and turns all night. Honestly, I would too if I didn't have anything of my own.". Sam. "She likes your pillow though." Steve commented.

I didn't want to get up yet but I didn't want to be watched either. I slowly opened my eyes and lifted my head to see the three men in my doorway. Steve and Sam smiled before walking away with waves directed at me. I waved back before focusing my gaze on Bucky.

"I see you like my stuff." he smirked, slowly making his way towards my bed. Hazel jumped off to go find food, her bowls had been placed in the kitchen. "You know, it's wrong to steal sweetheart." Bucky was looking down at me now, his hands in the pockets of his neat dress pants. "You left me with no other choice," I said without much confidence.

"I don't have any of my things, and these sheets are god awful and scratchy." "Maybe I just like seeing you in my clothes," he hummed. A warm blush coated my cheeks as he leaned closer. "You're kinda cute sweetheart." At this point I could smell his minty breath, and feel it as well. "Give me my stuff, and you'll get yours back." I suggested before flopping down on my bed and pulling the covers over me, specifically the blanket I stole right off of his own bed.

He laughed before tugging at the blanket to reveal me clinging to his body sized pillow like a koala. I refused to meet his gaze, instead keeping my eyes closed. "I can't sleep unless I'm comfortable." I stated.

"I get that. We'll have Steve pick your stuff up, but you can keep the pillow." he winked.

That afternoon, Bucky had sat down and had lunch with me. He made eggs, bacon and fluffy toast. I helped a little, making us tea and setting the plates at the black marble island.

"So, I was thinking, you can start working remotely until they absolutely need you back at the hospital." his eyes met mine, waiting for a reaction. I was excited, but I tried not to show it too much since I really shouldn't have been taken from the hospital in the first place. "Then, once I'm sure it's safe, you can go back."

"Safe?" How did my safety play into this decision? I was confused, I was always safe at the hospital, save for the occasional confused patient. "Y/n, your father had a lot of enemies, quite a few of them are associated with other mafias, none as well built or known as my own. He promised you to me in hopes that peace could be made, but he betrayed several of his promises and upset more people than he could handle. Because they can't get to your father, they might get to you next."

"Fine. But I need to get to the hospital sooner rather than later. I have a million patients and I've missed so many rounds. For all I know, Lena could be out of the hospital by now. I haven't had contact with anyone for weeks." I sighed, to which he frowned at. "I know, and I do feel bad but I also care about your safety."

I blushed at his admittance, not used to being romantically cared for. Over the days that turned into weeks, we had grown to like each other. Maybe this arrangement would end up working after all.

"Fuck."

Bucky had given me a space to work within his office, so that's where I was when I heard a string of curses and muffled groans near midnight. The door suddenly swung open, revealing a bloody and battered Bucky.

"James?" I asked. "Hey -shit- y/n/n." He clutched his right arm to his abdomen. There was so much blood from so many different places. "It looks like you need my help," I sassed, getting up to help him settle down on the leather couch. His "yeah" was cut off by a groan. "I need to take your shirt off, okay?" Concern was surely painted on my face as I saw his blood soaked jacket.

"At least buy me dinner first," he laughed. "Ha ha. I'm glad you're in a decent mood," I said while starting to unbutton his white work shirt. I rolled up the sleeves of his black Henley that I was borrowing. He had three major wounds: one on his cheek, one on his right arm and one located on his lower abdomen.

"This is going to hurt," I warned, getting the first aid kit from across the room and preparing the peroxide. He hissed as I poured it over every wound, dabbing them after with gauze. "You're doing great," I tried to smile sympathetically while remaining focused.

"I'm going to stitch your face first, okay?" I asked, getting the supplies ready. "I don't need stitches." he countered. "Bucky, this wound is deep and it's not going to stop bleeding until I close it. You need stitches." "Doll, I'm fine, just leave it."

"Right! Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! I forgot that you had a medical degree." I said sarcastically. He blushed in return and stayed still while I started to stitch his cheek.

A part of me wanted to make a jab about being out of practice, due to being kidnapped from the hospital, but I held back. Bucky was a good man and we were starting to bond and get along way better than I had ever anticipated. I learned that he had a sister, Steve had been his best friend since highschool, and he had inherited the mafia from his father.

James was a man who loved dogs, and making sure the ones he loved were safe, from his best friend all the way down to Anne, the maid and housekeeper. Another hiss pulled me from my thoughts. "Sorry," I winced. "Almost done."

"Thank you" he said after I patched each site with gauze and polysporin. "Anytime." "I guess we make more sense than I thought." he said as we sipped coffee in the kitchen. "How so?" I laughed. "A surgeon and a mafia boss. I could use you doll." He smiled. I tilted my head to the side in mock offense. " 's that all I am to you? A good pair of hands to tend to your messes, Mr. Barnes?" I asked. "No no no! I just mean that we make sense, you know?" I smiled at him over my mug. "I know."

He started leaning closer to me, to the point where I could feel his breath on my lips. Bucky's eyes met mine over the small table, his flesh hand coming up to cup my cheek, the other resting its cooler touch on my neck, pulling me in. I never fought once, instantly kissing him back when I felt his lips meet mine.

I sighed into the kiss, letting him hold my face and tip it back. His tongue caressed my lower lip before bringing it into his mouth, sucking on it tenderly. My hand moved to cover his flesh one, leaning into his touch slightly. He inhaled me as he pulled back. I felt my face flush and go warm and his hungry gaze, as if I was his prey and he wanted to devour me whole. "Bucky," I panted.

He smirked devilishly. "You like that, doll?" I nodded dumbly at his question. Bucky's eyes creased at the corners when he smiled, tilting his head down to look at me. "I like you," I whispered. He leaned closer, "I like you too, printessa."

Over the weeks, I had started sharing Bucky's room with him. I had an abundance of plush blankets and soft pillows to cuddle with. He had started coming to bed earlier, and I have started back at the hospital. Joe and my other friends missed me while I was away, and I can guarantee that I missed them just as much, if not more. My Resident Chief and Chief of Surgery both cried when they saw me walk back into the hospital lobby, happy and unharmed.

Life was good again, and I finally felt peace.

[mc1810]

Open wide

[mediumgayitalian]

“Am I hurting you?”

“No.”

Will hums, flicking his focus away from his work for a moment, eyes narrowed.

“If you’re sure. Tell me if you need a break.”

Nico says nothing. When the prick of the suture needle drags through his inflamed, torn skin, pain pushing through the numbing cream, he grits his teeth and stays still. Will notices anyway.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, brushing a gentle finger along his cheek. “Three stitches left, and then we’re done, promise.” He frowns. “It’s gonna scar, though.”

Nico huffs bitterly, careful not to move his face too much, careful to keep his eyes blank and trained forward.

“Whatever. Can’t make me look worse than I already do.”

He bites his tongue, furious with himself. He doesn’t care about a stupid scar. He has more of them than he can count. He doesn’t even count them anymore, doesn’t even bother. Werewolf scratches? Whatever. Monster in the woods leaves a gash on his leg? A little bit of nectar and a bandage, he’s out of the infirmary in an hour, the bandage staying on for even less time. Spattering burns from the lava wall? Not even worth a hummed note from a busy Kayla. He’s a patchwork, and he doesn’t have the time nor freedom to give a shit. This is his life, this is all demigods’ lives.

…He’s never scarred his face before, though.

The hellhound had caught him off guard. He’d been — distracted, stupidly, walking through the wood with his head in the clouds. It had snuck up on him, scratched him from temple to cheek before he could blink. He’s damn lucky he didn’t lose his eye.

The snip of the medical scissors startles him, eyes flicking to Will’s face on reflex. There’s a wrinkle in the space between his eyebrows, tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth. Nico can smell the pungent salve, eucalyptus and lavender and something else he doesn’t recognise. It tickles pleasantly as Will spreads it gently over his red, torn, inflamed skin. He presses a cotton pad to Nico’s eye in silence, guiding his hand to hold it while he wraps it around Nico’s head.

The medic makes a little humming noise as he pulls away, tilting Nico’s head left to right as he inspects his work. Clearly satisfied, he nods, then busies himself with removing his gloves and organizing his suture set. Nico slides off the bed and walks over to the little square mirror on the infirmary wall, next to the nurse’s station. He looks quickly around, checking that the infirmary is empty — except for Will, it is — and then squares himself in front of it, examining himself critically.

It could be worse.

The first thing he notices is how stark the sterile bandage is against his skin. He’s tanned in his time at Camp Half-Blood, obviously, endless sun and walks around camp deepening his skin back to its original shade. His hair has grown out, wavy and fine and framing his face. Freckles dot his nose. His eyes — his eye — is dark, dark, dark brown, iris barely distinguishable from pupil. His cheeks are no longer sunken (were his cheekbones always this high?) and his ears stick out a little.

He looks, to his bewilderment, like Bianca. Without the bandage on his face, and if he grew his hair out a little more, they could be — twins.

“It’s never a good thing to worry what others think,” Will muses, voice floating in the empty air. Nico startles, whirling around to face him. He slides the last sterilized instrument — tiny surgical scissors — into its case, then turns to face Nico, smile soft and eyes like clear sky. “But for what it’s worth, I’ve been crushing on you forever, and I don’t think you’re any less gorgeous. With or without the scar.”

For the split second after Will speaks, Nico’s ears ring like T.V. static. Crush. Forever. Gorgeous.

The rage bubbles up in him so quickly it burns, red-hot, sharp and painful. He recognises half of it as hurt. Another chunk as — confusion, bewilderment, childish fear.

The look on Will’s face strikes him silent before he can open his mouth to seethe.

Nico knows how to read people. He has to. He’d learnt it quickly and he’d learnt it young, because he’d be dead if he didn’t. He knows the averted eyes of insincerity, the bitten-red lips of a liar, the twisting fingers linked with a con-man’s smile.

Will carries none of them.

Apollo’s golden child, he squirms when he lies. Diverts attention when Austin asks him the last time he slept, smiles a guilty smile and changes the subject when the last pack of Twizzlers goes mysteriously missing from the Hermes’ cabin secret stash. His dishonesty is easy to read.

His smile is wide, if a little lopsided, and his too-wide eyes don’t leave Nico’s face. His hands, for once, are still.

Nico swallows.

“Stitches will be out in a week,” Will says, seemingly oblivious to Nico’s gawking. “Bandages changed twice a day. And, Nico, for Olympus’ sake —” his stare turns stern — “do not be a stranger. I’d appreciate your company. Obviously.”

He leaves Nico staring as he damn near sashays out of the Big House, humming to himself.

What in Hades.

———

part two