#Trigger warning brain injury

[eightbitpale]

I can’t stop thinking about this. I came back to find this post, because I can’t stop thinking about it.

When I was ten years old, my mother had a surgery to remove a brain tumour the size of a golf ball from her pituitary gland. The surgery had massive complications. She was in hospital for nearly a year. She was critically ill for most of that. But when she got sick, something weird started to happen. Everyone - from family members to random strangers - couldn’t stop fucking complimenting my dad.

I distinctly remember some random adult joking to me (a child!) that if mummy didn't get better soon, daddy was going to find himself a girlfriend. Another person told us he was a saint for not running off with one of the “hot PTA mums” who brought us sympathy casseroles on the weekends.

Now, my parents have always had a remarkably healthy, egalitarian marriage. They taught my siblings and I that it was a basic standard - to be a loving equal with your spouse. And I wasn’t a totally sheltered kid, I knew that not everyone’s family was like that. But fucking hell. Hearing people compliment my dad for not cheating on his dying wife? That was when it really sunk in, that it wasn’t actually the basic standard at all.

Because husbands are, on some level, forgiven when they slack off, when they fuck up, when they cut and run. Wives are not.

And the men who stay might be called saints, but the ones who leave are still totally understandable. We almost expect it of them.

So yes, the “straight men can and will leave their dying wives” phenomenon is real. And according to an alarming number of people, my mother is supposed to be grateful that it didn’t happen to her. Fuck them. Never stay with a man who wouldn’t do the bare fucking minimum.

[hayatheauthor]

The Anatomy of Passing Out: When, Why, and How to Write It

Passing out, or syncope, is a loss of consciousness that can play a pivotal role in storytelling, adding drama, suspense, or emotional weight to a scene. Whether it’s due to injury, fear, or exhaustion, the act of fainting can instantly shift the stakes in your story.

But how do you write it convincingly? How do you ensure it’s not overly dramatic or medically inaccurate? In this guide, I’ll walk you through the causes, stages, and aftermath of passing out. By the end, you’ll be able to craft a vivid, realistic fainting scene that enhances your narrative without feeling clichéd or contrived.

2. Common Causes of Passing Out

Characters faint for a variety of reasons, and understanding the common causes can help you decide when and why your character might lose consciousness. Below are the major categories that can lead to fainting, each with their own narrative implications.

Physical Causes

Blood Loss: A sudden drop in blood volume from a wound can cause fainting as the body struggles to maintain circulation and oxygen delivery to the brain.

Dehydration: When the body doesn’t have enough fluids, blood pressure can plummet, leading to dizziness and fainting.

Low Blood Pressure (Hypotension): Characters with chronic low blood pressure may faint after standing up too quickly, due to insufficient blood reaching the brain.

Intense Pain: The body can shut down in response to severe pain, leading to fainting as a protective mechanism.

Heatstroke: Extreme heat can cause the body to overheat, resulting in dehydration and loss of consciousness.

Psychological Causes

Emotional Trauma or Shock: Intense fear, grief, or surprise can trigger a fainting episode, as the brain becomes overwhelmed.

Panic Attacks: The hyperventilation and increased heart rate associated with anxiety attacks can deprive the brain of oxygen, causing a character to faint.

Fear-Induced Fainting (Vasovagal Syncope): This occurs when a character is so afraid that their body’s fight-or-flight response leads to fainting.

Environmental Causes

Lack of Oxygen: Situations like suffocation, high altitudes, or enclosed spaces with poor ventilation can deprive the brain of oxygen and cause fainting.

Poisoning or Toxins: Certain chemicals or gasses (e.g., carbon monoxide) can interfere with the body’s ability to transport oxygen, leading to unconsciousness.

3. The Stages of Passing Out

To write a realistic fainting scene, it’s important to understand the stages of syncope. Fainting is usually a process, and characters will likely experience several key warning signs before they fully lose consciousness.

Pre-Syncope (The Warning Signs)

Before losing consciousness, a character will typically go through a pre-syncope phase. This period can last anywhere from a few seconds to a couple of minutes, and it’s full of physical indicators that something is wrong.

Light-Headedness and Dizziness: A feeling that the world is spinning, which can be exacerbated by movement.

Blurred or Tunnel Vision: The character may notice their vision narrowing or going dark at the edges.

Ringing in the Ears: Often accompanied by a feeling of pressure or muffled hearing.

Weakness in Limbs: The character may feel unsteady, like their legs can’t support them.

Sweating and Nausea: A sudden onset of cold sweats, clamminess, and nausea is common.

Rapid Heartbeat (Tachycardia): The heart races as it tries to maintain blood flow to the brain.

Syncope (The Loss of Consciousness)

When the character faints, the actual loss of consciousness happens quickly, often within seconds of the pre-syncope signs.

The Body Going Limp: The character will crumple to the ground, usually without the ability to break their fall.

Breathing: Breathing continues, but it may be shallow and rapid.

Pulse: While fainting, the heart rate can either slow down dramatically or remain rapid, depending on the cause.

Duration: Most fainting episodes last from a few seconds to a minute or two. Prolonged unconsciousness may indicate a more serious issue.

Post-Syncope (The Recovery)

After a character regains consciousness, they’ll typically feel groggy and disoriented. This phase can last several minutes.

Disorientation: The character may not immediately remember where they are or what happened.

Lingering Dizziness: Standing up too quickly after fainting can trigger another fainting spell.

Nausea and Headache: After waking up, the character might feel sick or develop a headache.

Weakness: Even after regaining consciousness, the body might feel weak or shaky for several hours.

4. The Physical Effects of Fainting

Fainting isn’t just about losing consciousness—there are physical consequences too. Depending on the circumstances, your character may suffer additional injuries from falling, especially if they hit something on the way down.

Impact on the Body

Falling Injuries: When someone faints, they usually drop straight to the ground, often hitting their head or body in the process. Characters may suffer cuts, bruises, or even broken bones.

Head Injuries: Falling and hitting their head on the floor or a nearby object can lead to concussions or more severe trauma.

Scrapes and Bruises: If your character faints on a rough surface or near furniture, they may sustain scrapes, bruises, or other minor injuries.

Physical Vulnerability

Uncontrolled Fall: The character’s body crumples or falls in a heap. Without the ability to brace themselves, they are at risk for further injuries.

Exposed While Unconscious: While fainted, the character is vulnerable to their surroundings. This could lead to danger in the form of attackers, environmental hazards, or secondary injuries from their immediate environment.

Signs to Look For While Unconscious

Shallow Breathing: The character's breathing will typically become shallow or irregular while they’re unconscious.

Pale or Flushed Skin: Depending on the cause of fainting, a character’s skin may become very pale or flushed.

Twitching or Muscle Spasms: In some cases, fainting can be accompanied by brief muscle spasms or jerking movements.

5. Writing Different Types of Fainting

There are different types of fainting, and each can serve a distinct narrative purpose. The way a character faints can help enhance the scene's tension or emotion.

Sudden Collapse

In this case, the character blacks out without any warning. This type of fainting is often caused by sudden physical trauma or exhaustion.

No Warning: The character simply drops, startling both themselves and those around them.

Used in High-Tension Scenes: For example, a character fighting in a battle may suddenly collapse from blood loss, raising the stakes instantly.

Slow and Gradual Fainting

This happens when a character feels themselves fading, usually due to emotional stress or exhaustion.

Internal Monologue: The character might have time to realize something is wrong and reflect on what’s happening before they lose consciousness.

Adds Suspense: The reader is aware that the character is fading but may not know when they’ll drop.

Dramatic Fainting

Some stories call for a more theatrical faint, especially in genres like historical fiction or period dramas.

Exaggerated Swooning: A character might faint from shock or fear, clutching their chest or forehead before collapsing.

Evokes a Specific Tone: This type of fainting works well for dramatic, soap-opera-like scenes where the fainting is part of the tension.

6. Aftermath: How Characters Feel After Waking Up

When your character wakes up from fainting, they’re not going to bounce back immediately. There are often lingering effects that last for minutes—or even hours.

Physical Recovery

Dizziness and Nausea: Characters might feel off-balance or sick to their stomach when they first come around.

Headaches: A headache is a common symptom post-fainting, especially if the character hits their head.

Body Aches: Muscle weakness or stiffness may persist, especially if the character fainted for a long period or in an awkward position.

Emotional and Mental Impact

Confusion: The character may not remember why they fainted or what happened leading up to the event.

Embarrassment: Depending on the situation, fainting can be humiliating, especially if it happened in front of others.

Fear: Characters who faint from emotional shock might be afraid of fainting again or of the situation that caused it.

7. Writing Tips: Making It Believable

Writing a fainting scene can be tricky. If not handled properly, it can come across as melodramatic or unrealistic. Here are some key tips to ensure your fainting scenes are both believable and impactful.

Understand the Cause

First and foremost, ensure that the cause of fainting makes sense in the context of your story. Characters shouldn’t pass out randomly—there should always be a logical reason for it.

Foreshadow the Fainting: If your character is losing blood, suffering from dehydration, or undergoing extreme emotional stress, give subtle clues that they might pass out. Show their discomfort building before they collapse.

Avoid Overuse: Fainting should be reserved for moments of high stakes or significant plot shifts. Using it too often diminishes its impact.

Balance Realism with Drama

While you want your fainting scene to be dramatic, don’t overdo it. Excessively long or theatrical collapses can feel unrealistic.

Keep It Short: Fainting typically happens fast. Avoid dragging the loss of consciousness out for too long, as it can slow down the pacing of your story.

Don’t Always Save the Character in Time: In some cases, let the character hit the ground. This adds realism, especially if they’re fainting due to an injury or traumatic event.

Consider the Aftermath

Make sure to give attention to what happens after the character faints. This part is often overlooked, but it’s important for maintaining realism and continuity.

Lingering Effects: Mention the character’s disorientation, dizziness, or confusion upon waking up. It’s rare for someone to bounce back immediately after fainting.

Reactions of Others: If other characters are present, how do they react? Are they alarmed? Do they rush to help, or are they unsure how to respond?

Avoid Overly Romanticized Fainting

In some genres, fainting is used as a dramatic or romantic plot device, but this can feel outdated and unrealistic. Try to focus on the genuine physical or emotional toll fainting takes on a character.

Stay Away from Clichés: Avoid having your character faint simply to be saved by a love interest. If there’s a romantic element, make sure it’s woven naturally into the plot rather than feeling forced.

8. Common Misconceptions About Fainting

Fainting is often misrepresented in fiction, with exaggerated symptoms or unrealistic recoveries. Here are some common myths about fainting, and the truth behind them.

Myth 1: Fainting Always Comes Without Warning

While some fainting episodes are sudden, most people experience warning signs (lightheadedness, blurred vision) before passing out. This gives the character a chance to notice something is wrong before losing consciousness.

Myth 2: Fainting Is Dramatic and Slow

In reality, fainting happens quickly—usually within a few seconds of the first warning signs. Characters won’t have time for long speeches or dramatic gestures before collapsing.

Myth 3: Characters Instantly Bounce Back

Many stories show characters waking up and being perfectly fine after fainting, but this is rarely the case. Fainting usually leaves people disoriented, weak, or even nauseous for several minutes afterward.

Myth 4: Fainting Is Harmless

In some cases, fainting can indicate a serious medical issue, like heart problems or severe dehydration. If your character is fainting frequently, it should be addressed in the story as a sign of something more severe.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[nereidprinc3ss]

ghost in the machine

in which spencer reid coaxes reader out of an episode of extreme dissociation after a triggering therapy session

angst, fluff warnings/tags: established relationship, accidental mild injury, blood, unspecified trauma, but at the very least implied past emotional abuse, anxiety, reader has ptsd and is in #denial about it a/n: I'm hellaaaa chill sometimes I just lose hours of my day if I think about my childhood too hard

It’s normal for you to get home and immediately wash your hands—a habit you picked up from Spencer. So you walk through the door, and you close it, and you take off your shoes and you hang up your coat and he calls hey from the couch. 

You don’t respond. Or do you? You’re not sure. But you’re washing your hands, and then as you go to dry them, you notice your coffee mug from this morning, still sitting on the counter. 

I should wash that, you think, and so you pick it up and you take it back to the sink. 

Sink. Sink equals washing hands. 

You’re washing your hands again. 

What did you mean to do?

Dishes? Right. The mug is… gone, seemingly, but there’s a knife in the sink, too—you pick it up, and you’re about to rinse it off, and then it’s clattering from your hands. Somebody is pulling you back from the sink. 

Someone is saying your name a whole bunch of times. 

You turn, blinking, and there’s Spencer, glowing softly in the yellow light of the kitchen. 

He looks so concerned. He strokes your cheek but you feel it less than you seem to observe it from a distance. Says your name one more time, eyes softening a little. 

“What?” You murmur, as if in a trance. 

He blinks. 

“You dropped a mug. You’re bleeding.”

Well, that’s news to you. It seems like a preposterous claim, but you look down, and sure enough—that coffee mug which had disappeared from the sink is in pieces on the floor and the tile is smeared in red. 

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Are you okay?”

“I’m bleeding.”

His brows furrow. 

“Yes, I see that. Do you remember breaking the mug?”

The mug. Oh, yeah. Now that you think about it—yeah, you do remember dropping it. Watching it break into a hundred pieces. That noise, of dishes breaking and clattering—suddenly you inhale deeply. 

“I broke it,” you whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry I broke it—”

The memory of the sound is cacophonous, deafening and completely inescapable. 

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. Nobody’s upset at you. It’s just a mug.”

But that doesn’t make it any easier to lower your shoulders from where they’ve tensed to your ears, because once a dish breaks, there’s always a second of terrible, tremulous silence, before it explodes and somebody is screaming, painting every wall in the house with their rage. You squeeze your eyes shut. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, you whisper, wordlessly, just as you did so many years ago. 

“It’s just a mug,” he says again like that will help. “I’m gonna clean it up, okay? It’s gonna be like it never even happened.”

And that does provide some comfort—the fanciful idea of undoing. Of closing your eyes against the something terrible and wishing it away like you’ve always done and having it actually be gone when you open them. Spencer must be magic. 

“I’m gonna clean it up, but I want to make sure your foot is okay first. Is that okay?”

You take a deep, shuddering sniffle and nod, but that warm fog is pouring down the corridors in your brain like smoke in a maze. It obscures everything. Your feelings. The pain. The fear, thank god. There must be shards in your foot. Spencer apologizes from below as he peels off your bloodied sock, where he’s pulling the first aid kid from under the sink and working on you, but you don’t feel the pain. You don’t feel anything except the pressure of the bandage around your foot as he stands. 

He says your name again. 

“Hm?”

You’re scaring him. That much is evident from the look on his face. You wish you could stop, but it’s like you’re in a dream again. The brief clarity that moment of panic had provided is gone. 

“Can we just—can we go sit down?” He asks, already putting a hand on your waist. Sure. Why not. He supports your weight as you hobble around the broken mess on the ground and all the way to the couch. Oh. It’s too soft. Too forgiving. You sink into it too deeply, like you’re being swallowed, or breathed into a pair of monstrous lungs. 

Spencer is crouching in front of you, pushing hair from your face. 

“What’s going on, baby?”

“Nothing,” you murmur. “I’m fine. I just… dropped… a mug.”

“You didn’t remember or notice that you dropped the mug until I pointed it out. You washed your hands twice. You were about to try and wash a knife without a sponge.”

“No, I’m just… I’m tired. It’s…”

You trail off again, any further attempt at a meager excuse walled off a thick swirling fog. It’s like you’re trying to walk but you can’t see more than a few feet ahead of you. You can hardly think, let alone speak. 

Spencer frowns deeper. 

“It’s what?”

You pause for a long time. 

“Um… Don’t remember.”

“You’re scaring me,” he whispers, and again you wonder why, only you can’t really wonder at the moment. “Did you hit your head? Where did you come from?”

“When?” You ask. 

“Just now. When you came home, where were you coming from?”

“Diane. I was, um—I was at therapy.”

“No stops on your way home?”

“No,” you say. You’re pretty sure. You actually have no memory of what happened between leaving Diane’s office and walking through the front door. 

“Did you feel okay before you started therapy?”

“… Yeah.”

“So this started after?”

“What?”

“Your inability to put a sentence together, honey. You’re really out of it.”

“Oh.” Your eyes sting. It feels like an insult. “‘M fine.”

He reaches up to cup your cheeks. 

“What did you and Diane talk about?” He asks gently, a little less anxiously, like he’s figured out what’s wrong with you. 

At this, your mouth goes dry. What was before swirling fog has become a hulking black wall of solid obsidian. There’s nothing. 

“Um…”

“Can you remember?”

Something hot traces the length of your cheek from your eye. 

“No,” you whisper, sounding utterly distraught. “No, I can’t remember. I can't remember anything.”

More tears are coming now. How could you forget? You’re trying so hard to remember. How did you even get home?

“Okay. That’s okay, angel. You don’t have to remember.”

“I’m sorry. Something’s… wrong…”

“Don’t be sorry. I think you just got really overwhelmed at therapy and now your brain is trying to protect you. Can you tell me what you’re feeling in your body?”

Your… your body?

Nothing. It feels like nothing. 

“Why don’t you try and take a deep breath? I’ll do it with you.” He brings your hand to his chest, and your finger twitches against the hard abalone button. His chest expands, and you try to do the same, letting the cool rush of air down your throat. The room spins. 

“Woah,” you mutter, suddenly hyper aware of your breathing. 

“Slow down. We’re okay. You’re safe.”

He leads you through a few more deep breaths and you manage to get to a place where they don’t feel so precarious and unsteady. Your head sparkles with fresh oxygen and everything is too much. After a moment you’re settling your elbows on your knees and burying your face in your hands. Spencer rubs soothing lines up and down the side of your legs. 

“How do you feel now?”

“Not good,” you whisper. “My foot hurts.”

He hums. 

“Technically I shouldn’t let you take Ibuprofen because it’s a blood thinner and you have an open wound, but I think it’ll be okay just this once. You okay if I go get some?”

You nod, rubbing at your eyes with your palms until you see stars. The brain fog hasn’t lifted, but it’s thinned considerably. 

He comes back a few moments later with two round pills and a glass of cold water. The shock of it in your hand zaps your brain and you almost drop it but Spencer seems to have anticipated this so he hadn’t let go of the glass yet. He administers the pills once your hand is steady and you take them, feeling the river of ice down your throat and into the pool of your stomach. It seems to travel outward, extending into every reach of your body, bringing the sensorial world back to the forefront of your consciousness. Spencer must notice the goosebumps because he’s unfolding a blanket and wrapping it around you tightly, before pulling you into his arms where he sits and tucking your head beneath his chin. You let your eyes flutter shut, embracing the warmth, the pressure, the soft fabric against your skin. 

“I don’t know what happened,” you murmur. “I don’t… feel right.”

“That’s okay. I know it feels scary, but nothing’s wrong. I think you maybe talked about something that’s really hard to talk about when you weren’t quite ready. Sometimes when that happens, your brain tries to protect you from perceived threats by dissociating. It makes thinking straight really difficult.”

You frown. 

“How did I… How’d I get home?”

He strokes your hair. 

“The parts of your brain responsible for procedural memory aren’t as impacted during episodes of dissociation. But it’s actually not uncommon for people who don’t have PTSD to forget their commutes. It’s called highway hypnosis.”

“I don’t… I don’t have PTSD,” you insist. When Spencer doesn’t answer for a long moment, only continues stroking your hair, you swallow. 

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, angel.”

“Okay,” you whisper, like a child too weary to argue. He kisses your head. 

“It might be good for you to take a nap,” Spencer says, like he can read your mind. “I bet you’re tired.”

“How’d you know?”

“Because I know everything,” he says simply—a line borrowed from you. “Here’s what we’re gonna do, okay? I’m gonna order from Tandoori, and you’ll fall asleep, and I’ll wake you up when it’s time to eat, and we can watch your show.”

You smile despite yourself. 

“So assertive.”

“I’m thinking I can get away with it right now.”

He’s only teasing. You cuddle closer. He holds you tighter. 

“I’m the boss. And I want Thai food.”

“There she is,” he murmurs, rubbing your back over the blanket. The warm saccharine sweetness of his tone dizzies you, muddles your mind more pleasantly this time. Your heart rate slows. Your breathing goes back on autopilot. The rise and fall of his chest rocks you like the sea. Just at the cusp of sleep, he whispers one more promise. Of safety. Of love. 

When you wake up, you’ve forgotten all about it. 

But there's pad Thai on the table, and the kitchen is devoid of blood or broken glass. 

[buckyalpine]

His Winter Flower

Modern Beauty and the Beast AU Winter soldier x f reader

Long awaited, I hope you all enjoy it as well.

Word count: 8.9k

Warnings: 18 + Angst, injuries, Fluff, All the sweet smut, Bucky is a sweetheart

"оставаться внизу" [Stay down] The soldier ordered, holding his gun to the targets forehead, his metal finger twitching against the trigger while the man cowered in front of him.

"Please" The man tried to plead but it was no use. He knew his fate was sealed the second he heard the thud of the boots entering his home. The whirring of metal. The ghost people spoke of but never saw until it was too late.

"тишина" [Silence] The soldiers rough voice growled behind the mask that covered his face. He pressed the barrel further into the man's head, freezing when he heard the soft patter of footsteps nearing the office he had broken into.

"Papa?" A soft voice called, the scent of roses and vanilla accompanying it, "Papa, where are y-

You gasped as you entered your father's study, your heart dropping to your stomach seeing him kneeling on the floor with his hands tied while the soldier towered above him.

So the rumors were true.

The silver of his arm was illuminated in the moonlight, the rest of him covered in Kevlar and black leather. Weapons were strapped to every bit of his body but the only one that worried you now was the one that was about to take your father's life.

"Don't hurt him!" It was a futile attempt to save your father, you knew this enough. The Winter Soldier didn't spare anyone, in fact for the longest time you wondered if he was nothing more than an urban legend. No one had actually seen him. Those that did didn't live to speak the tale. The soldier grunted in response, hardly sparing you a glance as he stared at the man before him.

A professor. A brilliant man. One who was quietly working with a group of researchers aiming to destroy the the longtime work of Arnim Zola from so many years ago. No more serums. No more soldiers.

Hydra wouldn't have that.

Not when those very serums created their best asset, the Winter Soldier himself.

"Он моя миссия" [He is my mission] Was the only response you were given. You didn't understand the words he said but it didn't matter; it was quite clear. He didn't intend on sparing the professor.

"Darling, please go, it's okay" Your father shook his head, ready to accept the consequences of his choices. He hoped to aid in the movement of making the world safer and if this was his end, he was prepared to meet it. Tears welled in his eyes with a sad smile on his face, "It'll be alright, go, hurry-

"No, please!" You pleaded with the soldier once again, all you could see were his blue eyes, void of emotion, cold and icy. "If-if you kill him, someone will take his place and then another. My father will no longer help with the government if you spare him and take me. Please just take me instead, it will put an end to all this. Please"

If you kill him, someone will take his place

The words rang through the soldiers mind.

It shouldn't be a problem. He'd killed plenty of people before but...

Then it would be another mission to carry.

And then another.

Another.

The innocent man trapped in his brain screamed to stop. A voice long forgotten, begging him to reconsider. To fight against the words that were causing him to do this. The solider flinched, fighting within himself, contemplating his next actions. The mission was to ensure Arnim Zola's work wouldn't be eradicated. The girl was offering herself to ensure the same work wouldn't continue. He wouldn't have more blood on his hands if he allowed the professor to live.

He shouldn't have cared but a part of him did.

He didn't want to kill another innocent man.

He never wanted to kill anyone.

Your father let out a sigh of relief feeling the weight of the gun pull away, only to have his greatest fear come alive; losing you.

"NO, darling you don't know what you're doing, I'll be fine-

It was too late. The soldier cut through the ropes that bound your father's wrists, taking you instead. Before your father could reach for you, the soldier grabbed and hauled you over his shoulder and strode away, ignoring the plea of the professor to spare his only daughter.

His mind was made up.

She was not his mission but now he had a new one.

If he killed the man, another would take his place.

He was risking repercussions listening to the trapped soul only his mind could hear.

He shouldn't have listened to her words.

He shouldn't have let the professor go.

Yet he agreed.

The gait of the soldier lulled you into a dreamless sleep; exhaustion consumed you as he wandered through a thicket of trees and into the woods far from home. You hadn't spoken a word nor let out a cry as he carried you off, after all, you agreed to be his prisoner as long as you father lived.

-

He brought you to a place he knew no one would find.

A place no one else knew of.

A place that was now his own.

He was once sent to take the life of a wealthy aristocrat, a man who had no one to leave his estate to. The place was deep in a forest, away from most of humanity; even when Hydra had sent him to finish the man, they were unable to give him a location. The soldier had located the target himself only to find the man had already passed from old age.

No questions were asked.

The mission was considered complete.

The body was disposed of and for quite some time, the soldier thought nothing of the castle like place that no one else knew of. It was a secret only he knew and he soon found himself seeking its solitude. A resting place between missions. A place to patch up. A place to hide when his mind was too loud, trying to escape from clutches he didn't understand.

It was the closest place he had to freedom.

The soldier pushed through the heavy wooden doors, entering the dark oak foyer. He stilled, torn between taking you down to the cellar or taking you to the rooms up in the master wing.

How could he chain something so soft.

How could he imprison something so delicate.

His feet began to move towards the large staircase before his mind could process anything, shifting to carry you in his arms as he made his way up to the west wing. He set you down gently onto the large bed with the soft sheets, careful not to stir you. He stared at your sleeping form, unmoving from his place as you softly snored, the choices of his actions beginning to plague his mind.

What was he to do with you now. Why hadn't he gotten rid of you.

He knew the rules; once his job was done, he was to return to the base but he hadn't completed the mission. He had been away for weeks and the longer he was away, the louder the screaming was. The voice of a young sergeant who fought bravely in the war. The pleading young man, scared like a child, trapped in the body of a killing machine. The cries of a little boy trying so hard to runaway from monsters that haunted him every single night. All trapped and begging to escape.

He'd let the professor live.

It was wrong of him.

He disobeyed his orders.

Or perhaps it was the right thing to do.

Though the soldier had been brainwashed, there were times he found himself caught in-between a state of control and chaos. His duties were to Hydra. He knew this was wrong. You shouldn't be here. His task was to continue their vision. He was their asset. He belonged to them.

His tourmiol continued. Why did he spare the professor. Why did he bring the girl and set her down on the softest bed out of all the rooms when he should have chained her in a cell. Exhaustion began to weigh on him but he didn't close his eyes. He didn't allow sleep to consume him. The soldier remained in place even as the sun rose. He watched as you stirred, soft sunlight streaming through the curtains, falling onto your face.

-

You blinked, rubbing sleep from your eyes, a fearful gasp escaping your lips when you saw him sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room. A thousand thoughts began to run through your mind at once as you sat up, a part of you surprised to find your hands and legs free from binds. You were atop a plush mattress on a large bed, the room itself surprisingly warm and quaint. Had you not been in a state of terror, you would have taken some time to appreciate the olive green walls and fine paintings that decorated the space as well as the well kept antique furniture.

"Please don't hurt me" You whispered, still disoriented from the night before.

"я не буду" [I won't] He replied, aware you didn't understand him. His lips twitched, all the words of English he wanted to speak dying in his mouth. His mind wouldn't allow it.

It wasn't required for this mission.

You stayed frozen in place while he said nothing else, walking off and closing the door behind him. Tears welled in your eyes as dread began to set in. This was your life now. He could kill you at any moment without warning. In fact, you didn't understand why he hadn't. From the rumours, you knew the soldier never took prisoners. You didn't know why you were spared; the only sliver of joy you had was that your father was alive. You thought about your him as you gathered yourself out of bed, deciding to make the best of your circumstances with the faintest hope that one day you'd be reunited with him again.

You inspected the room the soldier had put you in. There was a vanity across the bed. A walk in closet that only contained a few old sheets. You gasped as you entered the en suite bathroom, white marble tiles covering the floor, a large clawfoot tub, brass and gold accents decorated the handles of the cupboards.

The room was enchanting.

After splashing some water onto your face, you crept into the hallway, padding down to the staircase, surprised again at the beauty of the place. High ceilings. Dark wood. Crystal albeit dusty chandeliers. French doors. Original paintings. It was the type of place you'd imagine when you read fairytales. It would have been the type of place you'd dream to live in; one you'd only imagine in your wildest fantasies where the princess finds her prince. Such stories were only found in books.

You quietly explored the main floor of the mansion and avoiding the rooms which were locked shut. You didn't dare touch a thing, quickly retreating back to your room once you'd seen everything, familiarizing yourself with it's layout. The kitchen. A study. A living room. The hauntinly beautiful hallways. A door to the grounds in the back. You hadn't seen the soldier which both relieved and scared you.

Where did he disappear to?

That night, there was a knock at your door and when you opened it, a plate of warm food was left on a tray. Boiled carrots. Potatoes. A dinner roll. You hadn't even heard his footsteps down the hall. As you peered out of your room, it was empty without the slightest hint that anyone had been there seconds ago.

Where had he gone?

You hadn't realized how hungry you were until you took the first bite, scarfing down the rest in haste, placing the tray back in the hall. The next day was the same. You woke up to find a simple spread of breakfast outside of your room; toast and jam.

The soldier was a man of his word; if you were to be his captive, he had to keep you alive.

At least until he knew what to do with you...

Days had passed and you'd managed to avoid him, keeping to yourself and staying out of his way but you weren't able to avoid him forever.

-

The soldier had already heard you coming, pausing his cleaning as he waited for you to enter. The sight of your trembling form evoked something inside him.

You were scared. He didn't like it.

His mask remained on his face while his blue eyes peered at you, waiting for you to speak.

"I-I need clothes" Your voice was hardly a whisper, body shaking as you approached him, finding him in the study room, parts of his gun in hand. There was nothing wrong with the simple cotton dress you had on though it certainly wasn't comfortable to sleep in every night and you weren't able to wash and it dry within the same day. You needed at least one other set of something to wear. "Please"

He nodded without a word, resuming his cleaning while you retreated to your room. His brows furrowed as he thought about what you'd need. Perhaps it would be easier to return you and finish off the professor or get rid of you both-

No.

No.

He didn't want more blood on his hands.

The foods he stole were already a risk....where would he go for clothes?

-

The next morning, you found a fresh set of clothes left beside your tray of breakfast. You lifted the pile and brought it to your room, munching on the toast that had come with honey instead of jam for a change.

There was a red Henley and some sweatpants. A black t shirt and joggers. A few other basics for you to wear comfortably around the house. You couldn't help but giggle at the very large leather jacket he'd also left in case you felt cold even though there were already plenty of warm blankets. They were very clearly his own clothes but they were all washed and perfectly clean. You couldn't expect him to go shopping for you.

You threw off your dress, taking a long bath before drying off and slipping on the Henley and sweats. They were warm and soft, fitting loosely on your smaller frame, his soft scent of something distinctly him clinging onto the material. It was strange that it didn't bother you. Quite the opposite. It was pleasant, almost comforting.

You wondered about the man behind the mask and who he was. Such a dangerous man who was giving you the clothes off his back, feeding you and keeping you alive even though he'd killed hundreds of others. He was dangerous and yet he looked at you with such softness, you couldn't understand how he'd be capable of hurting anyone.

What was his story?

He hadn't chained you to the bed.

He hadn't locked you in your room.

You were free to go about where you liked.

Surely he wasn't all evil?

As you grew more accustomed to your living arrangement, you decided to inspect more of the kitchen. You hadn't been told you couldn't cook; even if the soldier didn't kill you, boredom eventually would. You needed something to pass the time and he had disappeared yet again.

You opened the fridge and pantries surprised to find a few fruits and vegetables stocked up. An untouched sack of flour and bag of sugar sat at the bottom of the shelves. Who knew the winter soldier enjoyed plums so much? There were a few pots and pans as well as basic kitchen utensils. You didn't need much to make a simple meal, careful not to make a mess as you began to peel some carrots.

-

The soldier blinked as he entered the house, the smell of food wafting throughout, a smell he hadn't come across in a long time.

Home.

There was a pot of stew left on the stove along with a pie left to cool on the counter. His eyes widened at the way his stomach grumbled; it had been years since he'd truly felt hunger. He ate for sustenance. Raw, uncooked, at most boiled food to keep him going. When he was with Hydra, he was fed with a tube.

Just basic nutrients to keep him alive.

He hadn't had a home cooked meal in years.

-

You woke up the next morning to find a pastry at your door instead of toast. When you wandered into the kitchen, you smiled at the tiny crumbs left pie tin and the now empty pot of stew. There were also newly stocked ingredients waiting for you; berries, potatoes, somehow even a whole chicken. You got to work, deciding to try something new each time; each night a warm meal awaited the soldier along with something sweet at the end.

He continued to bring you breakfast but there were only so many different pastries and cakes he could nick, besides they didn't compare to yours.

It wasn't enough. The soldier frowned at the strange feelings he had within himself.

He wanted to do something for you.

He wasn't sure what. He smuggled a handful of cookies you'd baked that morning into his room before removing his mask and savoring each once. He didn't leave a crumb behind, licking the remnants of chocolate off his lips while his mind wandered. You didn't have to cook for him. In fact you had every right to try and escape from him but you never did. He recalled the number of bookshelves that lined your home, after all he'd taken note of every detail as part of his mission.

You liked to read.

-

You sat up when you heard a knock at your door, the soldier waiting on the other side. He looked at you with a softness you hadn't seen previously, turning around and walking down the hall, hoping you'd follow him.

You stayed a few feet behind, trailing after him as he led you to the living room, leading you to the large bookshelf. He wordlessly stood by it, the strange sensation of nervousness and anxiety bubbling within him when you looked at what he wanted to show you.

Would you like it? You looked so unsure, scared. Perhaps you wanted to be free, you wanted to leave, you-

"M-May I?"

He blinked hearing your voice, nodding, watching your eyes light up as you scanned the various book titles. Gasps of joy and little squeals of delight escaped your lips as you came across stories you adored.

That wasn't the only thing that made his heart beat faster. Seeing you in his clothes stirred something in him. You were dressed in his red Henley, the hem reaching mid thigh. He was pulled away from admiring you as you squeaked, seeing one of your favorite books from when you were a little girl, a first edition no less.

"How did you get all these" You were in absolute awe, lost in your own world while he pondered how he came to own such treasures. Perhaps he was always a soldier gone rogue. His missions came with a side of thievery when he'd see something that would catch his eye. Something that would spark a memory of sorts, such as an old book he'd seen as he passed an vintage bookstore. Soon, the shelves of the mansion were filled with books and trinkets he'd collected. A part of his brain would nearly break itself to try and connect to the things he'd collect, only for the memories to fail to fall into place.

His mind felt like a pile of shreds from different cloths; pieces that would never fit together again. His little treasures were the closest he'd ever get to remembering, a few sparks from the past that would forever be disconnected.

-

Ever since the soldier had shown you the shelves of books, you'd left your room more often, spending more time reading after cooking. In a strange way you also began to trust the very masked man who had taken you away. You didn't worry about him hurting you. You no longer worried about running into him. He hardly spoke, nothing more than a few words of Russian. He hadn't demanded you stay locked in your room, so why did you?

You picked up one of your favorite books, deciding to read outside in the garden, in need of some fresh air. You hadn't taken much time to look at the outside of the house, pausing as you opened the doors that entered the grounds. It was strangely beautiful, especially considering the assassin who resided in it. For such a dark soul, nature still continued to flourish around it. Tall, overgrown hedge fences surrounded the backyard while weeping willows and bushes of flowers shaded the stone paths that led to a fountain in the very center. You found a comfortable spot under the tree, settling onto the cool grass, the scent of spring calming you as you turned to the first page.

-

The soldier trudged through the doorway, surprised at the way his appetite had grown since you'd started cooking. His body which was used to sustaining itself on the bare minimum now rumbled through the day. He'd find his mind wandering to your pies and craving the comfort of the soup you'd make. The food was set in the kitchen but you were nowhere to be found. He walked past your room, knocking on the door, only to be met with silence.

Where did you go? Did you run away?

He knew something was wrong when he felt his heart sink because he couldn't find you. He couldn't remember the last time his heart felt anything other than emptiness. It was more than just you escaping.

He was worried about you.

He took longer strides as he searched for you with purpose, fingers already itching to reach towards his gun, deciding to first check the grounds in the back. His heart settled when he saw the doors to the garden left ajar, finding you nestled in the shade, curled up in the grass with a book.

You were safe. You hadn't run away.

Again he was left stunned and unable to move. You were the final piece in the puzzle of the garden; you fit there like the perfect flower. He'd seen the garden 100 times before and it had never looked so beautiful.

Not until now.

Roses and daisies grew in abundance but you were the prettiest thing there. You were meant to be there; a soft, delicate, flower.

"цветок"

You set down the book you were reading, looking up to see the soldier peering down at you. You hadn't heard him coming as he appeared before you with the silence of a ghost.

"цветок" He repeated, gazing at you before looking towards a daisy. He kneeled, plucking one and handing it to you, "цветок. мягкий, как ты" [Flower. Soft, like you]. You felt your cheeks heat up as he looked at you intently, blinking with an innocence you hadn't seen before. He looked almost...shy?

"Thank you" You whispered, stroking the petal of the flower he gave you. You didn't understand why you longed for him to stay as he went back inside, your curiosity about him growing with each passing day.

It went on like this.

Most days, you would spend your time exploring the trinkets the soldier collected, staying out of his way while he disappeared into the forest to do things you didn't pry into. Each night you knew he would return, hearing the heavy creak of the doors open during the darkest hours. You'd hear the quiet sound of clinking cutlery and then the soft sound of his bedroom door shut.

Except tonight.

You set down your book hearing the sound of heavy boots dragging down the hall, quite different from the silence the soldier usually moved with. A sense of dread washed over you as you debated on staying put, something telling you to lock the door, hide, something-

"What do we have here" The click of your door opening sent shivers down your spine, your blood running cold as a man strode in, a metal mask covering his face showing nothing but his eyes. You wanted to scream but your voice was stuck in your throat, you felt safe with the soldier, this man was not the same, he lunged towards you, knife in hand, the blade swiping towards your neck, "The soldiers little pet"-

"DON'T TOUCH HER" A growl shook the window as you hugged your knees to yourself waiting for the knife to plunge but it never came. You gasped as the man was ripped away, the flash of silver gleaming as the soldier grabbed him and hauled him away, shutting the door behind him.

"You're weak. You were supposed to kill him"

"So this is what's been keeping you"

"Kill her and come back to us. That's an order"

"Rumlow-

"Kill her. They're nothing more than collateral damage, end them, желание-

You didn't dare move, tears spilling down your cheeks as you heard the sounds of a struggle growing further and further away, eventually melting into silence.

He saved you.

You heard him return, still frozen in fear but the sound of a pained whimper pulled you out of bed. You peered into the hall, eyes widening in horror seeing a trail of blood staining the floors leading to his room, streaks of crimson smeared onto the wall. You didn't think twice as you dashed out of your room to his, your body moving faster than your mind could comprehend as you let yourself in.

Your heart continued to race seeing the blood lead to the washroom where he stood with a needle in hand, beginning to sew a gash on his side across his ribs. His bloodied tactical gear was thrown on the floor though his mask still remained hoping to silence himself as he attempted to take care of himself.

He hissed in pain, piercing his skin while his head began to spin, multiple wounds needing attention, the blood loss starting to take its toll.

"Let me" you hesitated to touch him, going against your better judgement when you wrapped your hand around his wrist, pulling his hand away. The soldier shook his head, fighting the way his body craved for something more gentle, more caring, more loving than the jagged and painful stitches he was giving himself.

"I won't hurt you, soldat" you looked in his eyes with such sincerity, for a moment he thought he'd ask you to be his girl.

Such a doll...

One he'd take dancing...

Call you darlin' with that Brooklyn drawl...

He blinked at the fleeting memory, a whimper escaping his lips when you dabbed his gash with an alcohol soaked cotton ball. You blew across the cut to soothe the pain before taking the needle and carefully stitching him up with a feather light touch.

"There" You whispered after taking care of the awful injuries that littered his body, leading out of the bathroom to lie down so he could rest. You didn't dare ask what had happened as you looked around the room; though there was a large bed with the softest sheets and finest materials but the makeshift pallet on the floor was clearly where he chose to sleep at night. He collapsed from exhaustion, falling into a deep sleep while you remained by his side.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, occasionally glancing over the dressings you'd put to see if blood had seeped through. You couldn't bring yourself to leave him alone, only getting up to see if you could find a sheet to drape cover yourself with in the cold room. As you removed the blanket that covered the bed, something caught your eye in the mostly untouched room.

A wooden box, carefully tucked away in the furthest corner of the room. There wasn't any dust on it, compared to the other pieces of furniture that were never used. It was something he very clearly wanted to keep a secret. His other treasures that were out in the open on the shelf were different from this.

Even the soldier had secrets.

Your curiosity got the best of you as you made your way to the corner, lifting the box as silently as you could so you didn't wake him, inspecting its contents.

Newspaper articles, some decades old.

Old photographs.

One of a young man.

The eyes.

Those blue eyes you'd become so familiar with.

James Buchanan Barnes.

A brave soldier who fought in the war. A young man, no, a boy, drafted to war, his life ripped away from him, leaving him for dead in an icy forest. You blinked back tears at the innocence the young Sergeants eyes held, bright and heroic, hoping to help in a fight that wasn't his. Scribbles on scrap pieces of paper read "I am James Buchanan Barnes" repeatedly.

Your could feel your heart break into tiny little fragments as you pieced together what happened to the boy from Brooklyn, he had his whole life ahead of him but-

A pained scream tore from his lungs, his eyes squeezed shut as you knelt by his side again, brows furrowed together. You looked over his injuries, everything was still in place but he sounded like he was being tortured. He tossed around, his screams melting into sobs, pleading for someone to stop.

"James?" You hesitated to use his real name, your hushed voice made him flinch in his sleep but it wasn't enough to pull him as he begged for the painto end. He didn't want to lose his memories again. He wanted to remember. Please?

"You're alright James" You cooed softly, running your fingers through his locks while tears continued to stream down his face, lost in a nightmare. "You're not alone"

You were careful not to scared him awake, your gentle ministrations soothing him, his cries coming to a stop. You wiped away the remnants of tears that fell against his cheek, some slipping beneath the mask he refused to remove. You didn't have in you to take it off, not without asking him first. His soft snores filled the room once again as the sun began to rise.

-

He stirred feeling a strange warmth surrounding his body blinking in confusion when he found soft sheets draped over him. The usual sting he'd feel after stitching himself up was nearly non existent. He ran his fingers along the gash, the neat little sutures still in place, covered with a bandage to protect the area. Bits and pieces of the night came to him in waves.

Running into his captors. Evading them. Escaping. The bloodshed. The weapons. The injuries. The pain.

However, there was also softness. Such tenderness. The touch of an angel he'd only be able to imagine in his wildest dreams that would never come true. Not for someone like him. Such sweetness. God, he'd missed it. He missed what such love and care felt like. It was so foreign to him. He was so used to the cold. Razor sharp, jagged edges. He'd forgotten so many things but the longer he kept to himself, the more that came back to him.

You called him by his name. He was sure of it. In the muddled fog of nightmares, he was sure he heard an angel call.

He knew he was in no condition to move or get you breakfast but the delicious smell of your cooking wafted through the halls letting him know it was okay for him to rest. He closed his eyes, flinching at the few prickles of pain he felt in his head.

You were there.

You'd take care of him.

He couldn't remember everything just yet but surely the puzzle pieces would fall into place soon.

-

"NO" The sound of the soldiers pained cry made you drop the book you were reading in your room, running off to find him. He'd fallen asleep after eating what you made for him that evening; you were sure he was getting better. He knelt on the floor, sweat covering his body as he gripped his hair, pulling from the roots. He felt another sharp piercing pain in his head, fleeting memories of things he didn't understand all flooding back at once.

You rushed to his side, taking his hands into yours to keep him from hurting himself. His eyes shot up, tears threatening to spill over, all the things he thought were lost forever coming back together.

He was a Sergeant.

A soldier.

A young man.

One who loved to go dancing.

One who wanted to help others.

Hydra turned him into a beast but you brought him back.

There was always something about you.

His sweet flower.

He relaxed feeling your soft fingers trace against his palms in hopes of grounding him, giving both his flesh and metal hands equal affection. He gently pulled his right hand away to remove the mask, letting you see all of him.

"Soldat?" You whispered, hesitantly brining your hand up to his scruffy cheek. He pressed his hand against yours, leaning into the warmth of your touch, he never wanted it to end.

"цветок" [flower] he whispered back, your eyes widening hearing the precious name he had just for you, "It's me, flower"

"James?" You knew it was no longer the soldier speaking, this was the little boy from Brooklyn, his piercing blue eyes now full of warmth and light.

"Your father, I have to take you home, flower I'm so sorry-" dread began to consume him as he realized how long he'd taken you for, trading one life for another, how could he-

"James, breathe" You held his face in your hands, wiping away the tears that began to fall, your hand coming down the rest against his erratic heart, "It wasn't your fault, I-I read what happened to you, you were taken, it was never you, you're a good person" You soothed his aching heart but it didn't ease how heavy it felt. Every part of him wanted to beg for you to run away, so far away from him so you could be home again yet his arms moved on their own, wrapping you up and holding you close, you fit so perfectly with him.

"I'm still a broken man, цветок" Bucky whispered with a sad smile, holding you with such care as you curled up in his lap. "I don't think I deserve to hold something as sweet as you"

"You're not broken, you deserve this and more" You cooed, inhaling his soft scent, your nose brushing against the column of his neck.

"You took care of me, flower" Bucky held you tighter, hiding his face into the crook of your neck, feeling safe for the first time in years, home had never felt closer.

"And you took care of me" Your fingers moved to card through his hair, pulling his face away so he'd look at you.

"I took you with me, doll" He couldn't shake the fact that he'd taken you from your father, first intending to kill him and then taking you in his place. "I didn't give you a choice, you should be home" The guilt ate him from the inside, if he'd been himself, he would have never-

"And you still protected me with your life" You whispered, your forehead resting against his.

"And I always will" Bucky promised, his lips brushing against yours. He meant it from the bottom of his soul, he'd always protect you no matter where you were. It didn't matter that he didn't want you to leave, that he wished you could stay, he knew you belonged elsewhere. He'd still always make sure you were safe. Exhaustion began to pull at him, his eyes growing heavy as his body continued to fight what Hydra wanted him to do and the man he really was.

"Sleep, Jamie" You pulled him down to lay on your chest, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead and for the first time in years, he slept soundly without a nightmare.

Over the next few days, you continued to nurse the soldier back to health, hushing him each time he plead for you to go, insisting he'd be okay to manage on his own.

"My body will heal, I promise, you don't have to do all this for me, let me take you home-

"Once you're all better. I'll write to him so he knows I'm safe" You pressed a finger to his pink lips before going back to tucking him in bed. It was true that the cuts had all cleared up exceptionally quicker than normal but you could see the mental exhaustion that plagued him each day.

He found a way to get in touch with your father without alerting anyone in Hydra from finding him and while your father graciously forgave him with understanding, nothing felt easier. He promised to return you home as soon as it was safe but the longer he spent with you, the more he selfishly wished for it to last forever. He promised your father he'd take care of you in every way possible but he knew it was truly you taking care of him.

He'd sleep soundly when you were near, falling asleep quickly when you'd read to him, sometimes softly playing with his hair so he'd relax. The few times he'd been alone, the awful memories would come flooding back leaving him confused and disoriented. It broke your heart hearing him cry, the soldier who was nothing but a killing machine truly an innocent man on the inside, a prisoner of his own mind.

You'd comfort him every single time, every moment more intimate than the next. It started with your soothing voice, sitting by his bed where you'd call his name, your fingers caressing the scruff of his beard, wiping away his tears. Then the nights came where you crawled into bed with him, helping him fall asleep with his head on your lap only to wake up with your limbs tangled together.

Then he started to hold you before he was asleep. He held you tightly while telling you stories about things he could remember. Things that made him smile. That his nickname was Bucky. You would do the same. You told him about all the things your father taught you. He'd start to kiss you goodnight. Innocently with a peck to the top of your head.

Sometimes your cheek.

He so badly wanted to kiss your lips, stopping himself when he felt his stomach stir, especially when your sweet doe eyes looked up at him. When he cuddled you, his arms would wrap around your body, his hands finding their way to the hem of the Henley you wore. His henley. His fingers would slip up to feel your skin, knowing such an angel was real grounded him. You'd do the same, tracing over his scars, neither of you openly talking about the growing tension between you both each day.

-

"Will you read to me?" Bucky asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, his head resting on your shoulder while you stirred some honey into the tea you were making. You giggled at his needy cuddles, his much larger form practically engulfing you from behind. "Please"

"Who'd have thought such a strong, scary soldier would want bedtime stories" you cooed, letting him carry you away to his room, making a stop at the bookshelf first to pick out a new story.

He settled against the headboard with you tucked in his lap, relaxing at you made yourself comfy between his thighs. Your words had an affect on him he couldn't describe, no longer paying attention to what you were saying and instead watching the movement of your lips. Your eyes darting across the pages. Your body pressed against his.

The butterflies started again.

His stomach stirred.

He tried to adjust himself, pulling you into a hug to calm himself down, ignoring the way he wished he could have more.

"You alright, Jamie?" you asked, feeling his squirming, his eyes growing wide as if he'd been caught red handed. He shook his head, insisting you continue reading, God he didn't know what to do with himself.

He fidgeted again, this time trying to keep you off the tightness growing more and more, you made it so difficult for him-

"Are you sure you're okay bub?"

"I don't remember much but-I-I know I want you closer, flower" His voice was shy, his adams apple nervously bobbing in his neck as he shifted, unable to hide the hardness between his legs. His mind was a mess, fragments of love and intimacy struggling to piece themselves together yet he knew enough to want to hold you close.

He wanted to feel your soft skin on his.

He wanted to kiss you in places that would make your cheeks warm.

Where you'd want to cover yourself but let him have you, just him.

He wanted to feel your hands touch him everywhere. He wouldn't flinch at your delicate ministrations, he'd give all of himself to you. He'd trust you in his most vulnerable state, feeling things he hadn't for years, so heavy between his legs.

"How much closer, Jamie" you couldn't meet his eyes, gripping onto his t-shirt instead, setting the book on the nightstand, now all your attention on him.

"You know, angel" He let his nose bury into your hair, the blush on his cheeks travelling to his neck. He couldn't bring himself to actually say what he wanted, hesitantly moving his hands to your hips instead, slipping up your shirt to hold your waist. "Can-can I kiss you?"

He could hardly recognize himself, nervous beyond comprehension, his heart racing when you nodded, cupping his cheek to look at you. He leaned down to press his lips to yours.

"More" You let your body melt into his, his tongue lacing with yours, deepening the kiss. He didn't pull away until he desperately needed air, no longer able to contain his arousal.

"M'sorry angel, s'been so long, my body's not the same-

"Don't. Don't you dare, I adore you just like this Sergeant" He sucked in a breath as you toyed with the hem of his shirt, nodding after a moment letting you take it off. You kissed every scar on his chest, your head resting on his shoulder where metal met flesh, "You're the most handsome, beautiful man," You kissed his neck making him hiss, your tummy jumping at the feeling of his erection now pressed right against you, "You deserve all of this"

"Can I see you, please?" He undressed you with such care as if he was unwrapping the most precious present, first laying you down before slipping your top off. You wordlessly undressed each other until there was nothing left to take off going right back to wrapping your body with his.

"You're the softest thing I've ever touched" He whispered, loving how you felt, your thigh hitched over his hip, your breasts pressed against his bare chest, your soft tummy against the hard planes of his abs, your hands rubbing up and down his spine, oh God your silky most sacred parts absolutely soaking his length. His body moved on its own, rutting up to chase more, his cock slotting so perfectly with his flushed tip rubbing against your clit.

The desperate moan he let out made you gush, seeing how lost he was in chasing how good you felt with the stutter of his hips.

"M'so hard" He whined, hugging you tightly, "Please angel, do something" It was the most delicious torture. You pulled away from his hold wanting to give him every bit of loving he deserved, giving his body the pleasure it had been deprived of. You shuffled to kneel between his legs, his eyes growing wide, your face so dangerously close to where he was achingly hard. There was no way, you weren't going to- your lips pressed a gently kiss to his frenulum and the tears started, you wouldn't give him more than this-

"Baby, oh God, no, no, I can't angel, oh God-OHH" He cried, his body splayed wide for you, bach arching off the bed as you took his swollen cockhead into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his circles, licking every bit of his essence that dripped out. Your face was between his legs, his cock was in your mouth, you were suckling off his most sensitive parts, how could he not spread his thighs apart further for you. He'd never been so open or vulnerable, letting you play and toy with his cock, his tears soaking the pillow at his balls started to pull towards his body, it couldn't be over so soon-

"Sweet baby, please, please-" He pulled you off his cock, bringing you up to smash his lips against yours, his thick length slapping against his tummy. He could have sworn he was close to cumming just tasting himself on your tongue. "Can-please I want to-" He scrambled to lay you against the pillows as you squeaked at the way he manhandled you in desperation, "please"

He was between your thighs, sighing with heart eyes as he carefully spread your folds with his fingers, taking his time smearing around your slick, your throbbing clit begging for his mouth. He latched on like a baby, nursing with the most needy gurgles, your gasp melting into a moan making his eyes roll back.

He couldn't believe he had his mouth on his pretty angel, his tongue toying with the precious parts between her legs, letting him taste her, drinking up her nectar, feeding him in the best way possible.

"I-oh-slow down baby, please, M'gonna- You gasped, feeling surges of pleasure already pulsing as he flicked his tongue with precision, his arms wrapping around your thighs, tossing them over his wide shoulders.

"Mph, cum" he whined before diving in for more, greedily humping and grinding against the mattress, how was he supposed to last like this.

"Want-want to feel you, please" You begged, needing him inside you, giving you something thick and hard to cum on. He didn't waste a second, shakily clambering back on top of you, nervously positioning himself at your entrance.

"You sure, sweet girl? I-it's been so long"

"I trust you" You pulled him down to kiss his reddened nose making him blush, letting out the breath he was holding as he started to push. You both moaned together as he buried himself all the way, stilling once he was flush against you, his orgasm already so close to shooting at the base of his cock.

"Hng, I needed this angel" He didn't move and you didn't need him to, just the feeling of him stretching and filling you fulfilling something you couldn't describe. You loved the feeling of you both being connected in the most intimate way, joined as one, it felt so right like he was finally where he was meant to be. Like he'd found his everything.

Your thighs moved to hug his waist, your arms around his shoulders. He drew his hips back and thrusted forward gentle, the gasp escaping your lips urging him to keep going. He started to move at a steady pace, bringing his hands to lace with yours, pinning them against the bed.

"I love you-even if I have no right, I love you so much" Bucky lost himself to you, his hips moving at a slow grind, letting every inch of his cock fill and caress your walls, "You showed me love when I least deserved it"

"Fuck, I love you too!" You cried out, the curls at the base of his cock rubbing your clit, sending you higher and higher. "Oh, James!"

"My God, the way you say my name when m'inside you, say it again baby, please" He started to move faster on his own accord, primal urges starting to take over as he began to chase his pleasure and yours.

"Please, James, feels-feels so good"

"Gonna make me cum so hard, the things y'do to me baby, drives me crazy, wanna be like this for the rest of my life, making love to you and nothing else, swear this is all I want"

"James, gonna-gonna cum"

"Cum with me angel, all over my cock baby, cum on it, wanna feel it, please give it to me, I need it. Need your sweet cream all over me, fuck-yeah-jus like that-" You clenched around his cunt, his name dripping from your lips as your orgasm crashed over you. That was all it took as he tucked his face right against your neck, holding you tight as he trembled, it was so much,

"M'cumming!!" His sob was muffled as his cock throbbed, warm streams of his cum pumping you full, his ass stuttering with each jerk of his hips. "So-so much for you, s'all for you angel"

Bucky made love to you everywhere, not one place left without him taking you apart to his heart's content, including the garden. The story you were reading was long forgotten as he took you under the shade of the tree, the long wispy branches of the willow tree hiding you from the rest of the world.

The summer sun cocooned you in a blanket of warmth as clothes were all tossed aside leaving you both bare on the sheet you'd spread on the grass, the sounds of the breeze, the rustle of the bushes and your moans blending in so perfectly with his rhythmic thrusts.

"Beautiful" he whispered against your cheek, pulling away so he could look at every bit of you, "So beautiful for me like this"

"Jamie, stop" You grew bashful, you knew no one could see you in your secluded spot so deep in the forest but you still felt so vulnerable, spread out naked with just his body covering you, shamelessly taking his cock while the afternoon sun hung in the sky.

"S'just us baby, just you and me, don't worry" He purred, bringing your arms up, holding your wrists in his metal arm while his flesh hand came down to caress your face. "We're not doing anything wrong darling, m'showing you how much I love you, how good you make me feel, yeah?"

"Yeaah" Your voice melted into a breathy whine as he started to move with more purpose, his warm breath fanning against your face.

"Lookit how pretty you are sweet girl, my pretty flower, you were meant to be here baby, feels so right, just like this"

Out of all the stories and poetry you'd read to him, this was what Bucky saw as true art. He'd seen the finest paintings around the world in the richest houses, guarded by the highest security. He'd seen nature's most incredible wonders with the tallest trees, the sweetest flora and nothing, absolutely nothing, would top how gorgeous you were, bare, on the grass, him filling you up, it was euproic.

The image was etched in his brain, he'd treasure it forever. Your shy moans. The clench of your cunt. The way he filled you up and kept his cock in you even after it was soft. The way you cuddled and kissed in a post sex haze, listening to the sounds of the forest. He could have cried at the way you fell asleep in his arms, so trusting for him to keep you safe.

This was all he needed.

He took care of you, keeping you protected while he did his best to eradicate Hydra with you to patch him up each time he came home. As soon as it was safe, he took you right home and under the care of your father, he healed from the words that held him captive.

It didn't take long for your home to be filled with the sounds of tiny feet mixed with the sounds of science experiments gone wrong; your little babies, their daddy and their papa getting up to mischief at all hours.

"Careful, flower" Bucky shook his head, running towards you as you waddled into the living room with an expression of concern on your face, cocking an eyebrow when you saw your son looking up at you with bug eyed goggles matching his papa.

Bucky came to steady you, his hands coming to wrap around your growing belly while your father and son continued to tinker away at a new creation.

"How are my princesses" He cooed while you huffed, still wondering what they were doing.

"We're both wondering what you're going here James"

"Papa's building me a rocket-

"A bicycle! Just a bicycle darling, go sit, son why don't you take her for a walk" You father ushered you and Bucky out, sending a wink to his grandson.

"A bicycle my foot" You shook your head while Bucky took you to the kitchen, setting a pot of water, ready to dote on you as usual.

"He gets that side of him from you, love" Bucky chuckled, coming down to kiss your belly, resting his head there. "Just wait until she's here too"

"You're a menace, Sergeant"

"You married me, darling" Bucky pouted making you giggle, cupping his face to kiss his jutting lips.

"and I love every bit of you"

"I love you more, pretty girl"

You would always be his flower.

[joshujihan23]

You’re safe with me

☆ pairing: mafia boss!seungcheol x girlfriend!reader

☆ synopsis: the mafia scene was something that isn’t unfamiliar to you since your boyfriend is THE mafia boss, so is it surprising that you got involved as well?

☆ trigger warning: mentions of violence, abuse, torture, blood, degrading terms such as weak, mentions of injuries such as bruises, cuts, scars.

☆ author’s note: my LONGESTT fic yet. not sure how i feel about this.. do let me know how it is!

————————————————————————

you were overwhelmed with fear, your eyes shielded by the numerous tears filling your eyelids, dripping down your cheeks simultaneously.

you were exhausted. frightened. nervous, anything relating to fear.

your hands were tied with thick, rough rope, and trapped behind the chair you were sitting on. your legs scarred, filled with bruises and cuts from the whips given by his enemy’s subjects. their sinister laughs, their amused expressions, were printed in your brain.

and the scene when you got kidnapped, was replaying again and again. apparently seungcheol betrayed his best friend, alex. and his revenge? kidnap his love of his life, torture his beloved, until seungcheol strikes a deal with him.

and best believe, you knew who the enemy was. the person that ‘fought for you’ against seungcheol.

which in the end, seungcheol won.

and he is here today to get his revenge, after he has risen in placings in the mafia scene.

but whatever that got you in this situation didn’t matter to you at that point. the pain, the fear in you, took over your mind, leaving you to dread whatever that was coming up next.

you heard footsteps approaching, slowly but firmly. you sighed with a shaky breath, preparing yourself for the worst.

it has been hours, and seungcheol hasn’t arrive.

and that is killing you slowly but surely.

just then, you felt a hand, rough and callous, grip onto your cheek. you winced, looking up at him weakly.

only to see that it was alex, with an evil smirk plastered across his face.

you gulped, trying to move your face out of his grip.

only for him to return with a harsh slap across your cheek, making you yelp in pain.

“your prince charming isn’t coming, love. just give it up.” he snickered.

“he will, he definitely will..” you mumbled.

his eyes gazed down your figure, his smirk widening as he does so. he took a step forward, his tall figure standing before you, making you gulp. he grabbed onto your cheek harshly, his cold hand come into contact with the small bruise forming on your cheek from all the torture you’ve been facing, making you wince.

that made alex chuckle darkly, giving you another slap across your cheek.

“such a weak woman, are you? need your knight in shining armour to continuously save you. guess what, pretty? he isn’t coming.” he said in a mocking tone, his eyes shifting to the orange glow at the corner of the dark, eerie warehouse.

the sun is setting. is seungcheol not going to come soon?

before you could even turn to face the sun ray creeping into the warehouse, you felt alex harshly gripping onto your chin.

his face inched closer to you, his breath hitting the tip of your nose gently, a stark contrast to his menacing gaze.

“i fought so hard. i fought so hard so that you could be mine. but what did my dear best friend do? steal you from me. if you were mine, we won’t be having this issue here, darling.” he spoke, his voice low and dark.

he let out another dark chuckle, his other hand gripping onto your thigh tightly.

“now, let me enjoy this time with you. the time which i longed for for all these gruelling years..”

his voice lingered at the end of the sentence. before you could even say anything, he smashed his lips onto you, making you yelp. panicked, you started to fumble on the chair, making some efforts to remove the string that tied both of hands behind your back.

but alex didn’t back down. in fact, he grabbed your cheek harshly with his hand, while using the other to hold your body down on the flimsy chair.

before you knew it, you felt his cold hand playing with the hem of your shirt, as it creeped underneath it. feeling the chills going up your body from the sudden contact, you yelped, but was quickly silenced when he bit your lip recklessly, penetrating his tongue into your mouth, exploring every single inch of it.

you tried, you tried everything in your ability to stop him. you wanted to yank your leg forward to kick him, but his grip on your thigh was so, so strong.

and that’s when you heard a rip.

puzzled, you looked down, only to see that your shirt had rip, due to how old the material was.

alex cackled, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“lord and behold, such smooth and milky skin. tempting, are we?” he growled.

his lips returned to attack yours, his fingertips grazing against your chest, making shivers go down your spine.

“don’t be scared, sweetie, let me take care of you.”

and that moment, you hear gun shots fire right outside the warehouse. cursing under his breath, you could almost see the screws in his brain turning, as he continued to make out with you.

“shh, don’t be frightened, princess. let me just feel you a bit more.”

his hands creeped down your body, reaching against your thigh. he squeezed it harshly, making you flinch. he hiked your skirt up swiftly, his fingers brushing against your inner thigh.

no. he can’t do this. he just can’t.

you tried to shake him off, but he just won’t budge. feeling the tears trickling down your cheeks, you heard the large, wooden door burst open.

“get your hands off her.”

startled, you saw that alex turned his head, his smirk widening.

your eyes glanced to the door as well, and you couldn’t be more relieved.

seungcheol, standing right there, with all his other members.

alex got off of you, brushing his hands together, while walking towards seungcheol with a menacing grin.

“well, well, well. look who we have here?” alex announced.

you saw seungcheol whispering to his other members, as they began to scatter.

“let’s end this with a duel, the first to surrender, loses.” seungcheol declared, his right hand playing with his gun skilfully.

“fine, but no weapons, fair and square.” alex rebutted, throwing his gun aside.

“deal.”

and it all began, the fistfighting. the two men began throwing punches at each other, kicking the other with full force. seungcheol swung a fist against alex’s cheek, making alex return with a strong kick against his legs.

invested in the fight, you didn’t realise that your hands were free, and a pair of arms wrapped around you.

you turned around, to see that it was jeonghan, seungcheol’s most trusted member, and certainly your favourite except for seungcheol.

he placed a hand on your head, trying to reassure you as much as he could.

“you’re safe with us. your injuries, does it hurt, how much does it hurt.”

with this many questions, you could guess that he was trying to distract you from the fight. but your eyes remain glued onto the two men, who behaved relatively animalistic.

seungcheol seemed like he was winning, until alex kicked onto his leg harshly, making his knees buckle. he knelt in front of him, before alex pulled out a knife from his pocket, grazing it against seungcheol’s neck.

“it’s over, buddy. just give up and give me your girl, and we’ll be all good.”

your eyes widened, you wanted to go to him, but jeonghan pulled you back, telling you that it was too dangerous. but seungcheol kept his menacing gaze, his eyes fixed onto alex.

“you will never get her, you aren’t good enough for her.”

you heard seungcheol wince, watching closely, the knife dug deeper in his neck, blood dripping onto the knife slowly.

frightened, you did the thing that only seemed right to you, although it might be deemed as rash.

you escaped from jeonghan’s arms, scurrying onto the floor, and

BANG.

the shot fired, silencing the entire room.

the entire room stood still, almost as if time has stopped.

the body fell on the ground, limp and bleeding, but he was still breathing, since his chest was still rising, slowly but surely.

your hands clenched onto the pistol, your hands shaking from the shock you have. your eyes darted around, only to land on seungcheol.

his facial expression was unreadable, the blood on his neck still dripping.

and that made a wave of fear rush over you, as you watch seungcheol walk towards you.

“i-i’m sorry i didn’t know why i did that i-i was just so scared i’m so-”

and that’s when you felt his soft lips on yours, his hands wrapping around your waist gently. his kiss was so soft, so gentle, yet there’s a lingering feeling of possessive, protectiveness.

at the familiar touch, you gave in immediately, returning the kiss.

breaking away, he placed his forehead against yours, taking that moment to calm his breathing.

“you did the right thing, princess. if it weren’t for you, i would have lost you completely. you’re so brave, so so brave.” his hand ran through the strands of your hair, brushing it away from you.

he looked down, seeing the complete mess that you were in. the torn shirt, the crumped skirt, and most importantly, your injured body, his heart broke almost immediately.

he took off his jacket, wrapping it around your body, making you wear it.

“it’s going to be cold, wear this so that you won’t fall sick, alright?” he mumbled, his sweet tone lingering in the air.

“cheollie..” you sighed shakily, your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you. you buried your head into his neck, feeling his blood trickling on your neck. you held onto him tightly, your breath becoming more and more shaky from fear.

that absolutely broke seungcheol’s heart. the only times when you actually called him ‘cheollie’, was when you were scared, when you had so much fear in you it hurts his heart. that made him pull you closer to him, as if he was protecting you from the rest of the world.

“you’re safe with me now, princess. i’ll protect you better, i swear.” he mumbled, his breath tickling your ear gently.

“sorry to.. ruin the moment. but what are we doing with this animal?”

the both of you turned around, to see joshua leaning forward, watching alex carefully while kicking his unconscious body.

“leave him here, we’ll teach him a lesson.” seungcheol spoke, in such a simple, yet evil tone.

he turned his attention to you again, his eyes softening at the sight of your tear-filled, doe eyes.

“i have one favour of you. tell me everything he did, and that will determine my punishment for him tomorrow.”

————————————————————————

the soft music of the movie played in the background, the sweet scent of the candle he lit up filled the room.

after the both of you got home, he immediately carried you in bridal style, and towards your bedroom. he sat you down on the mattress, while examining the state that you are in.

the bright, bruising red mark on your cheeks, the ones that he always hold on to seek comfort. your torn shirt, the shirt that you always told him not to throw away because it meant so much to you, but because of today, it got destroyed. your thigh, covered in red marks, with bruises and cuts trailing down your leg, the pair of legs he just loves to touch because it was just so, so soft.

and most importantly, your lips. the pinkish, soft lips that he loves to connect his lips with, was now bruised, swollen, and split.

he cupped your cheeks, gently so that it won’t trigger any pain when he did so. but seeing you wince softly at the touch, his heart immediately broke.

he placed his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky sigh.

“fuck, i didn’t want this job of mine to danger you. what did i do.. i’m so sorry princess. i’m so sorry..” he mumbled gently, his eyes tracing your face.

your gaze was locked onto his, watching his eyes soften as he examined your injuries. seeing the guilt building in him, you quickly placed a finger on his lips, shushing him.

“don’t be, at least i’m safe with you now, right?” you replied, your lips brushing against his.

seungcheol let out another shaky sigh, placing a peck on your lips, giving himself a reminder that you are actually safe with him.

“you’re right, you’re so so right. let me take care of you, please. i need to see you feel better before i can do so myself.” he whispered, his hand grasping onto yours gently.

seungcheol stood up, taking one last look at you, before he walked off to the bathroom. a few moments later, you see him walking back towards you, with a basin filled with water and washcloth in one hand, and the first aid kit in the other.

he sat in front of you, his weight sinking the bed down slightly. he placed the basin on the bedside table, dipping the cloth into it. he wrung it gently, as he brought it closer to your face.

“this is going to sting, be strong for me, okay?” he mumbled gently, waiting for your approval while he continued to stare into your eyes.

when you nodded, he sighed softly, dabbing the wet cloth onto the wounds on your face. feeling the sting, you hissed, your hands clenching onto his arm.

he stopped for a moment, watching how your face clenched up, your eyes closing a little from the pain.

“i know i know, it hurts right? i’ll be quick, i promise.” he said reassuringly.

he seemed to treat your injuries pretty quickly, and before you know it, he was already done. your body was filled with bandages, small plasters, and oilment to treat the bruises. he placed the cloth back in the basin, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

“you did so well, princess. so good for me.” he praised, a small smile forming on his lips.

you gave him a smile in return, before kneeling forward, while placing a hand on his chest. your eyes was fixated on the scar on his neck, the one he got while he was in the fight with alex.

“relax baby, now it’s my turn to take care of you.” you said softly, holding onto the wet cloth, the same one he used to wipe off the dried blood.

your actions made seungcheol chuckle, his eyes glued to every little detail that you did.

“alright princess, i’ll be good.” he replied, another chuckle escaping from his lips.

————————————————————————

you treated his injuries pretty quickly, while he took the moment to order some food for the both of you to eat.

after all, after a day of fighting and torture, the least the both of you could do was to eat.

and the food came pretty quickly, with the both of you sitting on the couch in the room, with a movie playing in the background, cuddled in each other’s arm, while eating the fried chicken from your favourite restaurant.

taking a piece of chicken, seungcheol placed the meat at your mouth, waiting for you to eat it.

“say ahh~” seungcheol cooed, making you giggle, as you at the chicken.

“i’ll never believe how the most powerful mafia in this country is the softest person when it came to his girlfriend.” you teased, placing your head on his chest.

seungcheol chuckled, his fingers running through your hair, while he admired your facial features.

“well, although you had the mafia boss wrapped around that little finger of yours, you should know that you are in fact, the safest person that anyone can be on this planet, when you’re with me.”

.

.

.

.

.

bonus:

seungcheol walked into the warehouse, seeing that jeonghan and joshua has already tied alex up on the chair, the same chair you sat on yesterday.

“p-please let me go! i’m so sorry for kidnapping y/n let me go please..” alex begged, his eyes desperate and pleading.

seungcheol only let out a mocking laugh, his hand twirling the gun in his hand around.

“y/n shared with me everything that you did, now let’s do the punishment according, shall we?” seungcheol looked at jeonghan and joshua, who gave a knowing, yet menacing smile.

“should’ve known before you kidnapped the girlfriend of the most powerful mafia.” joshua said, while trying to hold back his laughter.

“and trying to win her back? you’re pathetic, even for a normal human being.” jeonghan added, while cracking his knuckles.

seungcheol walked closer to alex, his eyes eyeing down at the man, who seemed smaller, and more afraid, making him laugh once again.

“let’s make it quick and easy. i need to get back to my love. where should we start?”

[duskbornraven]

First Impressions

An: Two weeks of writer's block and watching The Faculty ad nauseum here we are. If dealing with an injury has taught me one thing in life, you get really sick of talking about it.

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!Reader

Warnings: Some description of a broken bone and treatment, extremely vague description of a car accident at the beginning, probably some incorrect medical treatment, no use of y/n, no beta so forgive me

Summary: Reader gets saved by a poor doctor just trying to go home and sleep. This can be read as the prequal to We've Got This as how Jack and reader met, but can also be read as a stand alone.

Word Count: 4k

One of the shittiest things about working nights meant that the world expected you to operate on an eight to five like everyone else. Which meant that when Jack had to handle anything he either had to hold off on sleeping and stop on the way home, which wasn’t the worst option. Today however he had to be up at noon to make an appointment. Which meant getting a nap in at home, waking up and dragging himself out and then trying to get more sleep before his shift tonight. 

He was awake enough but the pouring rain made the street dark and the sound of raindrops hitting the pavement was working in favor of him actually collapsing when he got home. He stood watching traffic flow by as he waited for the signal to cross. He didn’t pay any mind to anyone around him. That was until the light changed, and someone stepped out into the road past him. He didn’t think, didn’t have time to think as he watched the can run the red light. 

He pulled you back the scruff of the neck, avoiding actually getting run over by what seemed like inches. You looked up at him wide eyed, then back at your ankle, twisted at an unnatural angle. Shit. 

Jack helped you more solidly back onto the curb further out of traffic. “Hey I’m going to call you a ride to the hospital, okay?” He was in doctor mode, kneeling beside you as some of the worst pain of your life ripped through your leg, but you managed a nod as your brian dumbly caught up to the insanity happening. 

“I am just going to step over there. I’m not going anywhere okay?” He pointed over your shoulder and you nodded dumbly again. He kept you in his line of sight the entire time he was on the phone, watching you gaze around unfocused at the slowing cars and scattered pedestrians. 

He was on the phone with 911 as soon as he was just out of ears reach, or at least as much as he was comfortable leaving you. He relayed what he could remember of the car that had just hit and run and exactly where you were for the ambulance crew. 

After he hung up he took another breath, his own adrenaline had spiked and he knew he couldn’t afford to crash before the medics picked you up. Jack ran a hand over his face and returned to your side. “They’re on the way, I’ll be here until they are. Cops will probably show too, all things considered.” 

You didn’t respond this time, eyes locked onto the misshapen ankle, he leaned in, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Keep breathing for me okay.” 

You took a slow shaky breath forcing yourself to look away from the twisted joint where your perfectly normal ankle had been only a few moments before. Your eyes instead focused on him, rain pouring over his face, matting the salt and pepper hair to his forehead. Amber eyes watching your face carefully as a hand rested on your knee. Your confused brain was searching for the right word to describe him when he spoke again. 

“You are probably in shock right now. But once that clears you are going to be in a lot of pain.” He said gently, keeping his eyes locked on yours, his expression soft. “But you and me, we’ve got this. Alright? Medics should be here soon and the cops shouldn’t be far behind.” 

As if on cue an ambulance cruised around the corner, the wailing triggering something in your brain that this was real, you were just hit by a car. And that’s when you first became aware that you were in pain. It wasn’t awful at first, this stabbing wrongness that made you freeze. Like your entire body had cracked and was about to break. 

Whatever was said to the medics was lost on you, shorthand that your still slow to respond brain was not processing correctly, it all sounded so technical. As you tried to make sense of the conversation happening around you you became even more aware of the pain. Everything was suddenly too sharp,  the sidewalk behind you digging into scuffed hands. 

“Hey. I have to go talk to the cops, they’ll probably meet you at the hospital too.” The stranger was kneeling next to you again, his tone softening as he switched his focus. “They’re going to have to move you, and that’s probably going to hurt like hell. But they’re going to make sure you’re taken care of from here. You’re in great hands, but good luck anyways.” 

He clasped your shoulder for just a moment but the connection grounded you.  You were going to be fine. You had to say something, at least a thank you, the man had probably saved you from something much, much worse than a broken bone. 

But as you opened your mouth to speak the team moved in to lift you. A soft warning came from behind you and the second they braced you to move a stabbing, broken pain washed over you. You could only describe it as glass that had shattered in the joint and was being ground into it every time you moved. 

By the time you were seated in the back of the ambulance the man was engrossed in a conversation down the road with officers. And with the pain of movement you hadn't even been able to get a goddamn thank you out. You had just stared at him like an idiot. You focused through the pain, watching him disappear out the back doors of the ambulance as you slid away from the scene. 

You really didn’t remember much of the ride to the hospital, no longer in any pain and adrenaline still flowing through your body as you cruised smoothly through the city streets. The whole thing still felt so unreal, almost like a movie. 

“So you were clipped?” One of the medics broke the silence as you rode. 

“I think I must have been, I didn’t land on it when I fell, but I don’t remember it happening.” You glanced over at her as you answered, tired of looking at the lump under the blanket. 

“You are lucky, I’ve seen plenty of accidents like yours end much worse.” 

You were mildly disappointed that you were taking this ride alone. It was going to be a pain getting a hold of anyone to keep you company in the middle of the afternoon. And on top of that a bitterness lingered about not being able to thank your savoir for grabbing you, and staying to help, you had no idea how long you would have sat there frozen if he hadn’t kept you at least a little grounded. 

When you arrived at the trauma center you were a little surprised to have people on you almost as soon as you were through the door. A flurry of movement and activity as the paramedics handed you over. The flood of questions as you were moved to a room and transferred to a proper hospital bed, another jolt of pain rocking up your body. 

Once you were moved the activity seemed to slow, the medics wished you luck and were back outside in what felt like seconds. You supposed that they had more pressing issues than you and your stupid broken ankle. 

“Good afternoon, I'm doctor Robby. I'll be taking care of you today” One of the people who had lingered spoke at your bedside. “We heard you were hit in a crosswalk?” 

You weren't sure how many times you could handle answering that question  “Yes and I hear that I'm lucky.” You were trying to your voice even but between actually being in pain and the repetition your patience was wearing thin. 

“And I'm sure you're getting sick of hearing it. We're just going to take a quick look and do what we can to make you comfortable.” He nodded over your shoulder. 

The stabbing grinding pain that had only been growing slowly faded into nothing. Once you felt your body relax properly into the bed the sheet you vaguely recall being placed over you was removed. Once again forcing you to look at the twisted mess that was once a normal ankle joint. 

“Well based on what we're seeing it's safe to say your ankle is broken. We'll get you on some pain medication and make you comfortable. Then we'll get you sent up for trays to see if you'll need surgery.” Robby stepped back, letting the blanket fall just past your knee once more. “Any questions for me right now?”  

You paused for a moment before saying something stupid. “There was a guy who helped me. I think he had to be a doctor or something. He just seemed to know what to do. I don't know, could he work here maybe? I just want to be able to thank him.” It came out as a rush, the regret pushing through everything else that bubbled just beneath the surface still. 

“We can check. If you can pass along anything you can think of about this good samaritan and we will see if he’s one of ours.” He gave you a little smile and backed out of the room again. 

It wasn’t too long after that one of the nurses came in to get your description, which was admittedly terrible. You could remember bits and pieces but not how tall he was or anything that might set him apart from any other greying man with brown eyes in Pittsburgh. 

Still she took you at your word and promised to check around the other departments and would keep you updated on what she found out. You didn’t let yourself get your hopes up in actually finding him. Hospitals were huge and this wasn’t the only one in the area that he could work at. If you were even right. 

As predicted it wasn’t long after that police arrived which effectively kept you occupied in the room for the next thirty minutes while you waited in line for x-rays and consults. And while you retold as much of the story as you could recall of the pain colored afternoon. A vague description of a car in the rain was not much to go on but the pair left you with next steps and contact information. 

And while you retold the story the rumor mill of the hospital circulated the description you gave, and it was becoming clear that maybe, just maybe you had gotten lucky a second time today and would be granted a runion with your savior.

As the clock ticked ever onwards and you were ushered around you did finally get on the books for a surgery, then rescheduled after a more severe trauma rolled in shortly before you were scheduled. Assuming nothing moved you down the list again.

By the time shift change came around it was getting difficult to get some of the day shift not to stare as their backups began to roll in. People lingered around central before being shooed away in time for Jack himself to make his appearance, looking tired and bordering on late by his standards. 

“There is our resident hero. Or would it be attending hero” Dana leaned in towards him conspiratorially. Jack stopped in front of her, eyebrows raised, but still half facing the direction he was walking. 

“Your save this afternoon, the girl who almost got hit? We’ve been hearing about you since she got here.” The knowing smile forced a break in eye contact, he looked anywhere else on the floor but at her. 

“Does she even know I work here?” He scoffed, turning his attention to her again.

“And ruin the surprise reunion?” She scoffed back, raising an eyebrow at him. “Not often we get actual good news around here you know?”  

Almost as if on cue Robby emerged from a room pulling the curtain behind him. Hardly keeping a straight face as he approached. “I’m about ready to hand off a handful of these to you if you are. I have been staying way too late recently.” He looked like it as well, circles under his eyes and the invisible weight of fatigue. 

“Then let’s get this shift turned over.” Jack clapped him on the back and let Rbby steer them away towards the patient rooms.  He wasn't surprised that thirty minutes later they landed at the room he had left when he first arrived for his shift. 

“We're just waiting on surgery, should be going up in less than an hour unless we get bumped again.” Robby pulled the curtain aside once more. “I am at the end of my shift but Doctor Abbot here” he clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder “will take fantastic care of you until your surgery.” 

Your face lit up the second the realization hit you. This was him. And after an entire afternoon of sitting mostly alone you hadn't come up with the right thing to say. You didn’t know if there was a right way to thank someone you just met for saving your life.

“Glad to see you were in good hands, I was worried you’d wind up at Presby.” You were a little surprised to hear him speak first, watching him share a knowing look with the other man. It was almost a little weird not seeing him in damage control, though you supposed how he handled you after the accident wasn’t how he always carried himself. 

“It’s been the best post car accident treatment I’ve had so far.” You shrugged, and that got an actual smile. 

“I’ll come check on you again in a little bit, at the very least I’ll stop by before they take you up for surgery.” He folded his arms over his chest, you caught yourself tracking the movement and immediately looked anywhere else. 

“Thank you, for” you paused, trying in vain to come up with something with enough weight “everything.” Your eyes lingered on your injured leg, you could feel yourself blush under the bright lights of the room. “I don’t even know if I can thank you enough Doctor Abbot.” 

“Just glad I was able to help.” He paused, looked like he was going to say something else but changed his mind. “I’ll come around when I have a second, make sure they don’t move you around again. No offense but we could probably use the bed down here more than they’ll need it upstairs.” He offered a dry smile at his last comment and when you didn’t protest bowed out of the room. 

True to his word he did come in to check on you and give you an update once he was sure the team would actually be able to take you this time around. “So they should be down in ten to fifteen minutes. They’re going to go over all the finer points of what to expect and if you would like I can run up there once you’re recovered, make sure you’re doing alright.” He said it all very matter of fact, how you expected an emergency room doctor to. He did break eye contact when he offered to visit however, just for an instant before refocusing on you. 

“Aren’t you working?” You sat up as straight as you could in the bed, adjusting against the pillow. 

“Already cleared it with another doctor on shift, he’ll call me if he needs anything and I’ll be an elevator ride away.” He hesitated before adding “If you want me there.” 

“I do.” You didn’t even have to really think about it. And that was a little crazy, you had known the man for maybe eight hours and that was a stretch, knew of him was more accurate. 

But you did want him there, waking up alone would be too much and the idea of having to sit and hear the same questions from your friends that you had been answering since the accident was too much for a day. Not to mention making them sit and wait for who knew how long. A nurse had called home for you and knew to come by in the morning, so tonight you would have been alone. 

“Then good luck and I will see you soon.” He backed out of the tiny room once more headed back to central. You almost missed the ghost of a smile on his face as he ducked out of the room. You would have if you weren't watching him so intently. 

It was never ending in the ER and just five minutes to himself a night was a miracle. Tonight was no exception, he hadn't even really realized that they had taken you up until the room was filled again. And Jack wasn't sure why he was so relieved that you had wanted him upstairs. He just wanted to make sure you were okay. That the last of this fucked up situation was behind the pair of you. 

Though he was pretty sure he had managed to keep him professional, it had been the highlight of the night so far watching you smile when he walked in with Robby. The too bright lights making your eyes seem to sparkle. 

He groaned, his head in hands at the computer. He was getting too damn old and especially for the way you had him just a little off balance now that you were actually back to yourself. He had done this before, and he really wasn't sure it was even a good idea to try again. Especially with you. 

And that wasn't something personal. It was the logical part of his head screaming at him that a random woman he met through a car accident was not the best place to start if he even wanted to try meeting people again. Which wasn’t even something he had fully considered if he was honest with himself. 

But here he was, watching the clock, something he swore that he wouldn’t do at work. Watching the seconds pass when he could, he caught himself checking his watch. He told himself it was because he was invested. It was because he was the one that pulled you back, that he was the one who had waited with you. That was all. For all the good it did him, he was still checking the time every chance he got. 

When finally, mercifully the phone rang with an update that everything went fine he took the breath he was unaware he was holding. The odds of something going wrong was slim, especially with the team they had up there. But slim odds were still odds, and knowing just how wrong things could have gone. 

The next few hours passed much quicker. Slipping into the usual rhythm, losing himself to the medicine and the patients who still actually needed him. He was walking out of a room when the second call came, you were awake.

Shen thankfully appeared at central less than five minutes later while he was working on charts. “Hey, I just got the call. That surgery I was waiting on is waking up. I’ll get these notes updated and if you’re good to cover still I’ll head up. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.” 

“No sweat, I can cover for as long as you need on this one.” There was something a little too knowing in the way he looked at him. Jack chose to ignore that, turning back to the screen in front of him. 

The ride up felt like seconds, and a little unfamiliar. He had been to this floor but hadn’t come to see anyone in recovery in recent memory. He stopped at the nurse’s station and was led to the room they had set you up in. 

“Doctor Abbot, You came!” The raw excitement in your voice when you saw him was enough to make anyone a little weak. 

“I said I would. And since you are technically not my patient right now, Jack is fine.” He planted himself in the chair beside your bed leaning in towards you as he spoke. Those intense brown eyes watching you examining him, even if they were still a little unfocused. “How was it?” 

“Oh so good, they even operated on the right leg.” You pulled the blanket up clumsily to show him your wrapped leg. “They said I did great by the way.” You said it so smugly, like you had operated on the thing yourself. 

And that got him hell knows why, but his head fell into his hands as barely suppressed laughter rocked his shoulders. Trying his best not to actually laugh at you outright. But for all the tension he had felt since the accident this afternoon it was finally over. It felt light in the tiny space you were sharing for this stolen moment. 

“That’s great. I’m glad you pulled through this mess.” He sighed, staying there for a moment when the laughter ebbed away. “What a fucking day.” He leaned back, letting his head fall against the wall, eyes closing just for a second. 

“You’re telling me. Almost getting hit by a car was pretty far down on my list of bad shit that could happen today.” He scoffed at that, glancing over to catch your smile widden before resting his eyes again. 

When he didn’t cut you off you took a breath and contunited. “So I’ve been thinking about how to thank you, and you can say no, but I was hoping that I could maybe buy you a beer sometime soon?” There was a tiny bit of hope in that question, and a lot of embarrassment. “Or a coffee or whatever” 

Jack leaned back up in the chair, amber eyes fully focused on yours, slightly less focused but still locked in. “You don’t have to.” His voice was softer again, like it had been at the scene and that didn’t feel like a good sign. 

“But I want to. I get if you wouldn’t be comfortable or interested, but I owe you.” You softened as you looked at him; it was like every edge of the day faded as you sat focused solely on each other. Every fucked detail of your afternoon fading in the warmth of his gaze. 

“I would like that.” He didn’t look away, a small smile played across his features, softening him just a little as well. “That is once you can actually get around on your own.” He broke eye contact to look at your leg once more. 

“I’ll give you my number before you go back then. Or I can give you my pho-” You started to speak and the memory of it shattered in the street caught up to you. “My phone that I no longer have.” 

“And I think I left everything back downstairs.” He sighed, leaning up in the chair to check his pockets. 

“I might have a pen or something in my bag” You motioned to the chair beside him. He handed it to you, and of course no paper. “Can I write it on your arm or something?”

And reluctantly let he you, he let you partly because he wanted to touch you outside of the medical sense, to have one tiny intimate moment with you. And in part because he wanted a reminder that you wanted to talk to him, were actually almost institing on it. 

“Thank you again. I promise to avoid getting hit by any more cars until I can buy you that drink” You gave him another smile as he scanned the small ink scribble on his arm. 

“I’ll hold you to that.” And he gave you that damn smile again as he pulled the curtain behind him ready to lose himself in work.

Before the elevators opened again he pulled a sleeve over the careful pen marks on his arm. He would hear enough about saving you until something more noteworthy happened, he really wasn’t in the mood to fuel that fire. 

[lyjen]

Rage | Eddie Diaz

Summary: After a hectic morning, Eddie and (Y/n) are on their way to the firehouse to start their shift. But the drive doesn’t go as planned when Eddie completely misjudges the situation on the freeway and they end up in a car accident.

Trigger warnings: Car accident, blood and graphic injury description, medical trauma, panic attack / anxiety, drunk driving, bit of violence.

Request: @megafandomsxassemble

Request status: OPEN ✨

9-1-1 Masterlist

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air as Eddie stood in the kitchen, pouring the dark liquid into two to-go cups. The morning sun peeked in through the blinds, casting soft strips of light across the counter. One hand held a cup steady, while the other reached blindly for a lid.

“Chris! Let’s go, buddy!” Eddie called out, his voice echoing down the hall as he snapped the second lid on the other mug. He didn’t even have to check the clock to know they were running late. At this point he was used to them being late.

From somewhere deeper in the house, (Y/n)’s voice answered, laced with frustration. “I can’t find my other shoe!” Eddie glanced up, amused. He could already picture her, half-dressed, hair still tousled from sleep, scrambling through the house like it was a scavenger hunt.

She came around the corner into the kitchen, hopping slightly as she wore only one sneaker and zipped up her LAFD hoodie. Her hair was wild and soft, and she used one hand to gather it into a quick bun. It wasn’t her usual clean, firehouse-ready one, but the messy kind she did when time was not on her side.

“Lost it again?” Eddie asked, sipping his coffee with a smirk as he leaned his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“I swear I saw it lying right here last night,” (Y/n) muttered, eyes scanning the floor, then opening the pantry like the shoe might’ve magically climbed onto a shelf.

Eddie watched her with a lazy smile. Her sleepy frustration was oddly cute, and he loved this little chaotic piece of their mornings more than he’d ever admit out loud.

Just then, the familiar thud of crutches echoed down the hall. Chris appeared at the edge of the dining room, steady as always, pushing the shoe forward from underneath one of the dining room chairs “You mean this one?” Chris asked. 

(Y/n)’s head popped around the doorframe, and her eyes locked onto the missing sneaker lying on the floor in front of Chris’ crutches. Relief washed over her face. “Chris! You’re a lifesaver.” she said, sounding like the shoe like it was her long-lost soulmate.

She rushed over and took it, dropping down to one knee and started to put the long lost shoe on. Chris raised a brow, curious. “Why were you looking for your shoe in the kitchen?” he asked. 

(Y/n) froze mid-lace. 

She blinked. Good question. A very good question.

Eddie, still in the kitchen, perked up immediately, like he knew this was going to be good. (Y/n) blinked, suddenly very aware that her searching area made no sense. At least, for him.

“Uhh…” she stalled, her voice faltering as her gaze slowly lifted toward Eddie, who was now watching her over the rim of his coffee cup as he leaned against the doorframe from the kitchen, clearly amused. Then she looked back at Chris, and tried to think fast. 

“You know… things happen. Sometimes shoes… travel.” she said as she turned to Eddie for help once more. He offered none. Not at first. Just raised his eyebrows and took another sip.

Chris gave her a look. “And you thought your shoe would be behind the fridge?” he asked, trying to make sense of it. “I don’t know, Chris,” she said, tying her laces faster. “It’s early, my brain’s still warming up.”

Eddie pushed himself off the door frame, sipping his coffee slowly, very amused. “I’m dying to hear this logic, honestly.” Eddie then said. (Y/n) shot him a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t you have something better to do? Like being on time?”

“Nope. Watching this unfold is the highlight of my morning,” he said, handing her the second coffee cup as she stood up.

She snatched it playfully, brushing her fingers against his. “Thank you. For the coffee and your unwavering support.” she said. 

“Always,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss on her temple. Then he turned towards his son, “Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to, bud.” he continued.

Chris smirked, shaking his head. “You guys are weird.” And sighed like a kid who had already seen too much adult nonsense for a Monday morning.

“We know,” they both answered in unison. “Let’s just go before I lose something else, like my dignity.” she whispered softly at Eddie. 

“Too late,” Eddie muttered under his breath, but the playful glint in his eye gave him away.

With Chris by the door, (Y/n) finally fully dressed, and coffee in hand and duffle bags on the other, the three of them finally tumbled out of the house. 

Eddie eased the car into the disabled parking space near the front of the school. He shifted the car into park, glanced at the clock on the dashboard, and sighed. Barely on time. Not bad, considering the morning shoe crisis.

He popped open his door and stepped out of the driver’s side, the spring air still carrying a hint of coolness. Without missing a beat, he walked around to the backseat and opened it, reaching in to pull out Chris’s crutches.

Inside the car, Chris was already moving like clockwork. He unbuckled his seatbelt with a click, swung his backpack over his shoulder as he put his arm through the other loop and pushed open the door where Eddie stood waiting with his usual, patient smile.

“Here you go, buddy.” Eddie handed him the crutches gently as Chris stepped out of the car. Chris took them without looking up “Thanks.” he said, and slipped his arms through the plastic.

Eddie closed the door behind Chris, the solid thunk of it echoing in the small morning bustle of the parking lot. The noise of students, parents, and teachers swirled around them. Voices calling out, backpacks rustling, cars pulling up and away.

(Y/n) rolled down her window from the passenger seat, watching the moment unfold with a soft smile.

Eddie crouched in front of Chris, one of his hands resting on Chris’ shoulder, and the other one on his knee like he always did when he needed his son to really listen.

“You remembered your math homework, right?” Eddie asked as he tried to make eye contact with him. Chris let out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, Dad.” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Not stuffed in the bottom of your bag? Not forgotten on your desk? Not being used as a bookmark in your comic book?” he asked. Chris’ eyes connected with his dad’s. “Daaaad,” Chris groaned, rolling his eyes. “I got it, okay?” 

(Y/n) had to stifle a laugh from her seat. Eddie smirked but softened as he reached out and let go of Chris’ shoulder.“I know, I know,” he said, ruffling Chris’s hair. “I’m just doing my job. The annoying dad part.” Eddie continued. 

Chris gave him a tired look that said: you’re doing it very well. Eddie leaned in and pressed a kiss to the top of Chris’ head. “I love you, okay?” 

“Dad!” Chris hissed in embarrassment, eyes darting toward a group of kids walking by. “You’re embarrassing me in front of people!” he mumbled as a smirk appeared on Eddie’s face. “Good. It’s in the contract,” he grinned, his eyes soft. “Embarrass you now, pay for therapy later.” 

Chris groaned and rolled his eyes as he turned and started toward the school entrance. “Have a good day!” Eddie called after him, “Oh and don’t trade your snacks!” he added. 

“Daaad!” Chris yelled back, not turning around. And then he was gone, just another kid with a backpack vanishing into the group of students.

(Y/n) laughed from inside the car, shaking her head. “You really live to torment that kid.” she said as she looked to the side, watching Eddie getting in the car.

Eddie slipped back into the driver’s seat, his smile lingering. “Gotta enjoy it while I can. In a few years he'll still be embarrassed, but with a deeper voice and probably facial hair.”

“He’ll still be rolling his eyes at your jokes.” she said as she smiled and took a sip from her coffee.

“Absolutely,” Eddie said, starting the car. “Oh—by the way, I told him Tía Rosa’s picking him up today. She said she’d take him for ice cream if he finishes his homework” 

“Did you remind him about that?” She asked as she let the back of her head fall against the headrest and looked at Eddie. “Only six times,” Eddie deadpanned. (Y/n) chuckled as Eddie put the car in reverse.

Eddie pulled away, his fingers tapped rhythmically against the steering wheel. “I always feel like we forgot something.” (Y/n) smiled, as she glanced at Eddie. “You packed his lunch, embarrassed him… That’s everything.” she said and placed her hand onto his, that was resting on the armrest in between the passenger and driver. Eddie smiled as he felt her thumb softly tracing over his hand, his eyes locked on the road. “Yeah. I guess that is everything.”

-

The freeway stretched out in front of them, long and open beneath a soft blue sky. Morning sunlight spilled across the dashboard, painting golden streaks over Eddie’s forearms as he drove. (Y/n) sat beside him, her coffee now half-empty, hair still slightly messy, but that early morning panic had finally faded.

Eddie’s hand rested on the steering wheel, fingers tapping a lazy beat. He glanced over at (Y/n), who was finishing her coffee, hoodie sleeves rolled up, legs curled beneath her in the passenger seat. 

Eddie glanced over at her with a small smirk. He couldn’t help it. “So… the kitchen, huh?”

(Y/n) let out a sigh, already rolling her eyes at the sentence. “You’re really not gonna let that go?” She asked. Eddie chuckled, looking at her for a quick second before focusing back on the road. “You froze like Chris caught you committing a federal crime. No comeback, no lie, just panic.” 

“I was caught off guard!” she said as she tried not to smile when she thought back at the moment of this morning. Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You really had nothing. Not even a fake excuse.” 

“I really thought my shoe was in the kitchen,” she mumbled as she took a sip of her coffee. “Well, yeah, because that’s where you launched it. Right after you climbed up on the counter.” he said, while an agreeing look took over his face. 

Her head snapped toward him. “Excuse me? I did not climb anything.” she shot back at him. “You totally did,” he teased. “And I blacked out after. I mean, we had just gotten off a 24-hour shift, and then you… you were just standing there. Hoodie, messy hair, tired face. I lost it.” Eddie admitted as he glanced back at her. 

“You couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” she accused him. Eddie laughed, his fingers tapping the steering wheel. “You were just as bad. You kept brushing up against me at work, touching my arm and looking at me like that.” he said. 

“I handed you a clipboard, Eddie.” (Y/n) said as her eyebrows furrowed at his words. “And I pinned you against the truck,” he grinned.

“That was a two-second moment!” She said. “Hmm.. for you maybe. It felt like hours to me. Torture.” he said, glancing back at (Y/n). She shook her head, smiling, cheeks a little warmer than a second ago now.

“Oh, and don’t think I forgot about the bathroom,” (Y/n) said, glancing at Eddie with a teasing smirk. Eddie’s brows lifted, already sensing where this was going. “What bathroom?” he asked, trying to act innocent and not knowing. 

“That was all you,” she added, sipping from her coffee with a mocking look on her face, like she’d just presented a final piece of evidence. Eddie let out a half-laugh, mouth hanging open in disbelief. “You kissed me first!” he said.

“Because you pulled me in there!” Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe they were actually arguing about this, but the smile tugging at the corners of her lips said otherwise. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, both from laughter and from the memory.

Eddie shook his head as he drove, a grin spread across his face. “Because you were looking at me like you were gonna kiss me in front of Bobby!” he said. She scoffed, shifting in her seat, turning toward him. “I—what?! No I wasn’t!” she stumbled.

“Yes you were,” he said, glancing quickly at her. There was a fire in his eyes now. Not angry kind, just playful and maybe a little smug. “You gave me that look. The firehouse hallway look.” he said then. (Y/n) blinked, then narrowed her eyes, leaning in just slightly. “What look is that?” she asks, confused as she placed the coffee back into the cup holder. 

“The one that says: ‘I’d climb you like a ladder if Buck wasn’t two feet away.’” 

Her jaw dropped and she immediately burst out laughing, one hand flying to cover her face. Her hoodie sleeve slipped slightly down her wrist as she leaned against the door, trying to pull herself together. “You are so dramatic” she managed through her laughter.

“I’m passionate,” Eddie said proudly, placing a dramatic hand over his heart like he was quoting Shakespeare, with his eyes twinkling. “You’re impossible,” she replied, cheeks still flushed as she wiped a tear of laughter away. Her bun had started to come loose from all the movement, stray hairs framing her face. 

“And I was going insane,” Eddie added, his voice serious. “I couldn’t touch you for twenty-four hours except in secret. Do you know what that does to a man?” She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

“You bit my lip, remember?” he added, looking to his right. “That was because someone walked in!” she tried to defend herself, trying to keep a straight face and failing. “I was bleeding,” Eddie said, holding up his finger as if to prove the severity of the wound, but there was barely even a wound there.

“You survived.”

Eddie smiled and reached over, resting his hand gently on her thigh. His thumb rubbed slow circles. His voice softened. “I’d do it all over again, though.” (Y/n) glanced over, her smile quieter now. “Yeah?” 

“Every shift. Every morning. You’re worth it.” he told her as he took a second to look straight into her eyes. 

They sat in that soft silence for a moment. It felt nice. It was almost like a calm before the storm. But then Eddie’s eyes flicked to the road ahead, and that feeling started to slip.

A black car in front of them was swerving across lanes, it was going way too fast and moving way too broad. Eddie frowned, “What the hell is this guy doing?”

(Y/n) sat up straighter. “He’s all over the road. Is he drunk?” she said as she frowned at the image. The warm hand of Eddie let go of (Y/n)’s thigh as he leaned forward and his hands were tightening on the wheel. “Has to be. He’s going, what… ninety? Maybe more.”

The sedan veered again, hard, and nearly clipped the car next to it. Horns blared. It recovered only to accelerate, erratically, like the driver had no idea what they were doing or didn’t care. “I’m not staying behind him,” Eddie muttered, switching lanes. “I’m gonna pass.”

“Just be careful,” she said quietly. “I’ve got it.”

Eddie turned on the turn signal and switched lanes as he stepped on the gas. He tried to pass the black car. But just as they pulled up beside it, the car didn’t make a small swerve like he had before. No, this time he made a much larger one. 

No signal. No warning. Just pure, reckless speed. And it slammed directly into their passenger side.

It all happened so fast. The sound was deafening. 

The sound of shattered glass, screeching metal and tires, airbags burst, white clouds filling the air as screams filled the small, tight space. 

The truck tipped, then flipped. Once. Twice. Suddenly it felt like they were in some kind of fairground attraction they didn’t sign up for. 

They were weightless and heavy all at once. Flung and yanked. Eddie’s head hit the headrest hard, his vision blurring. (Y/n)’s body was thrown to the side, her head snapping back against the window before the seatbelt caught her. 

They landed hard on the passenger’s side, and back onto four wheels again. The car slowly came to a stop, and for a moment there was silence. Silence or a breath, and a heartbeat. 

But then a second car, unable to stop in time, plowed into them from the side. The force sent their (already) destroyed car crashing into the guardrail, before it finally came to a stop. The truck flipped one more time and landed upside down.

Smoke was coming from the hood, and a soft hiss of leaking fluids sounded in the car. The distant honk of other cars skidding to a halt on the freeway they were just on. 

Inside the vehicle, the world was upside down. Blood trickled from Eddie’s brow. His ears were ringing. He gasped for air, body aching in ways he hadn’t yet registered and groaned at the pain. He blinked hard as he tried to get a clearer vision, but he was still disoriented. 

Then his heart dropped. “(Y/n)…?” he choked out, turning his head, even though every muscle in his body protested.

She wasn’t moving.

His eyes locked onto her. Her head hung in an awkward angle against the seatbelt. Her face was pale, blood dripping from her temple. “Hey,” Eddie’s voice cracked. “Come on, baby, wake up.” he continued as he tried to reach for her, while ignoring the pain he felt in his body. 

(Y/n) was pinned in her seat. The metal had crumpled into her side, her hoodie was partly soaked in blood. He didn’t know how deep the metal rod was. He didn’t want to know. But it was enough to make his vision blur.

“No no no no no,” he whispered. “Please, open your eyes.” he begged, his voice was raw and trembling. “You’ve gotta stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” he cried. But she didn’t answer, Eddie felt like the air had been knocked from his lungs all over again when she didn’t answer, or even gave any sign of life. 

He knew he shouldn’t move. He knew staying still was the safest thing after a crash like that. His training screamed at him to wait for help. But that voice, the smart, calm, firefighter one, was nowhere to be found at this moment.

All he could hear was her breathing faltering and that silence between her breaths was louder than any alarm he’d ever heard.

Eddie gritted his teeth and fought with his own seatbelt while the blood was rushing to his head. The seatbelt finally gave way, dropping him hard onto the ceiling, (which was now the floor) of the ruined car. His ribs ached in protest, but he didn't stop. He groaned as he pressed a hand onto the painful spot, and he dragged himself toward the shattered driver’s side. 

He pushed glass out of his way with raw hands. He didn’t care if glass would cut into his hand, it had already cut his knees, but he didn’t feel a single piece of glass in his skin. The adrenaline was rushing through his veins. 

He had to get to her. He had to help her. He couldn’t just stand there and do nothing.

He crawled through the window on the driver’s side, glass cutting into his palms and his legs which were barely working. The morning temperature hit his skin like a slap, but he barely felt it. His entire body was focused on one thing, and that was his girl. 

The air reeked of burning rubber and leaking gasoline. People were shouting nearby, tires screeching in the distance, but it all sounded muffled. It was almost like he was underwater. 

Eddie pushed himself onto his feet, but almost lost his balance. But his hands quickly grabbed the car to keep him on two feet. He walked as fast as he could around the car.

When he reached the passenger side, he could barely recognize the door. It was caved in completely. But he could see her face through the shattered glass, pale and bloody and still not moving.

Eddie's hands were trembling, without a single thought he braced himself against the door and tried to pull it back, muscles screaming with effort. “Come on!” he grunted, chest heaving. “Just- open- damn it- open!” he cried desperately. 

Nothing gave.

He stepped back, his breath stuttering while he blinked through the sting in his eyes. He had to get help. He needed his team here. Now.

He fumbled for his phone, almost dropping it with how slick his fingers were. Blood, sweat, oil, he didn’t even know. His hands were still shaking, panic setting in. A thousand thoughts ran through his mind, but somehow he managed to hit Buck’s name in the contact list.

Eddie pressed the phone to his ear, pacing in small, frantic circles like he could outrun the panic crawling up his spine. “Come on, come on, pick up, please.” he whispered. 

First ring. Second ring. Third ring.

He was sure the next thing he was going to hear was the voicemail of Buck. But then he heard his best friend's voice through the phone. “Eddie?” he spoke on the other side of the line, his voice loud compared with the sirens on the background.

Silence. 

“Eddie? Hey, can you hear me?”

Still nothing.

Just static, and something… shallow. Breathing. Shaky. Ragged. Like someone was gasping through tears, like someone was trying not to fall apart. Buck’s stomach dropped.

“Eddie? Talk to me, man. What’s going on?” He knew Eddie was on the other side of the phone. This wasn’t just some butt dial. But the sounds through the phone.. He just knew something wasn’t right. 

More silence. A soft thud. A crackle of air. The faintest sound of someone moving and still no words.

Eddie didn’t know what was happening. He wanted to say so much, but simply couldn’t get the words out. 

“Eddie?”

There was a pause… and then, finally, a single, broken word finally came out of his mouth. “…Buck.” The sound of it… raw and strained.

“Jesus. What happened? Are you okay? Where are you? Is Chris okay?” Buck asked. 

A beat of hesitation.

“Not Chris,” Eddie finally managed to bring out, his voice catching in his throat. “It’s- (Y/n).” The name barely made it out. “We were driving. She…” He choked again.

The words were there, but they just wouldn’t come out. His chest felt too tight, like the panic was caving in from all sides, pressing down until nothing made sense except the urge to do something.

“She’s not moving. Buck, I can’t get the door open. There’s- there’s metal through her side, I think- I think it went all the way through-” he rattled.

“Okay, hey,” Buck cut in, trying to keep his voice steady even though his own heart had started to pound. “You’re doing great. We’re already en route. Bobby said it was a multi-car pileup- are you on the 405?” Buck then asked. 

“Yes- yeah,” Eddie stammered, breath catching again as he glanced back at her. “She’s bleeding. A lot. And I- I can’t get her out. I tried. The door’s stuck. She’s not- she hasn’t opened her eyes.” Eddie continued as he ran a hand through his hair. 

His voice cracked, and for a second, Buck could hear the weight of everything Eddie was holding back. The fear, the helplessness, the sheer horror of watching the person he loved bleed out in front of him. And the worst part? He couldn’t fix it. Not without the right tools. 

“You don’t have to get her out,” Buck said firmly. “You know that, Eddie. We’ve got the jaws. We’ll get her. You just stay with her. Don’t move her. Keep talking to her. Keep her grounded, okay?”

“I can’t lose her.” Eddie’s voice broke entirely now, soft cries sounding through the phone. “Buck, I can’t—she’s all banged up and it’s bad, and she hasn’t said a word-”

“You’re not gonna lose her,” Buck said, instantly cutting off Eddie, his voice direct. “You hear me? You are not losing her. We are minutes out. I just need you to hang on.” Eddie nodded, he needed to keep hope. His jaw clenched as he wiped at his face, smearing blood and tears alike.

“She’s gonna be okay,” Buck said again, steady. They hung up before they could share another word. Eddie swallowed hard and crouched lower to the shattered window, brushing a shaking hand over (Y/n)’s cheek.

“I’m here, sweetheart,” he whispered. “You stay with me. Just stay with me.”

Eddie was still crouched at her side, the glass from the passenger side window that had shattered cutting into his knees, his hands covered in blood, sweat and oil. His fingers brushed her cheek again. “Hey... hey, (Y/n) help is on the way..” he whispered, voice shaking. “You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing, okay?”

For the first time she gave some sign of life. (Y/n) let out a weak groan as her lashes slightly stick against the blood on her skin. Her body was limp but trembling. The twisted metal of the car door pressed in cruelly against her torso, and that goddamn jagged piece of steel impaled through her side made Eddie feel like he couldn’t breathe.

His lungs pulled in air, but it wasn’t enough. It didn’t reach his chest.

Then the sirens hit the scene, rushing toward them like a wave. But Eddie didn’t feel any relief. His mind was stuck in static. Everything was noise except her.

“Almost there,” he murmured as another groan left (Y/n)’s lips. 

The flashing lights painted his face red and blue as the truck of the 118 came to a stop nearby. He heard Buck’s voice calling out to him but Eddie didn’t respond. He couldn’t pull himself away from her.

“Eddie!” Buck ran to his side. “Hey—Eddie, are you okay?” Buck asked as he saw the status of Eddie. His best friend looked like he came straight from the battlefield. Parts of his body were covered in blood and sweat. 

But Eddie didn’t answer his words. Couldn’t. Eddie’s jaw clenched as he stared down at her. His hands were shaking so badly now he had to clench them into fists just to stop.

“She’s- she’s not responding like before,” he finally stumbled. “She was... I don’t know if it hit an organ- there’s too much blood.” he choked out the sentences. Buck placed a steady hand on Eddie’s shoulder, grounding him. “Hen’s going to check her, Chim is already getting the stabilization.We’ve got it.” But Eddie couldn’t move, it was like his legs were cemented down to this part of the 705. 

It wasn’t until Bobby stepped forward and gently said, “We need to get her out, Eddie. Let them work,” that made him back off. He rose stiffly, his limbs roaring in pain. But he didn’t feel any of it. Not really. His eyes flicked toward the wreckage down the road, and that’s when he saw it.

The other car.

The man inside was still behind the wheel, upright. Still breathing. Not a single drop of blood on him.

Something twisted in Eddie’s gut and it made his blood boil. That was him. The guy who hit them. The guy who almost killed them. The guy who almost killed her. 

His breathing quickened, and his fists clenched. Bobby noticed the shift in Eddie’s posture instantly as he guided him a bit back so Bobby’s team could do their job. “Hey,” Bobby said carefully. “Eddie, don’t. I know what you’re thinking.”

“You don’t,” Eddie said, voice low and still shaking. “You don’t know.” he added. “I do,” Bobby stepped between him and the wreck. “But now is not the time.” he continued, trying to help Eddie take his mind off whatever he was planning on doing. 

“He was drunk.” Eddie’s voice cracked. “He hit her side. He aimed for her, Bobby. He- he almost…” Eddie stopped, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white.

“I know,” Bobby said gently. “But let the cops handle it. Let the system do what it’s supposed to do.” his captain advised. 

But that wasn’t good enough. Not for Eddie. Not when he could still hear her gasping for air in the background. Not when her blood was drying on his palms.

Bobby turned to give an order to Chim, just for a moment. One small silly second. And that’s all it took. “Eddie!” Bobby called, alarmed, but it was too late.

Eddie broke into a walk straight toward the black car, determined. He didn’t think. Didn’t plan. “Eddie!” Bobby called, alarmed, but it was too late. Eddie was already there. He ripped the car door open and grabbed the man by his jacket, yanking him out of the car. 

“You almost killed her!” Eddie roared, his voice cracking. He slammed the man into the side of his car. The man stammered, but Eddie didn’t hear him. His vision tunneled, fists tightening.

“You ran us off the road like her life meant nothing! Like we meant nothing!” He shoved the guy again, harder this time. 

The drunk man started to mumble something, maybe an apology, maybe just nonsense. But Eddie’s hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of his shirt.

“If she dies,” he snarled, eyes burning with something feral, “if she doesn’t wake up… I swear to God…” he gasped.  “Eddie!” Buck’s voice rang through the tension, closer now.

“-I’ll make sure you never forget what you did.” The man groaned, reeking of alcohol. Eddie raised a fist. Muscles tight, the urge burning in his veins like gasoline ready to ignite.

Buck’s voice hit him like a wave. He was running full speed, eyes wide and panicked. “Eddie, stop!” Buck sounded. But Eddie didn’t stop. Buck lunged and wrapped both arms around his friend, pulling him back with everything he had. “Don’t do this!” Buck shouted as he let go of Eddie when he started to wrestle himself out of Buck’s grip. Buck stood between Eddie and the drunk driver, trying to keep his best friend away from the man. “You lay a hand on him, and you’re the one in cuffs!” he continued as he came closer to Eddie. 

Eddie’s eyes were wild, there was a fire within his eyes. “She could die! He did this! He was drinking-” he choked out the words, stumbling over each one of them. “I know, I know,” Buck said, voice cracking. “But you don’t get to make it right by losing yourself, Eddie.” 

Eddie went still, chest heaving, hands trembling at his sides.

“She needs you, Eddie.” Buck said softer now. “She needs you there. Not behind bars. There. Holding her hand. You think she wants to wake up and not see you?” Buck continued. 

Eddie’s throat burned. He looked back toward the ambulance where Hen was still working on (Y/n), her hand twitching slightly like she was reaching for someone who wasn’t there. The fight drained out of him all at once.

He looked over Buck’s shoulder for a second. “You’re lucky he’s here.” he hissed at the man, disgust curling his lip. And with those words, he walked away from the man. 

- 

The waiting room was too quiet. Not the kind of silence that brought peace. Eddie’s hands were trembling. He had his elbows on his knees, head bowed forward, eyes fixed on the floor tiles like they held answers he craved for so badly. But they didn’t. Nothing did.

Blood had dried on his knuckles, tracing over cuts that still had some slivers of glass in it. His palms were raw, his knees bruised and scraped. There was blood caked on his pants, his arms, and somewhere under all of it, a dull, throbbing pain in his ribs from where the seatbelt had clenched around him. But none of that mattered. 

A gentle voice broke through the silence of the waiting room. “Eddie.” But he didn’t look up. “Hey,” the voice said again, softer now. A second later, a cool plastic bottle of water was pressed lightly into his hand. “Here. Just… take a sip, alright?” Buck’s voice sounded.

Eddie blinked slowly, like the water had just appeared out of nowhere. He looked down at it, then his fingers curled around it. But he didn’t drink the water. He just held it in his hand, letting condensation spread across the small cuts in his hand.

Buck sat down beside him, not saying anything for a moment.

“You need to get checked out,” he finally broke the silence. “You’re still bleeding.” he added as he looked at his broken, best friend. “I’m fine.” Eddie said, not even looking at him. His voice was low, almost toneless. 

“No, you’re not. And it’s okay not to be. But she wouldn't want to see you like this.” Buck said. Making Eddie’s grip tighten on the bottle. He swallowed hard against whatever emotion was creeping up his chest. 

“I keep seeing her…  the way her eyes rolled back, the blood… I didn’t know if—” He finally said, his voice cracked, and he stopped talking.

Buck leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, mirroring Eddie’s posture. “You were in the crash too, man,” Buck said quietly as he kept his eyes locked on the side profile of Eddie. “You’ve got glass in your hands and probably your knees. You’re still bleeding from your eyebrow, and I’m pretty sure your ribs are messed up.”

Eddie didn’t respond, just stared at the water bottle like it was the only thing holding him together.

“She wouldn’t want you sitting here, hurting. Torturing yourself. You know that, right?” Buck continued. “She wants you okay. She wants to wake up and see you okay.”

Eddie exhaled, a sound that was half a sigh, half a choked breath. He brought the water to his lips with a shaky hand and took one slow sip.  “Let the nurses take a look at you,” Buck said gently. “Just a quick check. Get stitched up. Sit down somewhere where they can actually help you, not just... watch you fall apart in a waiting room.” Buck advised him.

Eddie hesitated. Then nodded. Not for himself, but because she would want him to.

Buck stood with him, steadying him as he swayed slightly on his feet, and walked him down the hallway toward an exam room. Eddie didn’t ask questions. Didn’t protest this time. But the whole way down the hall, while he had the water bottle still clutched in his hand. He kept looking over his shoulder… waiting for someone, anyone to come out of those double doors.

The moment one of the nurses came into the room where Eddie was being treated, and told him (Y/n) was out of surgery, he was up and already speed walking through the hallway. He just needed to see her.

Eddie opened the door to the hospital room, and stepped inside. The room was still dim, the blinds drawn to keep the harsh sunlight out. The steady beep of the heart monitor and the hum of the IV were the only sounds aside from the soft conversations of nurses outside the door.

When he stepped into her room, everything else fell away.

His eyes locked onto her. Her nose cannula was gently in place. There were IV lines, bandages, bruises, and her left arm was immobilized, but her chest was rising. Steady.

Eddie’s steps were slow, cautious, like approaching a dream he was terrified might disappear if he touched it. He reached her bedside, eyes locked on her face, pale, a little swollen, but hers.

Her eyes blinked open slowly, heavy from meds but not as foggy as before. She squinted up at him, throat dry as hell when she croaked “Eddie?” Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper. 

But his whole body sank beside her, one hand carefully finding hers, mindful of her IVs and bruises. “Yeah, baby. I’m here.” he whispered, brushing his thumb over the skin, letting her know he was there. 

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re okay?” He let out a breath, part laugh, part sob. “You’re asking me?” he said as he placed his other hand on top of her head. 

“You were bleeding,” she whispered, eyes already drooping again. Eddie brushed her hair back gently, thumb grazing her temple. “I’m fine,” he said softly. “A few scratches. Nothing like you.”

She tried to smile, but it hurt, and her face tightened. Eddie kissed her knuckles instead. “You look like hell.” She said then, the look in her eyes was more clear and present now. 

Eddie snorted through a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Yeah? You should see the other guy.” he answered as a smile was projected onto his face. 

“I did. They wheeled him past, but I’m pretty sure he threw up on a nurse.” she said. “That’s fair,” Eddie muttered, letting his hand drag down his face for a second, exhausted. “I almost did too. Right before I saw all that blood, the metal rod went through my side and thought my soul was leaving my body.” she admitted. 

Eddie was smiling now. He was tired, relieved, and entirely too in love. “You know,” he said, gently brushing her hand with his thumb, “You scared the hell out of me,” he said, his voice thick. “Don’t ever do that again.”

“Well, I’m sorry. I didn’t plan to get hit by a car.” she mumbled, words slurred with the meds.

He let out a broken laugh, eyes brimming now. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He bowed his head toward their joined hands, pressing her fingers to his lips like a prayer.

She turned her head slightly, eyes softer now. “You okay?” she asked when she looked him in the eyes for a moment. 

He let out a trembling sigh, but eventually nodded. “I am now.” he said softly. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “But I mean it. Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

[naffeclipse]

Brain Damage

Reader x Sebastian Solace

Commission Info

Thank you so much to @o-cinnamonstickz for requesting the hot fish we've both been obsessing over for a hot minute! After a blow to the head, the reader wakes up in none other than the merchant's arms, and he has a few things to check before he'll allow you to continue on. You know, just friendly fish shopkeeper things!

Content Warnings: Injuries. Violence. Mentions of gore.

———

Pain draws you out of the darkness you were so sweetly nestled in. A blunt ache furiously pulses in your right temple, demanding attention. A groan slips from you. You weakly writhe and arms tighten around you. 

A thrum works in your ears, blending into a monotonous buzz before your consciousness begins to splice the noises. A thick stream of water falling in a dull roar. The constant echo of something just beyond the walls and doors, someone screaming or turrets firing. You never did like to focus on those.

A voice springs into your awareness. Lowered into a hiss, it slithers against the edges of your consciousness in a familiar timbre.

“Wake up.” Two firm hands shake your shoulders and you whine. “That’s it, come on. Wake up.”

“Leave me alone,” you mewl. You try to twist away and kick out your feet but a heaviness surrounds you. The sharp pressure points of claws dig into your flesh. You stop at once.

“Not a chance,” the voice chuckles.

The pain persists, and you’re forced to crack open your eyes. A light blue face blurs against the gray facility walls—the north side is ripped out completely. A burst pipe sends a waterfall down into the darkness. The ground is cool but you’re propped up on something solid but slick. One arm slips away from you. Three glowing eyes pierce through the haze of your vision. 

Sebastian?

A few seconds trickle by as your vision focuses on the sharp-tooth grin looming over you. The fluorescent lights are pale, sterile, and cold. Sebastian’s angular fish lure is warm and yellow and soft, dangling above you as his eyes hungrily sweep over your person. 

You didn’t think he ever left his safe room. Of course, he does, but you didn’t know he’d leave it for you.

You grunt as another wave of pain taps into your skull. The blunt ache chisels away at your concentration as if someone with a vendetta and a hammer decided to open up your head. 

“Welcome back.” Sebastian pulls away slightly. He sweeps back his dark hair from his face, and his eyes squint slightly in concentration. In a harsher tone, he commands, “Hold still. Stop squirming.”

“I’m not,” you mutter, but your defiance echoes childishly. You wince and aggravate the pain in your skull.

Sebastian smirks. A smugness decorates his inhuman face as he leans closer. A spark of indignation burns through you but it dies as quickly as it flares. 

Okay, fine. You stop trying to escape from your position, caught against his tail and where he hovers over you. His hands pin down your shoulders. Bulky sensations of packs are tucked behind your shoulders, propping you up in a manner of really, really awful pillows. Slowly, you huff, blowing a piece of hair out of your face.

“There, now is that so hard?” he purrs condescendingly, eyes impish and superior. “You should be a lot more grateful for help, friend.”

Sucking in a sharp breath, your eyes narrow into slits sharp enough to form daggers at the merchant who so decidedly has you in his grasp. 

Through gritted teeth, you ask, “What are you doing here?”

His mouth quirks at one corner. You stare as he lifts a hand from your shoulder to brush your hair up your forehead, exposing the side of your face currently engulfed in pain. His large palm settles delicately above your head wound. Your flesh prickles at the slightest graze of his claws over your scalp, triggering a sensitive input of nerves down your neck that nearly causes you to squirm again.

“I was going to scavenge a few things off of your corpse. Lucky for you, you’re not dead.” His glowing eyes hold your gaze. “What happened? I found you unconscious on the floor.”

“Uh, yeah, that,” you draw out slowly.

Sebastian drums his other hand’s claws along your shoulder, his expression shifting into displeasure or suspicion. You’re not certain.

Your attention shifts. Memory ripples with waves of pain, but you drag a hand through your murky recollection. 

You were walking through a dark room. There were two doors, each with glowing number signs. One held a slight static, but it was closer. You didn’t think anything of it—the facility is compromised in every way, so why not the screens as well? But that was your mistake.

“It was a fake door,” you sigh deeply. “I didn’t know Good People was behind it.”

Sebastian’s stare could pin you to the floor like a bug and write your classification as “stupid.” To your dismay, you can’t rebuttal him.

“You didn’t check to hear if there was growling or breathing?” His voice is so sharp and abysmal with judgment, you flinch. The thick, corded muscles of his tail tense around you. 

“I… I…” you murmur, a heat filling your cheekbones, but you're stalling. Did you check?

It was a blur. You shoved the door open only to freeze at the sight of a red mass of viscera. It moved. A smiling white mask snapped in your direction and three large claws on the end of its three-fingered hand struck, knocking you off your feet and backwards. Your temple hit the ground with a solid whack that reverberated within you.

Darkness rushed into your vision. You remember the slam of the door, the inhuman growl, and then the slight smell of fish.

Sebastian’s hands flex along you. He lowers himself closer, face to face. You try to lean away but his thick serpentine body prevents you from regaining any more precious space.

“What do you remember?” His glowing gaze flashes from one eye to the other, peering into them so deeply, you fear what he’ll find. “Do you have trouble recalling anything else? Concentrate on me.” 

“What? No,” you stubbornly shake your head but his palm grips your skull and holds you still. You only achieve a strain on your neck. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“What’s my name?” he asks firmly. His anglerfish lure slips into view, dusting your face in its soft yellow glow. You squint against its proximity. 

You growl under your breath. “Sebastian. Are you happy now?”

He nods. “Yes, that’s my name.” But there’s no joy spilling over his expression now that you’ve uttered what he wanted to hear.

Between the hand gripping your head and the one holding your shoulder, he has you secure like a mouse in the mouth of a cat. You curse as his third arm, slightly smaller than the other two, reaches for your face.

“Open your eyes wide.”

On a reflex of spite, you nearly close them, but the nature of his questions finally slots into place in your pain-riddled mind.

“Oh, please, I don’t have a concussion.” You would roll your eyes but you’re a bit preoccupied with how his hand cups the side of your face.

“You were bleeding and unconscious when I found you,” he retorts. Sebastian’s claws frame the socket of your eye, pressing into your skin to hold your eyelids up. “Open your eyes wide. Let me watch the dilation and then I can see if all of your complaining is due to true brain damage.”

A seething retort sits behind your teeth but your muscles draw taut under his cool skin and wicked talons only centimeters from your precious vision. 

Willingly, you allow him to draw his anglerfish lure back and forth in front of you, into your view, and back out. In the time you’re trapped under his diagnostics, you study him in return. His eyes are wide and bright, unnatural for humans but they refract like fish caught in a flash of a camera in the abysmal depths of the sea. His teeth are razor-sharp. Frills stick out between the locks of his hair in place of ears. You feel the slight wiggle of his tail behind you, his flukes flipping in the slightest while in his concentration. 

“At least your mind seems mostly intact,” he hums. His hand falls from your face and you blink at last. “So you just can’t remember because you weren’t thinking, were you?”

“Can it, tuna fish,” you huff. “I just want to sleep this off and be on my merry way.”

His tail coils slightly tight against your back. You glance down to his shiny scales intercut with belts and straps of pouches from where he stuffs the goods he pillages from around the facility.

“I’m afraid you can’t sleep. Not for the time being,” he muses as he draws his claws over your scalp to cradle the back of your head. “Unless you’d like to never wake up again.”

“And you’re going to keep me awake?” you breathe, exasperated. “I’m not bleeding anymore and—wait, how did you find me?” 

Now you skew you with a look, your brow furrowing with a splash of hurt along your temple. Sebastian shifts in the slightest, caught off guard in a way you haven’t seen the saboteur before. His claws curl.

“Just a little tracking device. No big deal.” 

Your eyes widen, furious beyond words. You lift your hands to shove him away from you, but he catches your wrists. You try to get to your feet but his strength easily overwhelms your own, and he firmly keeps you pressed against his tail. 

“You put a tracking device on me! Of course, you did—I’m not even surprised!” you snarl. “Where is it?”

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” he grins. 

You clench your fists. Your hands are so small, balled up above his three-fingered hand shackles. He reminds you how tiny you are underneath him. 

The tracking device has to be on your air canisters. You would have felt it on your clothes. 

“Why did you put a tracker on me?” you demand, almost thrashing while pain pulses in your temple. You feel rabid like you want to bite him. Could you? Probably, but you have a gut feeling he’d throw you over the ledge if you did.

His grin remains unchanging despite the slight twitch at the end of his tail. “Like I said, I was going to scavenge a few things off of your corpse.”

A bonfire ignites within you. You can hardly snap your teeth as heat fills your mouth.

“I’m going to smoke you and dip you in tartar sauce.” You test his grip but he holds firm, and you remain trapped. “Let me go!”

“If you want to take a nap and never wake up, be my guest,” he hisses, the sound curling in your eardrums and sending a shudder through your body. He presses closer, each sharp tooth in his maw on full display. “But if you don’t want to pay the ferryman, I suggest letting me help you, friend.”

You hold his unyielding gaze, licks of furious flames still eating away at your ribs. There’s logic in his argument. Though you’re not so sure why he’s offering to help you without a price tag attached. He’s helped you, yes, allowed you to buy some of his scavenged goods, and told you to be careful, but this seems to be more than a merchant’s role. Can you refuse his offer? You may very well be concussed. And if you die, do you want to spare a coin for the ferryman?

Slowly, you breathe out.

“Fine,” you jerk your chin at his hands still engulfing your arms. “Give me back my hands. I’m not going anywhere.”

“I thought so,” his smugness is not much better than a fire poker stirring up your rage. A chuckle rolls out of his mouth. 

His large hands unfurl, releasing you, and you cross your arms over your chest with a scoff. You smell the slight scent of salt-like sweat and the musk of fish. You wonder how long his essence will stick to your skin. Sebastian settles back onto his tail, still close to hovering over you, but no longer bursting your bubble with his three hands.

You froth with rage. Sitting in the crook of his tail, propped up, almost child-like in your pouting, you search for barbs with which to spur Sebastian, and you do not come up empty-handed.

“I used most of the stuff I bought off of you,” you announce, baring your teeth in something that could be a smile were it not for the internal fire you’re still fueling. “You would have gone to a lot of trouble just for a broken flashlight and one flash beacon—oh, wait. I forgot. You love flash beacons, don’t you?”

His scowl could curdle your blood, but he shifts, jostling you slightly and causing the wound in your temple to pound. You lift a hand to it, cursing under your breath. Growling low under his breath, he leans forward and sweeps a few locks of your hair back to study where you hit your head against the floor. You hold still at his touch.

“At least I’m not the idiot who chose the door that had the Good People behind it.” He hisses quietly under his breath, mumbling something more; most likely more insults while he studies your wound. “Keep talking. We’re going to be here a while and I will keep you awake.”

Your arms slowly loosen from around you. Sebastian reclines, resting his face in his hand as he remains draped around you, a coil of safety against the dangers and unknowns of the facility.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you mutter, but give a nod of agreement.

[painted-flag]

PROTECTION - geta and caracalla

₊˚⊹♡ with an attempt on your life, the emperors become increasingly paranoid and protective. ₊˚⊹ emperor geta x fem!reader x emperor caracalla ₊˚⊹ masterlist. ₊˚⊹ based on this request. (3.8k words)

The tremors in your hands had almost entirely subsided, only flinching slightly with each loud movement. To say the atmosphere in your room was tense would be an understatement. The entire palace was frozen with uncertainty and fear. You sat in a chair with one of your arms resting on the table next to you. The only other people in the room were the healer tending to the gash on your arm and a few guards, including the head of security for the palace. 

There was not a sound other than the healer muttering to himself as he stitched up your wound. Your other hand reached for poppy milk and took another swig of it to distract from the pain of a needle closing your wound. It seemed as though no amount of pain relief would help with your predicament. 

Only a short hour ago had you fended off an assailant. For whatever reason, as you were spending a portion of the afternoon in your chambers, a cloaked figure snuck in and tried to kill you. You had been raking your brain for any possible answer, but the only definitive one would be the simple fact: you were both the emperor’s lover. You could remember Geta and Caracalla speaking to you about safety regarding your relationship with them, but never for a moment did you ever think it would come close to this. 

It was terrifying and everywhere you looked you would think a threat would be there. Geta and Caracalla were at the senate for some proceedings that were scheduled to take place for the whole afternoon. They had only been gone for a little over an hour when the assassin had snuck into your chambers. 

Your eyes scanned back to the five guards. One on the end, a lower guard, was the only one who had blood on him. He had been the one to hear your shouts as you fended off the attacker and had come to your rescue. You did not know his name, but wanted to thank him for his efforts. 

Another drive of the needle had you flinching in pain. However, you could hear the sound of thundering footsteps through the hall outside your door. The doors were pushed open furiously, both reeling back and hitting the wall; any harder and you were sure they would have broken. Geta and Caracalla stood before you, chests heaving equally and eyes with the same reflection of worry as they scanned the room. Seeing you off to the side, they surged forward. The guards and healer kept silent, aware of the coming storm. 

Yet, there seemed to be nothing loud. No, the emperors came beside your chair with a simmering rage. Geta knelt and took your free hand in his while his eyes scanned your body for other injuries. Caracalla stood with a free hand holding your jaw, his thumb swiping soothing back and forth across your chin. 

“Are you alright?” Geta’s soft voice broke the tension. He was unusually calm, simmering with something dark under the surface. Caracalla was the same, straight posture and calm. 

It somehow unsettled you more than if they were lashing out. 

“I’m okay, truly,” You gave them both a faint smile, “Only a little scratched up.” 

“A little scratched up?” Caracalla spoke. His shoulders rose up and down with each restrained breath. His vision cast down to the healer who was stitching the large gash on your arm. “This is a little scratched up?”  

“Brother.” Geta sent a warning glance his way, but it went ignored. 

Caracalla turned to the guards before him. You could hear him take in a large inhale of air as if trying to cool the burning fire that crackled within. You exchanged a wary look with Geta, unsure if something would trigger another one of his episodes. It hurt to see him in such a state.

“You,” Caracalla addressed the head palace guard, “You have a few seconds to explain why our lady was hurt under your watch or I will gut you right here.” 

The guard's face contorted into both confusion and terror, but he choked it back, “The assassin has been subdued and is locked up, Caesar.”

“Locked up? Good… good. He is not dead yet.” Caracalla turned back to you, or more precisely, your wounded arm laid out on the table, “But you have not explained to me why she is sitting there with a needle piercing her arm.”

“Yes,” Geta chimed in. He stood up but still held your hand, “Do tell us how she was harmed under your watch,” 

The head guard looked from emperor to emperor. A bead of sweat was visible on his temple next to a prominent vein. The healer tied off the stitching and you hissed under your breath. The sudden movement pulled you away from the tension in the room. The healer began to wipe the last of the dried blood around the wound. 

“Caesars, the guard does not account for the protection of palace maids and–”

“What did you say?” Geta interrupted. The brothers exchanged glances. You knew immediately that this situation was quickly becoming dire. The guard had called you a maid. While that was your previous job, you had been relieved of your duties many moons ago after the emperors became enamoured with you. 

“Caesar, I–” The man gulped. 

“Give me your sword.” Caracalla’s tone was one you knew well. It was the same level of cadence that would come over him before he lashed out. Geta sensed the same thing and moved to stand beside his brother. 

“Caesar?” The man questioned. 

“Give me your sword so I may gut you with it!” Caracalla lunged forward, attempting to beat the guard with nothing but his bare hands, but was caught at the waist by Geta who held him back. 

“Say that about her again! I’ll fucking crucify you!” Geta struggled to hold his brother back. Caracalla was inconsolable, only intending to exact what he thought was just by gutting the man who uttered a single word against you. Geta secretly wished to unleash his brother on the guard but knew it would only cause more of a scene of distress in front of you which was not needed. 

The healer made quick work of wrapping your arm in bandages. You thanked him quickly and dismissed him from the room. Caracalla was still fighting back against his brother’s hold when you decided that it was all enough. 

“Stop! Do not hurt him.” You yelled as you stood from your chair. Almost instantly, Caracalla’s body went limp and the twins turned to you like you had said something utterly insane. 

“This man’s negligence has led to your near death. You cannot possibly think that we will let him get away with it.” Geta spoke. You let out a long breath and walked up to them. 

Lowering your voice, you spoke again, “I am aware, but I no longer wish to see any more violence for today.” 

“But–” Caracalla moved to argue, but you silenced him with a look. You turned back to the five guards and hoped that they would listen to your instruction, given that you were technically not a ranking member of the palace. 

“You three, escort him to the dungeons so he may wait out proper punishment for his negligence. He may not have thought of the safety of the maids, but an assassin got in here regardless and could have very well gone for our emperors.” Your words were met with action. They followed your instructions and seized the head guard. He tried to plead and beg his case, but you ignored it as he was dragged out of the room. There was one final guard who stood standing in front of you and the twins. 

“What is your name?” You asked the man. He was older than the other guards, coming up on the precipice of life if the white hairs he sported were any indication. 

“Theocles, my lady.” He answered. 

“I thank you, Theocles. Without your quick acting to come to my aid I would likely be dead.” At the mention of your possible death, the twins that stood at both of your sides tensed. 

“I am happy to be of service, my lady,” He smiled gently and for a brief moment it reminded you of the warm welcoming face of a grandfather. 

“We thank you as well, Theocles, for saving our lady,” Geta spoke up. Caracalla was still nerved beside you, unable to speak as he recovered from his outburst. His hands gripped your right hand as if clinging to your presence. The weight of what nearly happened to you was only now completely sinking in. 

“I am simply a servant of the empire, Caesar. I humbly apologize for our negligence. The intruder should have never made it past the gates.” He seemed genuinely upset at this incident, having taken pride in his work. 

“Yes, it never should have happened,” Caracalla muttered angrily. His gaze stayed locked on your hand as he drew shapes onto your palm. 

“You are dismissed for the day to recuperate from your efforts,” Geta said. Theocles nodded and bowed before walking out of the room and shutting the doors after him. It left the three of you alone. Caracalla looked over your face again before moving closer and burying his head in your chest. Geta stood behind you with his chin on your shoulder. 

There was nothing but silence for a few minutes. The weight of tension in the room slowly lowered. You could hear nothing but their calm and steady breaths. 

“You will be guarded every hour,” Geta mumbled as his lips brushed over your neck, “No less than ten praetorians.”

“Ten?” You were shocked by the proposition. Geta’s arms that were wrapped around your waist, just above Caracalla’s arms, tightened. 

“A whole legion,” Caracalla mumbled into the skin of your chest. 

“Surely they have more duties in the city,” You reasoned, “Ten is too much.” 

Geta scoffed, “Ten is the minimum.” You felt that there may be an argument brewing. Ten guards was far too much and you could already feel how stifling that would be. You had gone your whole life without a single guard, not even when traversing the streets of Rome. Yet, your change of position has altered your life significantly. Still, you did not wish to be suffocated by protection. 

“Five,” You proposed. While five still felt extreme to you, it would be enough to calm their worries about your safety. 

“Ten.” Caracalla backed up his brother. 

“Five.” You were not willing to go up any further. 

“Nine,” Geta lifted his chin from your shoulder to rest his forehead against your temple. Caracalla’s hands moved under a slip in the fabric of your clothing, his hands trailing over the bare skin of your side. You could already tell that they were trying to distract you to get their way – a tactic they often employed. 

You would not back down. 

“Five.” You repeated. Geta let out a small huff. 

“Seven.” Caracalla reasoned. His hands moved to brush just above your ass. You grabbed them and moved them up further, unwilling to compromise. 

“Five.” The tone of finality in your voice made them halt their movements. It was a tense standoff, but one you knew you would win. If there was one thing that challenged their selfish tendencies, it would be their need for validation from you. 

After a few moments, they both relented. 

“Five it is then,” Geta answered.

You should have known that Geta and Caracalla would become more paranoid. It was inevitable. What started as five guards gradually morphed into twenty over two months. Five surrounded you at all times, escorting you wherever you wished to go. The other fifteen blended in the background. They were at a distance, acting as though they were not watching over you, but they were and you could tell. 

Other measures were drawn up to protect you. On your trips to the market, there would be a collective of guards patrolling the streets more heavily than normal – all under the guise of collecting taxes from stall owners. You knew it was specific instructions from Geta and Caracalla, but chose to not say anything. You thought it would end eventually, but had been wrong. 

It all came to a head one afternoon as you walked about the gardens. The heavy clanging of Theocles’ armour disturbed the gentle chatter of birds that flew from fruit tree to fruit tree. It was a grating sound, but it compounded more when you were able to tune into the sounds of other guards a few paces behind Theocles. The day after your attack, he had been named as your personal guard. 

It was the only benefit to your situation that was starting to feel more like imprisonment. Theocles was like a grandfather, protective but funny. He took the job seriously but still relaxed when he needed to in order to cheer you up. However, on this day, you had become particularly irritated. 

You halted, which was met by the guards behind you also stopping. You took large breaths to calm yourself before turning around. 

“Theocles,” You spoke, “Do you know where the emperors are?” 

“To my knowledge, they are in their study, my lady,” He answered. You nodded gratefully and changed directions from where you had originally been walking. 

You moved with a purpose through the halls of the palace, your anger brewing. This place was once a paradise for you, where you could spend your days relaxing and relishing in the company of your lovers. Now, it had become nothing but a gilded cage that shrunk each day, moving to suffocate you. 

The doors to their study came into view and you stopped to speak to your guards. 

“You are to stay out here.” You instructed. 

“My lady, we are instructed to never let you leave from our sight,” Theocles answered. 

“Believe me, with my anger right now, nobody should wish to cross me. Despite that, the emperors would protect me from anything. Now, do you wish to be present in what will likely be a very uncomfortable conversation for you to witness?” You crossed your arms and tapped your right foot against the stone flooring as you waited for an answer. 

After a momentary pause, Theocles answered, “We shall wait for you, my lady.” 

You nodded before he opened the door for you to walk in, closing it when you got in. The emperor's study was an open room with floor-to-ceiling shelves full of carved bronze records, waxed tablets, and sheets of papyrus. There were two desks placed a few feet away from the other with Geta and Caracalla staring down at their work. Geta’s desk was clean and organized, while Caracalla’s represented the whirlwind of his personality. 

When you walked in, they did not look up at you. Dondas, who was perched on Caracalla’s desk eating some pieces of fruit spotted you and chittered in delight. He jumped off of the desk and ran to you, crawling up your leg and torso to perch on your shoulder. For a brief moment, his presence cheered your angered thoughts. 

Caracalla looked up when his friend left and his face lit up upon seeing you. 

“My love,” He spoke, which gained Geta’s attention and he too looked up to see you. However, both their smiles faltered slightly upon seeing the grim look on your face. You scratched Dondas’ chin and placed him on a cushy chair so he would not have to be near you when you inevitably started to shout. 

“I’ve had enough.” You said. 

“Enough?” Geta asked. 

“Enough of the constant watch. I know you wish to protect me but there is a limit to what a person can endure.” You walked up to stand in front of their desks. 

“It is for your own good–” Caracalla began to reason but you scoffed to interrupt him. 

“My own good? It has been two months, yet every day there is something new. Another guard, more patrols, you have even gotten a fourth poison tester for my food! As if one was not enough!” You threw your arms out as if that would help to enunciate your words. The frustration you had been feeling for weeks had boiled over into an explosive reactive mess. 

“All to keep you safe,” Geta stood from his chair, moved to you and reached out to wrap you in his arms. You backed away from his hold. You would not allow any of them to try and sugar their words to get you to accept the situation. 

“Do you not think I haven’t noticed the other fifteen guards that are secretly following me? One does not need to be a master of arithmetic to see that is well above the ten you tried to enforce in the first place!” You argued. Caracalla and Geta exchanged a look, finally understanding that you caught on to their attempt to secretly go against their word on the original agreement of five guards. 

“Darling, we are sorry for going behind your back, but your safety is our priority. Do you think that assassin was only a one-time event?” Geta asked. Your mouth closed at that and you mulled over his words. It had been a brewing fear that you refused to admit. 

If you were to admit it to yourself, to even say it aloud, it would be real. You were no fool. You understood the threat of this city, especially towards the emperors, but you thought that you would not matter. In the eyes of the court, you were just a lover to them and nothing more. 

“I just thought that I would not matter. I do not come from a known family or the level of society you were raised in. Why bother with me?” 

Caracalla let out a giggle as he rose from his chair to approach where you stood. He was not laughing at you, but rather the absurdity of your words. 

“Why bother with you?” He mimicked your question, “You are our most precious jewel. That is why you must be protected at all costs.” His hands tugged at the loose sleeve of your dress. 

“But to the extent that you have gone to…” Your voice trailed off. 

“There can be no threats to our empress,” Geta spoke as he wrapped an arm around your waist. You could feel the cold of his rings through the thin silk fabric. That did not shock you nearly as much as how he addressed you. 

Empress…

“Empress?” You scolded, “This is not a joking conversation. I am being serious.” 

“We are as well,” Caracalla answered. His face lost all the traces of his previous amusement. You turned to Geta and saw nothing but sincerity. It felt… odd. 

“What?” You questioned. 

The two men exchanged a glance. In it, you could see they were communicating as if they had already had this conversation. Geta guided you towards his chair and had you sit down. He began to rifle through the drawers of his desk while Caracalla perched on one of the armrests. His fingers moved through your hair, brushing loose strands to go behind your ear. 

“Now may not be the most appropriate time, but we realize that it cannot be held off any longer,” Caracalla spoke to you in a hushed, calm tone. 

Geta finally found whatever he was looking for and pulled out a gold box from the desk. He turned to you and leaned against the desk. He carefully opened the box, exposing a large, intricately made gold ring adorned with large jewels. You stared at it for a moment, fully understanding what they were speaking about. Your body felt like it shut down, unable to comprehend it. 

Your mouth opened and closed multiple times as your mind was unable to come up with any response. You could not help but feel as though it was not real. 

“Is this your way of distracting from the reason I originally came here? If so, I must admit it is undeniably cruel.” You shifted in the chair as if you were going to move, but Caracalla gently pushed back on your shoulders to keep you in place. 

“My love,” Geta got down on both knees in front of you, followed by his brother, “We are serious.” 

“Be our empress?” Caracalla questioned. Your chest tightened, completely transfixed by looking back and forth between their eyes. 

“The senate… the people… they already whisper things…” There had been much disapproval of your relationship with the emperors. When the court saw that it became more serious than a concubine relationship, whispers spread of negativity – especially due to your lack of privileged upbringing. 

“Let them talk. They do not exist now. It matters what you want.” Geta reassured you. His grip on the box tightened as if he was losing control of the situation; losing hope for a positive answer. 

“I shall have more freedom and go back to five guards.” You negotiated. Both of their eyes lit up; you had given them an answer. 

“You are agreeing?” Caracalla asked. 

“I also wish for more opportunities to traverse the merchant stalls.” You added. 

“It is a yes?” Geta asked. 

Your face broke into a large grin and you nodded excitedly, “Of course, it is a yes.” Both of them seemed to let out the breaths they were holding. Caracalla instantly moved up, cupping your face with both of his hands and capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His eagerness and excitement shot through his body, being expressed through giddy jolts of his movement. 

You could feel Geta put the ring on your finger, his hands incredibly warm compared to the coolness of the metal. When Caracalla pulled away, you were met with equal fervour of a kiss from Geta. It was possessive but also gentle in a strange, uniquely his, way. 

When he pulled back, you spoke, “Do not forget the conditions I have set. I am tired of feeling like a prisoner here.” 

“No more then. You will not be a caged bird in your own home.” Geta reasoned. His brother agreed, nodding his head feverishly. Both of them were caught up in the moment, too happy to particularly care about anything but you. 

The atmosphere in the room had changed from an intense standoff to a joyous mood. You had not ever expected this outcome given your initial plan, but it was more than welcome. 

It was with great surprise to Theocles, your other guards, and servants, that you later walked out of that room with both of the emperors and a rather large ring adorning your finger.

I love these freaky gingers.

[starstrike]

Mithrun's desire as an SA analogue

TW discussion of SA and detailed breakdown of aesthetics evoking SA. The way I discuss this is vivid in a way that may be triggering, though there is no discussion of actual sexual assault. Just survivor's responses to it.

People relate to Mithrun and see his condition as an analogue for a few different things, like brain injury or depression. And I think all of them are there. But I also see Mithrun's story as an SA analogue, and Ryoko Kui intentionally evokes those aesthetics. I think it's a part of Mithrun's character that a lot of people miss, but I very much consider it text. This is partially inspired by @heird99's post on what makes this scene so disturbing; so check out their post, too :)

So to start off with, the demon invades Mithrun's bed, specifically. There's even a canopy around it, which specifically evokes this idea of personal intrusion; the barrier is being pulled apart without consent or warning. The way the hand reaches towards Mithrun's body from outside of the panel division makes it almost look like the goat stroking over his body. It's an especially creepy visual detail; similarly, the goat's right hand parts into the side of the panel as well. It's literally like it's tearing the page apart; but gently. So gently.

Mithrun is in bed. It is his bed that the demon is intruding on. He's in a position of intimacy. The woman behind him is a facsimile of his "beloved" that he left behind; the woman who, in reality, chose Mithrun's brother. He is in bed with his fantasy lover, who is leaning over him. While this scene isn't explicitly sexual, it is intimate. And it is being invaded. The goat lifts Mithrun gently, who is confused, but not yet struggling.

The erotics of consumption and violence in Ryoko Kui's work(remember that the word 'erotic' can have many different meanings, please) are a... notable part of some of her illustrations. I would say she blurs the lines between all forms of desire: personal, sexual, gustatory and carnal, in her illustrations in order to emphasize the pure desire she wants to work with and evoke to serve her themes. Kui deploys sexual imagery in a lot of places in Dungeon Meshi, and this is one of them.

In this case, horrifically. The goat's assault begins with drooling, licking, and nuzzling. The goat could be enjoying and "playing with" its food. But it can also be interpreted as it "preparing" Mithrun with its tongue as it begins to literally breach Mithrun's body. The goat also invades directly through his clothing; that adds another level of disturbing to me. There's nothing Mithrun can do in this moment of violation. Mithrun is fighting, but he is fighting weakly, trying to grip on and push away when he has no ability or option to. All he can do is beg the goat to stop. And it doesn't care. This all evokes sexual assault.

The sixth panel demonstrates a somewhat sexual position, with Mithrun's thighs spread around the goat's hunched over body. In the next, the goat pulls and holds apart Mithrun's thighs as he nuzzles into him. The way the clothing bunches up looks a bit as if it has been pushed up. It has pinned Mithrun down onto the bed, into Mithrun's soft furs and pillows. It takes a place made to be supernaturally warm and comfortable, and violates it. It's utterly and intimately horrifying. To me, this sequence of positions directly evokes a rape scene. I think Kui did this very explicitly. These references to sexual invasion are part of what makes this scene so disturbing; albeit, to many viewers, subconsciously.

This is also the moment the goat takes Mithrun's eye. Other than this, the goat seems exceptionally strong, but also... gentle. It holds Mithrun's body tightly, but moves it around slowly. It doesn't need to hurt Mithrun physically. But in that moment, it takes Mithrun's eye. Blood seeps from a wound while an orifice that should not be pierced is penetrated. This moment, the ooze of blood in one place specifically, also evokes rape. That single bit of physical gore is a very powerful bit of imagery to me.

Finally; it is Mithrun's desire that is eaten. After his assault, Mithrun can find no pleasure in things that he once did. He is fully disassociated from his emotions. This is a common response to trauma, especially in the case of SA. It's not uncommon for people to never, or take a long time to, enjoy sex in the same way again; or at all. They might feel like their rapist has robbed them of a desire and pleasure they once had. I think this makes Mithrun's lack of desire a partial analogue for the trauma of sexual assault.

Mithrun's desire for revenge was, supposedly, all that remained. Anger at his assaulter, anger at every being that was like it; though, perhaps not anger. Devotion, in a way. To his cause. I don't know. But the immediate desire to seek revenge is another response to SA. But on to Mithrun's true feelings on the matter.

This is... So incredibly tragic. Mithrun feels used up. Like his best parts have been taken away. Like he's being... tossed aside. This certainly parallels the way assault victims can feel after being left by an abuser. Or the way assault victims feel they might be "ruined" forever for other partners. These are common sentiments for survivors to carry, and need to overcome. In the text, it's almost like Mithrun feels the only being who can desire him is a demon who might "finish devouring" him. That that's his only use. It's worth noting that Mithrun trusted the demon. Mithrun's world was built by the demon, and Mithrun, in that way, was cared for by the demon. I think this reinforces Mithrun's place as a victim.

There's also something to be said about Mithrun as a victim of his own possessive romantic and sexual desire. The mirror shows him his beloved just dining with his brother, and it infuriates him. He doesn't know if the vision is real, nor if she has really chosen his brother as a romantic partner. The goat then creates a whole fantasy world where she loves him. As Mithrun's dungeon deteriorates, she is the only person that continues to exist. Mithrun continues to have control over her. And that is the strongest desire the demon is eating, isn't it? There's something interesting there, but I don't know what to say about it.

In conclusion, I think Mithrun's story is an explicit analogue for sexual assault-- though, certainly, among other things! The way the scene plays out and is composed explicitly references sexual violation and invasion of the body. His condition mirrors common trauma responses to sexual violence. And, at the end, he finally realizes he can recover.

Let's end on a happy Mithrun, after taking the first step on his journey to recovery :) You aren't vegetable scraps Mithrun. But even if you were-- every single thing in this world has value. Even vegetable scraps.

[scramblescrew]

Hey can I request uh....ancients with a y/n who finally gives up but ends up depressed? Like they usually lay there and do nothing and be basically a sad doll that needs lots of comfort?

((Sure thing, Anon! Here ya go! Sorry it took me so long! Writer’s block has been killing me

(TRIGGER WARNING FOR THEMES OF DEPRESSIVE TOPICS! IF IT IS TOO MUCH FOR YOU, PLEASE MOVE ON PAST)

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.

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Dark Cacao Cookie would start having a bit of an easier time realizing what you’re feeling. He had felt the same depressed, empty feeling when his son, Dark Choco Cookie, forced his hand and he was cast out of the kingdom.

But when he found out you were just laying in bed, usually motionless, he was concerned. He understood that you weren’t in an ideal mental state but you still needed to care for yourself.

Instead of having one of the citadel staff bringing you your rations, Dark Cacao did instead. When he unlocked the door to your chambers and entered. His heart ached even more watching you lay motionless on your bed, your chest slowly rising and falling with each breath.

“Y/N…”

DCC walked over with the food, set it down on the bedside table and sat down on the edge of the bed.

“Please understand why I had to keep you here in the citadel…the world outside of these walls would corrupt you…take what it would from you then leave you for dead. I couldn’t have that for you…I can’t lose you…!”

After a few minutes of silence, DCC sighed and laid down beside you, pulling you in close, and wrapped his arms around Y/N.

“Please know that I love you…even if in your eyes it doesn’t seem so…”

—————————————————————————

Scared. Pure Vanilla Cookie is scared when he finds to mindlessly and silently pacing the grounds of his kingdom for who knows how many hours and even more fearful when he catches up to you and you stare blankly and wordlessly at him.

His heart breaks at this as he pulls you close and hugs you.

“Let’s get you back to bed, you must be exhausted…wondering for so long isn’t good for you…”

PV helped you to your shared bedroom and let you have privacy to get changed into more comfortable clothing before helping you into bed and healing any injuries you may have gotten from your wonder.

After everything was settled down and you were physically well again, PV got into bed with you, pull you close, and started kissing your forehead and gently rubbing your back as you lay there.

“Please don’t scare me like that…I never want to see you hurt…”

_____________________________________

Hollyberry was excited when you had taken your stay in her castle, your new home, better than she had anticipated, you occupied her to events without complaint (maybe a bit of reluctance and though not very much), you started to give her small bits of affection like holding her hand and reciprocating her hugs even if you were still very reserved, but somethings were still worrying…

What she worried about was went you started having sudden outbursts of rage and berating her for getting to close. It was like flipping a switch in your brain at random and it was…SCARING your captor.

After leaving you be for a while and do research on what she could do to help you and came up with a solution.

That night she sat you down and gently hugged you, explaining that she understands that you’re going through a rough time and that she wanted to help you. She was going to set up meetings with a therapist and will let you roam the kingdom with less strict supervision. All she wanted was you to get better and to love her.

“All I want in return is your love…please give me your love, my dear…”

—————————————————————————————————————

White Lily Cookie understood… being forced to stay in a barely familiar place with someone who claims to be your lover but is actually your captor can take a toll on a cookie. So it was understandable that you would fall into a depression. One where you couldn’t sleep(understandable as White Lily Cookie made you sleep in the same bed as her), you refused food or drink much to her worry, and your memory was getting worse by the day due to the aforementioned symptoms and more.

It all came to a head one day when you…just stopped moving at all, you didn’t get outta bed, you stopped what little resistance you gave to White Lily Cookie’s attempts to give you affection. You accepted all the hugs, kisses and the cheek and forehead, accepted her cuddling you at night, everything. You just stopped responding.

After a thorough examination from a doctor that was called in (No, Pure Vanilla Cookie was not asked for help. He had his own darling to deal with), it was found out that your depression had gotten worse, to the point of you had fallen into a Catatonic state.

After this revelation, White Lily would try every day to get you to get up or even just open your eyes and look at her. But White Lily soon conceded and focused on being there for you, gently holding you close and letting you be her sad little doll…

“My sweetest doll…it’ll all be ok. Please just open your eyes..for me..?”

—————————————————————————————————————

Golden Cheese Cookie held you in her arms with her wings wrapped around your body. With what has happened to her in the past, Golden Cheese Cookie understands what it’s like to feel so empty and hopeless.

But you staying in your bed all day….something in her….BEGS…for you to get up again…

The next thing you know, you are subjected to bi-daily tests and a sarcophagus is built to hold you and keep you inside of it. It was built so only Golden Cheese Cookie could get you out if she ever wanted to.

And that was the hardest part, the easiest part was locking you inside. You didn’t really fight back like you used to, like you did when she first brought you to her kingdom. But that just meant you would be hers sooner…

Once you were in GCC’s digital kingdom, you felt the urge to get up, to walk around, to be free, much to Golden Cheese cookie’s satisfaction and joy. She once again hugged and held you close with her wings wrapped around you.

“It’ll be ok now…I’ve got you…and you’ll never want for anything, my gem…”

————————————————————————————————————

Im here this is here, it’s raw, it took forever- I need a nap (I pulled an all nighter for this request so I could get it out for you all😊) *Dies*

[ervotica]

liam mairi x reader where he literally loses it during the torture chamber over seeing her hurt

pairing; liam mairi x fem!reader

warnings; torture lol, graphic depictions of violence and injury, liam is a little unhinged (as much as a golden retriever can be) and also the best bf ever. also xaddy makes an appearance <3

a/n; for argument's sake, liam is alive and well (also for my sake bc he's my baby and i adore him) this is a little different to the plot in the books as liam isn't *technically* there during the torture chamber scene, so this diverts from the original plot. this is gonna get like 4 whole notes but idgaf because liam is taking up my entire mind atm i just want that boy to smother me in love and i can kiss his perfect face<3

Knuckles crack against the already swollen expanse of your jaw and your neck whips sideways awkwardly as blood fills your gasping mouth. Your ears ring, vision beginning to blur and blacken at the edges as Liam roars.

You can't see him for the soldiers crowding your line of vision, but the guttural sound that rips its way from his throat is unlike anything you've ever heard before. It's raw, full of untethered fury that no one would expect from a kind soul like Liam. But, then again, no one's seen the lengths he will go to to keep you safe.

"I'm fine, Li," you murmur, neck cracking as you wrench your head upright to reassure him. The swarm of bodies part somewhat, and they back against the wall; you watch him thrash against the restraints, teeth bared like a predator; it's a stark juxtaposition to his usual - docile - countenance.

“Touch her again and I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill all of you!” he bellows, voice permeating the otherwise relatively silent chamber. It cuts through you like glass, and you wince as another blow collides with your cheekbone. You feel it shatter, growling through grit teeth at your attacker.

“You have all the power here,” he croons. “Tell us what we need to know, and I’ll let you go.”

“Fuck you,” you seethe. “You really think I’ll break that easily?”

He cracks his knuckles slowly, one by one echoing through the empty room as he paces, his head tilting curiously as though he's enraptured by your resilience. “No. But he will.”

Your nostrils flare, eyes darting to where Liam’s still struggling to break himself free. His eyes are dark, cerulean replaced with black onyx as the rage consumes him.

“You underestimate us,” you say simply; your chin juts out indignantly. “We’re not telling you shit.”

Your ribs are next to break with a sickening crunch, and when you scream, the sharp yell of your boyfriend takes up all the space left in your brain. It's all you hear, all you can decipher through the thick cotton wadded into your ears, the only thing you can manage past the searing flames that set your body alight with agony. Your lids start to droop, lips parting to croak something indiscernible; and Liam's begging, pleading with you to stay conscious, but even as you gaze up at him through sticky, tear-soaked lashes, the darkness wraps its cruel fingers around your throat and you can't fend it off.

You don't know how many days it's been when your eyes peel open, glued shut with sleep. Every nerve ending in your body ignites, set aflame with pure, unrelenting excruciation. Your chest heaves and the movement triggers another cataclysmic inferno; a sob claws its way from your throat almost involuntarily, your body relying purely on survival instincts.

Xaden's standing over you in an instant, a warm palm cradled against the curve of your jaw to keep you still when you shout and thrash, trying to rid yourself of the unyielding pain that courses through your veins like liquid fire.

"Shh, shh." He's doing his best to placate you, but you're manic, eyes wide and frantic as you attempt to orientate yourself in the room.

"Liam," you croak. "Where's Liam?"

"He's okay. He's fine. I need you to stay calm, okay?" A tear slips past your clogged waterline and runs over Xaden's knuckle, his thumb following its downward path to brush it away.

"I want Liam," you wheeze, a pain that transcends physicality blooming into your aching chest. "Please."

There's a scuffle and a flash of blonde before Liam is crouching at your side, a thick fingered hand anchoring against the top of your head.

"I'm right here, my girl. You didn't think I'd leave you alone, did you?"

You shake your head vehemently despite the throbbing in your temples, your own fingers looping around his wrist to keep him close, to keep him touching you.

"It hurts, Li," you whimper, and it's the first sign of true weakness he's seen you expose in this long, painful week. You're safe to fall apart now, safe with the knowledge that he'll help you put yourself back together.

"I know. We just need to get you fixed up and you'll feel better."

He tips forward on his toes to press his cheek to yours, and the warmth of his breath tickles at the shell of your ear. His face turns, nose squishing into the soft flesh of your cheek, lips puckered in a kiss against the corner of your mouth. You feel the scab, long dried over, and the groove in his lip where it's split; when he tilts his head sideways to watch you, your eyes fix on it.

"You're hurt," you sniffle. "It's my fault."

"Oh, this old thing?" He waves you off, flippant as the tip of his finger prods at the dried skin. "Doesn't even hurt, angel. Don't you worry about me."

"I do worry about you."

You use the little strength you have left to turn on your side, tuning out Liam's abrupt protests until there'e enough room for two on the bed. He knows what you want from no more than a pleading glance.

"I can't-" he starts, and the complaints die in his throat when your fingers dig into the worn fabric of his uniform.

"I need you," you admit. His shoulders slouch in defeat.

"You promise to go to sleep?"

He lifts your tender body, propping you against a muscular forearm as he slides beneath you, and settling you between two thick thighs, your back to his chest. His warmth seeps into your pores and he feels you sag, only succumbing to the exhaustion now you know he's safe.

Fingernails scratch at your scalp and dimples crater into the centre of his cheeks when your head tilts to nuzzle deeper into the touch. The flaring pain resides to a dull - but manageable - ache.

"I'm tired," you say, muffled.

"I know, my girl." You don't miss the thrum of his pulse, the way it picks up when he catches sight of the deep bruises that mar your skin, the swelling from broken bones. He's angry.

And he's going to make them pay for this.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Blood singer, part 1

Summary: Two years passed since Y/N left Forks. Despite all odds, she meets someone new, someone who leads her straight back to Forks to face her destiny.

Warnings (be mindful of your triggers): injury, blood and death, angst, fluff, swearing, sexual content, mentions of mental health struggles, alcohol

Pairing: Jasper Hale x human!reader (blood singer), Paul Lahote x human!reader

Word count: 10k

Prologue

Blood singer - Series Masterlist

2 years later…

Y/N Y/L/N embodies a bored, wealthy girl with daddy issues, gifted by gods with a special talent for blowing through stacks of dead presidents. Growing up with the world at her feet made her spoiled and bratty, something she despised in others yet cultivated within. Some would call it hypocrisy, she'd call it vanity, and she was proud of it. 

At least that's what the gossip pages write about her.

Despite the large trust fund, Y/N never found spending money very therapeutic, not unless she could share it with those less fortunate. It was never a public affair, keeping her charitable side hush, hush just in case her family learns of what they'd see as a misdeed. She didn't see it that way.

While Y/N enjoyed pretty things, she never felt attached to any of them. In fact, she wouldn't care if it all burned by the morning. Maybe that's why she found herself at a bar, trying to find the bottom of a fine wine she paid handsomely for. She didn't even like wine, or alcohol for that matter, but her regrets have accumulated. The pressure in her chest won't relent on its own. So despite her better judgment, she finished another glass of red that most would never be able to afford. 

Is this what happiness is supposed to be? 

Money couldn't buy happiness. Not for her.

Something is missing.

For as long as she could remember, she yearned for more. She wanted love, the kind where someone would go to the moon and back just to make her smile, unafraid to make a fool of themselves in the name of love. She wanted adventure, real friends, not those who clung to her because of the “it girl” status she enjoys. Y/N could see through fake smiles, especially those sweet words spoken to her face before the same mouths trashed her behind her back. 

Sighing, she turned to the dance floor. Few men caught her eye, but one stood out. Tall, bulky, rhythmically moving despite his rigidity.

Some nights she just watched, wondering if a day would come when she could dance with someone like him without it ending up on Page Six. Tonight wasn't that night. She was too sober to abandon consequence, too drunk not to feel the weight of regret.

Turning back around, she wraps her hand around the wine glass once again. At least wine never judges her. 

"I'll have a beer!" 

She jerked at the sudden shout, noting the large man shadowing her. Glancing up, she realized it was him, the dancer who had caught her attention.

He leaned in with a charming smile, his lips brushing her earlobe.

"Wanna dance?" 

Chills raced down her spine. His presence alone is disarming and while he seems a little rough around the edges, she finds him enthralling.

Chugging the beer he ordered, a slim trail of golden fluid forms down his chin, and he's quick to wipe it with the back of his hand. Putting the empty glass on the bar, he looks at her expectantly.

"Why not?" Y/N smirks, her mouth faster than her brain. It's unwise, but she takes his hand despite rational thought forcing its way to the surface. Her reputation can weather a single night of unrestrained entertainment. She’ll go back to being the perfect daughter tomorrow. 

The music lifted her from reality. She lost count of how many times she squished his foot. Still, he smiled brightly, as her heels threatened death to his toes. He's going to be in pain tomorrow when the alcohol and adrenaline wear off. 

Her hair fell from its bun, bouncing with the beat. It felt right. All that mattered was him. She didn't even know his name, but she knew his touch on her hip and she knew the warmth of his lips on her sensitive neck. His scent, woodsy and intoxicating, is searing itself in her memory. 

Y/N wraps her arms around him, struggling to clasp her fingers on the back of his neck. He's gorgeous with his dark, short hair and his eyes, like vast pools of darkness with nothing but the disco ball reflecting in them. They're the night sky with a moon reflecting in them, she corrects her initial thought. He might not have gone to the moon and back to make her smile, but maybe… Maybe tonight he’s the right kind of a guy, she feels light in his arms.

She’s not going to forget him. Not for a very long time.

His eyes flicker to her lips and her heart shakes as if a hurricane is about to enter the remnants of her fragile sanity. It's been ages since she’s been kissed, desired with no pretense. She’s questioning if she should let herself go and let him in, to allow vulnerability even if it's for a short time. He's waiting too, patiently and gently tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. 

Licking her lips, she nods ever so slightly and that's when his lips come crashing against hers. His palm slides possessively around her hip, fingers sinking into the soft flesh as he draws her to him.

She melts into it, pressing herself closer to his exquisite body as he slides his hand down her back, to stroke, then cup her bottom, growling possessively as she giggles, breaking up the kiss into a few quicker pecks.

"Wanna get out of here?" He whispers in her ear, forcing her to shudder as she understands the implications of his words.

She shouldn't. She won't. This is not who she is. She’s not a one night stand kind of a girl. 

"Come with me", her mouth betrays her.

Holding his hand, she leads him through the crowd. Her driver waited, and he didn't say a word when she winked at him to ignore the fact she was not alone. 

"Take me to the apartment." She instructs, struggling with her desire to keep the kissing going with the perfect stranger who keeps his very big hand on her inner thigh. He's warm, but she’s sure it's the heat from the club and their kiss that made his skin operate at a higher temperature.

Lustful glances and cocky smirks seem to be what he's best at. Making her blush is a close second. It's easy to get lost in the idea of a forever with a man like him. She always does the same, dreams a little dream of a perfect world only to watch it fall apart when reality proves to be different than her imagination. 

Shaking her head, Y/N draws a deep breath. There will be no dreams this time around. It's evident he's in this for sex and while she wishes otherwise, it won't change one singular fact; he'll be gone when the sun comes up.

She has no other expectations. 

"Thank you, Benny." She smiles at the driver when the car stops.

The man is a perfect gentleman, waiting for them to get out of sight before his hand is glued to her left hip. His lips litter kisses from her shoulder to her neck while she presses the elevator button.

"You seem nervous." His voice makes her heart jump, a chill running down her spine. The music drowned out his voice before, a crime really, considering the sweet deepness that excited her more than it should. Never had a man's voice been as attractive as his. 

"I don't usually do this," Y/N admits with a drunken giggle, entering the elevator. The handsome stranger follows suit, his hand still on her hip. "I don't even know your name," she notes, glancing up at him. 

"Paul." He introduces himself and she can't deny he makes her weak in the knees.

His lips are covered with smudges of her red lipstick and his chest is sparkling with glitter from her hair. He's a perfect little mess and for the next few hours, he's hers.

"Y/N," she smiles as the elevator stops, sliding the door open to the penthouse and his eyes widen at the size.

"This is one hell of an apartment." Paul raises an eyebrow, wetting his lips as she scratches her temple, nodding. They’re clearly from different tax brackets, but she doesn’t care.

She’s damned either way. 

"Want a drink or", but before she can finish, Paul's lips claim hers again, knocking the breath out of her lungs.

"Mhmm", she manages to murmur, wrapping arms around his neck fully now that he's bent down. She’s sure his back's not comfortable in this position, but it feels damn good to run her fingers through his short hair. He taps her ass and she takes the hint, jumping up only to wrap her legs around his waist. 

"Where am I going", he chuckles, breaking the kiss as she takes a shuddered breath. 

"Straight then left." 

He nods in acknowledgment before she’s lost in him again, unbothered by his fingers as they pull the zipper of her dress down closer they get to the bedroom. A table clatters beside them, and a vase shatters loudly enough to make her flinch. She looks down at the shards, glancing back at his horrified stare.

"How expensive was that thing?"

Giggling, she shrugs. "Who cares. Kiss me again and you can pay it off," she raises her eyebrows, pecking his chin.

"Oh yeah?" Paul snickers, stepping over one of the shards before opening the door to her room. "It's definitely worth a million or two then."

"Really think a kiss could be worth that much?" she challenges, pushing down against his middle, enjoying his almost pained groan. He's definitely ready to get the talking part out of the way and get down to business. After all, it’s not like they’ll see each other after this night.

"You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen and among everyone you've seen tonight, you chose me." Suddenly, without a warning, Paul drops her on the bed and she gasps. "It's a privilege to kiss you and it's going to be even better when you scream my name in pleasure." His devilish smirk reappears and she purses her lips.

"Well then, let's see if your game is as good as you claim it to be."

--

As one would expect, a pounding headache had set in before she even opened her eyes. Her mouth is dry, her entire body aches and most importantly, she’s trapped under an unnaturally warm mountain of a human who loves to cuddle throughout the night.

She’s not complaining about the cuddles, but she’s definitely complaining about his extremely warm, heavy body half lying on top of her. It’s comforting in a way, knowing he didn’t just leave once the deed was done. Most men would have been gone as soon as they got what they came for, pun intended.

Forcing her heavy eyes open, she’s glad she didn't fully open the curtains the last time she was there. The apartment isn't her favorite place to spend time in, but it's a rare form of autonomy she has outside of her overbearing family. It’s one of two pieces of real estate she actually owns and no one can take it away from her.

Blinking fast, her eyes adjust and focus on the unbelievably handsome man on top of her. Each line of his face is perfect, down to his chiseled jaw. Something about him screams danger and invites caution, yet she pulls him closer and plants a feather like kiss on that sharp jaw girls would write thirst tweets about.

Paul stirs, a sleepy smile forming. He looks careless and happy, something she envies. There are far too many expectations that weigh on her, too heavy to ignore. If anything, Paul’s lighter than the thoughts running inside her mind.

She giggles and kisses his chin. He mumbles, pulling her closer.

Usually, spending the night with a stranger meant cuddling wasn't on the table. Sometimes it's because he was way too unacceptable for her family's standards and she couldn't risk being caught, other times it was a scandalous affair her dad would have a stroke over. 

She’s no stranger to sex the past few years. It wasn’t casual sex with strangers, though. There was a boyfriend, one she stayed with for her family’s approval, trying to fill a hole within her chest that’s turned into a void. Nothing she had with her ex could compare to this intimacy. If she’s completely honest, it’s something she never encountered before. In her experience, sex is an act of nature, animalistic, set into human genetic makeup to continue the species.

But with Paul? His touch was both gentle and rough, his lips fiery and passionate, his words sweet and understanding. He didn't make it about getting himself off, quite the opposite. Paul made sure she was the one getting the most out of their encounter. She only ever had five orgasms in her life and he had given her three of those.

Paul offered a night of pleasure and peace, a rare occasion for someone like her.

"I could get used to that." He chuckles, startling her. "The pretty girl staring at me part,” he clarifies.

Paul opens his eyes and his playful persona reappears. It’s dangerous how easily his presence ignites a fire inside her, one she almost forgot she had. If nothing else, he’s given her that – a piece of her old self back.

"I wasn't staring. Staring is creepy." she remarks, adding, "I was gazing. It's meant to be romantic and flattering."

Nodding, a lopsided smirk adorns his lips. "I am very flattered. Even more so with the loving kisses." Narrowing his eyes ever so slightly, he leans back. "How are you alive? I’m practically on top of you."

Lightly tinted cheeks, with eyes conveying genuine worry as he looks at her, Paul's lips part. Pushing himself off and to the other side of the bed, he insists. "You should have woken me up!"

"I think I like being smothered. It's like you’re my personal weighted blanket!" she exclaims, propping herself up on her elbow. She feels her bladder is nearly ready to explode, but she doesn't want to end this moment of bliss. It's too pure, too comfortable to be over so soon.

"You're weird." Paul snickers, reaching for his phone.

"You mean unique!" she corrects him.

She crawls closer, but he jolts. He jumps to his feet, mumbling incoherently. Grabbing his clothes a little too quickly.

"You're leaving?" she asks, voice quieter than she means it to be, but the disappointment bleeds through anyway. She doesn't bother hiding it. Not when he’s tripping over her heel in a rush to find his shirt.

"I have a really important meeting I'm gonna be late to," Paul mutters, scanning the room with growing frustration. He tosses her dress, then her panties, across the room without thinking, just collateral damage in his frantic search.

"I have one too, but I figured I could reschedule. What's yours about?"

Her eyes track his movements, noting the growing tension in his shoulders. At the foot of the bed, she spots the shirt, wrinkled and tangled in the covers. She picks it up and stands, holding it out for him without a word.

Paul finally turns, and without speaking, she steps closer. Gently, she pulls the shirt over his arms, smoothing the fabric over his chest. She starts buttoning it from the bottom up, her fingers brushing lightly against his skin. He’s still so warm, like a touch of sun under her fingertips.

It's intimate. Achingly so. A small, quiet moment that feels too familiar for two people who’ve only known each other for eight hours. But still, it comforts her, this fragile illusion of something more.

He's about to leave, and she knows she’s never going to see him again.

She told herself she wouldn’t hope. That it was just one night. Just a moment. But that was a lie. She wants more. She wants the soft way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching, the heated kisses that curled her toes, and the way he held her like she mattered.

She wants the weight of his body and the warmth of his touch. She wants him, this affectionate, confident man who had no idea how easily he unraveled her.

"It's about proving to my family and friends I'm more than just a fuck up." His voice is low and rough as if saying it aloud hurts him. The words vibrate against her chest as she fastens the last button.

Her fingers still.

She looks up, meeting his eyes. They’re darker than usual, stormy. "I don’t think you’re a fuck up."

He huffs out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “You don’t know me well enough, Y/N. I’m not someone you want in your life. Trust me.”

Her expression hardens, a crease forming between her brows. “Maybe that’s not a decision you get to make for me.”

His hand comes up to her face, tender, hesitant. His palm cups her cheek like she’s fragile, like he’s scared he might break her if he isn’t careful. That single touch makes her chest ache.

"I just want to protect you," he whispers.

“No,” she replies, voice sharp and low. Her fingers reach up, tapping his chest with a gentle but deliberate push. “You want to protect yourself. God forbid you let someone get close and risk your heart getting broken.”

She swallows hard and forces a smile, though it trembles at the corners. “It’s not healthy, and it’s going to push away people who actually give a damn. But if that’s your choice, fine. Just… if you’re going to lie to me, Paul, you’ll have to do better than that. My bullshit meter isn’t easy to fool.”

His hand falls away.

So does the moment.

She steps back, breath catching in her throat. There's no point asking for his number, not when he’s already halfway out the door in his mind. Not when he’s looking for a reason to disappear and she’s far too proud to beg. It will be a cold day in hell before she lowers herself like that for any man.

Besides, she really has to pee.

"Hope your meeting goes well," she says with a casual shrug, disappearing into the bathroom. The sound of running water covers the silence he leaves behind. Once she’s done with the shower, he'll be gone and she’ll assume her well-rehearsed role.

--

She keeps her word. Goes to her own meeting. A quick, warm shower is all she allows herself, trying to replace the heat of Paul’s body with something far more fleeting. It doesn't work.

It doesn't take long for her to get ready, the driver's already prepared as well. Luckily, her meeting was nearby and she desperately needed some pancakes. 

The restaurant is familiar, a safe bubble in her otherwise chaotic world. As she strides in, confident and composed, she shrugs off her coat and scans the room. Her usual table’s already prepared.

Occupied.

A man with his back turned.

“I’ll have pancakes, please,” she tells the waiter she’s known for years. He gives her a knowing smile, knowing she’s hangover. She ignores his teasing wink. Pancakes are essential after the night she’s had.

“I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late, I -”

She stops.

Her voice dies.

Dark eyes meet hers. Her knees threaten to buckle.

Paul.

"You’re my meeting?" she breathes out, more accusation than a question.

“I know they say the world is small,” he grins, surprised but undeniably amused, “but this? This is a shock for me too.”

He seems a little too delighted with this coincidence. 

She lowers herself into the chair opposite him, spine straight, lips set.

"So...what would make your family and friends change their views on you?" she maintains eye contact. This isn't breakfast between lovers, it's a business meeting and she’s not about to act as a ditzy girl for his benefit. She’s in charge of the family’s benefit and she takes her role seriously. It’s the one thing she has left from her late mother, the only one who had a heart in her cold family.

He sighs, shoulders slumping. "A generous donation.” He reaches for her hand, but she retracts it just in time. Inhaling sharply, he continues. "For our reserve…mainly the school. I wanna show the community we can do better, give the kids a better future than what we got." Swallowing thickly, he breaks eye contact first. His gaze falls to the table, and his fingers rake through his hair. He’s nervous. She can feel it radiating off of him.

"And what do you do for a living?" she presses for more information, aware she wouldn't get it otherwise. Maybe she really is as entitled as they say she is, using this situation for her own gain. 

"I work with my friend in his lumber company." Paul bites his lip, clearly uncomfortable.

Their history, though brief, is making him sweat. He probably thinks he blew his only chance to secure the funds. He thinks she'll hold it against him. Maybe she would if she wasn't looking for a way out of New York, herself. Being with him reminded her of who she once was, enough to give her strength to get away for a while.

“Where is this reserve?”

“La Push,” he replies and her eyes flash with recognition.

It’s been a long time since she heard that name.

"I'll give you the funds," she says simply, folding her hands on the table before them.

Paul’s eyes widen, lips parting. His relief is immediate, but he tries to play it cool. A smile tugs at his lips anyway. “Thank you. Seriously.”

"I have a condition."

He nods quickly, licking his lips and leaning forward, hanging on her words.

"I want to go with you and see everything myself. The reserve, the school, the people. I want to know exactly where my money is going."

He hesitates. "That might be boring for you. I mean… this is New York. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

Smirking, Y/N tilts her head, eyeing him in suspicion. "I think I'd enjoy the adventure. Besides, I used to live in Forks. It’s the perfect excuse to come home." Tucking her hair behind both ears, she leans back and grins as she notices the waiter coming.

Her pancakes arrive, steam curling upward. She cuts into them, pretending she isn’t watching him squirm.

“It’s your choice,” he says. Then, a pause. “Where would you stay? It’s a tight-knit community.”

She quirks a brow, thinking aloud. “My house is rented out for a few months. Not sure if the motel would have any rooms this close to hunting season.”

She chews thoughtfully. Swallows.

“I’ll figure it out.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath the whole time. “Alright. You can come. But you’re not figuring anything out.”

She looks up.

“You’ll stay with me.”

Raising a brow, she stares at him. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not? My house is close to the school, it’s ideal.”

Clearing her throat, she puts down the utensils. “Logically, yes. But I don’t want to burden you. After last night –“

“You won’t be a burden! Stay until your house is available?”

Reluctantly, she nods. “We leave today.”

--

Excited and running on a mix of adrenaline and nervous hope, Y/N packed the essentials in record time. She booked the plane tickets, one for herself, and upgraded Paul’s return ticket, before she could second-guess her choice. Her heart wanted this. Her mind wasn’t so sure. It’s painfully clear that Paul isn’t thrilled with the way their meeting ended; his politeness feels more like tolerance, like he’s humoring the spoiled rich girl just to keep the peace. Still, she needs this. More than she’s willing to admit.

Her family is a gilded cage, controlling, suffocating, and insufferably obsessed with appearances. If it were up to them, she’d be locked into some picture-perfect marriage with an Upper East Side trust fund baby, already onto her third child by now. Hosting charity luncheons, planning balls, and posing for society pages like a well-groomed trophy wife. It’s a life drenched in wealth but starved of freedom.

It’s her worst nightmare.

Sitting beside a man who can’t seem to look her in the eye isn’t ideal either, but Paul, brooding and unreadable, is her ticket out. A temporary escape from the suffocating grip of her last name.

She sneaks a glance his way.

He hasn’t said a word since boarding. His posture is stiff, shoulders locked like he’s bracing for turbulence. His jaw clenches, sharp and unforgiving, and his hands grip the armrest so tightly his knuckles have turned white. It’s like he’s trying to hold something in, anger, maybe, or regret.

She can’t take it anymore.

"I knew you didn’t want me to come,” she says softly, breaking the silence. “But I didn’t realize it was this bad.”

She doesn’t bother pretending she’s unaffected. There’s no mask this time. No perfect smile, no carefully rehearsed charm to keep her safe. Just the raw truth. She’s tired of hiding behind walls no one bothers to climb.

Paul’s brows knit together as he turns to her. The tension in his face eases, just slightly, her voice pulls him back from wherever his mind had drifted. His dark eyes lock onto hers, and she feels the weight of his gaze settle in her chest.

She presses her lips together and forces a small, tight-lipped smile, fragile and strained, but it’s all she has left.

"I don't understand," Paul says, his voice low, lips parting as confusion flickers across his face. His eyes narrow ever so slightly, like he's searching for the right words, but she already knows the excuses he's reaching for.

Y/N raises a hand, cutting him off before he can try. Her expression is calm, but the effort it takes not to crack is exhausting.

"No worries, you’re obviously regretting inviting me," she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "I'm no stranger to being unwanted. I’ll try to stay out of your way as much as possible."

Before he can respond, she slips on her headphones and turns toward the window, grateful she has the view to help her mind wander.

If she lets herself feel the sting behind his silence, she’ll cry. And crying in public? Not an option. She doesn’t do that. Y/N doesn’t cry, not where anyone can see. It probably rains more often in the Sahara than it does behind her eyes. Bottling emotions up until she explodes is who she is. She takes good care to ensure those explosions are few, although deadly, and always, imperatively when she’s on her own.

Closing her eyes, she lets herself drift.

Two years. That’s how long it’s been since she left Forks. Since she tried to escape her family, her name, and everything that came with it. She’d graduated from Columbia and made a break for freedom. But that didn’t last long.

One morning, she woke up in a hospital bed, IV in her arm, pain ricocheting through her body, and no memory of how she got there. The story was that she’d gone hiking alone. Except she hates hiking. Bella Cullen had found her, bruised and broken, and brought her to the ER with fractured ribs, a broken wrist, and a possible head injury.

She was lucky to survive. That’s what they kept telling her.

She didn’t feel lucky. She felt...erased. Whatever happened that day was gone, just like her plan to start over. Her father pulled her from the hospital the moment she was stable enough to fly, and Forks became just another shadow in her past, one she was never meant to return to.

A light touch on her shoulder makes her jump, her heart pounding as she jerks toward the source.

Paul.

His eyes are softer now. His earlier tension is gone, replaced with something that almost looks like guilt, or maybe understanding. His smile is small, hesitant.

“We’ve landed,” he says gently, pointing toward the passengers standing up around them.

She slides off her headphones, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and musters a tight smile. “Thanks.”

He winks, and something about it, so casual, yet so confident makes her heart flip.

“No problem, Princess,” he says with a smirk.

Her brow rises at the nickname, but she doesn’t protest. There are worse things he could call her. And truthfully? It’s not very original, but she doesn’t hate it.

And it’s not just the nickname she doesn’t mind. It’s him. The wink. The smile. The way he says it is like he sees past her defenses and calls her out in a way that doesn’t hurt. Paul makes her heart flutter in a way she hasn’t felt in years.

“I’ll get the luggage,” he offers, already standing before she can argue.

She doesn’t bother trying to stop him. The last thing she needs is to wrestle with him over two oversized suitcases, both hers, plus two more bags. Her arms are already tired, and maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t mind letting someone take care of her for once.

She glances at the sleek black duffle he swings over his shoulder and tries not to laugh.

“That’s all you brought to New York?” she asks, incredulous.

Paul throws her a look as he lifts her last suitcase. “You said you packed the essentials.”

“I did,” she grins, gesturing to the mountain of bags. “These are my essentials.”

He sighs dramatically, muttering under his breath as he drags the suitcases forward. “Rich girls and their ‘essentials.’ God help me.”

She chuckles, following behind him with her purse and laptop in tow.

"Hey, I carried the important stuff," she teases. "Lip balm, charger, and emotional damage. I’m pulling my weight."

He glances back, and for a split second, he smiles again… a real, warm smile.

“Good to know you packed light.”

She walks ahead, enjoying a few wandering looks from men who shamelessly stare at her and their intentions are just as obvious. A low growl makes her glance back at Paul, smirking as he glares daggers at all the men. Perhaps he does care. 

“So, do we call a cab or Uber?” Y/N asks, turning to Paul as she walks after him, phone in hand. The screen reflects her tired eyes and the long drive ahead. Forks isn’t exactly near any major airports. Seattle’s the closest, and even that feels like another world entirely. It’ll take them hours to get to La Push.

“Neither,” Paul replies, nodding past her toward the exit. “A friend’s picking us up.”

She turns, eyebrows raising as she spots it through the glass doors: a big, blue pickup truck that looks like it survived three lifetimes and several apocalypses. The paint is faded, the bumper slightly crooked, and one headlight flickers like it’s trying to quit.

“Oh.” The disappointment escapes before she can stop it, her lips tugging down as she gnaws on the inside of her cheek.

Paul leans in from the side, entertainment clear in his voice. “We don’t do limos where I’m from, Princess. Better get on.”

He walks ahead with that same cocky, unbothered stride that both annoys her and makes her heart trip over itself. Tilting her head back, she glares at the ceiling like it might offer answers. Why? Just why?

The truck’s driver hops out and jogs toward Paul with an easy laugh. He’s just as tall, maybe an inch shorter, a little less ripped and older. It's hard to deny he's not jaw droopingly beautiful, but Paul's charm shines through, making him a clear winner in the looks department. That’s what truly won her over.

Swallowing thickly, she joins the men, keeping her chin up and head held high. It takes a lot more than an old, rusty truck to bring down Y/N Y/L/N. Though she seems fragile, she’s not going to break.  And even if she does, glass is only brittle until it breaks. When that happens, it's capable of causing serious injuries and that's exactly why women like her are dangerous. Men seem to forget that easily. 

“Wow,” the stranger says, grinning as he looks her over. “I’ve never met an heiress before.”

His tone is teasing, but not unkind, and for some reason, it makes her laugh. Genuine, light.

He holds out a hand, palm up, gentleman-style, and she places hers in it without hesitation. The touch is warm, solid. When he bows slightly and presses his lips to the back of her hand, her heart skips.

“I’m Jared,” he says with a soft smile. Maybe she’s old fashioned, but she’s always been a sucker for men who have their manners intact.

“Y/N,” she replies, lips twitching as she tries to contain a grin. He’s funny. Polite. Knows exactly how to sweep a woman off her feet without even trying. His eyes linger on hers, not in a way that makes her uncomfortable, but in a way that makes her feel seen.

That is, until Paul clears his throat, loudly, dramatically.

Jared lets go of her hand, and she glances at Paul with raised brows, amused by the jealousy practically radiating off of him.

“He’s also married,” Paul adds flatly, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“And you’re jealous,” she fires back, sticking her tongue out before following Jared to the passenger side. Like a true gentleman, he opens the door for her, and she slides in with a grateful smile.

“No, I’m not!” Paul snaps from behind them, and she just waves him off, turning to Jared instead.

“Thank you,” she says sweetly.

The truck is… cozy, to put it nicely. Once Jared gets in, there’s barely any room left. When Paul opens the door and leans in, it’s obvious someone will need to get creative. She looks at him, then down at the space, and raises an eyebrow. Paul most certainly can't fit unless she sits on his lap. Glancing at Paul who opened the door and looked at her with a smug smirk, she rolled her eyes at him. 

Jared doesn’t miss a beat. “Get in the back. The bed. You’re not about to make our heiress benefactor uncomfortable with your hard on, Paul.”

She covers her mouth, trying and failing to stifle her laughter. Her eyes sparkle as she glances at Paul, who looks personally offended.

“Paul does like riding in the back,” she adds, winking. Her voice is light, teasing, but her meaning lands, judging by the way his eyes widen and his jaw tightens.

“I don’t think so,” Paul mutters, eyes locked on hers. “I mean, I’m sure the Princess would love riding on my lap.”

She chokes on her own spit. Literally.

Coughing, eyes watering, she waves a hand in front of her face like that’ll help undo the mental image. Jared, poor soul, looks like he’s just been hit with a wave of secondhand embarrassment and possibly trauma. His jaw drops, but he doesn’t comment. He’s too polite for that.

“Back or you’re walking,” Jared says, deadpan as he stares ahead, probably begging for silence.

Paul rolls his eyes and mutters something under his breath, but he climbs into the bed of the truck. Once they’re moving, Jared tries to lighten the mood again, pointing out buildings and rambling on about La Push’s history, not lingering too much on Forks. His words fade in and out, the static of the radio filling the gaps. It’s not that she’s not listening, she just knows this town too well already.

When they pass the hospital, her gaze lingers a little longer. The Sheriff’s station is next. Jared points it out casually, but she doesn’t say a word. No need to explain that she’s already familiar with both places.

The trees grow thicker, the roads windier, and when they pass the Welcome to La Push sign, something eases in her chest. The air feels different here. Less heavy.

“So this is Paul’s place,” Jared says, pulling into a gravel driveway lined with trees. “If you ever get sick of him, just walk five minutes that way”, he points to the left, “and you’ll find my house. It’s easy to spot. The lawn’s a demolished, full of toys. The kids have declared it their kingdom.”

She grins. "Might take you up on that offer. The grump seems to dislike my presence at this point." Her smile fades slightly as she looks toward Paul, who’s already unloading her luggage

Jared follows her gaze. The resemblance between them is clearer now. They share the same dark eyes, the same broad shoulders and sharp jawlines. Jared’s hair is longer, falling past his shoulders, and his energy is warmer, easier somehow. But it’s obvious they’re connected. Maybe not by blood, but by something just as strong.

Whatever it is, Y/N gets the feeling this town has more tangled threads than she realized. And she’s walking right into the center of it all.

"He doesn't dislike you, just...Paul takes time to warm up to people. He hasn't had it easy in life, okay?" Jared's sympathetic smile lights up the dim atmosphere. "The fact he called me this morning just to tell me he met the most amazing woman says a lot too. I'm guessing that was you." Jared raises an eyebrow and she hides her face, groaning.

"I'm gonna go find a hole to crawl in and die." Laughing in embarrassment, she opens the door and jumps out, her heels instantly sticking into the wet ground. "Oh, look! Found it!"

"Yeah, the heels are gonna have to come off. Unless you wanna sink with every step you take, Princess." Paul teases, striding over. His jacket's already off and a tight T-shirt is tasked with keeping his muscles hidden from view. 

"Don't kill each other." Jared jokes, prompting Paul to slam the truck's door closed. "JACKIE DIDN'T DO SHIT TO YOU", Jared screams, starting the truck again. 

"C'mon." Paul leans down, picking her up with ease and she yelps, wrapping her arms around his neck in slight panic.

"Don't drop me!" Her voice wavers and his chuckle drowns out the momentary anxiety. She could listen to him laugh for the rest of her life and never wish for the tune to change. 

"I didn't drop you last night, now did I?" Paul cocks an eyebrow, the arrogant smirk making a reappearance. 

"Uh, you did!" She reminds him, still holding a grudge for when he dropped her on the bed. 

"That was intentional." Paul snickers, shutting the front door with his leg before putting her down.

Taking off her impractical, muddy heels, she turns to Paul.

"Alright, so...where do I sleep?" she asks, placing her hands on her hips as her eyes wander around the space.

The house is old, clearly lived in, but surprisingly well kept. There's a quiet elegance to it; muted tones, clean lines, a softness in the way everything fits together. It’s not what she expected from Paul. It’s too... thoughtful. Too curated. A woman’s touch lingers in the details, a throw blanket perfectly folded over the couch, a faint vanilla scent clinging to the air, and the tall, fragile vase sitting dead center on the entryway table like it was placed there with intention.

She tries not to stare at the vase, but she can’t help it. The soft lilac design etched into the glass feels too personal. Was it a gift? Did she bring it? The woman who mattered. The one who maybe curled up beside him at night, who chose these curtains and filled his space with color. Was she beautiful? Did she make him laugh? Did he love her? Does he still?

“I have a bedroom I can prepare for you, but it'll take a few days,” Paul says, dragging her attention back. He licks his lips, then nods toward the vase. “My mom brought that during a recent visit. She lives in Canada.”

The knot in her chest loosens. A small sigh escapes her, and she smiles, almost sheepishly. “Right. That makes more sense.”

She doesn't ask more, even though she wants to. He never gives her much, just enough to keep her curious and guessing. It’s starting to gnaw at her.

“So what happens until it’s ready?”

“I’ll take the couch,” he replies with a shrug, casually resting his hand against the small of her back. The contact is warm and steady, grounding. “You can have my bed.”

She arches a brow, surprised at how easy he makes it sound. “You’re just gonna give it up like that?”

“I’ve had worse nights,” he mutters, already guiding her toward the staircase. She falls into step beside him, quietly holding her breath.

Her eyes narrow. “Is this some sort of reverse psychology trap? You sleep on the couch for one night and then mysteriously find your way back upstairs?”

“Please,” Paul scoffs. “You’d hear me coming a mile away.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” she mutters, cheeks warming.

“Relax.” His voice drops lower, almost teasing. “I can behave.”

She’s not sure if she wants him to.

The stairs creak under their weight as they climb. She half-expects a bachelor’s disaster zone at the top: empty cans, dark walls, a bed that’s more mattress than frame. But when he pushes open the door to his room, she pauses.

It’s… cozy.

Unexpectedly so.

She blinks. Twice.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she mumbles.

The walls are baby blue, and the off white carpet looks freshly vacuumed. The bed is massive, covered in bright blue sheets and an ungodly amount of decorative pillows.

This room doesn’t scream Paul. It whispers someone was here before. Someone of importance. The decorative pillows are a sign of a serious relationship. Men see them as unnecessary, but women see them as a way to mark their territory.

She turns to him, fighting the urge to interrogate him.

“The bed’s pretty big,” she says instead, mustering a playful grin. She walks toward it slowly, brushing her hand over the soft fabric before tapping the spot beside her. “I don’t see a problem in sharing.”

She waits for the smirk. The flirty comeback. The spark in his eye when they traded jabs and pushed boundaries before. But it doesn’t come.

Paul’s expression shifts, his shoulders stiffen, and his eyes darken as his jaw tightens.

“I’m not interested in playing house,” he says flatly, voice cool and distant. “I’ll go order us a pizza.”

She watches him walk away without another word, leaving the door open behind him. Her heart sinks a little as the silence settles around her. Maybe she was a little too forward, but his reaction left her wondering.

Whatever softness she'd glimpsed in him earlier, the warmth, the teasing, the way he carried her through the door like it meant something, it’s gone again. Hidden beneath whatever wall he keeps rebuilding every time she gets too close.

And just like that, she’s reminded: she doesn’t know him. Not really. And worse, he doesn’t want her to. It’s becoming apparent New York was his Vegas and he planned to forget all about her when he came back home. 

She feels so stupid for thinking it might’ve meant something more.

To her, Paul tasted like freedom. Like laughter. Like the possibility of happiness she hadn’t let herself hope for in too long. He’d been attentive, gentle in ways that caught her off guard. And now? Now he was cold. Distant. Shrugging her off like she was nothing more than a temporary inconvenience.

What the hell happened in less than a day?

Was it all an act? Or should she do what Jared said and be patient?

The problem is, she’s never been a patient person. Maybe it’s her fault, for projecting her hopes onto a perfect stranger, for thinking this could be a meet-cute straight out of a movie, but he didn’t have to play along and then make her uncomfortable….unwanted.

Storming downstairs, she purses her lips. She finds him leaning over the kitchen counter, head in hands, the muscles in his back tense. The sight of him like that only fuels her frustration. He’s acting like she forced him to house her, like she didn’t give him a choice.

“We have to talk this through,” she blurts, maybe a little too harshly, but she can't bring herself to care. She wouldn't spend another second in this house if he didn’t want her there.

Paul turns slowly like her anger is nothing more than a passing breeze. “What exactly do we need to talk about?” His voice is low, casual, amused, even. It makes her blood boil.

“This!” she throws her hand toward him, nearly shaking. “I don’t want to be here if you don’t want me to, Paul. Alright? I might look like I’ve got it all together, like I’m confident, but I’m not. And everything you’ve done since breakfast has been… a hard damn pill to swallow.”

She rakes her hands through her hair, trying to pull herself together, only getting more flustered as her fingers snag on a tangle. He still says nothing. Just watches her unravel.

Her chest aches. She’s being stupid again. His actions paint a clear picture, one in which she’s the issue as if he doesn’t make her wonder if he’s got an evil twin running around, intent on breaking her apart.

“Maybe it’s because you just decided to tag along,” Paul finally says, arms crossing over his chest as he leans back. His gaze is sharp, almost cold. “Didn’t even think about how that might mess up my life here.”

The words hit her like a slap, reminding her just how unwanted her presence is.

“I said I’d find my own place!” she snaps. “I wanted to see how bad it was so I could help, Paul! I didn’t come here to screw up your life. And if you didn’t insist I stay with you, I wouldn’t have. In fact, don’t worry about it.”

She spins on her heel, grabbing her bag from beside the door. “I’ll send someone for my stuff,” she throws the bag over her shoulder and puts on her heels before yanking the door open.

Outside, the sky is hazy, clouds rolling in as she tiptoes across the damp grass, her heels useless. She doesn’t look back. She won’t give him the satisfaction.

She considers taking Jared up on his offer, but the last thing she needs is to be vulnerable around more strangers right now, especially Paul's friends. The thought makes her stomach twist.

She needs time to collect herself, to think. To breathe. Then she'll find a way to move her things to the nearest motel… the only motel in Forks. She will not depend on any man, no matter how attractive he is. She misread the situation for the last time.

The trees blur around her as she walks faster, the familiar crash of waves in the distance pulling her forward. The sound is grounding, fierce and steady, like a promise the earth is still turning even when everything feels upside down.

When she finally breaks through the tree line and reaches the edge of the beach, a shaky breath escapes her lungs.

The sun is melting into the horizon, painting the ocean gold and crimson. It's beautiful. She always loved the ocean. It reminded her of herself - usually calm on the surface with an entire world underneath, but when it begins to rage, it can destroy everything in its vicinity.  And sunsets are her favorite view. Nothing compares to it. She watched enough of them from these beaches with her mother to know as much.

She kicks off her heels, holding them by the straps as she walks barefoot toward the water. The first wave kisses her skin, and she hisses, the cold seeping up her spine and spreading through her limbs.

But she doesn’t move. She closes her eyes, lets the wind tangle her hair, allows it to take the heat from her cheeks. Her lips tremble, and for the first time all day, a sound escapes her; a faint, broken whimper. Not loud. Not dramatic. Just real.

This wasn’t a breakdown. It was a release.

While it's helpful to clear her head, she wishes she could just walk into the ocean and leave this world behind. She doesn’t want to die, no, it’s not that, but God, sometimes she just wishes she could disappear for a while. Drift beneath the waves and start over. She used to believe in mermaids when she was younger, and now she understands why. The idea of a whole world beneath the surface where no one could touch her? It’s always been tempting. Ariel was a damn fool for giving up an entire ocean for a man who couldn't even love her unless she spoke. 

She wraps her arms around herself and keeps walking along the shore, eyes scanning until she spots a small parking lot in the distance. Her phone feels heavy in her hand as she opens the app and calls for an Uber.

Her stomach growls, angry and empty. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and it’s catching up to her.

When the car drops her off at the diner, she doesn’t hesitate. She orders a greasy hamburger and a mountain of fries and doesn’t care who’s watching as she devours them. Salt and ketchup, soft bread, sizzling meat, it’s the only thing grounding her now. She ate her emotions to keep them in check. She never coped well with sadness or heartache, that's for sure. 

Intent on finding the motel first and figuring out the rest tomorrow, she walks out of the diner and into the darkness of Forks. She pulls her jacket tighter around her body, her heels tapping against the pavement as she rounds the corner.

But she doesn’t get far.

Two steps in and she slams hard into something, someone, as sturdy as a brick wall. She stumbles back, breath knocked out of her chest, but strong hands catch her before she hits the ground.

“Sorry,” she mutters instinctively, blinking up through the shadows. And then she realizes: this isn’t a wall. This is a person. With hands. And a scent like pine after rain.

“Oh,” she breathes.

The man holding her is tall, just as tall as Paul, maybe taller, but leaner, paler. His golden hair gleams under the moonlight, curling ever so slightly at the ends. And his eyes. They’re what truly undo her. Amber, liquid gold, like fire trapped in honey. There's something haunting about them, something achingly familiar. It is the sort of gaze that's warm, a welcome home.They stir a memory she can’t quite place, and for a moment, she forgets how to breathe.

He stares at her like he’s seeing a ghost. His jaw is clenched, brows furrowed as though he’s caught in a war with himself. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move. Just holds her with a grip that's almost too tight, too intentional, like letting her go would somehow break him.

Her pulse flutters in her throat. The closeness, the heat between them, she should step away. She knows she should. But instead, she leans in slightly, drawn by the unspoken pull between them, the whisper of something unfinished.

His lips part like he’s about to say something. Like he wants to say everything.

And then, he's gone.

In the time it takes to blink, she finds herself standing alone. He’s already walking away, glancing back over his shoulder with an expression of disbelief and something deeper…grief, maybe. Panic?

She blinks again. Nothing. The night has swallowed him whole.

"Thank God!" Paul’s voice crashes into her daze. She turns sharply, still shaken, to find him jogging across the street with a sheepish grin and a bouquet clutched in his hand.

Roses.

She hates roses.

“I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” he pants, slowing down as he reaches her. “Princess, you can’t just walk out like that.”

He looks her over, gaze softening as he registers how rattled she is. He takes a small step closer, cautious.

“Why do you care?” she snaps, eyes still lingering on the spot where the golden-haired man disappeared.

Paul flinches, and for once, he doesn’t snap back. His shoulders slump.

"Because I fucked up,” he says, the words coming out raw and rushed. “I really didn't mean to blow up at you like that. I mean...I'm scared, okay? I'm scared if I let you in, you'll see I'm a piece of shit and leave me. Like everyone else does.”

His voice falters, and he glances down at the bouquet in his hands, suddenly looking so much younger than usual. “I don't want that and I thought keeping you at arm's length would be smart, but it isn't and I do want you here, I just...I have problems, especially with my temper and I'm trying to protect you from it." His eyes meet hers again, and this time, there's no mask. No sarcasm. Just longing. Guilt. A desperate, vulnerable plea. “I’m trying.”

And despite the ache in her chest, she softens.

"Don't ever give me space. I don't need a perfect man, a friend, or more. I'm not perfect either and that's okay...we'll be a mess together, okay? I need honesty. Don’t shut me out."

She steps closer, eyes flicking down to the roses. They’re flawless. Trimmed, wrapped, red and lifeless.

She takes them gently, and then tosses them to the ground without blinking.

“I hate roses.”

Before she can react, he throws his arms around her, pulling her into an unexpected kiss.

It’s not rushed. It’s not needy. It’s a reunion.

“Are you sure,” she asks, but his answer is another kiss.

Her lips are firm, determined, but the kiss is soft, slow, unhurried, like they’re rediscovering each other through touch. She exhales through her nose, overwhelmed by the wave of relief crashing into her, washing away the bitterness of the day. He presses closer, one hand cupping her cheek while the other tangles in her hair, deepening the kiss with an almost reverent pull.

It’s him. All of him. Apologetic. Passionate. Hers. At least for the night.

“Get a room!” someone yells from across the street, and Paul pulls back with a low laugh, forehead resting against hers.

“We do have a bed to put to good use,” he teases, lifting an eyebrow.

She grins, breathless. “Alright,” she murmurs, biting her lower lip. “As long as you realize this is your second chance. I don’t give third chances.”

His face sobers. He nods, solemn and sure. “You won’t need to.”

He tugs her close as he steps to the edge of the street, arm wrapped around her waist as he hails a cab that stops just at the end of the street.

“Race you,” she challenges, her grin returning.

But Paul only shakes his head, smirking. “I have a better idea.”

Before she can question it, she’s airborne, thrown over his shoulder like a sack of flour. She shrieks, almost dropping her heels.

“Oh my God, Paul! I ate so much!”

“And you’re going to spend every last calorie tonight!” he laughs, breathless, and breaks into a run, the sound of his laughter carrying them down the street.

Perhaps it wasn’t a mistake to come here, after all.

And just like that, the weight in her chest begins to lift. She can be a lot to handle, she’s aware, but this time Paul best be aware she won’t let him make her feel small. She’ll book that motel room in the morning, just in case.

Meanwhile.

From the shadows beyond the streetlamp, Jasper stood as still as stone. His eyes, darkened with thirst and restraint never left her. She was laughing now, wrapped in the arms of a wolf.

His arms.

Jasper’s jaw clenched, the muscle twitching beneath porcelain skin as Paul pulled her closer, lips brushing the crown of her head like he had a right to her. The sight burned hotter than venom in Jasper’s throat. He could hear the wolf’s heartbeat, steady, satisfied, cocky. The kind of rhythm a man has when he thinks he’s already won.

And her.

She was radiant. All flushed cheeks and gleaming eyes, her voice soft and unguarded, like she felt safe there. With him. With a wolf.

But her scent, her blood told another story.

It wasn’t just her blood. It was the pull, primal and unbearable. Her very existence called to something ancient and possessive buried deep in Jasper’s chest. Her emotions, raw and crackling like lightning under his skin, made his head spin. He could feel every flicker of happiness, of comfort, of lust… and it twisted inside him like a blade.

She should have felt that with him.

She should have looked up and seen him waiting in the shadows, not the creature whose kind Jasper was forced to hate. Fate isn’t playing fair if this is how it brings her back to him.

Next to him, Alice stepped quietly, her presence like a hand on his shoulder he couldn’t shake off. Her gaze followed his, unreadable, but her voice was steady and soft.

“Told you it wouldn’t change anything,” she murmured. “Her future is set.”

Jasper didn’t look at her.

His eyes remained locked on Y/N.

The way her fingers curled in Paul’s shirt, the way she leaned while kissing him like he was the only solid thing left in the world. Jasper’s hands balled into fists at his sides. The wolf’s scent clung to her like a brand, like a fucking claim.

And it was wrong.

He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t feel this. But everything in him, the soldier, the vampire, the man, was screaming mine.

A low, almost inaudible growl curled up from his chest before he could stop it. Alice heard it, of course. She always did.

She touched his arm gently. “We have to go.”

Still, he didn’t move.

Not yet.

Not until he burned every second of the moment into his mind, the wolf’s grin, her kiss, the way she didn’t even look back.

Then, slowly, Jasper turned away, the cold of the forest pressing in like punishment. His steps were silent, but inside, his thoughts roared.

Because it didn’t matter what Alice saw in her visions.

Jasper had already felt it then, the connection, the pull, the truth. He spent the last two years learning control, fighting his urge to hunt her down and claim her for himself in any way possible. Jasper was consumed by it – the vision, the scent he so vividly conjured up in his mind, and her beauty that haunted him.

After all this time, he was ready. He proved it when he didn’t rip into her jugular when he held her earlier. The scent had lured him closer, too close for him to properly understand as it was buried under the wolf’s stench. It’s hidden her from him almost too well, but the sweetness of her blood’s song is undeniable. It calls to him, inviting him to crave her, to taste the heavenly liquid he’s been trying to forget.

Two years ago, he protected her from himself. Now? Jasper knew one thing with absolute certainty: She might think she belongs to the wolf now. But she was his. And before long, she will know it too.

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Tags: @moonmark98 @formulas-bitch

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[v3nusxsky]

Mars!!!!!

Can I request a mommy Larissa x reader where reader cockwarms Larissa while sucking on her tits, and Larissa is just relaxing maybe reading a book while also brushing her fingers through r's hair, praising her, and then Larissa tells r something like "be careful baby, else mommy is gonna cum" and she does inside r, which throws r into a massive orgasm. Whatever scenario you want. Heavy praise/mommy/nursing kink.

Purest form of unity 18+

*authors note~Happy Easter/4/20 if you don’t celebrate! This is the first fic back from the injury that meant I couldn’t really type all that well. Only fitting it’s weems that is posted first considering I started writing her first*

Trigger warnings~ praise kink, mommy kink, nursing kink, dom Larissa, sub r, cockwarming, shifted anatomy, pet names for r, oral fixation, dry suckling, soft mommy Larissa

Prompt~ see ask^^^

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Ever since consciousness seeped into your brain this morning nothing seemed to be in your favour. Exhausted and bleary eyed you lazily rolled over to check the alarm clock before you leapt out of bed in such a frantic hurry. First, you woke up twenty minutes after your alarm and then in your haste to make up time you stubbed your toe against the bedside table. Then to add to it you simply couldn’t find your carefully placed shoe. Oh and not to forget that in the middle of all that you didn’t even have the time to fix your hair properly or even get a warm drink before barrelling into your classroom. Later than you’ve ever been before.

As the day wore on things continued to fail you. Your door seemed to be in a constant state of motion, people coming and going constantly. By lunch time you couldn’t help but be emotionally and mentally exhausted from the day, so many students had been sent to you the most ridiculous things. It still blows your mind that a student, just a year shy from graduating, decided it would be a brilliant idea to throw a chair in bounty class. Affectingly smashing a greenhouse window and causing unnecessary chaos. Releasing a small sigh was all you could do before flying into action. Only it didn’t end there, when you weren’t teaching you were helping other classes with behaviour management. You hardly had time to teach let alone just stop and take a breather.

Teaching is hard, you knew that. Teaching outcasts? Even harder. You love the students of Nevermore but sometimes you just wish it would all slow down. The chaos, time and workload was often overwhelming you, leaving you wanting to rip strands of hair from your head. Yet all it takes is one break through, one student you’ve helped make a difference to that reminds you why you do what you do. Why you sacrifice so much of yourself, every day.

What seemed like an eternity later, you finally managed to drag yourself to your wife’s office. Every step was slow and calculated like a person who was carefully gluing themselves together piece by piece. Your bag full of papers to be marked hung over your shoulder as if it weighed a ton. Entering Larissa’s office you instantly felt the pull to the fireplace, the way it casted such a beautiful glow around the room, reflecting off the dark mahogany wooded furniture. Walking silently towards the couch near the fireplace it was if you fell into a trance. The tiny crackles it released as the wood burned steadily, releasing the earthy aroma to be enjoyed as you watched the flames engage in their relentless pursuit of cat and mouse game. Sitting in front of the fireplace allowed the fire to envelop you in its own warm embrace, providing you with a sense of peace warmth and a soothing atmosphere you enjoy for hours to come.

The constant flickering of the flames were enough to keep you interested as you watched them dance. Chasing yet never quite reaching the end goal. In a way you couldn’t help but relate to the flames today. No matter how hard you’d tried to catch up and make the day better for yourself something would weigh you down once more. Never quite reaching the desired end goal. Like a flame there was only so much you could handle before coming burnt out. Truthfully, you have no idea how long you stayed entertained by the fire, stuck in the depths of your own mind but at some point you allowed your gaze to wonder. Larissa’s office is stunning, tall mirrors that span the length of the ceiling, some carefully placed mirrors around the room also. Her desk in the centre of the room while a door joined the office to your shared quarters. Not forgetting her huge beautiful doors that you’d entered however long ago, all neatly furnished with gold fixings. Elegant yet simplistic in the most beautiful way.

Larissa was mid way through another meeting in her day when you entered. At first glance, everything seemed fine. It wasn’t until she payed closer attention to you as the alumni meeting droned on. The way you hung your head towards the ground ever so slightly, the fact you seemed almost drawn into yourself. Smaller. A few loose messy strands of your hair so evidently out of place alongside the way you seemed to stare down the fire place as if you desired to see into the depths of its soul. Now Larissa was no mind reader but she knew her wife like the back of her hand. You needed her. But in what capacity? All she could do is feign paying attention to the meeting and observe you closer.

Finally the meeting was over allowing the shifter to snap the laptop shut and stretch out her stiff back muscles with a pleased hum. It took less than a minute to stride over to where you sat. Crouching down effortlessly in front of you and taking a quick glance as your face that was being bathed in a golden hue showed her what she already suspected. Your almost vacant looking irises were the final clue to what you needed from her. It was her smooth hand that cupped your cheek gently that snapped your attention to her. “Hi” you murmured so quietly she almost missed it.

“Hello darling, how’s my girl doing?” She made sure to speak softly, her words being soaked in the love she had for you. The way she noticed your eyes took a watery sheen to them made her heart clench more than the lazy hum she got in response. “I’m here for you sweetheart. You do know that yes?” Larissa tried again only to receive a small nod and sweet light mumble in response. Her soothing movements of gently stroking your cheek never sized even as she gently guided you to face her, “My poor baby, do you need mommy to help you tonight hmm?”

Big doe eyes shining with unshed tears from the tough day met Larissa’s ocean blue irises, her wife’s lower lip trembled ever so slightly that if she as much as blinked she’d miss it. Larissa could almost see the cogs in your brain turning, trying to formulate a reply before you dropped eye contact and settled for a nod accompanied by a whimpered “yes please mommy.” In that moment, Larissa couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the love she held for you. The way you almost seemed ashamed by needing her comfort, her love, broke her heart and gave her a vital bit of information. Today was a bad day for your mental health. You’d have all of her no matter what and on the good days you were good at remembering, needing love, comfort and support deserves no shame. You didn’t deserve to battle alone and she would do anything to support you through it.

“Such a sweet girl, mommy is here for you baby” the shifter murmured moving to stand to her full height, left hand extended to you in a silent request. Almost instinctively you took her hand and allowed the older woman to lead you to her desk chair. “Mommy?” Your confused plea caused Larissa to smile soothingly at you. “It’s okay sweet girl, mommy’s gonna sit in her chair, and you can sit on my lap yeah? I know how much my baby loves her snuggles.” As graceful as ever the blonde made quick work of settling both of you into the chair, you straddling her thighs comfortably, facing your wife as she cupped your cheeks. Her thumb trailing over your plump bottom lip, in which you instinctively swiped into your lips with ease and began to suckle lightly. “Pretty girl, anything you need from mommy, you just take it okay?”

“More” you muttered around her thumb, eyes holding a slightly glassy tint to them. It was so quiet Larissa almost missed it but the vibrations against her thumb gave your plea away. The way you were almost pawing at her chest couldn’t have been a clear indication to what you were seeking. “Mommy please” you whined helplessly trying to find the words to articulate your requests but each attempt came out muffled and not making much sense. Your words seemed to blur together only adding to the frustration you could feel bubbling away within you. “Hush darling, mommy knows just what her special girl needs. But you have to stand up for me hmm?”

As if you were a china doll, Larissa gently moved you from her lap to stand by her desk. Worrying your bottom lip between your teeth your eyes tracked every movement she made with a curiosity that seemed almost child like. Larissa made quick work of unbuttoning the buttons of her dress to free her breasts that were still cradled in her sapphire lace bra. You were entranced as she skillfully slipped the clasp free and lost the bra, her pert nipples standing to attention due to the change in temperature. A soft whine filled the room before you even realised that it occurred from yourself. Your gaze locked on her chest with a laser focus. So laser focused in fact you missed Larissa skilfully shifted her anatomy with a practiced ease. A simple tap to your hip refocused your fuzzy brain, “come and sit on mommy’s lap baby. Gonna be a good girl for me yes?”

It took a few seconds for the command to settle within you but you soon found yourself taking your rightful place on her lap, hovering over the newly shifted anatomy that was creating a tent in the principals dress. “Mommy” you blinked to gather your thoughts, “want it.” Simply lifting your hips enough to allow Larissa to strip you of your own underwear before helping you settle once again on her lap, this time her cock nudged against your soaked slit. “Are you sure you want this darling?” Her concern was touching and if you were in a clearer mindset you would’ve found it adorable. Yet here and now you just whined at her reaching down between your bodies, joining Larissa’s hand to guide her shaft into you. Larissa sank into you easily, your walls accommodating her sheer size with ease. Contented at finally feeling full, connected and loved you let out a happy little sigh as your eyes fluttered closed.

"Doing so good for mommy sweetheart, just let the stress melt away for me like a good girl" she murmured softly as her hand trailed up your spine. The tension seemed to leave your body almost instantly when your mouth made contact with her by flawless soft skin of her breasts. It was as if the simple contact was enough to soothe the troubles of your day and your mind. This wasn’t a new situation in your relationship at all, Larissa had offered to go through the process of inducing the production of milk for you but for now you were content with just being able to be this close. Perhaps in the future you’d take the step together but for now this was more than enough for you.

It was easy to lose track of time when you spent time with your lover like this. The feeling of being full, your inner walls contracting every so often due to how amazing it feels, your slick arousal almost leaking onto her lap with the amount of time she spent in you. Larissa would busy herself with working on her laptop or on occasions softly reading to you. The days she read to you were your favourite, the softness her words held, the way her breath with hitch with every squeeze of her shaft and the pure love she looked down at you with when you shifter to get better access to her chest.

Larissa couldn’t get over how amazing it felt to be snuggly settled in your warm cunt, it was amazing she lasted a few minutes with how good you always managed to make her feel, “be careful baby, else mommy is gonna cum darling.” The fuzziness had well and truly set in for the night, your body responding but hugging her dick tighter as you continued to suckle her, small whines of protest at the idea of this moment being over. Why? Why does something so good only get to last a few minutes? It’s not fair. Your right hand moved up to grip her other boob, a clear plea to not end the moment. “Fuck baby, mommy can’t hold on much more. My good girl just feels that good” Larissa moaned when you accidentally squeezed her breast as well as a strong suckle to the breast in your mouth. It was that combination that had Larissa spilling into you. The way you expertly milked every last drop of her cum and the sensation of her filling you up sent you tumbling into your own pleasure. Your fuzzy mind went blank, your vision blurred yet your suckling still continued as if it were the only thing tethering you to her.

Even when you felt Larissa soften within your walls your contentment never seemed to fade away. “Baby? Let’s get you to bed sweet girl. Mommy needs to clean you up my love” Larissa’s gentle attempt at persuading you to move seemed to fall on deaf ears as you happily suckled surrounded in the cloud of bliss she’d graciously given you. A tap to your hip gained your fuzzy attention, “come on darling, let’s go get all comfortable and warm in bed, mommy won’t leave your side.” With her promise, lots of whining and whimpering as the process of detaching your body from hers and lots of praise, you were snuggling up in bed with the love of your life, this time suckling on her chest with the intention of soothing yourself to sleep. The connection you shared with Larissa Weems was just the purest form of unity you could have ever wished for.

Word count~ 2361

[aealzx]

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Prologue | AO3

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By the time they had managed to coast around the entire Watchtower it was already well into the afternoon. Hal had created a small device to allow Danny to be heard when he spoke, and had consequently ended up the recipient to Danny’s neigh endless infodumping while they flew. But Bruce’s warning hadn’t gone unneeded, for after several hours he noticed Danny starting to wear down considerably, and realized the kid had probably only lasted this long because of his adrenaline rush from being so excited, combined with the fact they were in zero gravity. Being told that Danny was recovering from an injury had made Hal think he just shouldn’t run Danny through an obstacle course or the like. But watching the lad after the initial excitement had worn off made Hal consider it was more severe than just a dislocated shoulder or something. But it was easy to tell that Danny wasn’t ready to leave space yet, even if it was just to go back inside the Watchtower. So the most recent few hours Hal had actually led them to a nice part of the Watchtower sticking out quite a bit from the rest, giving them a place to ‘sit’ and stargaze. He couldn’t see the lower half of Danny’s face, but Hal hadn’t seen the smile leave his eyes once. And even now as Danny gazed in the distance with half lidded eyes, they were still shining with exhausted joy as he continued to watch everything he’d already seen at least once today already.

Inevitably the only reason Hal ended up interrupting the peaceful moment was because his own stomach loudly informed him they had missed lunch. Danny hadn’t heard it, but still looked over when Hal waved in his line of sight to catch his attention “C’mon kid, let’s go get some food before your appointment with the Flashes,” he prompted, reaching out to offer a hand even though Danny was currently intangible.

Danny gave a noise that was a mix between reluctance and tired understanding as he obediently pushed himself off the Watchtower to follow Hal. He was drifting quite a bit slower than before, but Hal kept pace with him anyway. The others had been able to cover his minimal duties for the day anyway, and they still had at least an hour before their scheduled appointment, so there was no rush. This time, instead of letting Danny phase through the wall or window again Hal was able to coax him into the nearest hatch doors so they could rejoin the others inside the satellite together. Something that Danny didn’t mind at all since he wanted to experience the mechanical side of entering and leaving space, but also because he wasn’t quite sure where they were in relation to the others. He patiently waited in the chamber as Hal sealed the external doors and triggered the pressurization, curiously watching despite remaining quiet. Once the chamber properly pressurized Danny allowed himself to become tangible again as he let his form touch the floor, then promptly swayed and started to sag to the floor with a worn out half whine half groan. Being in a gravitized space and fully tangible caused his brain to fully register the energy he’d spent, and his body felt heavier than usual white his ribs ached. If Hal hadn’t reached out to grab him he probably would have laid down right where he was.

“Woah there, I got you,” Hal assured, mildly startled at Danny’s reaction and quickly looping a hand around him to support him. He then had to quickly adjust his grip when Danny’s ‘tired teenager’ whine shifted into a pained whimper and he hurriedly reached up to push Hal’s limbs away from his ribs. “Sorry, sorry,” Hal apologized quickly, realizing he had accidentally grabbed Danny where his healing injury was. A chest wound huh? No wonder Bruce had said not to push him. That would be a hard wound to avoid straining if he wanted to support the kid, but Hal wasn’t sure Danny would be up for walking on his own. He seemed much more keen on laying on the floor where he was. So Hal just gave in and scooped Danny up in a front piggyback, earning a soft, amused giggle from the lad. At least he wasn’t the kind to fuss about being carried.

It was in that manner that Hal brought Danny back to the others, who had already reconvened in the dining hall. The remains of their own meals were scattered on the table in front of them, mostly empty dishes and half finished drinks other than the second helping Danielle had.

“There they are- awww. Did you wear him out even though B told you not to?” Stephanie greeted, the first to notice the two since she was facing their way. She had to playfully chide Hal after waving, but also quickly pulled her phone out to snap a picture.

“Hey, Batman only said he was recovering from an injury, not at half tank,” Hal shot back with a mild chuckle, not too upset at the teasing and shifting back to the other thought on his mind. “I’ve learned more about space in the past five hours than I ever did in my entire time in Earth schools,” he half laughed and half complained while bringing Danny over to the space on the bench next to Jazz the others cleared by scooting over.

“You and me both!” Duke laughed.

“Be grateful,” Danielle huffed around a mouthful of food.

“Mmmmmhhh…. This made getting blown to another realm and ending up in a coma worth it…,” Danny half mumbled after being passed to his sister, easily looping his arms around and sagging against her instead with a content hum.

The comment made Hal mentally choke, brows raising significantly as he once again had to reconsider what kind of state the lad was in. “Uhhh, guess I’ll hear more about that later,” he commented, baffled. And then he caught Bruce’s narrowed gaze directed his way and shrank back. “Or never. Never is cool too,” he relented, shrugging and hurrying away to find himself something to eat. This was starting to look like a ‘protective Bats’ situation that he did not want to deal with.

Bruce could only grunt in approval of Hal’s choice to not ask anymore questions, and even excuse himself without further motivation. A noise that was somewhat mimicked by Damian, and that earned an amused chuckle from Stephanie.

“Are you hungry?” Jazz asked Danny, absently rubbing his back as he once again used her for support.

“Mmm…,” Danny hummed again, building the effort to form words. “...A little.”

“Want a sandwich? Or something lighter?”

“Just something to drink, honestly,” Danny requested, grimacing a little as the idea of a sandwich made his currently fussy stomach complain. “I feel like garbage right now.”

The comment earned a few mild chuckles, those on Bruce’s team knowing that Danny probably didn’t feel too bad if he was admitting it so easily. “We’ll be done soon,” Bruce assured.

“The realm scan doesn’t take too long. It’s just processing the data after that could take awhile. You guys don’t need to be involved in that part though,” Tim added to reinforce Bruce’s statement.

“Bet you had fun though,” Stephanie chimed in as Cass quietly returned with a coffee cup full of warm miso soup.

“Mhmmmm,” Danny immediately hummed in confirmation, nodding his head and pulling away from Jazz to accept the cup. “A hundred out of ten, would absolutely do this again,” he laughed, using a finger to tug down his mask to allow him to take a drink. The flavor caused him to blink in surprise, looking down at the cup even though its contents were covered. “Oh, this is good. What is it?” he asked, turning his gaze to Cass since she was the one that had brought it.

“Miso,” Cass answered simply, pleased to see that Danny liked it.

“Oh! This is miso!” Danny gasped in recognition. He’d heard of it before, but this was the first time he’d tasted it. “Yeah, I agree, it’s pretty tasty,” he hummed after taking another sip.

“Told you,” Danielle commented, crumpling the paper that her own second sandwich had been in, now finished. “The authentic stuff is way better than the stuff in America though.”

“Maybe we’ll have to plan a trip when we get back,” Sam mentioned, also curious about the soup.

As Danny gave a hum in non committal agreement, not sure he would have the time for a trip overseas, Bruce spoke up after having gotten a message in the comms. “The Flashes are ready a little early. Let’s head over there so we can get this over with.” He sounded a little grumpy, but he was just wanting to get to a more relaxed location that Danny could rest in again. Somewhere where alerts calling for heroics wouldn’t coax him to participate in more than he could handle yet. Especially when Danny’s response was to give a heavy sigh and mild groan at the idea of relocating.

“Mmhhhhhh gimme a minute to will myself to want to stand up,” he requested, making light of his lingering desire to lay down on the floor.

To his surprise Cass simply leaned over to scoop him up off the bench, earning a startled noise as he flailed his legs and free hand for half a second before he realized what was going on. “I said we would carry you if needed,” she reminded, taking just a moment to adjust her grip while Danny remained frozen in mild shock.

“....Are there any of you who can’t carry me like a jug of milk?” Danny ended up asking, now wondering if he even weighed anything at all to the people in this realm. Did Jazz get slung around so easily too? He knew he was the second shortest of the five, but he didn’t think he was that lightweight. But at this point he was thinking even Damian would be able to run around with him.

“You’re incredibly underweight after everything that’s happened. So at the moment, no, I don’t think there is anyone that can’t carry you,” Tim commented with a wry smile that held a layer of concern.

“Mmh… Fair enough,” Danny relented, accepting his fate to be the resident damsel for now and sipping his soup while Cass brought him to follow the others to the designated labs. They weren’t far compared to other labs in the Watchtower, but it still took a few minutes to reach them. And when they did the doors slid open to a pair of new faces they weren’t expecting. Two teens were gathered around one of the tables with a spread of multiple apple pies between them, and before anyone could comment Conner lowered his slice from where he’d been about to take another bite.

“Well hello there,” Conner greeted, smoothly setting his food down and pulling his phone out before coasting over to Jazz and Danielle. “Can I get some big smiles for the camera? That’s it, up here- Wow! Look at you,” he coaxed, expertly squishing in next to Jazz and looping an arm around her shoulders while holding his phone up for a selfie with the girls, giving a well practiced smile.

“Oh- Uh…,” Jazz stammered, completely caught off guard and unsure what to do at all. The smile she gave was polite, but certainly not one of her best.

“Aw yeah! Get my good side,” Danielle cheered, curling her fist in front of herself for a flex even though her jacket hid her biceps.

“Hey! Me too!” Bart called, zipping over to bump against Danielle, his own pie still in his hand and giving the camera a huge smile just as Conner took the picture.

“Hahaa~ Oh this one looks amazing~”Conner practically sang, pulling to the side and tapping at his phone to look at the picture, already selecting the share option. “What’s your number? I’ll send it to both of you, you both look awesome.”

“Oh. Um,” Jazz stammered again, fidgeting sheepishly. “We… actually don’t have phones right now. Still back in the old home dimension, y’know?”

“Wha? For real? Man what a total bum out,” Conner effortlessly sympathized, “Let me give you my number then. Once you get your phone back you can totes hit me up. How about that?”

“Or I could go get it for you,” Bart chimed in, bouncing next to Conner to look over his arm at the photo. “Aw man, I totally have crumbs on my face. Can we take another one?”

“Okay you two,” Tim interrupted, striding forward to start shoving his friends away. “Let’s stop trying to pick up the new girls before their brother tries to fight you,” he chided, nodding his head to where Danny was glaring daggers at them.

“Hey, I don’t mind a little scrap if the lil guy can take a few punches,” Conner chuckled, easily floating out of range for Tim’s swatting.

“If you can even land any, chump,” Danny scoffed, detaching himself from Cass to float between his sisters and the two flirts.

“Dude, you gotta admit, that pickup was pretty smooth,” Tucker commented, mildly impressed.

“Not helping, Tuck,” Sam scolded, narrowing her eyes at Tucker enough to cause him to flinch away and shield himself.

“Okay okay, point taken,” Tucker relented, shying away from Sam as well as holding a hand up to hide himself from Danny’s livid glare.

“Yeah, no. You guys aren’t fighting unless it’s out in the middle of the ocean or something. I don’t wanna clean up the mess,” Duke chimed in, joining Tim in trying to diffuse the situation. They were confident Danny wouldn’t pull the first punch, but Tim wasn’t sure Conner wouldn’t throw a fist just for fun.

“You’re that confident in this guy’s skills, huh?” Conner prodded, jerking his thumb at Danny and more curious than antagonistic now. If Duke didn’t want them sparring even in the designated wreck rooms then they had to be pretty strong. Which made it all the more tempted to have a tussle with them.

“Phantom was a key factor in the defeat of Deathstroke,” Damian supplied, folding his arms and frowning to hide his mutual interest in seeing the outcome of a spar.

“She also matched me in an arm wrestle!” Jon piped up, raising his hand and finally breaking away from having been stealing some pie to float up to Conner.

“Eyyyy little man! Finally decided to greet me huh?” Conner teased, reaching out to ruffle Jon’s hair before they exchanged a series of hand shakes. “Deathstroke and you, huh? Now I’m really curious.”

“You’re the one that ignored me first for some girls,” Jon huffed quietly, not wanting to interrupt Danielle.

“People tend to start being obedient if you threaten to rip out organs,” Danielle commented, joining the two boys in the air. “Can I still have your number? I’d love to have an on call sparring partner.”

“Hey f’real?” Conner questioned, having not expected to get a sparring partner from that exchange. When Danielle nodded he could only laugh. “Aight, dope. Lemme get that paper and write you a love note,” he chuckled, giving Danielle a wink and earning a hiss from Danny that Conner ignored in favor of speeding away to get a paper and pen.

“Why are you two even here?” Tim asked when Conner returned, resting a hand on Danny’s shoulder to calm him. “Don’t take it seriously. He’s just like that.”

“We heard it was ‘visit your family at work day’ today, so we decided to stop by,” Conner explained, jerking a thumb towards Jon and then between himself and Bart. “Then Ma decided to make like seven apple pies, so at that point there was no bailing out. You all better eat some, I’m not carrying them home.”

“Oh, in that case,” Tucker agreed, easily stepping forward to get a piece. All of Bruce’s kids who were there also lined up to grab a piece for themselves, and by that time Barry joined them from the next door room.

“Holding up my guests I see,” Barry teased, but also grabbed his own, second slice of pie.

“Just getting to know them. And sharing pie,” Bart chimed, another piece disappearing into his mouth.

“Well at least they won’t be bored,” Wally chuckled, joining them, and reaching out to ruffle Danny’s hair. “Good to see you up and about.”

“Glad to be out of bed myself,” Danny agreed. “Might have dragged myself out sooner if you guys had mentioned I could come see space in person.”

That earned a laugh from several of the people in the room, even though they knew it wouldn’t have actually made a difference. Surprising Danny had been much more worth it anyway.

“We’ll take you guys one at a time. The first one might be a little longer though. Calibrating can take a bit,” Barry directed to get things moving.

“What do you need me to do?” Jazz asked, volunteering to go first since she wasn’t sure what exactly was going to happen, and didn’t want anything to go wrong with the others.

“Stand there and keep looking gorgeous,” Conner chimed in quickly, earning a chiding swat from Tim. “What? I’m serious. They just have to stand in the middle of the reader, and she’s gorgeous.”

“Well, they can also sit, but he’s not wrong,” Barry chuckled helplessly. “C’mon, it’s right over here. Just try to stay mostly still and I’ll take care of the rest,” he directed, guiding Jazz over to a device that was mostly an open platform with a slightly wide ring at the ready above.

It really was a boring process. They had a stool for Jazz to sit on, and once she was in place the ring dropped to pass over her, then rose, and dropped again to stay somewhat in the middle of her. And then it was a stretch of time of her just patiently waiting as Barry and Wally manipulated the machine to capture as clear of readings as they could. The first participant took the longest, and after they finally got what they could with Jazz they moved through the others. Danielle and Danny went last, with Danielle going before Danny because their readings ended up somewhat mixed. Which Barry and Wally had half expected after talking to Raven about the two of them being claimed by the Liminal Realm as well as their original one.

The whole appointment took a few more hours, but Conner and Bart were more than happy to keep everyone occupied. Having to explain the family relations Conner had mentioned earlier, and correct them that no, Wally and Barry weren’t blood related, but Barry and Bart were. And after Conner made a comment about “We tried the whole dad thing, but it was suuuper awkward. So we’ve settled for being brothers.” about him and Clark, Tim had nudged Conner and Danielle into realizing they were both clones with a very similar heritage. Which got them both laughing and even more on board with keeping in touch. It was something that caused Danny’s opinion of Conner to soften somewhat, and he reluctantly accepted the idea of the guy hanging out with his sisters if it gave Danielle someone to genuinely connect with.

By the time Barry and Wally had gathered as much data as they could, Danny was dozing on the stool. And as soon as they were given the go ahead to take everyone back to the manor Stephanie rushed ahead with a quick ‘My turn!’ and scooped Danny up, earning a sleepy but amused snort from the lad. Now they just had to wait the two to three estimated days for the analysis of the data before they could theoretically be on their way back home. It was both exciting, and nerve wracking to think about.

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This one ended up quite long and a bit summarized at the end because I'm too eager to get to the next parts to want to draw another pic X'D That and I've been extremely distracted by my own original story I'm co authoring with NaBa, as well as certain blue, and black and red hedghogs >3> Trying to be good an actually finish this one before getting fully distracted XD

By request I pulled Conner in for this chapter, and then dragged Bart in with him 'cause they seem to be glued at the hip and I personally really like Bart. Thank you to everyone that info dumped on me about Conner XD He's a delightful lil shet

I hope you guys have enjoyed the super happy chapters while they've lasted XD I think I have like... 5 or 6 key events left

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira, @nomaru666

[cherryblossomcowgirl]

Stitches

WC: 1.5k

Trigger warnings: Injury; crash, mentions of death; hospital; FLUFF

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“Okay Lieutenant Commander Seresin, I am Dr. Y/n Y/l/n, let’s take a look at what we have here. Ejection from aircraft?” I flip through the chart, making my way into the small room. Concussion, bruising, lacerations, and some road rash. A feeling of worry spreads over me, an ejection? Not only does it sound dangerous, but it also sounds terrifying. My eyes rise up from the papers, meeting the bright green eyes of my patient. My gorgeous, Ken doll of a patient. He sighs, “How bad is it?” I scan him up and down, “We will need to keep you overnight for observation, but you should be able to go home in the morning. I am going to stitch you up now, your numbing shots should have kicked in.” Sitting beside him, I start to sterilize the wounds. He stares at the needle and I can see the nerves on his face. He gulps, “So, uh, where did you go to med school?” I smile in an attempt to calm him, “University of Texas. How about yourself?” The blonde man winces as I sew the first laceration closed, “Hook ‘em, ma’am.” I smile, “Born in Texas, or a transplant?” “Born and raised. From your accent I am assuming you’re the same?” A laugh escapes my lips as I finish up the second long cut on his arm, “Is it that noticeable?” “Yes ma’am. Now can I ask you something and you won’t get offended?” I raise my eyebrow, “Sure, Lieutenant Commander.” He grits his teeth as I finish up the longest cut on his leg, “How old are you? You look a little young to have graduated from med school.” I knot the stitch, “I am 28. This is my first year of residency. And you? Don’t remember seeing you around campus.” I pat his leg and he smirks, “36, ma’am. I would’ve remembered you.” I blush and start putting away my materials, “Well, uh, sir, I will be checking in during rounds. You can hit the call button if you need anything. Your CT scans should come back soon and I’ll read them for you.” As I walk away I can hear his smile as he says, “Thank you, doc.”

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I knock lightly on the door before opening it, “Hi Lieutenant Commander. Your scans came back clear. We can get you out of here first thing in the morning. How is your pain right now?” He turns to me and smiles, “2/10. And you can call me Jake.” “Well Jake, let me know if you have any other questions.” He clears his throat, “Actually I do. Do doctors wear wedding rings?” I furrow my brow, confused, “Married ones do, why?” A smirk spreads across his face, “So there is no Mr. Dr. Y/l/n?” I laugh, “No, Jake. There is not.” “Well in that case, want to grab dinner once I get out of here?” Heat rises to my cheeks yet again, “Oh, Jake, I can’t..” “So there is a future Mr. Dr. Y/l/n?” I shake my head, “No, it’s just I am only 18 hours into my 72 hour shift.” He thinks for a second, “Well how about in 54 hours, I come back and pick you up? As a thank you.” I fiddle with the chart in my hands, hoping he doesn’t see how red my cheeks are, “Sure, Jake.” His smile spreads as I walk out of the room, “Press the call button if you need anything.”

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When I walk in to sign Jake’s discharge papers, he is already out of his bed and dressed. I sigh, “You took out your IVs?” He laughs, “Yes ma’am.” “That’s my job.” Jake checks his watch, “I will see you in 48 hours, Dr. Y/l/n.” Shaking my head, I giggle, “You can call me Y/n, Jake.” His smirk makes my heart skip a beat, “Have a good shift.” “Thank you.” I walk out of the room, wondering what I am getting myself into. My shift flies by, like usual. I stand in for a couple of surgeries and actually get a few hours of sleep. My eyes keep peeking at my watch. That blonde Texan is taking over my brain. I have never seen such a beautiful man. Blonde hair, green eyes, tan, and oh so muscular. I clock out and change into my outfit. I curse myself for not picking something cuter. Just a pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt. Heading to the front of the hospital, I realize I don’t have his number to tell him where to pick me up. As I exit through the sliding doors, Jake is sitting on a bench and he’s holding flowers. He sees me and jumps up, “Hey there, doc.” I smile as he hands me the flowers, “A true southern gentleman.” “I didn’t know what your favorite kind was.. and sunflowers remind me of back home.. so I thought I’d grab them.” “You’re sweet. There’s actually a sunflower field on our ranch.” He runs his hand through his hair, “I’m assuming your car is here, but would you like me to drive? I’ve never picked up a girl from a hospital before so I’m not really sure what the protocol is.” I giggle, “I’ll ride with you, thanks.” He leads me to a lifted pickup truck and laughs when he sees my face, “You can take a boy out of Texas, but you can’t take his truck.” Jake opens my door and gives me a hand up. His hand is so large and steady. He starts the engine and starts driving. Country music is playing on the radio. I feel like I am back home, nervous and trying to impress my high school crush. Jake’s hand reaches over and settles on my thigh, “Thank you for stitching me up. They’re healing real nice.” I try to focus on anything other than his hand on me, “You’re welcome. You got pretty banged up.” He pulls into the parking lot of a restaurant and turns to me, “Yeah, dangers of the job. But I hope you like seafood, this spot has the best view in all of North Island.” “Sounds perfect.”

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He opens the door and I follow him in, noticing how broad his shoulders are. Our table is outside, overlooking the ocean. We sit down and I gaze off at the waves, “This is beautiful, Jake.” He smirks and hands me a menu, “Do you like wine?” “I actually don’t drink.” He raises an eyebrow, “Can I ask why?” I laugh, “No deep or interesting tale, I’m just kind of a health freak.” He leans in, intrigued, “Okay give me the rundown.” “No food dyes, no high fructose corn syrup or artificial sweeteners, no seed oils, and I try to avoid very processed foods.” His jaw has dropped, “Okay, that’s amazing. You will be mortified to see how I eat.. a lot of freezer meals.” “Oh Jake.. we have to get you meal prepping.” He shrugs, “You’ll just have to teach me.” “Deal.” The waitress takes our orders and conversation flows so easily. Jake is smart, funny, and very thoughtful when he speaks. The food comes and it is amazing. Jake clears his throat, “I feel like I’ve bombarded you with questions, so it’s your turn.” I think, “Last serious relationship?” I regret asking it immediately. How forward can I be? He smiles, “I’ll be honest with you, it’s been years. My career doesn’t usually mix well with long term relationships. How about you?” I chew on my bottom lip, “I dated a little bit in college, but never anything serious. My whole life I have just been focused on becoming a doctor.” He nods, “I like you. You’re very straightforward.” “Yeah, uh, sorry. Like I said, it’s been a while.” “How was your shift?” I smile, “I got to assist in an aortic repair surgery and a defibrillator placement! The lead surgeon let me remove the damaged valve. I literally had a piece of someone’s heart in my hand.” “So you’re a surgeon?” “Well, first year surgery resident. Usually 75% make it through all 3 years.” His eyes meet mine with a look of genuine admiration, “You’ll make it.” A blush creeps across my face and I look down, “Thank you.” He pays for dinner and stands up, “Can I show you one more thing?” My stomach flutters and I nod, following him back to his truck.

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He drives down the coast, finally pulling in to a quiet park of the beach. He opens my door and grabs my hand, “Watch your step, okay?” He leads us right past the dunes, sitting in the sand. I sit beside him, the crashing waves sending a calm feeling over me. I turn and meet his green eyes, “Were you scared when you had to eject?” He takes a deep breath, “Yes ma’am. That was the second time in my whole career. The lever jammed for a second. Didn’t think I’d make it.” Instinctively, my hand rests on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, Jake.” My thumb traces circles and I can see him relax, “You must be exhausted, I should take you back.” I breathe in the ocean air, “Just one more minute?” He throws his arm around me and pulls me in to lean on his shoulder, “As many more as you’d like.”