#and i thought about Dr Stone maybe?

[lizzybeeee]

Me: trying to sleep.

My brain: do you remember the memorial to the child paragon in Caridin's Cross?

Child Paragon – the deeds and name are unknown, the memorial in Caridin's Cross has been worn away by time or vandalized by darkspawn

[mercurymacaroons]

woagh 2 posts in one day

[eddiesfaerie]

who you let in

Summary: Jack has a soft spot. He didn't expect you to be the one to find it. (6.9k words) read on ao3 here

Pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, porn with plot (the storyteller within me can't help it), unspecified age gap, hurt/comfort for both of them LOL, canon typical gore? medical stuff? idk, panic attacks, trauma, angst, power dynamics (reader's a med student), suicidal ideation, Jack being flustered, oral (m receiving because he needs it), big dick Jack, fingering, rushed sex despite how long this fic is i'm sorry, unprotected PIV sex, Jack's sort of a soft dom, semi-public sex, praise kink, competency kink, lots of fleshy bodily words in here to describe lust idk

AAAAA i just spent all day writing this yes i'm embarrassed <3 also haven't posted my writing in like actual years at this point.... anyways be nice to me

It’s unlike you, Jack thinks to himself, to look so out of it. 

GSW to the chest. A young girl in her early twenties maybe. She’s lost a lot of blood. Her blonde hair somehow already matted with it, so much so that she could pass as a natural brunette. It’s gone dark with oxygen and coagulation. 

Your team huddles around her, as do the other units around the dozens and dozens of gurneys being brought in one after the other, unrelenting and without promise to end soon. 

All protocols you’ve learned in the last year are out the window. Disregarded for the mass casualty event that was PittFest. None of the residents had ever seen anything like this, you’d never seen anything like this. This was the most action you’d ever witnessed and suddenly you felt like there was a balloon in your own chest, compressing air flow or blood flow or something to your head. 

All the blood, the smell of metal inescapable no matter which section of the ER you were suddenly rushed to. 

Your knees go weak, they shake, your hands shake. Everything’s wrong- 

“She’s going white Abbot pull her out.” 

You hear your attending huff from right behind you before his hand finds your bicep, curling around it and pulling you from where you leaned over the patient. You can hardly protest, your mind elsewhere and your feet blindly follow Dr Abbot who leads you to the family room. 

“Robby I need you to cover over on the GSW to the chest for a sec.” He calls over, his voice ringing in your ears, your mind trying to focus on one single thing but everything’s registering all at once. His hand on your arm, all the beeping, the cries of agony, tubes being intubated and balloons being puffed into chests. It all seems a lot further away when Abbot closes the door. 

You never thought you were particularly his favourite. You’re much younger and typically too upbeat. You clash naturally, he’s not drawn to you and you’re not drawn to him.

Dr Abbot is unafraid of correcting you in front of your peers. After a year now of him being your attending you’ve become familiar with his ways but that doesn’t mean you’re any more appreciative of the public humiliations.

There’s something about these older ex military men, the ones who joined too young and have been in the system ever since, climbing up and up the ranks, hardening at each level to a point where disassociation is expected. Hold it in, hold it together. There’s is no I in team. All for one and one for all. All that bullshit. 

Dr Abbot wasn’t really that guy to a T but hell was he uncrackable, unshakeable, hard as stone. No doubt it’s helped him here in the ER, you’ve never seen someone as laser focused and capable as Dr Abbot. It’s almost effortless for him, it seems. Like he doesn’t have to think twice about anything. His confidence is unmatched and you’d always admired that, no matter how much you thought he disliked you. So yeah it was kind of surprising when he was the one to pull you away for a time out. 

Jack never meant to become so attuned to you. He didn’t do it on purpose. He blames it on being your attending for a while now, he’s worked with you the closet over this past year and he knows how you work, how you operate. He didn’t mean to but it happened. He feels like he can read you like an open book, you wear your emotions on your sleeve, on your face. You’ve never been one to conceal how you were feeling, unlike him. So when you stopped talking, stopped making little remarks and little jokes, nearly frozen and clearly dissociating, he knew what was happening long before the resident called for you to be pulled out. He wanted to give you a moment to bounce back as you usually do. 

Dr Abbot closes the curtain to the family room, shutting the door. He turns around and finds you still awkwardly standing there, eyes far off, elsewhere. He had expected you to take a seat immediately, he doesn’t know what you’re still doing up considering how close you look to collapsing. 

“S-sorry I don’t know what’s happening, I-” You stammer, embarrassed yet not in control of whatever’s taking over your mind and body. 

“Hey, hey stay with me, kid. Don’t go to that place.”

Abbot puts his hand softly on the middle of your back, guiding you to the chair. You sit down reluctantly, unable to move your body in a coordinated way for some reason. He kneels in front of you, groaning as he goes down and his knees cracking. 

“Listen, don’t tell anyone but I’ve had my fair share of panic attacks, okay?”

“Is that- is that what’s happening?” You ask dumbly, squeezing your eyes shut. You suddenly feel dizzy. Not enough oxygen to the brain.

“How does your chest feel? Can you breathe?” 

“I feel like I can’t.” 

“Then yeah, that’s what’s happening.” 

Your lip wobbles despite how much you’re still trying to hold it together, that much Abbot can tell. You’re fighting like hell against this panic attack which might only threaten to make things worse. He grabs your hand in his, squeezing lightly. You’re barely able to return it. 

“What are five things you can see?”

“W-What?” You sniffle.

“Tell me five things you can see, come on.” He squeezes your hand again, reassuringly. 

You try to take a deep breath but your diaphragm spasms and it comes in all shaky, causing you to hiccup like a child. 

“Y-you.”

Against all odds, Dr Abbot smiles. Incredibly small but you see it. 

“That’s right. What else?”

You try to take a deep breath again. “Uh, the paintings on the wall.”

Abbot nods. You continue. 

“The curtains. The chairs. The door.”

“Good. That’s good. What about four things you can touch?”

“Your hand.” You say most obviously, since he’s still holding your clammy hand in his. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so shaken up. 

Dr Abbot squeezes your hand again and this time you squeeze back, a silent thank you of sorts. 

“Um, my scrubs, my hair on my neck, the wind from the fan.” 

“Okay, now three things you can hear.” 

“Your voice.” Dr Abbot chuckles, like he was expecting it. 

“Sure.” He nods.

“You’re breathing.” You take a deep breath now, as if it reminded you. Abbot breathes deeply with you. 

You try to motion lazily to the door, “The doctors outside, I can hear them talking.”

“That’s right, and they’re being pretty loud, aren't they?” He tries to joke, to lighten the mood. 

You nod your head, yeah. 

“What about two things you can smell?”

You go to open your mouth but Abbot cuts you off again. 

“And don’t say me, we’re about an hour into this shift and I know I’m not smelling too pretty right now.” 

You laugh, you actually giggle a bit, albeit a bit breathless, your body still trying to catch up to your more relaxed mind. Jack smiles. 

“I can smell metal and disinfectant.” 

“Okay and one thing you can taste.” 

Your cheeks burn a bit. You know it doesn’t mean anything but when you started each sentence with something relating to him… You can’t help but think. 

“My stale gum.” 

Jack chuckles a bit, shaking his head. What were you doing with mouth in your gum. It’s not allowed on shift but everything had started so suddenly you hadn’t had a moment to toss it and you got scared on choking on it if you swallowed it. 

Abbot clicks his tongue at you in disapproval, holding out his open hand near your mouth. You look at him confused, but he just gestures to his outreached hand. 

“Spit it out, let’s go get you a new one, hmm?” 

Your face burns again, but you do what he says for some reason. 

Because he asked. 

He closes his palm around your gum for a moment before easily tossing it into the trash can in the corner of the room. 

Dr Abbot stands back up, knees cracking again. He helps you up, holding your elbows in each of his hands. You’re still a little wobbly, weak in the knees from your body’s sudden breakdown. You haven’t yet regained all your strength. 

You try to steady yourself, your hands gripping his forearms, trying to concentrate on the strength of him holding you up. 

You suddenly feel oddly close to him. Not just physically seeing as how close you two are standing but in the air, it feels like something’s shifted, like something’s irreparably been changed between you two. He’s just seen you at your most vulnerable, talked you through your first panic attack and even admitted to having experienced them himself. How many people in the ER can say they know that much about Dr Jack Abbot. 

Maybe you’re just over analyzing what’s transpired. 

“How you feeling?” His voice sounds out and you realize you had your eyes squeezed shut, when you open them Jack’s peering down at you, trying to give you the softest look he can muster. 

“I’m okay.” 

“Yeah? You don’t have to be.” You shake your head no. 

“No, no I’m good. Promise.”

“I’ve got my best med student back?”

You can’t help but look at him quizzically, laughing a little. 

“I don’t think I’m your best med student but sure, I’m back.” 

“Come on, take the compliment.” He quips and it surprises you. You didn’t think he’d press your objections. 

“I actually thought you-” Hated me, you want to say.

“I know.”

Oh. 

“I know I’m hard on you. But I only do it because I know you can take it. I think it makes you better.”

Your lips go into a hard line, you nod. Right….

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt to be told I’m doing good every now and then. I do think I’m tough, you’re right, but I don’t know… I like this side of you.” You admit before you can stop yourself. 

Now it’s Jack’s turn to blush. His cheeks go red in that boyish way and it blossoms all the way to the tips of his ears. Your heart leaps a bit. 

If you weren’t back to yourself before, you were now. You’re suddenly very aware of how close you’re standing even though you’ve both let go of each other. It was sobering. 

“Alright kid, as long as you don’t tell anyone.” He winks. 

You burn. 

“Promise.”

/

Things did, in fact, change after that.

Dr Abbot pulls you for huddles, just you and him now for feedback, no longer doing it in front of the other med students, doctors or attendees.

You stand closer to him, he stands closer to you in general. 

He’s not afraid to grab your hand and stop you from doing something. Or start something. The amount of times he’s guided you through a procedure you’d never done before with his steady hadn’t engulfing yours, guiding a blade smoothly through a patients skin or a thin tube through an incredibly small incision. 

You wondered if anyone noticed. If anyone had become attune to the fact that you followed each other around like each other’s shadows. Never one without the other. You could see Princess and Perlah whispering to each other whenever you stood close to Dr Abbot, you couldn’t help but smile at the fact that at least someone noticed how he’d picked you as his favourite and warmed up to you. It made you feel special, all girlish and giggly even though it absolutely shouldn’t. 

A new unusual sound had started to fill the ER. Jack Abbot’s laughter, even quiet giggles fuelled by none other than you. Not even Robby, once his rival now best friend in the ER, could get that sound out of him as often as you do. 

Jack gets you sandwiches, juice boxes from the cafeteria when you look particularly out of it or if the moment granted a quick escape for food. He’d find a chocolate bar or anything to perk you up on days where you weren’t doing so hot, or had a particularly anguishing patient. Death was inescapable in the ER, everyone knew that but not everyone handled it well, it didn’t matter how well versed or experienced you were in the medical industry. 

Not even Jack himself. 

The night shift was now coming to a close, meaning the clock was close to striking 7am. That awkward time before the day shift shows up and the night team goes home to sleep through the day, all to start again in 12 hours. 

It was weird working in the off hours, you felt like a vampire or a bat, you thought to yourself as you climbed the steps to the roof, trying to find Jack. You knew him well now, and you know where he goes to run away when he can’t handle the weight of the shift anymore. 

You open the door, it creaked open annoyingly loud, announcing you rather ungraciously. 

Jack drops his head low at the sound of the door opening. He knew it was you coming to find him. He leans back against the railing behind him. 

“What are you doing up here?” He asks, calling out to you without turning his head. The wind carries the sound of his voice to you. 

The sun is threatening to come up over the city line, light only beginning to spill upwards into the sky, painting the clouds all pretty shades of light blue, pink and orange. You struggle to take in the beauty due to the night that just transpired. 

The vet hit and run. It was a hard one on Jack. He’d known guys like that in the military. They seemed untouchable, surviving tour after tour. It was never easy to watch one go, especially the ones that made it home and get taken out in some seemingly avoidable way. 

Some church bell tolls in the distance. You approach him, unsure how to answer what you’re doing up here. Checking on you, wanting to make sure you’re okay, everyone’s worried but the reality was no one batted an eye at him escaping after spending the last two hours coding this guy into the system. This was how Jack operated. Disassociate, dissociate until he couldn’t anymore and his feet carried him up to the roof. Contemplating. 

So you don’t say anything, you just stand behind him. 

Jack’s skin looks golden up here. The light passing through his curls, catching the greys. Your heart tightens. 

“It’s always a rough way to end the night.” You offer, unsure of what else to say. 

“I must’ve had a reason at one time to keep coming back but… I can’t think of it right now.” Jack grips onto the railing, leaning forward and looking down below him. 

You instinctively reach out to him, your hand going for his bicep, it’s closest to you. Despite the cool early morning air, his skin was still hot to the touch, still coming down from what had just gone down in the ER room. 

“Jack…” You can’t help but sigh, silently pleading with him to stop. 

His head turns, dark eyes meeting yours. God he looks so sad, a man worn down. 

And you realize you’ve never called him by just his name. Just Jack. 

“D-Dr Abbot, I mean- sorry.” 

He doesn’t correct you. He doesn’t particularly care right now. And the way you said it makes his heart tight like your hand is on his arm. Palms clammy with being so high up and so close to a ledge. You never liked heights and you hate that he’s always flirted with them. 

He clicks his tongue, sighing before crouching down and reeling himself back over to your side of the railing. You sigh in relief, you hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. 

Jack is completely distraught. He looks wrecked, broken. 

Your hand still on his arm, he comes to face you, standing so close but you can’t find it in you to step away from him, not when he’s like this. 

Jack drops his forehead to your shoulder, you try not to freeze up at the sudden extreme closeness.

“Are you okay?” You ask dumbly, voice gone quiet because of how close he is. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear, plush flesh on soft cartilage. Jack shivers, turning his head slightly and his nose pushes into your neck. 

What else is there to say to such a quiet man, lost in his own solitude of reflection. 

“No.” He says simply, plainly. 

Your heart aches for him. 

Your hand is still on his arm, you flatten it and trail it up to his shoulder, squeezing him there. 

He presses himself closer to you. You hold your breath, your heart threatening to leap up out of your throat. You swear he must feel it beating through his own chest. You think you can feel his. 

He trails his nose along your neck, up your ear. You can feel that subtle white beard that carves the angles of his face so sharply, so perfectly, colour so soft and white it nearly blends into his skin seamlessly. They catch at your skin in that scratchy way and its almost too much. 

His hands, they move and suddenly they’re on your waist, sliding around the circumference of you until he’s enveloped you in his strong arms. You can feel how sturdy he is, how solid and strong from years of exertion and force and yet you feel like you could blow away at any moment. This cannot be real. You can smell his hair, the remnants of his cologne peaking through the smell of antiseptic and disinfectant. You can smell him. 

He knows this shouldn’t really be happening. You both do. You’re both very much aware of that fact. Even though its just a hug its just a hug. Jack had been aware of it ever since that day in the family room when he first worried about you. Because that’s what friends do… they worry about each other, right? Friends….

Jack lets his nose travel higher, along your hairline behind your ear, relishing in the closeness of  another living, breathing human being. Warm flesh against flesh, closeness of muscles and organs. Hearts, beating. When was the last time this happened? When was the last time he let his walls down like this? You both wondered. 

“I’m sorry.” He offers lamely, voice quiet and matching yours. He tries to pull away from you but his body doesn’t get the memo, he stills clings to you. He’s afraid of what would happen if he were to let go now. Surely he’d crumble into nothing off this roof. 

He moves his head, nose against your cheek as your hands move to his chest, bunching up the fabric of his shirt in your palms. You don’t want him away either. You need him close, suddenly very close. Despite your breathlessness at the closeness, you think you’d stop breathing if he were to pull away now. You wouldn’t bear it. 

You shake your head no, “Don’t be.” You reassure him, voice still quiet. 

Something posses you and you nudge your nose with his, Jack sighs loudly, arms tightening around you and you sigh too. Your mouth opens in an innocent way, trying to get more oxygen to your brain. But you can feel his breath on yours, feel it fanning against your lips and you lean closer, pushing your nose into his again and he has to use every iota of strength within him to not lunge into you. 

This shouldn’t be happening, he reiterates to himself. All the alarms are going off in his head. He shouldn’t be touching you like this, he shouldn’t have grabbed you, you shouldn’t be letting him. You could both get in serious trouble for this. 

But you fist at his shirt, hands trembling against his chest, feeling him, muscles under supple flesh. Your lips part, small breath fanning against his lips and he breaks. He’s just a man. 

Jack presses his open mouth to yours, and you let him again for a reason he doesn’t quite understand. It’s sloppy in a desperate way, passionate and sad. You could cry if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feel of being completely encompassed by him, his soft lips on yours. 

You open your mouth wider, your hands moving from his chest to wrap your arms completely around his neck, hauling his body into yours as if you couldn’t get any closer. You wanted to meld into him. Bone fusing to bone. You let your tongue poke out and suddenly he’s right there with you, his tongue going as far into your mouth as it possibly can, trying to get to every inch of you. Jack whines and you burn at the pathetic sound. A grown man, whimpering for you. Your knees threaten to buckle. 

His body flush with yours, you can’t help but feel how his body reacts to you. Hard and solid against your hip, your leg as your bodies writhe against the other, pleading to get closer. 

“Jack,” you whimper into his mouth, unsure, testing. 

Jack lets his lips travel to the corner of your mouth, kissing every inch of you that he possibly can, your teeth as you say his name, your cheek, earlobe, the spot underneath your ear. 

“Tell me to stop.” He groans, hands moving back to their spot on your waist, trailing down to your hips where he grinds you against him, making that aching part of him known. 

You whimper again, eyes threatening to roll into the back of your head like the sun threatens to come over that edge and catch you both where you ought not to be. 

“I don’t want you to stop.” You admit, face burning even though you’re both as debauched and pathetic sounding as the other.

Boldly, you let one hand travel down from his neck, down his body to softly touch in between his legs, feeling where he’s hard, aching between his legs. He groans again, this time absolutely pained, his forehead dropping to yours. 

“W-We shouldn’t be doing this.” He admits, like you both don’t know that already. He’s practically begging you to give him a reason to stop this now, even though he knows he’s already too far gone to do anything at this point. You’re too warm, too welcoming and soft and willing. Salvation. 

“Especially not here.” You manage to laugh a little. Suddenly you pull away from Jack and he thinks that’s it, you’re calling it. His instincts propel him to check his watch to check the time. T.O.D. Time of death. He’s being dramatic. 

You pull him to the opening of the stairwell, creaking open that squeaky door once again and you lightly press him against the wall furthest away from the stairs.

It’s an enclosed space, a room up on the roof. You have to open another door to get to the stairs which lead all the way down to the ER, blocked by another set of doors. If someone were to go into the stairway, you’d hear them from a mile away. At least that’s what you hoped.

Jack let’s you move him, lets you press your body against his and kiss his tanned, freckled neck. Your hand finds its spot on his crotch, feeling him through his pants. God he hasn’t gone down an inch. He feels huge, painfully hard. You can’t believe you’re feeling him like this. You can’t believe The Jack Abbot is letting this happen, you can’t believe he wants it. With you. 

“Can I?” You ask, already lowering yourself to your knees. 

Jack just looks at you in complete and utter disbelief, mouth agape as he watches you get down on your knees, pressing your face to his clothed dick, kissing him through the fabric. Kill me now, he thinks. If anyone were to find you both like this… 

He feels like a dirty old man as you pull his cock from his pants, watching it spring up and slap his belly with wide eyes, like you need it, like you’re suddenly starving. 

His cock is huge. You don’t know what you expected but it wasn’t this. You try not to look frightened by it, by the prospect of shoving it into your mouth and hopefully, your cunt. 

He’s your attendee, you try not to think about that. Try not to think about how you’re his subordinate and he’s so much older than you, experienced, well versed. This is all completely wrong, incredibly fucked up but fuck if it doesn’t turn the both of you on just a little more in the worst way. 

His dick is hot in your hand, skin like silk and you salivate at the pure sight of it. You look up at him, his face flushed all the way up to his ears and down to what you can see of his chest poking out through the small v in his shirt. Skin on fire. 

You give him a sort of inquisitive look and he realizes he never answered you. You looking up at him with those big, needy eyes. He can only bring himself to nod his head, at a lost for words. 

You smile up at him, hand already gliding up and down his thick length. Jack hisses at the near foreign sensation, in this moment he can’t bring himself to remember the last time this happened, let alone a time when it wasn’t his own hand. Yours is much smaller, more delicate than his, you can barely wrap it around the entirety of him and suddenly he feels dizzy. 

You lean forward, kissing the tip of him and he squeezes his eyes shut. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, they open and close into fists at his sides. God does he want to touch you, to have you let him take what he wants but he’s afraid. Afraid of over stepping, afraid of scaring you. 

Suddenly you’re opening your mouth and kissing at the head of him, licking at his slit, collecting whatever’s pooled there and humming to yourself at the taste. You’re worried you’ll become addicted to this.

More of him slides into your mouth, all the way until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Suddenly his hands are flying to the side of your head, holding you there. His eyes open and he looks down at you, eyes intense, mouth set into a hardline like he’s barely hanging by a thread. You make eye contact with him and he groans, loud. You’ve only ever seen him like this leaned over a patient, intense focus, blinders on to anything except the task at hand. But this time its you. Your pussy throbs. 

Jack let’s himself thrust into your mouth a couple of times, eyes squeezed shut again, head leaned back against the wall behind him in complete surrender to you and your mouth. He says your name so broken, like its the only thing he can remember, the only thing keeping him grounded. 

You wonder if he’ll let you fuck him. 

A few more thrusts and suddenly Jack is pulling you off of him, looking back down at you again and hauling you back up to your feet. You give him the saddest eyes and he swears his heart breaks. 

“I’m- I was gonna cum if you kept that up.” He sort of laughs to himself. Jack’s never felt more out of practice than he does now, pants down around his ankles, cock heavy and begging still in your hand, and a young, pretty girl looking at him with wet eyes, hungry for him. 

What did he do in a past life to deserve this? 

“That was kind of the idea.” You smile, bitting your lip and your hand continues to move up and down on his aching length. 

Back face to face now, Jack can’t believe he has you like this, lips plump and swollen with exertion and slick with spit. Your eyes are dark with greed, hunger for something else. He never though this would happen, not between the two of you. Not that he ever explicitly thought about it but there were moments of weakness. Moments where he let his mind wander as he held your hand in his, guiding you through a procedure, noticing your body and its proximity, its warmth, that girlish smell you carry around you. You’ve always been intoxicating, a temptation just begging to be indulged in. Had he mentioned how wrong he thought all of this was?

“Jack?” You ask, pulling him out of this thoughts. 

“Hmmm?” He basically slurs, distracted by the continuous movements of your hand on his cock, it was on the verge of turning painful. 

“I asked you if you’re gonna fuck me.” You ask, devilish grin plastered on your face like you’re the cat who got the fucking cream. Or is at least trying to.

Jack lets out a broken laugh, voice cracking from your particularly harsh grip on him. 

“Is that- Is that what you came up to the roof for?” He jokes but suddenly you think he’s being serious. 

You worry thats all you thought of him, of this. A quick fuck, a need for release, a need to forget what happened tonight. 

“No, Jack that’s not- I swear-” You struggle to find your words. 

Jack smiles at you, it alleviates some of your worries. His hand moves and finds the waist band of your pants, he shoves it down until he’s cupping your sex. You gasp, his hand hot, feeling your hotter core and whats embarrassingly seeped out of you ever since you pulled him from the railing. 

Jack clicks his tongue at you, like he always does. 

“Yeah, I bet you want me to fuck you, alright. You’re soaking for it.” 

Oh fuck. 

You whimper, leaning easy into his touch, letting him feel you. 

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, his fingers gliding easy through your glossy folds, playing around in the mess you made. Its embarrassing. So much so that you almost miss him calling you baby. 

Jack doesn’t fight the temptation long, no matter how much he wants to tease you about it. His two fingers find your hole and push in steadily, afraid to hurt you. You gasp, body falling into his, letting him hold you with his other arm. Your hand on his cock stutters but is determined to keep pleasuring him. 

You moan when he pushes his fingers all the way in, crooking them to press up against that spongey spot inside of you, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head. 

“Fuck-” You choke, head heavy on his shoulder, your lips grazing his neck as he thrusts his fingers in and out of you, switching it up between that and toying with that fucking spot inside of you. 

“Jack, I’m-”

“Oh I bet you are.” He chides and you burn. 

This could have been so humiliating if you chose it to be. How quickly you folded for him, how badly and desperately you needed him. As if he hadn’t folded just as quickly, if not faster, for you. 

Suddenly his fingers are ripped from your core and he’s ripping your pants down along with your underwear. You step out of them quickly, letting him manhandle you around to get you were you wants you. 

“Look at you listening to me so easily now.” Jack remarks, turning you around and pushing you up against the wall. 

“I always listen to you.” You admit, voice breathless and breaking and sounding completely debauched. 

You feel him step in to your space, you arch your back instinctively and Jack basically purrs all soft for you. You feel the head of his cock at your entrance, threatening your folds. You whimper, shiver. You try to push into him but his hand flies to your neck, holding you still where you are. 

He leans over your back, rucking your shirt up with the hand that was holding his dick. He hadn’t meant for this to happen like this, all dirty and rushed and in his fucking workplace. He thinks about the rest of you, hidden under your scrubs, how he’d kiss every inch. Maybe that was for another time. Hopefully. 

“I know you do.” He praises, kissing the back of your neck and pushing into cunt in the same breath. You both groan way too loudly, pure relief coming over the both of you. 

Jack breaches you slowly, he knows he’s big. He’s not even being any type of way about it, he just knows its a lot from past…. flings. But God do you take him like a champ. You push your hips back into his, needing him to fill you completely you’re fucking whimpering for it. 

But Jack’s still got his hold on you, pinning you down so he can work you onto his cock slowly, at his own pace. He’s in control here. 

You both moan again once he reaches the end of you, fully seated in your velvety pussy. His head falls onto your back, his arms wrapping around you to hold you to him, anything to get closer. You scramble to gain purchase on anything, the wall, his strong arms, anything. You feel dizzy, you feel full, you feel drunk. 

“Always so good for me. Such a good girl” He moans, hips pulling back to just thrust back in punishingly. It punches a moan out from your gut. 

You nod your head, unable to speak. I try to be good, I try to be.

Jack doesn’t wait, this has to be quick anyways, you both have been gone for far too long, he’s suddenly reminded that the day shift will be showing up in a matter of minutes and God knows Robby will be looking for him up here. His dick throbs at the thought of being caught balls deep inside of you, his little med student. 

He pulls you back by the ass to meet his hips, pumping himself in and out of your creamy pussy at a brutal pace, his eyes nearly rolling into the back of his head. He says your name, you’ve never heard him say a name quite like that and it breaks you. 

“I-Is this good?” He asks, trying to be sexy but it comes out broken, desperate and pathetic.

You nod your head frantically again, trying to turn your head to look at him and Jack’s heart soars at the sight. Your pupils blown black, eyes big and watery from the feel of his cock filling you up to the absolute brim, hair matted to your sweaty forehead. He wants to lick the sweat from you. Next time, next time. 

Jack leans closer, kissing you on the open mouth and you moan debauchedly into him. As he moved closer to you to keep kissing you it pushed his cock that much further into you, his hips grinding into your ass and his cock into the absolute end of you. You can barely keep yourself standing, you’re thankful for Jack’s strength keeping you up, you could’ve had both feet off the ground and you’d have no idea. 

His cock pummels into you, moan after moan being punched from your chest, your gut, the deepest part of you. 

You whimper into his mouth at his sweet kisses in contrast with his harsh thrusts, it was enough to make your head spin, your pussy clench, threatening to burst. 

“Tell me it’s good, need you to say it for me.” 

“S-So good, Jack. You feel-”

“Yeah?” 

You cry, you think a lone tear falls from your eye and maybe Jack kisses it away or licks it but his cock doesn’t stop and suddenly you’re cumming, completely surrendering your body to his. You shudder and twitch and your pussy squeezes his dick so tight he nearly sees stars, it takes everything in him to not blow his load inside of you in that instant. 

That would be bad, that would be really bad, that would be messy and irresponsible and fuck he’s not wearing a condom how could you both have been so stupid and drunk off each other to not grab a condom. It’s not like you have them in your scrubs but theres a dispenser in the bathroom and - 

“Jack please,” You beg, voice so small and worn out. Your hand reaches out behind you, grabbing for him and suddenly he’s pulled back to the very real reality where he is fucking the shit out of you and he’s about to cum about it. 

“Please what?” He asks, needing to hear you say it. 

“Need you- need you to cum for me. Please Jack.” 

Fuck, he doesn’t want this to be over, he needs this to go on forever, needs you to suddenly be his salvation, he’s not quite sure how he’s gone on this long without you but he knows he can’t go forward without it. 

Jack’s body tenses, his cock somehow gets impossibly harder, you feel it thicken inside of you and you moan again, another orgasm threatening to rip through you. 

But suddenly he’s pulling himself out of your greedy hole, his voice breaking as he spills himself onto the concrete floor beneath the both of you. Your cunt pulses, desperate to have him fill you again. Before you can protest his fingers lunge up into your abused hole again and he grating at that spot inside of you, the one that has you seeing stars. 

“Need another one, yeah?”

“Jack- fuck!” It complete takes over you. 

Somehow without having to even tell him, he felt the way your pussy spasmed and cried around him right before he pulled out, he knew you were close to cumming again. And ever the gentleman he is, he’s going to give you another one. 

He’s unrelenting, just like he was with his cock. His two fingers crook up against that spot again and suddenly you’re seeing stars. 

Jack’s arm wraps around the front of your shoulders, hauling your back straight against his chest, holding your trembling body to his. You can feel his slowly softening cock against your lower back, cum still dripping from it onto your ass. 

“Do it, please.” He begs of you this time, the muscles in both arms trembling from his own orgasm. 

Jack feels your pussy spasm again, feels the way your chest quickens its breathes, the way your feet nearly kick out from under you with the strength of it all and your cumming on his hand, your eyes going black and blind from the force of it. 

You slump back against him, letting him hold you once again. Jack wraps both his arms around you, swinging you around so that his back is pressed against the wall so he can lean on something. You both try to catch your breath, clinging to each other with leftover desperation. 

Greedily, he lets a hand swipe through your abused folds, collecting what you’ve given him. You whimper, leaning your head back to hide it in his neck, embarrassed. 

“Jack,” you whine in a pathetic attempt at protesting. 

He clicks his tongue at you, “Let me.” He tells you, plainly. 

His fingers linger, scooping up what he can and bringing it to his lips. He licks everything, groaning at the taste and letting his eyes close. You whine, pushing your face further into his neck, smelling him. He smells manly, like sweat, cologne and sex. You let it envelop you. 

Jack holds you like that for as long as he humanly can. Before the thoughts of getting caught inevitably come crashing down upon him again. 

“We have to move, kid. Can’t stay like this forever.” He tells you in a sad tone. You press a final kiss to his neck, breathing him in before pulling away. 

“I know.” 

You both pull yourselves back together. Jack puts his own pants back on as he watches you pull your underwear on slowly. Mindlessly, he reaches for your pants and holds them out for you. You put your hands on his shoulders while you step into them. 

“Thank you.” You tell him, voice gone quiet again, like you already have to be hush hush about this. 

Jack kisses the top of your head sweetly. You wonder what’s to come after this. You look up at him and he gives you that slick side smile you’ve only seen him throw Robby or Dana. 

“Didn’t know you could make noises like that.” He smiles and you push him back against the wall you were both just fucking up against, your face absolutely burning. This motherfucker likes making fun of you. 

“Jack I swear to God-”

He grabs you and kisses you again, holding your face to his. You let him kiss you, fighting the want to just melt back into him and stay here. 

Jack pulls away first. His anxiety getting the best of him. 

“Can I drive you home?” He asks, unsure of what else to say. He needs to get you out of the workplace and have a normal fucking conversation with you that doesn’t revolve around grief and dying kids and elderly on life support. 

And besides he knows you take the bus. 

“Yes please.” 

/

okayyy i literally had to cut it short because this shit was getting too long LOL, i had a full final act outlined but maybe that could be a shorter part two if anyone's interested..... lmk <3

[kannady]

Genuinely love the Ever, Ever After series. Reading every paragraph of it has me clutching to my pearls <3 I LOVE IT SO MUCHH SHIWJEIEJW

ever, ever after

pairing: sylus x non-mc reader

summary: sylus didn't love you. how could he when she was around? but would he come look for you if you willingly step into EVER's boundaries?

word count: 4k

a/n: okay so! an early update cus ill be super busy and tired tomorrow, then squid game s3 will be coming out AND a lads update is coming out on friday with fans heavily speculating we'll get a sneak peak of the sixth li. so im guessing we'll all be super busy. i really hope ur enjoying this series and TYSM ANON you literally made my day!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as well. lemme know your thoughts!

read rest of the chapters here!

III

Your heart sank like a stone in water as Dr. Voss’s expression shifted. A slow, chilling transformation from  curiosity to something far more dangerous. His cold eyes flicked from you to Sylus, still restrained behind the glass, then back to you, and in that split second, you knew. 

Oh, shit. I’m done for.

But survival instincts kicked in, sharp and automatic. You straightened your spine, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

"I was just checking his vitals before lunch," you said, gesturing to the monitors with a steadiness you didn’t feel. "His levels plateaued. The serum isn’t affecting his Evol anymore. I thought-" A breath, calculated. "I should ask if he was experiencing any side effects. Protocol 9-D, right? Patient-reported data?"

The lie slithered out smoother than you expected. Voss’s eyebrow arched, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat too long before he stepped closer to the observation window. The silence stretched, suffocating, as he scrutinized the vitals himself. You could almost hear the gears turning in his head, the suspicion coiling tighter.

Then, miraculously, he nodded. "You’re right." His voice was clipped, but the tension in your shoulders eased a fraction. "We’ll halt administration. Clearly, this batch isn’t potent enough." He turned to you, and for the first time in your two years at EVER, something resembling approval flickered in his expression. "Good catch, Dr. (Y/N)."

The praise should’ve felt like a victory. Instead, it sat heavy in your chest. You nodded stiffly, avoiding Sylus’s gaze, but you could feel it, burning into you like a brand. Even now, even half-drugged and strapped to a chair, he was watching. Waiting.

You mumbled an excuse about lunch and all but bolted from the lab, the doors hissing shut behind you. The hallway was deserted, the fluorescent lights humming softly overhead. For a moment, you just stood there, pressing your palms to your eyes until stars burst behind your lids. 

What the hell am I doing?

Your phone was in your hand before you could second-guess it. Luke’s number rang once, twice, then disconnected. Kieran’s didn’t even go through. You stared at the screen, your reflection warped in the black glass. A new, ugly thought slithered into your mind. What if he didn’t come alone?

Sylus didn’t do anything without a plan. And if he was here, in EVER’s clutches, then where was she? The woman whose laughter had haunted you long after you’d left. The woman he’d loved in some other life, maybe even in this one.

Your fingers tightened around the phone. What if this was all part of some elaborate scheme, and you were just a pawn again? A distraction. What if she was waiting in the shadows, ready to step in the moment EVER’s defenses crumbled?

The idea should’ve infuriated you. Instead, it just made you tired. Two years of running, of building a life where you were finally someone else, and here you were, right back where you started. Caught between Sylus’s games and EVER’s cruelty, with no idea which side would destroy you first.

You shoved your phone back into your pocket and started walking, your heels clicking a sharp, staccato rhythm against the tile. It didn’t matter. None of it did. Because whether this was a trap or some twisted reunion, one thing was certain. You were already in too deep to walk away now.

Your lungs burned with the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. The immediate crisis was over, Voss had bought your lie, at least for now. But the relief was temporary, fragile as glass. You knew what came next. A stronger serum. A more aggressive extraction. And Sylus, proud, untouchable Sylus, wouldn’t survive it.

The thought sent a fresh wave of panic crashing through you, your pulse hammering so loudly you were half-convinced the entire lab could hear it. What do I do?

Luke and Kieran weren’t answering. That left only one option.

Her.

Her very presence had been like a blade pressed to your ribs, a constant reminder that no matter how close you stood to him, you would never be the one he truly saw.

You swallowed hard, your fingers twitching at your sides. She worked at the Hunters Association, you remembered that much. But you couldn’t go now. Not in broad daylight, not when you didn’t even know her name. The realization was a bitter pill. Two years of resentment, of stolen glances and silent comparisons, and you’d never even learned what her name was.

No, you’d have to wait. Slip away after hours, linger near the building’s exits like some kind of stalker, and hope to catch her leaving. The idea made your skin crawl, but what other choice did you have?

For now, you forced yourself to move, to slip back into the rhythm of your day like nothing was wrong. Mara had mentioned a new restaurant, some place with dumplings she’d been raving about. You went, more out of obligation than hunger, sliding into a seat just as the lunch rush began to thin.

The food arrived, steam curling off the plates in fragrant spirals. You picked up your chopsticks, took a single bite, and then just stopped. The flavors blurred together, tasteless as ash. Your mind was elsewhere, spinning in frantic circles.

What if she doesn’t help? What if she laughs in your face? What if she’s the reason he’s here in the first place?

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite long gone. Around you, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, the clatter of dishes, the occasional burst of laughter. None of it reached you. You were trapped in your own head, drowning in scenarios that all ended the same way, with Sylus’s lifeless body on an exam table, and your hands stained with the consequences.

By the time you made it back to the facility, lunch had bled into the afternoon, the sky outside the windows already darkening toward evening. You barely had time to stash your bag at your workstation before the alert chimed on your tablet.

“Emergency meeting. Conference Room A. 5 minutes.”

Your stomach dropped.

You knew, even before you stepped through the doors, what this was about. The room was already half-full, researchers murmuring to each other in hushed, excited tones. Voss stood at the front, his expression unreadable as he tapped something into a holoscreen.

Then he looked up, and his gaze landed squarely on you.

“Now that we’re all here,” he said, his voice cool and precise, “let’s discuss Phase Two.”

The screen behind him flickered to life, revealing a new formula, twice as complex as the last, with a list of side effects that made your blood run cold.

Cardiac arrest. Cerebral hemorrhage. Ischemic stroke.

Voss’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “We begin testing tomorrow.”

Across the room, Mara caught your eye, her brows furrowed in concern. You realized, distantly, that your hands were shaking.

You curled them into fists.

The meeting passed in a blur of muffled voices and flickering holoscreens. Words like "enhanced serum" and "immediate testing" caught your attention once in a while, meaningless noises against the roaring in your skull. You sat stiff-backed in your chair, fingers clenched around your tablet hard enough to leave imprints, your mind a thousand miles away, trapped behind that observation glass, watching Sylus’s body convulse under the serum’s assault.

When the meeting ended, you stood mechanically, following the stream of researchers out the door like a robot rehearsing actions. Your footsteps echoed down the hallway, perfectly measured, your body moving on autopilot while your thoughts spiraled.

What were you going to do?

The question looped in your head, but there was no answer. No plan. Just the crushing weight of what was coming, the knowledge that tomorrow, they would strap Sylus back into that chair and pump him full of something even worse. And you would have to watch.

A hand closed around your wrist, yanking you sideways into a dim storage room. The door hissed shut behind you, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented, as Mara’s face swam into focus. Her usual playful smirk was gone, replaced by something sharp and searching.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, voice low. “You’ve been zoning out all day. And in there?” She jerked her chin toward the conference room. “You looked like you were about to vomit.”

Your throat tightened. I can’t tell her. The truth was a grenade in your hands, pull the pin, and everything would blow apart. Mara was your friend, maybe the closest thing you had to one in this place, but this? This was too big. Too dangerous.

“It’s just…” You swallowed, scrambling for something, anything, that wasn’t a lie but wasn’t the whole truth either. “This is serious stuff we’re doing now. I can’t- I don’t know if I can take it.”

Mara’s eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?” She crossed her arms, leaning back against a shelf of sterile supplies. “What about the other experiments you performed? The neural overwrites? The memory wipes?” Her voice dropped, almost mocking. “Those didn’t bother you?”

The words hit like a slap.

She was right. You had done worse. Writen protocols that scraped a person’s mind clean, designed machines that could drain the blood out of the subjects with a few clicks. But those subjects had been monsters, rapists, murderers, traffickers from the N109 Zone’s darkest corners. You’d seen their files. Known what they’d done. It had been easy, then, to tell yourself you were making the world better.

But Sylus? Sylus was different.

What exactly was he to you?

The question lodged in your chest like a bullet.

Mara sighed when you didn’t answer, pushing off the shelf. “Look, I won’t push. But get it together.” Her gaze flicked to the door, then back to you, uncharacteristically serious. “I noticed first because we’re friends. The moment someone else does? You’re in trouble.”

She left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her, and just like that, you were alone.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. You slumped against the wall, your legs suddenly unsteady, the cold metal biting through your lab coat. Your tablet slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor, but you didn’t bother picking it up.

You couldn’t walk away now. Couldn’t pretend you hadn’t seen him. Couldn’t let them kill him.

But helping him? That meant betraying EVER. Meant throwing away everything you’d built, your career, your safety, the fragile peace you’d carved out for yourself.

And for what?

For the man who’d watched you walk away two years ago and hadn’t followed?

Your hands trembled. You pressed them to your face, your breath coming too fast, too shallow.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, a voice whispered. You already know the answer.

You’d known it the moment you saw him behind that glass.

You were going to burn your life to the ground for him.

And the worst part was you didn’t even know why.

You slipped out of the storage room with measured steps. The hallway was empty, the hum of distant conversations and clicking keyboards the only sounds. Okay, you’ve got this. 

The plan formed in your mind like a lifeline. After work, you’d go to the Hunter’s Association. Even if Sylus had some grand scheme in motion, you needed to know. And then? Then you’d step away. Wash your hands of this mess.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself before pushing open the lab doors. Inside, the scene was exactly as you’d left it, researchers hunched over glowing screens, fingers flying across tablets, the air thick with the sterile scent of ozone and disinfectant. No one looked up as you entered. No one except Mara.

Her gaze met yours for a brief moment before she deliberately turned back to her work. The unspoken "get it together" was evident on her face. You forced yourself to move, crossing the room to your workstation.

The observation window drew your attention like a magnet. Empty, of course. Sylus wasn’t there, why would he be? The serum testing was done for the day, and EVER had no reason to keep him in the lab when they could stash him in some high-security cell instead.

You sank into your chair, fingers hovering over the holoscreen as your thoughts churned. None of this made sense. If Sylus was here, it had to be part of a plan. That’s how he operated. So where was the cavalry? Where were Luke and Kieran, bursting through the doors with guns blazing? Where was the distraction, the sabotage, the anything that would explain why the most dangerous man you’d ever known was sitting in a cell instead of burning this place to the ground?

Unless he wanted to be here.

The thought sent a chill down your spine. You shook your head, as if you could physically dislodge it. No. That was a rabbit hole you couldn’t afford to go down right now.

You threw yourself into your work, losing hours to data streams and prototype schematics, your hands moving on autopilot while your mind raced. The second your shift ended, you were out the door, your coat barely shrugged on as you all but sprinted for the transit station.

The Hunter’s Association loomed ahead, its sleek facade lit by the dying light of the sunset. You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly unsure. Were you too late? Too early? Would she even still be here?

You planted yourself across the street, leaning against a lamppost like you had every right to be there, your pulse thundering in your ears. Minutes ticked by. Ten. Twenty. Just as you were about to give up, to turn and walk away, you saw her.

There she was.

She stepped out of the building beside a coworker, a tall man with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, his posture relaxed, his laugh carrying across the street. And her. Even now, after all this time, the sight of her hit like a punch to the gut.

She was beautiful. Effortlessly so, her hair catching the golden light, her smile easy as she listened to something the man said. You’d spent years trying to forget the exact curve of her lips, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when she laughed.

Your feet moved before you could stop yourself, carrying you across the street. The man noticed you first, his gaze sharpening as he subtly shifted his stance, one hand drifting toward his hip. A weapon. Of course. Hunters were never unarmed.

She followed his line of sight, and her eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped. Her smile froze, her breath catching audibly. You saw the exact moment recognition dawned, the way her eyes widened, her lips parting in something like shock. Then she  turned to the man, murmuring something too low for you to hear. 

He hesitated, his gaze flicking between the two of you before nodding and walking away, though not without a final, lingering glance in your direction.

And then she was walking toward you, her steps measured, her expression unreadable. Up close, she was even more striking. The scent of her perfume hit you like a memory. The last time you’d been this close to her, you’d been standing in Sylus’s study, your hands clenched at your sides as they stood side by side. 

Now, she studied you with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

"You," she said finally, her voice softer than you remembered. "I wondered if I’d ever see you again."

The words settled between you, heavy with unspoken questions.

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

What the hell were you even supposed to say?

Your mouth went dry. The words tumbled out before you could stop them, awkward, stilted, painfully inadequate. "Um… hi?"

Her expression softened, something unreadable flickering in her eyes. Then, to your absolute shock, she stepped forward and pulled you into a hug.

You froze.

Her arms were warm, her perfume dizzyingly familiar, something floral and expensive, the same scent that had lingered in Sylus’s study long after she’d left. Your hands hovered uselessly at your sides, your brain short-circuiting. What the hell was happening?

She pulled back first, her smile small but genuine. "Where have you been?"

The question threw you. You blinked, scrambling for words. "I just… left. For work."

"Work?" Her brow furrowed. "You worked for Sylus."

"Well, yeah. And then I left."

She studied you for a long moment, her gaze sharp in a way that made your skin prickle. Then she gestured across the street to a dimly lit coffee shop. "Let’s talk there."

You followed her numbly. This wasn’t how you’d imagined this going. You’d braced for hostility, for cold indifference, not this. Not soft smiles and casual hugs and a conversation you had no idea how to navigate.

The coffee shop was nearly empty, the air thick with the scent of roasted beans and burnt sugar. You slid into a booth by the window, the vinyl seat creaking under your weight. Silence stretched between you, heavy and suffocating. You couldn’t stop staring at her, the way her fingers tapped absently against the table, the way the dim light caught on her hair.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. "Have you been in contact with Sylus?"

She raised an eyebrow and then laughed.

The sound was bright, effortless, just like you remembered. It sent a sharp pang through your chest. You frowned. "What’s funny?"

She wiped at her eyes, still grinning. "I haven’t talked to him in, let’s see, over a year now. And the last time we did talk?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping. "He called me in the middle of the night asking if I knew where you were."

Your heart stuttered.

The world narrowed to the sound of your own pulse roaring in your ears. He’d asked about you. Not just in passing, not just as an afterthought. He’d called her. In the middle of the night.

Your voice came out strangled. "What did he say?"

She shrugged, stirring her coffee idly. "Like I said, he wanted to know if I’d seen you. And honestly? We never talked, so I was no help. But I have contacts, so I tried looking for you anyway." A pause. Her expression shifted, something almost wistful creeping in. 

"It was like you’d vanished. The last I heard, Sylus ransacked the entire N109 Zone trying to find you."

Your stomach twisted. You’d known, on some level, that he’d searched. But hearing it out loud, hearing her say it, made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for.

"I’m sorry," you said automatically. "I had to go away."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Not my business. But what does catch my attention…" She tilted her head, studying you with renewed interest. "is why you’re asking if we’re in touch."

You stiffened. She laughed again, softer this time. "Why would we be? We’re hardly friends. He just helped me out when I needed assistance, and that was it."

Something fragile and hopeful fluttered in your chest. You crushed it immediately. "Aren’t you two…" You trailed off, gesturing vaguely. "A couple or something?"

This time, her laughter was outright delighted. "Oh, come on." She leaned back, shaking her head. "He’s a criminal. The most wanted man in Linkon City. Not exactly my type." A smirk. 

"Besides, why would we be a thing when he always had eyes for someone else?"

The words hit like a runaway train. Your breath caught.

Someone else.

The implication hung in the air between you, thick and undeniable. You opened your mouth to say something, but words were lost to you.

She took pity on you then, her expression softening. "You really didn’t know?"

You couldn’t answer. 

After all this time?

You sat there, stunned, the words "he always had eyes for someone else" ringing in your skull like a gunshot. The coffee in front of you had gone cold, untouched. She watched you with something between amusement and pity, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her cup.

You stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I have to go."

She didn’t stop you. Just arched a brow as you fumbled for your bag, your movements jerky and uncoordinated. "Sure," she said lightly. "But he did find you, didn’t he?"

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat had closed up, your pulse hammering so violently you were half-convinced she could hear it.

The walk home was a blur. The city lights smeared into streaks of gold and neon, the sounds of traffic and chatter fading into white noise. Your mind was a storm, thoughts crashing into each other with brutal, unrelenting force.

Sylus had eyes for you.

The idea was laughable. Absurd. And yet not so impossible to imagine.

Memories surfaced. The way he’d linger just a little too close when reviewing your work, his breath warm against your temple. The way he’d leave notes in his precise, elegant handwriting, notes you’d saved, tucked away like some pathetic secret. The way he’d asked you to live with him, for fuck’s sake, as if that was a normal thing a boss would do.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the strap of your bag.

There was a time, a time when you would’ve begged for this. When the mere possibility that he might feel the same would’ve sent you spiraling into dizzy, reckless hope. But now?

Now you didn’t know what to feel.

Because it didn’t matter. Not really.

You’d help him. Of course you would. You’d get him out of EVER’s clutches, and then you’d move on. Both of you. That was the plan. That was the only plan.

So why did that thought make your chest ache?

A gust of wind cut through you, sharp and biting. You barely felt it.

Why the hell is he even here?

The question gnawed at you. If Sylus had orchestrated this, if this was some elaborate scheme, why wasn’t he doing anything? Why wasn’t he fighting? Why weren’t Luke and Kieran kicking down doors? Why was he just sitting there, letting them pump him full of serums that would kill him?

You scoffed, raking a hand through your hair. Hypothetically speaking, if you didn’t help him, if you walked away and let EVER do what they did best, he’d die. Just like that. No grand escape. No last-minute rescue. Just a cold, clinical death on an exam table, his body discarded like faulty machinery.

The idea was so wrong it made your teeth hurt.

Sylus shouldn’t die quietly. Sylus shouldn't have to die at all. He was a force of nature, a storm given human form. He didn’t just let things happen to him.

Unless he was here for you.

But no. That was insane. That was pathetic.

You shook your head, but the idea stuck, stubborn and insidious.

Because if he had come for you, if he’d let himself get captured, knowing you worked here, knowing you’d see him, then he’d gambled everything on the hope that you’d help him. And that meant he’d gambled on you caring. Did he not think of the possibility that you might not? That you might walk away? That after two years of silence, you might look him in the eye and let them take everything from him?

A bitter laugh escaped you.

Of course he had. Sylus thought of everything. That was the problem. Which meant maybe this wasn’t a gamble at all. Maybe it was a test.

The realization settled over you like a cloud.

Tomorrow, they’d give him the stronger serum. Tomorrow, he’d die, unless you did something. And he’d known that. He’d known. But why was he putting you on the spot like that?

You stopped walking, your apartment building looming ahead, its windows dark and empty.

What the hell am I supposed to do now?

She wasn’t involved. You couldn’t and wouldn’t drag her into this. But that left you with exactly zero allies, zero resources, and zero time.

You exhaled sharply, your breath fogging in the cold air.

Things weren’t any better than they’d been this morning. If anything, they were worse. Because now you knew and that changed everything.

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[glamorizethechaos]

Labor of Love | Jack Abbot x Reader

Summary: Getting pregnant with Dr. Abbots baby was never in your cards. From a sloppy one night stand to a passionate relationship, Jack becomes the protective boyfriend you always wanted. Going into labor a month early, Jack ends up delivering your baby himself.

A/N: I have literally never written smut a day in my life so this is strange for me but IM TRYING, OKAY? Catholic guilt goes crazy.

TW: 18+, accidental pregnancy, implied age gap, childbirth, preterm labor, probable medical inaccuracies (what know about childbirth is based on my own experience giving birth myself. shit sucks btw.), fluff, poorly written smut

Word Count: 3.3k

Not Beta Read

You had always hoped your child would be conceived after a night of romance. Something out of a movie. Perhaps a candle lit dinner followed by passionate love making? Growing up in the age of Nicholas Sparks novels certainly skewed your romantic view of the world. You certainly never expected it to be with your stone cold attending Jack Abbot, in a night of well...alcohol fueled fucking. Jack putting you in positions you didnt know were humanly possible, and having you making noises you didnt even know you could make.

"Thats it baby, give me more." he growled into the crook of your neck as he fucked you through your second orgasm. Slowly stroking in and out of your squelching cunt as your body arched and contorted beneath him. Your moans echoing through his loft apartment. His rough hands anchoring you as he stretched you out, his cock fitting almost perfectly inside of you. He loved watching you lose control, your eyes rolling back with each deep thrust, your toes curling as he hit that spongey spot that made you come undone.

And he wasn't finished. You see, Jack was a gentleman, chivalrous as some would say. He took his time. He didnt dare let himself reach his climax until he was pleased with his work. Until he felt your pussy squeezing and throbbing against him, gasping for breath and beginning for his cum. He fucked slow and deliberate, stretching you out- filling up every single inch. Only when until you demanded he fuck you faster…harder, did he really lose himself in you. Your legs resting in his broad shoulders, him holding onto your thighs, fingers digging into your soft flesh.

The sweat dripped down his forehead as he fought to stay in control. You were so tight, twitching around him with each thrust, it felt euphoric. Just when you thought you had nothing left, his hand traveled down to your swollen clit, drawing circles with his thumb, rendering you breathless.

"Fuck, Jack..." you whimpered. Your breathing was erratic- mouth dry, longing for his tongue to explore yours once again. He knew you were close again, it didnt take him long to discover what made you tick, and what made you lose all control.

"That's it, good girl. Let go." and thats all it took for you to erupt. He fucked you ferociously through your orgasm, the bed crashing against the wall with each thrust until he collapsed on top of you. You both struggled to catch your breath.

No wonder the condom broke.

When you stood the bathroom of the Pitt looking at the two blaring pink lines it felt like you had the wind knocked out of you. You saw your entire residency crumble beneath you. You contemplating not telling him, writing a script for mifepristone and misoprostol yourself. But after work that night, you found yourself at his apartment. Your hand hovered over the door before you heard a voice behind you.

"Y/n?" Jack stood with his backpacked slung over his shoulder, wondering what the hell you were doing at his place. After sleeping together weeks prior not much changed between you. You never spoke of it and carried on like work colleagues. Maybe he stood up a little straighter when you walked by, maybe your cheeks felt flushed whenever he brushed up against you during a trauma.

By the look on your face, Jack knew something was wrong. He fumbled with his keys as you stepped aside enough for him to unlock the door. He pushed it opened and ushered you in first.

"I'm sorry, I know that was a rough shift b-"

"Whats going on? You alright?" he cut you off, kicking off his work sneakers and setting his stuff down by the door. He watched as you fumbled in your bag, searching for the positive pregnancy test that seemed to be buried under your empty snack wrappers and old receipts. You hesitated before pulling it out of your bag.

His hand hovered before reluctantly taking it from you, looking at you beneath his furrowed brow. He had been to war, he had been surrounded by complete destruction, he had seen the worst of humanity, and yet he had never been more scared than in this moment. He inspected it, flipping it over, holding it up to the light, but the two lined were as clear as day. Dark. Blaring. Indisputable.

“I’m sorry. I-“ you couldn’t find the words. Your mouth opened and closed liked a fish out of water as your thoughts faltered.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jack asked, confused, dry and deadpan.

“I don’t know."

"It’s not your fault. I mean I was there too.” He said, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

Your eyes burned as the tears began to well up, blinking ferociously to stop them from falling. However soon one fell, and then another, and another. Before you knew it you were sobbing in Jacks arms. The two of you stood there for what felt like an eternity as he traced circles along your back. It felt strangely comfortable, his arms holding you against him, the smell of sweat and antiseptic on his scrubs filling your nose.

"What do we do?”

“We figure it out. If you want to keep the baby or if you don't, we figure this out. You aren't in this alone. ”

And you did. As your bump grew, so did your closeness and love for each another. You almost missed the first time he told you he loved you. You were cooking him dinner, something you loved to do despite your multitude of food aversions. Hips swaying side to side to a spotify playlist as you glided around his kitchen. He was trying to watch the Steelers game but kept finding his eyes on you.

“I love you.” He called out quietly. You felt your heart jolt.

“Huh? Did you say something?” You asked in disbelief, turning down your music to make sure you heard him right. Jack hesitated, trying to gauge your face and reaction before repeating himself.

“I said, I love you.” And he took you right there on the living room floor, fucking you senselessly as the pasta boiled over on the stove. You ordered takeout that night instead.

However, aside from in the bedroom, Jack wasn’t especially affectionate, especially not in public; and while he tried to make more of an effort, he didn’t say “I love you” often. But it certainly wasn’t lost on him.

You found him reading books about obstetrics in his free time, he instinctively put his hand on your belly when a patient was being especially combative, he signed the both of you up for a childbirth class where he took notes, or he would text you “you craving anything?” on his way home from the hospital on your nights off. All the subtle things he did made you realize he was completely and utterly head over heels in love with you.

The first time Jack felt the baby flutter, you don't think you had ever seen him so happy.

On mornings after a particularly rough shift, and Jack couldn't sleep from the adrenaline, the two of you would watch the morning news until one of you eventually folded, usually you. His hand rested on your swollen bump that you could no longer pass as bloating to your nosey coworkers. Of course Dana was the first the sniff it out. Jack rubbed circles on your belly, it helped calm him, ground him, and have at least something to help keep his head above water. Suddenly he felt a little kick, jumping up so quickly he almost tripped, running his fingers through his hair with the dumbest smile on his face.

"Did you feel that? Was that my baby girl?" he started to pace, unsure of how to process this other worldly experience.

"Girl?" you chuckled, raising your brow, "How are you so sure its a girl?" the two of you decided you wanted to be surprised. You were certain it was a boy, but he shot down all the baby boy name suggestions because, "it didnt matter anyway." He liked the name Grace.

"Yes, my girls are both right here. Hi Gracie girl." he knelt down next to the bed, rubbing and kissing your belly as you rolled your eyes.

But the comfortable bliss of the second trimester was short lived as you entered your third. Growing more and more uncomfortable as the weeks pass and your bump grows. You don’t want to be touched, your back hurts, waking up nearly every night from heartburn, and those damn Braxton Hicks contractions making your abdomen tighten like a vice grip.

After every shift, Jack meets you on the couch to rub your swollen feet, not before checking your blood pressure of course.

“Jack, I don’t have pre eclampsia.” You’d protest and the cuff tightened around your arm.

“You know just as well as I that it can sneak up on you quick… 118/72…”

“See? I told you I was fine. I’m swollen because I was on my feet for the past 12 hours.” You elevated your legs on his lap, kicking his thigh with your foot before he started to rub them.

“Are you sure you’re okay working? You can always go out on maternity leave early.” Jack was particularly protective of you right now, no matter how many times you protested you didn’t need light cases loads at work. He’d make you take frequent breaks, and show up at the nurses station with a water bottle and crackers. You spent more time in the bathroom from all the water he made you drink rather than tending to patients.

“So I can sit at home and go stir crazy? No way. I’m only 36 weeks. I have a month left of this hell.” You threw your head back as he massaged a particularly tender spot. You took a long bath and changed into one of Jacks Army t shirts and a pair of his sweatpants, his clothes were the only things that fit you comfortably at this point. The shirt was ratty and nearly falling apart at the seams, but it was your favorite to wear. His smell embedded into the fabric no matter how many times it’s been washed. The sleeves stretched from his biceps that you loved to bite and nibble on when you two laid together.

You crawl into bed next to Jack who has already pulled down the blackout curtains and turned on your white noise machine you can’t sleep without. He looped his arm around you, nuzzling his head into your damp hair that now smelled of lavender and lemon verbena. It wasn’t long before you felt his breathing slow and his arm grow heavy over your bump.

You tossed and turned, feeling incredibly restless. Unable to settle, you flipped on the bedside lamp and started reading one of Jacks medical journals, hoping your eyes would eventually become too heavy to fight it. That feeling never came. It felt as if though you just ran a trauma, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You decided to go for a walk, your back aching, stopping ever so often to breathe through those damn Braxton Hicks. God you were so over this.

You spent the rest of the day cleaning whatever you thought was necessary. The baseboards, the inside of the freezer, and the top of the fans that you made him dust only last week. Had Jack known you were on top of a ladder, he’d have had a conniption. Soon you heard Jacks alarm go off and him shuffle out into the kitchen, his eyes tired and heavy.

“You get any sleep baby?” He asked, planting a kiss on the top of your head.

“Not really. Just too restless.” You shrugged as he poured himself a cup of coffee. You watched at he changed into his black scrubs and threw some extra things into his backpack. Today was your night off.

There was a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach, sometime inside screaming for Jack not to leave. You shook it off. Maybe it was just the indigestion. He grabbed an apple off the counter to eat on the way in. He held it in his mouth as he zipped his sweatshirt before taking a bite.

“You need anything before I head out?” He asked, grabbing the keys to his pickup. You watched the clock behind him, timing the minutes between the pains in your lower abdomen.

It’s just Braxton Hicks. It’s too early. You’re probably tired. Dehydrated. No, no, it’s just too early.

“Baby?” Jack called out again.

“Oh no I’m fine. Have a good night, my love.” You walked over, lacing your hands around his waist and planting a tender kiss on his lips, tasting the apple he’d just eaten. Then another twinge in your stomach. How long had it been?

8 minutes.

20 minutes.

5 minutes.

15 minutes.

3 minutes.

Something was happening. These felt different than the Braxton Hicks contractions that plagued you for weeks. Water. You had the primal urge to be in water. You ran another bath, submerging your belly, holding onto the sides of the tub as the surges continued to come, and then a low groan. You were vocalizing now. You had to be in active labor. You sat there for 2 hours, adding more hot water to the tub whenever you caught a chill.

Before you knew it, it was 6 am. You wanted to call Jack. You needed him. But he’d be home soon, God willing.

You no longer could concentrate, low, guttural moans escaping your mouth during peaks of your contractions. You didn’t even have a hospital bag packed. You started throwing stuff into a bag, none of it made sense. A tooth brush, a t shirt, a scarf. What? Why would you need a scarf? The pain was too intense. Why was this all going so fast? This was your first baby. You’d heard horror stories your entire pregnancy of women laboring for 24 or even 48 hours.

When you heard the jingle of his keys and the knob turning, you were hit with the strongest contraction yet.

“Ba-,” As Jack opened the door his eyes widened. He immediately threw his stuff down and rushed to you, who was leaning over the kitchen counter, rocking your hips and moaning. “Baby how long have you been like this? How far apart are your contractions?” The birthing classes immediately kicked in, bracing himself behind you and giving you hip squeezes until the contraction passed. It felt like heaven.

“They started before you left for work… and uh… 3 minutes now.” His face fell.

“Why didn’t you call me?” He asked, your face in his now shaking hands. Before you could answer you were hit by another contraction that now sent you on your hands and knees. He grabbed a cool rag and placed it on the back of your neck as you roared. The counter pressure he applied to your back no longer offered any relief. He coached you through the contraction that felt like it would never end, and all you wanted was for him to shut the fuck up. Suddenly the lights were too bright. His voice was too loud and your shirt was too tight.

“Off.” Is all you could say and you tried to take your shirt off yourself. Jack helped pull it over your head, the fabric peeling away from your damp sweaty skin.

“Baby, I wanna check you.” He asked, putting on gloves he grabbed from his bag. After giving him a nod, he rested one hand on your back before checking your cervix. He cursed under his breath. “You’re 9cm and 100% effaced. We have to go. Now.”

“But I’m only 36 weeks” you began to cry as you were hit with another contraction. Getting to his truck felt like ages. Stopping what seemed like every 30 seconds to double over through another surge. The second you sat down in the passenger seat you felt a pop and a gush between your legs. Your water broke.

“Thank god I laid those towels down first, huh?” Jack tried to joke through shaky breath as he barreled out of the driveway. You didn’t find it funny.

The hospital was a 15 minute drive, 30 with traffic. Unfortunately for you both, it was morning rush hour. You couldn’t sit, undoing the seatbelt you braced yourself against the headrest. Jack trying to rub your back with his free hand.

“Want your birthing playlist?”

“Fuck you!” Is all you could muster.

And then the urge. The incredible and uncontrollable urge to bear down.

“Jack… I have to push.” And his face went white. He quickly pulled to the side of the road and jumped out, grabbing his go-bag from the back seat before sprinting to open the passenger side door. He could see the baby start to crown and immediately pulled out some gloves, a fresh towel and his stethoscope from his bag. You always teased him about this go-bag. He couldn’t wait to tease you about this later.

“Okay my love, I see baby’s head. She’s almost here. She’s got a head of hair!” He was STILL so set on this baby being a girl. His voice cracked from fear and emotion that he was about to deliver his own baby.

You felt the ring of fire, your legs shook as you tried to push past the burning pain.

“I can’t do this! I can’t fucking do this!” You protested, still on your knees, now leaning over the center console.

“Yes you can baby, listen to your body. You’re doing so good. The hardest part is almost over. We’re gonna have a birthday today.” And you screamed again, pushing as hard as you could, the veins popping out of the side of your neck, your face growing redder and redder. You roared your baby out. Then relief. Sweet, sweet relief.

Jack caught your baby in his hands, his eyes clouded with tears that immediately began to fall. He helped your turn back over and brought your sweet baby to your chest.

“It’s a girl!” Jack sniffled. He was right. He was always fucking right.

“Why isn’t she crying, Jack?”

“Just give her a minute. Rub her back.” he pulled your shirt down again to do skin to skin. He’d by lying if he wasn’t panicking too. “Come on baby girl, let’s hear those strong Abbot lungs.” And then you both heard it. The most beautiful shrieking cry from your little girl. You threw your head back in relief and he rested his forehead against your temple, crying. You’d never seen him cry before.

“I just had a baby in the car, Jack.” You looked at him, in a daze. High on adrenaline and oxytocin.

“And you were a rockstar.” He kissed you before checking you and the baby before continuing to the hospital. You delivered your own placenta as you stared in awe at your little girl. She had his nose, his eyes, his chin… the more the looked the more you realized she was a spitting image of her father. Of course YOU do all the hard work for her to look nothing like you.

Jack pulled into the ER ambulance bay to find Dana already outside smoking a cigarette. He jumped out and screamed for a wheelchair. Snuffing the cigarette out with her foot she rushed over,

“What’s going on, Jack?” She had already paged Robby at the sight of him, looking dazed.

“It’s y/n, she just had the baby in the car. Page the NICU, baby seems fine but she’s only 36 weeks. Placenta delivered and intact.” He gave her the rundown before opened the passenger door to you latching your baby to the breast for the first time. You could not take your eyes off of her. Robby came out once he heard the page to find everyone huddled around the truck, helping me into the wheelchair.

“What’s this?” He asked, a goofy smile on his face.

“This is your niece, Grace Michaela Abbot. Michaela after her Uncle Mikey.” You smile up at him, absolutely beaming.

[hhhwnr]

ꨄThe Girl Dad Chronicles — S.R

masterlist + navigation

pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (established relationship)

genre: fluff/ domestic comfort word count: 1,1k warnings: none!

summary: You asked for something low-maintenance. Spencer brought home something better—with a shell and sleepy eyes.

author’s note: wrote this because I miss my turtles I had back in 2016… I’m new to writing on Tumblr and in English (which isn’t my first language), so please be kind. I’m open to suggestions / feedback, as long as it’s respectful :)

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨𓆉୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You and Spencer had talked, vaguely and often, about getting a pet. Something to take care of. Something that would be waiting at home when the world felt sharp and chaotic. But with your work schedules— 3 AM flights, last-minute debriefs, crime scenes—it never seemed practical. Dogs were too energetic, cats too proudly indifferent. You both needed something… simpler. Something softer and still.

So you shelved the idea, telling yourselves maybe one day, and apparently, for Spencer, that day was today.

You didn’t know anything had changed until you walked through the front door after an exhausting case and were greeted—not by Spencer, but by a quiet bubbling sound coming from the coffee table.

“What the—“

A glass tank sat beneath the window, lined with smooth river stones and a single, sleepy-looking turtle blinking slowly under a tiny basking light.

You blinked back at it.

“She’s still adjusting,” Spencer called from the kitchen. “Don’t look her directly in the eyes, she’s shy.”

You turned, stunned. “You—bought a turtle?”

“She found me,” he corrected, appearing in the doorway with two mugs of tea. “I was getting groceries. She was sitting in this sad little tank by the register, and—well, she looked like no one had ever told her she was brilliant.”

You stared at him.

He added quickly, “Her name is Mary Shelly. With one ‘e’ and two L’s. I thought it was fitting.”

Your lips twitched. “Because she has a shell.”

“And because you love Frankenstein,” he said, with that soft-eyed certainty that always made your chest ache. “Thought it might make you happy.”

You crouched in front of the tank, watching Mary Shelly stretch one tiny foot and blink as if in slow, careful approval. “She’s kind of perfect.”

Spencer settled beside you on the floor, knees bumping yours. “She listens better than most people. I told her about the whole cognitive interview process while setting up her tank.”

You glanced sideways. “And what did she think?”

“She blinked.”

You grinned. “A scholar.”

“She’s a Reid,” he said solemnly.

Later, you found yourself chopping vegetables in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, hair hastily pinned back. The familiar rhythm of dinner helped ground you again after a long day — knife against cutting board, pan warming slowly, the low hum of music playing a playlist you and Spencer shared.

Spencer drifted in behind you. “Are you using all of those?” he asked, nodding toward the neat pile of carrot tops and leafy ends you’d set aside.

“Planning to eat the stems now?” you teased without looking up.

“For Mary,” he said simply.

You paused for a beat, then smiled, pushing the little pile toward him with a flick of your wrist. “Knock yourself out, Dr. Doolittle.”

He took them gratefully and padded over to the tank like it was some sacred altar. “You’re going to love these,” he said to the turtle, crouching down so he was eye level with her.

You didn’t look, but you could hear it in his voice—the warmth, the affection, the care he didn’t always show people but had no trouble giving to a reptile with stubby legs and sleepy eyes. You peeked over your shoulder as he delicately placed the carrot tops inside, and Mary blinked once. Then twice.

“She blinked once. Then twice,” Spencer narrated reverently, still crouched by the tank. “That’s practically a standing ovation.”

You snorted gently, wiping your hands on a dish towel. “Careful. She might start clapping next.”

Spencer turned, face lit with that quiet kind of joy that only ever peeked out in the safety of soft moments. “I think she likes me.”

You raised a brow. “I think she likes the food.”

“She’s a woman of refined taste,” he countered, rising to his feet and gently, gently reaching into the tank. “And I think she deserves a change of scenery.”

“Spence—”

“She needs enrichment.”

You didn’t argue—mostly because he was already setting her down carefully on the kitchen counter, just to the side where you’d finished prepping. Mary blinked slowly in her new surroundings, extending one tiny leg forward with dramatic determination before… slowly retracting it again and staying perfectly still.

Spencer gasped like she’d just performed a ballet solo. “Did you see that? She explored. That was exploration.”

You leaned against the counter, biting back a grin. “She took one step.”

“One meaningful step.”

Mary, as if to prove a point, took another slow-motion inch toward the pile of discarded cilantro stems, nosed them gently… and sneezed. Or, at least, made a noise that could’ve passed for a sneeze in turtle language.

Spencer lit up. “She rejected it. She has preferences.”

“She just dissed my cilantro.”

He turned to you, eyes shining. “She’s got taste.”

You laughed softly, folding your arms as you watched the two of them. Spencer’s gaze hadn’t left the turtle. He crouched again, chin practically resting on the edge of the counter as he murmured, “Don’t worry. Next time I’ll bring you dandelion greens. Or zucchini. Something bold.”

You pressed your shoulder gently to his. “You know you’re not actually her dad, right?”

“She lives under my roof,” he said, with a mock-stern expression. “She eats my food. I think that counts.”

You tilted your head at him, teasing. “So what I’m hearing is… you’re a girl dad now.”

Spencer blinked, then looked down at Mary like the concept had just been officially handed to him on government letterhead. Slowly, a smile curled at the corners of his mouth—wry and deeply fond. “I take my responsibilities very seriously.”

You chuckled, nudging him gently with your elbow. “Next thing I know, you’ll be making her a tiny science fair project and showing up to parent-teacher conferences.”

“If she ever enrolls, she’s going to have the most thorough book reports the class has ever seen,” he said solemnly. “She’ll be banned for making the other turtles look bad.”

As if on cue, the turtle lifted her head and extended her neck toward Spencer’s voice, blinking in slow, sage approval before nosing a small piece of carrot closer to him like an offering.

Spencer gasped quietly, placing a hand over his heart. “She gave me something. That was a gift.”

“She’s bonding with you.”

“We’re imprinting,” he whispered, still awed.

You giggled. “Spence, she isn’t a duck.”

“She doesn’t know that,” he whispered back.

And then, without even thinking, he reached out and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you into his side as if that was the most natural thing in the world. You didn’t resist—just leaned your head against his shoulder and watched the turtle blink once more like she approved of this too.

“She’s gonna be spoiled, isn’t she?” you murmured.

“Well… how is that a bad thing?” Spencer laughed softly, kissing your cheek.

Thank you for reading! ♥︎𓆉

[science-hoes]

Kaleidoscope

Jack Abbot x Reader

Warnings: Suicidal ideation

Description: Jack likes to find his peace and quiet on the roof of the hospital, but someone interrupts his morning routine.

Jack Abbot Masterlist

—

Dr. Jack Abbot gave Michaelangelo’s sculptures a run for their money when it came to stone cold emotions. He never smiled, never laughed. No reason to, in his opinion. Perlah claimed to have seen him crack a smirk one time when a med student spilled their energy smoothie in Dr. Robby’s lap. But nobody believed her.

When he was younger, before his deployment tours, he laughed all the time. He was a class clown, according to all of his elementary and high school teachers. But the light in Jack Abbot died with every gunshot wound, every amputated limb, every final breath. And it didn’t improve when he came to the States.

He flirted with the roof of the hospital quite often. Never planning to jump, but also never certain that he wanted to go back down the safe way either. He knew many of his former troop mates chose to follow through with it, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Maybe because he knew the pain it would cause, and that seemed like it would be an inconvenience to everyone around him.

One day after a grueling night shift filled with death and pain, he stood at the ledge of the hospital’s roof again. His toes hung over the concrete. Just enough thrill to numb the existential dead. And he heard the door to the roof open.

Michael fucking Robinavitch. He thought to himself.

His friend and colleague always managed to find him during times like these, always talking him back to the safe side of the guard rail. But he didn’t hear any lecture coming from behind him. No sarcastic jokes. Instead, he heard crying.

Jack turned around and saw you on your knees, hands in your lap, and hunched over sobbing. The soldier in him took over, and he hopped over the guard rail to run to your side in concern that you might have been attacked or injured.

When you heard his footsteps, you froze in panic. You didn’t see him when you came outside.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” Jack asked, kneeling down to your level.

You stared at your senior attending with red, puffy eyes. The sniffling continued, but your embarrassment managed to curb your tears. “No, sir. I’m okay.” You said, wiping away any watery evidence from your cheeks.

Jack stared at you, like he couldn’t figure out any other reason why you would cry if you were physically okay. “Then why are you up here?” The slight annoyance in his voice signaled that maybe you had interrupted his own privacy on the roof.

You shrugged, shaking your head as the tears welled up again. “I just don’t know how to do it.” You whispered. “How can I go home and sleep when I just watched three people die? I watched a toddler die because she snuck into the neighbor’s pool.” And the sobs came back like a tidal wave.

Jack sighed heavily, looking around as if there might be someone else to handle your breakdown instead of him. He pulled his lips in a tight line, coming to terms that you were his problem. “Listen, kid. You’ve gotta bag up the feelings and shove ‘em in the closet. That’s the only way to be a doctor.” He lectured like he had given the speech to every single intern who walked through the doors of the Pitt. Which he had. “The more you do that, the more you’ll be able to dissociate.”

You looked up to him, vision blurred from the tears, disgusted. “What? Just so I can end up like a heartless prick like you?” You hissed, not caring if he had been your boss for the last 12 hours. Your shift was technically over anyway.

And that’s when it happened. Jack Abbot smiled. He grinned, showing off the picture-perfect smile that nobody downstairs had ever seen. Not even old timers like Robby or Dana. And then he laughed. If the circumstances hadn’t been different, it would have been a laugh that you daydreamed of hearing again. But he was laughing in your face as you cried about the loss of several patients that night.

“Are you fucking laughing at me?” You asked, wanting to slap that charming smile off his face.

Jack’s shoulders shook with more laughter at your words, and he hunched over from the contractions in his diaphragm. You were ready to stand up and leave him on the roof alone, keeled over like a hyena. But when he looked up again, his eyes matched yours with sorrow and tears. Despite his laughter, he was breaking.

Your brows furrowed at the confusing sight in front of you, but the empathy in your heart ordered your hands to grab his, holding them tightly. Whether it was for your sake or his, you didn’t know.

Jack pulled your hands close to his chest, and his laughs turned to gasps for air. His face scrunched as he tried to fight back whatever dam was crumbling inside of him. Within 30 seconds, you had seen more emotion than anyone in the Pitt had ever seen during his career there. You reached a hand to caress his jaw and tilt his head up to look at you.

When he opened his eyes, you were met with a kaleidoscope of colors. The rising sun refracted brown, blue, and green from his hazel eyes, and you knew in that moment that no artist could ever replicate the beauty staring straight back at you. Despite the reddening in his sclera that matched yours, you were awestruck.

Jack raised a calloused hand to grasp the forearm that supported his head, and he leaned into your hold. You both stayed that way for a long time, with you gently stroking a thumb on his cheek and him holding onto you like it was his only tether to reality. The labored breaths eventually returned to normal rhythm. The tears stopped flowing.

After what felt like hours, he finally spoke. “You’re a good doctor.”

You tilted your head at the unexpected praise. “What do-“

“I’ve watched you the last few days. You have a personal touch that most ER docs don’t have. It’s different.” He mused.

Jack Abbot didn’t just toss around compliments. Hell, he never said anything nice. Not even to his pediatric patients. You traced your fingers from his stubbled jaw to the silver laced curls of his scalp, running through them gently. He nearly fell forward into your arms at the contact, but he only let his head tilt down.

“I guess you aren’t really a prick.” You said.

Jack smiled again and chuckled. You wanted to hold onto that image forever. “No, I am a prick.” He countered.

You giggled at his confession. Without much thought, you wrapped your arms around his chest and rested your head on his shoulder. Jack froze, his brain unable to process the embrace. But eventually, one hand came to rest on the small of your back and the other to the back of your head, fingers weaving through your hair. He breathed in your scent of vanilla and sweat from the shift, feeling intoxicated.

When you eventually pulled away to look at him again, Jack finally admired your beauty for the first time in person. The way the sunrise glittered off your eyes, the orange flow giving life to your sleepy features. He curled the hand that cradled your head around to your cheek, and his rough thumb brushed over your lips.

“Are you tired?” He asked quietly, almost a whisper.

Your lips instinctively followed his thumb as it traced your skin. “Yes.”

A moment of silence. “Do you want to sleep with me?”

You could see in his gorgeous, weary eyes that there was no sexual implication. For now, anyway. Only the opening of his soul, pining for a peaceful rest. You finally pressed the tiniest kiss on his thumb. “Yes.” You breathed.

And Jack smiled again.

[heliosunny]

Hello! I was wondering if you are familiar with Dr. Stone? Id like to request a fanfic of both Yandere Stanley Snyder and Xeno!

Reader was a military Doctor before the petrification, they were close friends with both Stanley and Xeno. Id say reader is a soft spoken person kind of like, she has this kind face, always has a small smile plastered.

She then secretly ask for a transfer to a different branch of military— aka Japan— due to “minor circumstances”. She noticed how slowly possessive and obsessive the two became towards her. So she asked for a transfer, without telling them, maybe telling the commander to keep her transfer a secret. She had to leave before anything got to drastic between the two.

After petrification, shes been revived by senku, to go on a voyage to america! She already knew it she’d meet them again eventually.

The rest is up to you!

Yandere!Xeno x Fem!Reader x Yandere!Stanley

"Contains different details from the manga. For more, read the manga—it's worth it!"

The room smelled of coffee and gunpowder. It was a scent you had grown used to, one that clung to your uniform and seeped into your skin. The base was quiet at this hour—most soldiers either asleep or out on assignment. But here, it was just the three of you.

Xeno sat at his desk, his fingers turning the pages of some scientific journal you had no doubt he had already read a dozen times over. His sharp eyes flickered to you briefly before returning to his reading. Stanley, meanwhile, lounged on the couch, his rifle resting against the armrest within easy reach.

And then there was you, sitting at the table with your hands wrapped around a warm mug. The conversation had been light for most of the night—memories of past missions, idle jokes—but you could feel the weight in the air.

“Are you tired?”

You caught the way his fingers paused mid-turn on the page and replied with a smile “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Nothing important.”

Neither of them seemed convinced.

“You’ve been distracted lately.” Xeno leaned forward slightly, studying you in that way that made you feel like a specimen under his microscope. “It concerns me.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re hiding something.”

“I think you’re both just overthinking it.”

You knew them too well to believe they would let this go.

You had to leave soon.

----

The wind whipped against your face as you stood on the deck of the ship, the vast ocean stretching endlessly before you.

It had been years since that night, since you left them without a word. You had convinced the commander to keep your transfer classified, ensured that no information about your whereabouts would reach them. You had done everything right.

And yet, the past was impossible to outrun.

“You okay?” A familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see Kohaku.

“Yeah. Just lost in thought.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Instead, she glanced out at the sea. “We’ll be in America soon.”

You already knew that. You had known from the moment Senku asked you to join this mission that you would see them again.

You wondered how much of the past still remained in them.

And how much they would make you pay for leaving.

The first time you heard his voice again, it was like a ghost from the past had come back to haunt you.

“Greetings. I take it this is your preferred frequency for communication?”

Even after all these years, you recognized it instantly.

Xeno.

You didn’t react outwardly, keeping your usual smile as if nothing was amiss. But inside, your heart pounded. It was too soon. You had known you would meet them eventually, but not like this. Not with him still unaware of your presence.

And then the situation escalated.

Gen was caught.

You kept up the act, playing along with the crew as they devised a plan. The moment Taiju accepted to play as the "scientist" of their group, you knew where this was heading.

You stayed close to the others as they moved, keeping your presence blended into the background. You could feel it—the moment Stanley took his position. He was out there.

And then, as he peered through the scope, lining up his shot—

He saw you.

For the first time in years, his eyes locked onto yours. His body language shifted, the steadiness of his aim wavering for just a fraction of a second. It was barely noticeable to anyone else.

As the plan unfolded, you kept your expression neutral, your small smile never faltering.

Then, Luna arrived, just as expected.

Whatever will be, will be.

You felt your heart lurch as the bullets tore through Senku, his body jerking under the force. Even though you had prepared for it, the sight still made something tighten in your chest.

Stanley never left a job unfinished. He was already on his way down before the dust even settled, moving with the cold efficiency that made him the military’s best.

Senku wasn't dead. You knew that much. His intelligence was the only thing that kept him breathing, tricking them into thinking they had succeeded. But you also knew he would need help.

You needed to get to him.

Before you could take a step, a strong hand seized your wrist and wrenched you backward, his grip like a shackle that refused to break. You stiffened, instinct screaming at you to resist—but you didn’t. You knew better. So, with a quiet breath, you let him.

It wasn’t compliance. It was strategy.

You could feel the way his grip tightened ever so slightly, like he thought you might disappear again if he let go.

You exhaled slowly, keeping your voice steady as you spoke for the first time.

“Stan.”

He pressed on, yet his fingers tightened—like a man gripping onto a ghost he feared might slip away.

The walk to Xeno’s base was silent, but the weight in the air was suffocating. The moment the doors opened, you were met with the sight of Xeno speaking to Gen.

Shock flickered across Gen's face. Not because he recognized you, but because he understood what your presence here meant. Something had gone horribly wrong for Senku’s team.

Xeno’s reaction was much more subtle, but you didn’t miss it. His eyes widened just a fraction before settling into something unreadable, his lips parting ever so slightly as if he meant to say something but hadn’t yet found the words.

The silence stretched for only a moment before Stanley shoved you further inside, forcing Gen to stumble backward slightly.

“Take him away”

Gen blinked, his eyes darting between you, Stanley, and Xeno, as if piecing together a puzzle far more complex than he’d anticipated. He didn’t resist as he was dragged away, but his parting glance was full of unspoken questions.

And then, it was just the three of you.

The door shut behind Gen, the echo ringing in your ears. Xeno exhaled, placing his gloved hands on the desk in front of him.

“I see,” he murmured. “So it truly is you.”

“It’s been a long time, Xeno.”

Xeno leaned back in his chair, “You left,” he finally said. “No warning. No goodbye.”

Stanley crossed his arms beside you, “Did you really think we wouldn’t find out eventually?”

“It was never about hiding forever.”

“Then what was it about?”

You met his gaze head-on. “I left because you two were becoming dangerous.”

“You were my closest friends,” you continued, “But you both started treating me like something to be possessed. It was only a matter of time before it got worse. So I left before it did.”

Stanley scoffed, “And now you’re with them?”

You nodded. “I made my choice.”

Xeno hummed, shaking his head. “Your choices have always been questionable. But that’s alright.”

You stiffened, just slightly, as Xeno stood up from his seat, stepping toward you with the same calculating grace he always had. Stanley didn’t move, but you could feel the way his gaze bore into you.

“You seem to have forgotten” Xeno murmured, stopping just before you, “It’s our job to educate those who have lost their way.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to recondition that misguided loyalty of yours.”

Stanley exhaled through his nose, finally speaking.

“You’re not going anywhere this time.”

Life under their watch felt suffocating.

As expected, you were assigned to treat the injured. That part wasn’t unusual; they always respected your medical skills, and Xeno, at least, had the sense to recognize that you were more valuable this way than locked in a cell.

But outside of that?

You were constantly watched.

Everywhere you went, a guard followed. Even within the medical tent, you could feel eyes on you at all times—whether it was one of Stanley’s men stationed near the entrance or Stanley himself, sitting in the corner, pretending to clean his gun while his gaze barely left you.

Before, Xeno and Stanley had been focused on conquering Senku’s group, but now? Now it felt like their primary mission was keeping you from slipping away.

You had tried to sneak out one night, hoping to reach Gen—maybe pass along a message, maybe get some information—but the second you stepped outside, a guard was already there. Stanley’s men were efficient. They didn’t scold or punish you. They simply looked at you, silent and expectant, like they had been waiting for you to return on your own.

You considered some possibilities. Maybe slipping away during battle. The risk is that you'd have to time it perfectly or else they'd catch you trying to run.

Second plan is to feign sickness. If you pretended to be sick or weak, you could manipulate Xeno into keeping you inside with fewer guards. If you were alone, you might find a way out. But he himself is a scientist. He’d check your vitals, run tests. If he caught on, he’d be even more controlling.

You had options. But each one came with a price.

And with Stanley and Xeno watching your every move, failure wasn’t something you could afford.

----

Seated across from Xeno in his study, you kept your usual smile as he questioned you about Senku and his people. You expected this. It was only natural for him to want intelligence on his opponent.

So, you answered. But you only gave him general truths—nothing that could be used against them. Senku was resourceful. Kohaku was strong. Chrome was a fast learner. All things he would eventually figure out on his own, but you knew he wasn’t satisfied.

Stanley, standing off to the side, didn’t bother hiding his displeasure.

But he didn’t interfere.

Because, no matter how much Stanley wanted results, he had his own rules.

He never laid a hand on you.

Not over something like this.

Because you weren’t his enemy.

“Tell me,” he mused, tilting his head slightly. “How have you been?”

The change in topic caught you off guard.

“You left us. And yet, here you are again.” His fingers tapped against the table. “Surely, you must have something to say about all that time apart.”

Deep down, a part of you did miss them.

You missed the conversations with Xeno, the way his mind worked, the long nights spent debating theories over coffee. You missed the quiet moments with Stanley, those rare times when he let his guard down, when it was just the three of you against the world.

The battlefield. The victories. The losses. The camaraderie.

You had been through so much together.

And no matter how much you wanted to deny it, there had been happiness in that time too.

“I’ve been alright,” you finally said. “Things… changed after I left. But I adapted.”

Xeno’s lips curled in amusement. “Adapted? That’s all?”

“That’s what humans do, isn’t it?”

“You didn’t have to.”

You turned your gaze toward him, finding him watching you intently. Like he was watching a traitor.

“I did.”

“And yet, you still ended up back in our hands.”

You weren’t planning to stay.

You couldn't stop thinking about Senku. That young man brought you a sense of comfort, nothing more.

Even as you went about your duties, tending to the wounded, patching up soldiers who had no idea of the weight pressing on your shoulders—you thought of him.

Senku was brilliant. He always had a plan, always worked five steps ahead.

You knew, deep down, that he must have something in place. Some way to turn the situation in his favor.

But doubt still lingered.

Had he survived? Did he have a counter to Stanley’s bullet? Or had fate finally caught up to him?

Then came the morning.

The atmosphere was different.

You noticed it immediately—the way the soldiers moved with more urgency, the way murmurs rippled through the camp.

You were barely given time to process before you overheard the words that sent your heart plummeting:

“Today's the day we get rid of Senku Ishigami.”

You had to do something.

The tunnel plan worked faster than you expected.

One moment, you were scrambling for a way to slow Stanley’s men down, and the next—Chrome and the others had broken through, executing the plan with perfect timing. The tables turned in an instant.

And now, Xeno was their hostage.

That didn’t shake him, of course. But as you walked back with Senku’s group, checking on their injuries and making sure no one was in immediate danger, you noticed something—

Xeno had been watching you.

He saw the way you moved among Senku’s team, the way you smiled more freely, the way your shoulders weren’t weighed down as they had been in his camp.

You were happier.

Even as you checked his vitals, treating him no differently from the others, he said nothing about it. Not yet.

“You seem… comfortable” Xeno mused, watching you from where he was seated. “More than I recall you ever being.”

“I suppose I am.”

“And here I thought our time together had its charms.”

“It did,” you admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I want to go back.”

He was never one to show his emotions outright. But this was different.

It wasn’t frustration over being captured.

It was personal.

And before you could even process why, he spoke again, quieter this time.

“You favor him now.”

“What?”

“Senku.” Xeno’s gaze was sharp, “You favor him.”

You exhaled softly, shaking your head. “It’s not about favor, Xeno. I made my choice.”

“I wonder.” He leaned forward slightly, a knowing glint in his eye. “Does he even realize?”

“What are we talking about?”

You turned to see Senku approaching. He hadn’t been listening, too focused on whatever plan was forming in his mind, his attention entirely devoted to the future.

“Nothing of importance,” he mused, reclining back slightly. “At least, not to you.”

Senku just gave him a look, clearly unimpressed, before turning to you. “We’re moving soon. Think you can help me with some calculations?”

You nodded without hesitation, following him without a second thought.

And behind you, Xeno sat in silence, watching your retreating figure.

His jealousy simmered beneath the surface, unspoken but undeniable.

Because unlike him—

Senku had never needed to try to earn your attention.

----

Stanley finally caught up.

You had known, deep down, that this moment was inevitable. No matter how far Senku’s team got, no matter how many steps ahead they planned, Stanley Snyder was relentless. He was a man who finished his missions, no matter the cost.

And now, he had won.

His men closed in swiftly, surrounding you and the others with a precision that left no room for struggle. Xeno, of course, was the first to be retrieved. It was a swift, effortless transition—one moment he was a captive, and the next, he was back where he belonged, standing by Stanley’s side with that unreadable smirk, as if he had never been caught at all.

But when Stanley’s eyes landed on you, there was something different.

He didn’t ask you to come back.

He expected it.

And in that moment, you knew there was no escaping this—not without bloodshed.

So, you made your choice.

You surrendered.

“If I go back with you,” you said, “stop hurting them. Stop targeting innocent people.”

You couldn’t tell if he was satisfied or frustrated that you were giving in so easily.

“A noble request.”

“You’ll do it,” you said firmly. “Both of you.”

Stanley finally nodded.

“We’ve got what we came for,” he said simply. “No need to waste bullets.”

Relief flooded you, but it was brief.

Because even as Stanley’s men began to pull back, even as you took a step toward them, leaving Senku’s team behind, you knew this wasn’t over.

There was still one thing left.

You turned back to Senku’s group, “Before I go,” you said, “let me treat the injured one last time.”

Stanley didn’t stop you. Neither did Xeno.

Because in the end, for all their control over your life—this was the one thing they never denied you.

So, you moved through the group, checking wounds, patching up what you could, leaving them with what little you had left to give.

And then—

You walked away.

And you didn’t look back.

You didn’t acknowledge Xeno. You didn’t acknowledge Stanley.

They had won. You were here. But that didn’t mean you had to give them the satisfaction of cooperation.

And they knew it.

Which was why they lied to you.

It wasn’t until later that you realized Senku had been taken, smuggled into their hands like some rare commodity.

You stormed to find him, half-expecting to see him restrained or beaten—but instead, you found him seated casually, looking at you like nothing was wrong.

"Ah, figured you'd find out sooner or later." Senku’s voice was as light as ever, as if this was all part of some grand experiment he was running.

“They lied to me.”

“Well, yeah,” he said bluntly. “But hey, don’t take it too hard. Life as a hostage? Not the worst thing in the world. Gives me a good chance to talk to Xeno again.”

“Senku...”

“Relax,” he grinned. “I was planning to get captured anyway.”

Of course he was.

This was Senku.

Still, it didn’t make the bitter taste in your mouth go away.

Soon enough, Stanley’s men came to take him.

You didn’t get a chance to say much more before he was gone, dragged off to wherever they intended to keep him.

Which left you.

And Stanley.

“Come with me.”

You hesitated, but followed. Because even after all this time, even after everything, some part of you still wanted to hear what he had to say.

It was a mess, how your conversation is heading.

"You think you get to be mad? You left. You vanished without a damn word. And now you want to stand there and act like you're the victim?"

"I did what I had to do, Stan."

"And what exactly did that accomplish? Huh? Because from where I’m standing, all it did was make everything worse."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You started dragging people into this! You shot people, Stanley! Do you even hear yourself?"

"You think this started because of me?" His voice rose. "No. It started the second you walked away."

There it was. The weight of his suffering, compressed into sharp words.

"Stanley…"

But it wasn’t enough.

He saw the way your expression softened, and for some reason, that seemed to push him over the edge.

Because suddenly, he was too close.

Before you could react, his hands grabbed your wrist, pulling you in—

Smack

The slap came before you even thought about it.

Stanley didn’t so much as waver. Your hand throbbed, your breath hitched, but all it did was cast a deeper shadow in his gaze.

"You—"

His fingers curled under your chin, guiding your face to meet his— And then he kissed you, leaving no room for escape.

It was neither tender nor forgiving.

It was fierce, unrelenting—more a sentence than a kiss.

You struggled, but Stanley was stronger. And just as quickly, he bit down. You gasped, the sting of pain snapping you back, but he didn’t pull away.

"That’s for running away."

Then, slowly—he released you.

You stumbled back, your breath uneven, your heart slamming against your ribs.

----

Xeno called for you.

You weren’t sure why, but you went anyway. Maybe it was curiosity, maybe it was exhaustion from your fight with Stanley—either way, your feet carried you toward him before you even processed it.

And when you arrived, you found them. Xeno and Senku.

They were testing something. Their voices wove together in rapid exchanges, debating theories, tweaking results.

For a moment, you forgot the tension.

You had seen this before—Xeno, completely immersed in his work, in the beauty of creation. There was a time when his passion had been purer, when he had built things not for war, but for the sake of discovery itself.

And for the first time in years, you saw glimpses of that man again.

Then his gaze lifted—and met yours.

It was only for a second, but that second was enough.

Because his eyes softened.

Because Senku—smart as always, perceptive as ever— stood up, stretched lazily, and excused himself.

The silence settled between you like an old companion.

“You always had a habit of watching in silence.”

“I assume Stanley has already had his… discussion with you.”

You touched your lower lip out of instinct. Still, you didn’t reply.

“I must say, I didn’t expect to feel jealous of Senku. You look at him differently, you know. There’s a fondness there—one you used to reserve for me.”

“That’s not—”

“Not true?” He hummed. “Perhaps. Or perhaps, without realizing it, you’ve found yourself drawn to something you once admired in me. A scientist who dreams.”

You frowned, looking away. “I admired the man you used to be.”

“Then allow me to ask—if I were to return to that man… would you return to me?”

You walked away, he was always careful choosing his own words. You need to get some air, away from the mess you've got yourself in.

----

The moment you heard the news, everything else faded.

Stanley had been shot.

It was a life-or-death situation—one that immediately demanded your attention. And not just yours. Xeno and Senku, despite their clashing ideals, were both drawn into it.

You barely processed the rush of activity, the hurried movements of people scrambling to stabilize him.

All you knew—all that mattered—was that he had survived. Barely.

By some stroke of sheer luck, the bullet had missed anything vital. But the damage was still severe. His body had taken too much, and now, he lay there—unconscious.

And you refused to leave his side.

Days passed.

You tended to his wounds, carefully monitoring every breath, every shift in his condition.

When his fever spiked, you were there to cool him down. When his breathing faltered, you were there to steady him.

It was exhausting. But you never wavered.

Because no matter what had happened between you, no matter the choices he made, the sins he bore—

Stanley Snyder was still your Stanley.

And you couldn’t bear to lose him.

The moment Stanley’s eyes cracked open, you felt it.

A sharp intake of breath—his first real one in days. His fingers twitched slightly, then tightened into a weak fist.

Your heart nearly stopped.

“…Stan?” Your voice was hoarse from exhaustion, but the relief in it was undeniable.

His gaze, unfocused at first, slowly sharpened. He blinked sluggishly, taking in his surroundings—then, finally, you.

“…You look like shit”

You let out a breathless laugh, something between amusement and sheer relief. “And you nearly died.”

Stanley only grunted, shifting slightly before wincing at the pain. His body was still weak, but the fact that he was alive, awake— that was enough for now.

Your exhaustion crashed down all at once. The worry, the sleepless nights, the weight of it all—it finally caught up to you.

You barely managed to mumble, “Welcome back,” before your body gave out.

You slumped forward, too drained to keep yourself upright.

Before you could hit the edge of the bed, a hand caught you.

Not Stanley’s.

Xeno.

“You two are absolute idiots who should never be left unsupervised.”

Stanley let out a weak chuckle. “Takes one to know one.”

Xeno pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m surrounded by fools.”

But he still made sure you were comfortable, still adjusted your position so you wouldn’t wake up with a sore neck.

And despite the bickering, despite everything—

There was relief in his gaze, too.

----

You woke up to a boom.

Your body jolted upright before your brain even caught up. For a split second, panic surged through you—but when no immediate threat followed, you exhaled slowly.

A failed experiment, most likely.

Shaking off the haze of sleep, you made your way to the kitchen area. Your stomach growled—right, you hadn’t eaten properly in days. Tending to Stanley had taken up all your energy, and now that he was stable, your body was demanding food.

You weren’t exactly a chef, but your cooking was… decent enough.

So, you got to work.

The scent of food gradually filled the air.

And like moths to a flame, they came.

First, a few curious glances. Then, casual comments. And before you knew it, half the damn base was hovering nearby, eyes practically shining with anticipation.

“Whoa! This smells amazing!”

“Wait, you can cook? Why haven’t you done this before?!”

You chuckled softly as the compliments rolled in, handing out portions. It had been so long since you sat down like this—surrounded by people, eating together. It was almost enough to make you forget everything else.

Because while you were busy laughing and chatting—

Stanley and Xeno were busy watching.

They sat on either side of you, their presence suffocating yet unnoticed by everyone else.

And every time someone praised your cooking—every time someone so much as smiled at you—

A deathly glare followed.

----

The peaceful moments didn't last for long.

"You’re with me today."

Stanley always volunteered you for tasks that required your presence.

The injured near his post? You had to treat them. Checking the perimeter? You were expected to accompany him. A supply run? Not without him.

"I trust her judgment more than anyone else’s," Stanley had said casually one day. "If someone’s patching up my men, it’ll be her."

You didn’t get a say.

And Xeno?

He ensured that all medical responsibilities fell under him and you.

"Surely, you wouldn’t want an incompetent pair of hands dealing with something so fragile, right?" Xeno murmured, blocking your path with a smile. "Stay here—your presence is necessary."

You soon realized that if someone needed medical treatment, they were denied access unless you were personally dealing with it.

Then came another time when they kept reminding you of the past.

"You used to say we made a good team." Stanley’s voice was casual. "You still believe that, don’t you?"

"That was a long time ago."

"Doesn’t change anything."

"Your past decisions led you here," he mused, "I find it fascinating how fate corrects itself, don’t you?"

"Fate didn’t bring me here"

Xeno simply smiled.

"Then tell me, why do you look at us the way you did back then?"

You had no answer.

Because no matter what you said—they twisted it.

They turned your past into proof that you belonged to them.

And the worst part?

You started doubting yourself.

Aside from using your words against you, they were sure to keep their presence noticeable to you.

Stanley stood too close.

If you tried to move, he was already in your way.

One evening, after being done with work, you tried to leave the room.

Stanley was leaning against the doorway.

"Where are you headed?"

"Somewhere else" you said flatly.

You moved left—he shifted left. You moved right—he blocked your path again.

"You’re not going anywhere. Not without me."

Then came the breaking point.

You had finally snapped.

"I’m not a prisoner, Stanley!" You shoved him away, furious.

You had tried to run.

And when you returned?

Your door was locked.

"You need rest" Xeno had said, unbothered.

One day, a person in the camp needed urgent medical attention.

You rushed to grab the necessary equipment—only to find the cabinets locked.

You turned to Xeno.

"You should have come to me first"

"This isn’t a game, Xeno—someone could die!"

He simply smiled.

"Then let’s not waste any time." His fingers tapped the counter, "Ask me properly."

You felt sick.

They had made sure that no matter what happened—

You had to rely on them.

-----

The night carried an unsettling weight, pressing against your skin like an unspoken omen. Stanley’s gaze had always been sharp, always observant—but tonight, it clung to you with a purpose, a silent expectancy that made the air feel tighter.

You forced yourself to stay calm, playing along with the meal as if nothing was out of place. You ate in silence, seated between Xeno and Stanley, their presence a constant, suffocating weight on either side of you. The moment you reached for your cup, Stanley's hand overlapped yours.

His fingers, rough from years of handling firearms, lightly curled over yours.

You didn’t look at him, keeping your face blank as you slowly pulled your hand away. He let you—but only because he wanted to.

Xeno, on the other hand, was watching your every move.

BOOM

A sudden explosion from outside shook the entire building. The scent of smoke and burning wood filled the air almost instantly. The camp erupted into chaos.

“They’re here.” Xeno’s voice was eerily calm despite the situation. He knew exactly what was happening.

You bolted to your feet. Soldiers rushed past the windows, panicked voices calling out orders as another loud blast sent debris flying.

This was it.

Your heart pounded as you caught a glimpse of Gen and Chrome through the smoke—Senku in the middle of them, alive. He was grinning, even after everything. You almost laughed—of course he was.

Gen’s eyes met yours, and for a brief second, relief washed over you. But before you could take a step forward—

Again, Stanley's hand clamped around your wrist.

You barely had time to react before he yanked you back, spinning you around to face him.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“They’re getting away. I have to—”

“You have to stay.”

His grip tightened just enough to bruise.

Xeno was watching, standing just a few steps away. He didn’t interfere—he didn’t need to.

You were never meant to leave.

Outside, you heard shouts of victory. Chrome and Gen had escaped with Senku.

They were gone. They’d done it. But… you were still here.

Stanley let out a slow exhale, his grip still locked around you, before his other hand rose to cup your cheek..

“You’re thinking too much,” he muttered, his thumb ghosting over your jaw. “It’s over now.”

You jerked your head away, trying to shove him off, but he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear.

“You don’t belong with them.”

And then—Xeno stepped forward.

He sighed, shaking his head. “Honestly, you two are troublesome.”

“This was never your fight, Xeno.”

“No, perhaps not. But you are.”

He reached forward, brushing a lock of hair from your face.

You slapped his hand away. “I’ll never belong to you.”

“Tell me…Y/N,” He tilted his head, “Where else do you belong?”

Senku was free.

But you?

You were still theirs.

[slutforfinnickodair]

HOUSE RULES

𓂃⋆.˚ i'm not broken, i'm just shallow.

𝒢reg house ੭୧ f! reader ┇ head (f!receiving) ⋆ age-gap ⋆ secret relationship

It was a boring Friday evening with both of your parents sitting with you by your dining table. Your mom, Dr. Samantha Wilson made your favourite dish, yet the only thing you could think about right now was what was waiting for you later on.

If you managed to lie your way through out of the house, of course.

“So how was your day?” Your dad, Dr. James Wilson, oncologist at Princeton-Plainsboro asked with curiosity laced in his tone.

You swallowed your food before opening your mouth to speak, debating on your answer.

“Great, except for the fact that I got traumatised by Dr. White. He made me write a whole essay on how estrogen would work in a male body. And I have to present it, in front of the whole hospital next week.”

“That’s amazing.” Your mom spoke while you gave her a look.

“No, Mom, it’s not. Didn’t you hear the part where I said I have to present it to the whole hospital? And I only have a week.”

“Well, better get to it then. As I heard Dr. White is very cold-hearted. He won't expect any less than perfect from you.”

“Thanks.” You murmured. “I’m not even qualified to become a diagnostician any time soon. I don’t get why I have to study biochemistry when I signed up for a course in psychology.”

“Well why wouldn't you want to be a diagnostician?” Samantha asked.

Wilson pressed his lips together to keep him from smiling, but the subtle twitch of his cheeks and the way his eyes glinted, you could see that your dad had a really hard time keeping his laughter in.

“You want me to work at Plainsboro, right?” You asked.

“Well obviously. Why would you work in a different hospital when your Dad already works in one?” She raised a brow while you dropped your shoulders.

“Well, I don’t think they would need another diagnostician anytime soon. Unless House decides he’d want to die of Hydrocodone-Paracetamol overdose, I’m sure Plainsboro won't need another doctor playing “Who’s the killer?”

Sam smiled before taking another bite out of her food.

“Um…I was thinking since it’s Friday and I practically got an excellent on all of my assignments…maybe I could spend the weekend at Cathy’s place?”

“Catherine just moved out from her parents place, no?” Sam asked while you nodded.

“I thought I could go over, and spend a girly night with her, you know. She needs me. Just as much as I needed her when I was going through recovery.”

“Oh let her go, they don’t even meet anymore that often.” Wilson leaned back in his chair while your mother was still sitting in front of you with raised brows, chewing softly on her food.

Shit.

Did she find Greg’s shirt in my laundry?

“Okay.” Samantha spoke, chugging down her water. “But your father will drive you.” She continued. “Public transportation has been nasty these days. And I don’t want you to get lost in New Jersey. Potential place for serial killers.”

Yeah that’s exactly why she decided to settle down and marry a man from here.

“Actually I can't.” Your dad responded. “Car’s been breaking down since I drove home from the hospital. I’m sorry, Sweetheart. You either go by bus or metro.”

A big rock fell down from your heart. You couldn't even put it into words how grateful you were that the damned Volvo finally broke down. You always had to go from Cathy’s place and take the metro to Baker Street.

“It’s alright, Dad. Don’t worry. Thanks though. Dinner was nice, Mom. I’m going to pack my stuff.”

The walk from the station to Greg’s place wasn’t that far away. The weather was humid, but still warm due to it being only early October.

The fact was that since you got treated for your kidney stones and have been under the care of your dad’s so-called best friend, things have maybe changed a little bit.

Okay.

They changed a whole lot.

In the past few weeks, you tried to seem normal about the fact that every weekend since the first day of your first semester you’ve been spending your time at House’s place.

Anyway, your relationship wasn't much of a Girlfriend and Boyfriend type of bonding. Some would assume that maybe what you two were doing was just the result of some kind of sexual tension that lived in the both of you.

But the thing is with the Forbidden Fruit that the more it’s forbidden, the more you want it.

And that was exactly your case with Greg House.

Except for the fact that it wasn't all that sweet and dovey and lovely as others around your age expected a relationship would feel like.

Sure there were moments where both of you felt vulnerable around each other. You more because well let’s be honest, Greg’s not a man of feelings.

You turned a corner up to Baker Street, looking out for the number 221 as you walked straight by the apartments. Your sneakers creaked slightly on the leaves that fell down on the pavement.

Even though you knew exactly which apartment was he living in and how far was it from the beginning of the street you tried to brace yourself. Your breath hitched whenever you thought about what happened the last time you were at his apartment.

That poor piano…

The door clicked softly behind you as you stepped into the familiar apartment at 221 Baker Street, Apartment B.

It was dim inside, the only real light coming from the flickering TV screen playing some late-night crime documentary, the volume turned down low — almost just a whisper in the background. The place smelled faintly of old books, leather, and a hint of something sharper — antiseptic, maybe. Or him.

Gregory House was exactly where you expected him to be: sprawled out carelessly on the battered brown leather couch, one long leg thrown over the armrest, a thick medical file balanced precariously on his stomach. His reading glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose, half-sliding down, but he didn’t bother to fix them. His cane was tossed carelessly on the coffee table, along with a half-eaten container of Chinese food and an open bottle of Vicodin — standard décor for him.

He didn’t look up when you entered. Just turned a page with a lazy flick of his fingers, his voice dry and sharp as ever.

“About time. I was starting to think you got kidnapped by one of those serial killers your mom’s so worried about.”

He finally glanced up at you over the rim of his glasses, the smallest smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. “Which would’ve been a shame. Finding another emotionally unstable young woman to warm my bed sounds like a lot of paperwork.”

You rolled your eyes and tossed your bag onto the armchair by the door.

“I had to dodge my mom’s twenty questions. Thought she found your shirt in my laundry.”

House barked out a short, sarcastic laugh, returning his attention to the file.

“Well, if she’s smart enough to connect the dots, maybe she deserves the horror of knowing who’s been defiling her little girl.”

You kicked off your sneakers and padded over the worn wooden floors toward him, your fingers brushing your pocket — the small silver key he’d given you a few days ago burning against your fingertips. Your own key. To his place.

He didn’t say anything about it. Didn’t have to. It meant something, even if he’d pretend otherwise.

You stood in front of him for a moment, arms crossed, watching the way his fingers absentmindedly drummed against the folder. The way his body moved, even in stillness — relaxed, confident, like he had the entire world already figured out and it bored him.

The silence stretched between you, taut and electric, until finally you shifted onto the couch beside him.

“You gonna keep pretending I’m not here?” you murmured.

He didn’t miss a beat.

“Depends. Are you going to do something interesting, or just sit there looking needy?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, but a smile tugged at your lips. He wanted you to make the first move — smug bastard.

You leaned closer, slow, deliberate, until your knees brushed his thigh. He tilted his head slightly to glance at you, his expression unreadable, except for that slight, infuriating smirk.

Without giving him a warning, you climbed into his lap, straddling him, feeling the roughness of his jeans against your bare thighs where your skirt rode up.

He grunted — not from surprise, but more like mild amusement — letting the file drop carelessly to the floor with a soft thud. His hands immediately settled on your hips like it was second nature, fingers flexing slightly.

“God, you’re needy,” he muttered under his breath, voice rough, low.

You kissed him before he could throw another jab at you — pressed your mouth against his hard, demanding. He kissed you back instantly, no hesitation, no tenderness. House didn’t do soft. He kissed like he argued: messy, fierce, and like he needed to win.

You felt him shift under you, like he was about to stand up with you in his arms.

You pulled back just enough to whisper against his mouth, breathless,

“Don’t. You’re not—”

“I’m not what?” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow, voice thick with mockery. “Strong enough? Gonna break my leg in half?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but before you could, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly — and then stood up anyway, effortlessly lifting you into his arms.

You gasped, clutching his shoulders.

“You’re a stubborn ass!” you hissed.

“You’re welcome,” he shot back smugly, carrying you through the short hallway to his bedroom like it was no big deal, no strain in his gait, only the faintest limp — still cocky as ever.

You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until he tossed you gently onto the bed, the mattress bouncing slightly under you.

He followed immediately, kneeling above you. His eyes pinned you to the bed, sharp, gleaming, and darker now, like a predator ready to devour.

“Clothes. Off. Now.” His voice was rough, commanding, but still dripping with sarcasm. “Or do you need a PowerPoint presentation on how sex works?”

You glared at him, cheeks burning, but the way he was looking at you — with that pure, hungry intensity — made your fingers fumble at your blouse anyway.

He helped, of course. With House, “helping” meant him undoing your buttons at an agonizingly slow pace, his knuckles brushing your skin with every movement, smirking when you shivered under his touch.

The blouse slipped off your shoulders, and he made a low sound in his throat when he saw the white lace of your bra.

“Well, that’s unfair. Bringing weapons to a knife fight,” he muttered, hands reaching behind you with shocking dexterity to snap your bra open in one move.

House stared for a beat longer than he probably meant to, then leaned down, his mouth closing hotly over your breast, worshiping you in a way his words never would.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, moaning softly as he trailed kisses lower, down your stomach, teasing the waistband of your skirt.

In no time, he was pulling down your tights and skirt in one smooth, careless tug, tossing them somewhere onto the floor.

His fingers slid under your thighs, prying them apart, his breath warm against your inner thighs as he kissed along the soft skin, slow and deliberate. You felt his stubble scraping lightly, sensitizing every nerve ending.

Then you felt his fingers stroke the fabric of your panties — slow at first, just barely there, featherlight — before he tugged it aside roughly. The cool air hit you for a second before the warmth of his mouth replaced it.

He spat lightly against you, the wet heat of it making you whimper, your hips jerking upward without thinking.

“Relax, drama queen,” he murmured against you, before licking a slow, firm stripe up your center, making you cry out his name, high and needy.

He sucked your clit into his mouth, humming low in satisfaction at the way you squirmed under him.

His fingers slipped inside you, slow, deep, while he talked you through it, voice low and rough against your skin.

“That’s it. Good girl. Just like that. God, you’re so easy — fall apart the second I touch you…”

Your thighs were trembling, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter, until your orgasm hit you like a freight train, knocking the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping, crying out his name.

He didn’t stop right away — kept working you through it, letting you ride the waves until you collapsed back against the mattress, boneless.

He finally pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, smirking wickedly as he crawled up over you again.

He leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath against your ear as he whispered, voice full of that cocky arrogance that somehow made your heart race faster:

“That was just the warm-up. Hope you’re not planning on walking tomorrow.”

[r4hhhhhh]

Who knew it would take Dr. Robotnik and his freaky ahh agent husband to get me into animating.

I've put my previous comic on hold for the time being since I got too obsessed with a little AU I thought of (is it an original idea? Who knows(?) I haven't seen it around, so I'm going to say so).

Summary of said AU: basically, after SM3, Stone goes a little insane, and by the power of whatever higher power there is, he's able to conjure/heavily hallucinate Ivo into somewhat existing. Some angst here and there, but they end up in the past pre-SM1, and because Stone is stupid and delusional, he's like, "Omg, I can start again!" (No, he cannot, but oh well, ruin the whole timeline, I guess.) They meet their past selves; Stone kills his past self and, in a way, kidnaps pre-SM1 Ivo. Now both Stone and Pre-SM1-Ivo are being haunted by a ghost Stone and a hallucination Ivo, while the latter are just having the time of their lives being silly (not really; they're both having trouble processing not being alive/real but still being there).

That's where I'm up till now. I haven't really thought about what happens afterwards, but hopefully some of you guys were able to make sense of my ramblings.

Anyway, they're taking over my brain, so I might post them some more later on, maybe even write a fanfic for their story.

I'll see what I decide, but see ya later, and happy pride month! :)

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tear In My Heart

Aemond never cared for tourneys, for hunts, nor for any sort of pageantry; he supposed marriage fell in that category. To be frank, he never cared for you either, but then he heard whispers about you and his brother, and then thought, maybe he somehow did.

Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon!Reader x Aegon Targaryen | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has baratheon feature (dark hair), wife!reader, arranged marriage, jealousy, possessiveness, infidelity, men being men, angst, violence/hunting for sport/death, typos, etc.

A/N: mind the tags! This is part of my graduation celebration 🩷🩷🩷🩷 slayed college. Let's pretend I posted this on schedule lmao. The hotd trailers really brought me to life. Part of this fic is inspired by the 2014 french beauty and the beast film.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa @lxdyred

Brother.

What was he?

The word was a stone, heavy but worthless. Nothing ever came from a brother besides bluntness, brashness, and bludgeoning burdens.

No kindness befell Aemond from his brother Aegon. Likewise, Aegon long knew to expect nothing but vexation from Aemond.

Yet even the most broken of bonds are bound back under the great unifier— Death.

Never before had the brothers worked towards a common goal so fast, so easily, and all without needing to utter a word. Together, they carry their game back to their camp, equally ignoring the burn of their arms.

Aemond loathed hunting expeditions. He loathed it then, he wholeheartedly abhorred it now. He regrets forcing himself into this godforsaken trip. He should have let you go on it alone, like always.

He regrets letting his slimy older brother getting under his skin. He regrets listening to all the rumors about Aegon and you. But in his defense—

"I MAY BE BLIND IN ONE EYE," Aemond snaps, causing you to flinch. He had never raised his voice at you like this before. He despises how shocked you look, how your bright eyes accused that he was wrong. It makes him fume, "but I see clearer than most."

Aemond is further irritated when your eyes began to water.

You, who was otherwise so well-kept and pristine, were falling apart in front of him. The wayward strands of dark hair framing your face irked him. The momentary thought of his children inheriting this trait added fuel to his anger. If, that is, whatever child you'd bear was even his to begin with.

"You are whoring yourself to my bovine brother!"

Your chest heaves heavily beneath your nightgown, "you would happily believe any slander to my name."

He scoffs when tears begin to fall from your cheeks. He paces towards the bed, unbothered if the issue is left unresolved. He'd rather sleep than watch you sob. The latter left a rather bitter taste in his mouth.

"What have I been but docile and serving?"

"Serving?" Aemond turns back, one eye narrowed, "to whom? Your greed and lust?"

"TO YOU!"

Aemond slightly pulls his head back, not expecting you to scream. He watches a spirit take over you. It was similar to that of the one that sometimes causes him to stare at you from across the room.

You suck in a breath, "do you not complain about Aegon day in and day out?" You blink rapidly and point harshly, "do you not wish him away and want him out of your hair, husband?"

"Don't you twist the truth for your-"

"I played his keeper so that you wouldn't have to," you motion, "I kept him in check so that you could do your errands, help your grandfather, go on your dragon rides, and yet you say you see clearer than most?"

"I saw you," he hisses, grabbing your shoulders.

You gasp and go rigid.

"I saw you embrace him in the cloak of night, in the corner of the gardens, where you thought no one could see."

You catch betrayal in his words, but it only causes you to chuckle dryly, "had you not lurked in the darkness, you'd have known he vomited on my shoulder and nearly passed out. Perhaps you would have felt compelled to help me drag him to his chambers."

Aemond clenches his jaw. He does not believe you.

You swat his hands away. You shake your head, "you're just a man. You're bored of what you have and want what you cannot."

"Ha. You are delusional if you think I want you."

You cannot help the sound that leaves your lips. You cannot help how you slap a hand to your mouth.

In that split second, Aemond spots the hurt on your face before you walk past him to your side of the bed.

You pull the covers down, "worry not. I've long accepted you will never want me."

"Oh," he growls, grabbing your arm before you can sit down, "and is that why you turn to my brother? Or why you leap at every chance to leave?'"

You wince as you turn to him.

"Now that I think about it, why is it you're invited to hunting expeditions so often?" Aemond demands under an angered breath, "d'you seek refuge in the-"

"I RUN INTO THE FOREST!" you hiss, shoving him away. His grip left a sting on your flesh and you rub it as you continue to burstp, "I run into the forest and let my instincts take over! I let myself shift into a beast and I run wild like a deer, begging to be shot down."

Aemond expression sours at your reaction.

"I live my curse as a Baratheon woman and morph into a doe, bullied by stags and dragons alike," you shudder, tears running down your face.

"Don't you play the victim here," he rebuts, "your family offered you to mine for power."

"Then why is it that I am so powerless, husband?"

Aemond doesn't bother watching you walk away, slamming the door shut on your way out.

Aggravation spills from his mouth through screams when silence drowns him. There is an ache in his chest that intensifies. It doesn't take long for him to question why he felt so hurt when what he was is angry, angry at you.

He then finds himself imagining you throwing yourself at Aegon, weeping on his lap. He imagines Aegon brushing your dark tresses back and drying your tears. It infuriates him more.

And as he convinced himself whilst in fumes that the reason why he hated your leave was how rudely you left, parts of his nightmares where coming true.

Aegon saw you storming down the hall in nothing but a nightgown, a cloak, and tears. He was too drunk to actually ascertain if you had no shoes on, but he was partially sure that there were truly tears running down your neck.

He was shocked by how shocked you were when he grabbed you by the arms and stopped you in your tracks. He knew you to have eyes that could spot a needle in a haystack, or real jewels from fake ones ten paces away. How could you not have noticed him when he wasn't even trying to hide how he staggered down the halls on his way back to his room?

"Spooked, kitty cat?" Aegon furrows his brows.

Your skin definitely had a damp sheen to it. Your gaze upon him somehow always hurt his thorax but it was amplified now with how puffy and red your eyes were.

"Where 'r'you storming off to?" he slurs.

You push him away, but even then you managed to offer consideration, as it was clear he was one shove away from dropping. You say, "unhand me, Aegon. I have no time for you tonight."

He pouts, blinking slowly, "and here I thought we were friends now."

You laugh. Your laugh has always had the power to make his spine tingle, but it was different this time. You shake your head, "the enemy of my enemy is not my friend."

Aegon slowly releases you. He clenches his jaw and sighs, "so it's Aemond who did this."

You scoff as you break away from him, "oh, spare me."

He watches you walk away from him. He feels hurt by your coldness. How quickly Aemond reaps your warmth. He calls out, "from what?"

You stop and snap from over your shoulder, "from whatever it is you think you can do!"

He was sober now, and his throat was dry at that.

"My burden is mine. I am his wife."

"And am to be king," he whispers, taking a step forward. He watches as you heave. He's long wondered what it would feel like to hear it as you did so beneath him.

"But you are not king," you reply, stepping back to maintain the space between you, "and you have your sister wife."

"Who would deny me?" he peers his face closer to you, "even a fool would deny me nothing."

"I would," you rebut.

He freezes.

"I am prize to you," you muffle out. Your manage an even voice even as hurt baptizes your cheeks, "meat between your teeth. You and him are cut from the same cloth."

"I AM NOT MY BROTHER, " Aegon snaps.

You flinch, just as you did Aegon. You shake your head and force a smile, "of course not, your grace."

The next moment, Aegon realizes he may not have been as sober as he thought, considering how quickly you fled him and how delayed his reaction to it was.

But then again, it was probably just you and your effect on him. After all, he managed to evade the incoming attack from behind, albeit momentarily; Aemond's senses were far shaper than Aegon's.

He grabs his older brother by the collar and shoves him against the wall. "All my life, I watched you be spoon-fed your desires, yet still you covet my bride," the younger Targaryen rages.

Aegon grins in challenge. He chuckles, "as it appears, you covet your own wife from me, brother."

Without warning, the first born is hurtled to the ground. He lets out an undignified grunt after he collides with the stone. He gasps when Aemond lunges at him.

It was only at this moment, he realized his brother without his eye patch. Dare he say that the sight of the sapphire added to the madness in is functioning eye.

Aemond produces a dagger and presses it to Aegon's neck. The former seethes, "I have every right to demand satisfaction from you."

Aegon groans when the cold steel kisses his skin too tenderly.

"You wouldn't last a second against me," the prince spits with venom, "brother."

"Do it then," Aegon screws his eyes shut, "and watch your marriage crumble before your very eyes."

Aemond throws his dagger to the side and slams Aegon once, "DO NOT TRY TO TRICK ME! I saw her reel from your touch."

"Oh," he utters through pain, "just as she reels from you, I bet."

Aemond releases him with a growl and heaves while looking down at him. He paces around; Aegon props himself up on his elbows, slowly coming to a stand.

Before Aegon can goad him on any further, Aemond grabs his dagger and pushes past him.

Both of them anxiously await your return that night. Aegon falls asleep whilst waiting for word from a servant, Aemond fights sleep whilst waiting for you to return to bed.

Yes, in Aemond's defense, the rumors about you and his brother was enough reason to pick a fight. In his defense, it was his right.

And for the first time, when you received invite for that hunting expedition with your cousin, no longer did he send you off on your own. He was keen to keep you at his side at all times, especially because Aegon weaseled his way into joining.

Aemond did not know why your cousin was so against the idea of hunting a stag. He was, in fact, offended by the Baratheon's adamant decline. The lesser lord dared even imply such a beast was beyond his caliber. He wasn't surprised you sided with your him, imploring Aemond to try his hand another season. What spurred him on was how Aegon agreed with you and how you looked at him when he smiled your way.

Yet, the spite he bore for his brother was the same thing that led to cooperation with him.

That night, when you thought he was sleeping, Aemond followed you outside. When you were nowhere to be seen when he got out of your shared tent, he stormed to his brother's, sure to catch you in the act.

All he got was a startled brother, cuddling up to a pillow when he ripped his blanket off, a naked one at that.

And after a bit of arguing, Aemond saw a shadow of a deer passing outside the tent. That was how the brothers ended up in the forest. Aemond was intent to hunt that stag and Aegon was intent to watch him fail.

Again, in his defense, it was dark. In his defense, of course he wouldn't believe Aegon when he said that they were stalking a doe and not a stag.

Aemond was satisfied with his shot when he heard the beast cry out in pain. Aegon was satisfied when they found the writhing deer to be, in fact a doe.

It was common knowledge not to hunt the female of a species, yet the two debated whether or not they should let the injured animal go free or put it out of its misery. They thought they received the answer when the animal dropped in agony, but instead they received horror that would last them lifetimes upon witnessing the beast morph into a bride.

Your bare body laid before them, stomach pierced with an arrow. No traces of a doe was left, there was only pain and you. Tremors took over your body. Yolur tears flowed as steady as the blood from your gaping wound.

Aemond fell to your side, eye wide as he reached out to you. He thought a touch of your trembling flesh wake him from this nightmare, but it didn't. His mind raced, but he had a moment of clarity when he felt your blood dampen his knees.

He took off his shirt and covered you. You screamed in pain when he tried to carry you by himself, and he glared at his brother when he tried to help.

Aemond does not stop him however, thus, the brothers carried your body back to camp.

When you were laid on your shared bed, Aemond ordered Aegon to wake everyone and ready a carriage back to the city. His brother runs off to do just that.

"This will hurt," Aemond tells you, "but I must cut part of the arrow and bind your wound."

Before he can do so, you wet his face with the blood on your hand as you whine, "why do you weep for me?"

Aemond's brows furrow.

You swipe your thumb on his cheek with great difficulty. "Soon you will have the freedom you desire," you mumble, eyes slowly closing, "as will I."

The pain that courses through you when your husband breaks off part of your arrow prevents you from passing out.

As an extra precaution, Aemond taps your cheek, "keep your eyes fixed on me."

Your sad eyes open. Your tears gush down like rain.

"Is this why you're invited to hunt so often?" he cups your cheek, shaking you slightly, "does your cousin, himself, turn into a stag?"

Your reply does not come easy. You speak between your breaths, "it is a curse from my father... for hunting so many of them..."

There is commotion from outside your tent.

Aemond has the mind to grab some fabric to press on your wound. You cry out again because of this.

"Why didn't you tell me of your affliction?" he speak in panic.

Stabbing pain cuts off the laugh you meant to laugh. Your breath shortens, yet you manage a response, "would you have listened?"

He must admit, all the prayers he ever prayed were only uttered to please his mother, but as Aemond held half your body in the carriage back to King's Landing, as he watched Aegon's tears fall onto you while he held your other half, he prayed as earnestly as any pious man would. He claimed he would be better, he would even share you, if that is what it took to keep you.

And just as easily as Death unified the Targaryen brothers, she collected your soul the same night.

[hello-gloomy]

Heya! I love your Dr Stone fanfics so much, it’s kinda hard to find people who write for it. I was wondering if I could request a Senku x female reader oneshot?

Reader is one of senku’s childhood friend (part of his group with Taiju) and did gymnastics and various martial arts so she’s good fighter. She used to protect him and taiju from bullies and people who were rude and judgemental. In the stone world she acts as Senku’s unofficial bodyguard. Reader and senku both had feelings for each other since childhood but neither of them ever said anything out of fear of ruining their friendship and fears that their feelings were unrequited. During the North American arc when Stanley shoots senku, reader takes the bullet for him instead and gets injured badly. Senku is able to save her but she’s still unconscious so he’s really antsy and anxious waiting by her side. When she wakes up they confess both confess. Or something along those lines.

Thank you!!!

Fusing these Two requests. I hope u don't mind.

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Army Dreamers

Senkuu Ishigami x Fem!reader

Description: You've been with him since the beginning, every close call and false death. When he almost meets death again this time, you take his place.

Warnings: Angst, blood loss, anxiety, panic, mildly implied PTSD for Senku. Happy ending I promise.

A/N: I'm so close to having all my old asks cleared out istg.

Words: 717

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Maybe you should have let him take the bullet; he probably had a plan. But your heart couldn't take the thought of losing him. The shards of the bullet in your back felt like nothing compared to the idea of losing Senku. That ringing in your ears was getting loud, though your vision kept going in and out. You could make out Senku trying to stop the blood and handle your wounds; Francios was beside him, helping the best that they could. It hurt to breathe; you could see his lips moving, but you still couldn't hear him. You feel cold, and that wet feeling on your chest feels uncomfortable to sit in. You move to try and sit up to get off the wetness but feel some pressure on your front. It's Senku, his hands red. Why was it red again?

He felt like throwing up; the blood could seep through the deck with how much you were losing; he couldn't even move yet because he didn't even know if the sniper left. You stopped struggling against him, finally. A few more braver crew members moved to where he was and helped him with you. They had to move you quickly without drawing another round of fire from the enemy. This was a horrible set of circumstances to be in right now; your blood was leaving a trail on the deck. When they had arrived below deck, you looked pale as hell; you barely looked alive. He had to get the bullet shards out of your back.

"I can help." It was Luna, and she looked determined; he was about to brush her off, but she was able to prepare the medical supplies adequately enough that he let her stay in the room to assist him and Kaseki. The surgery was a lengthy task, but they were able to get everything out and keep you alive. The others lingered, trying to comfort him, but he coldly told them he was fine and wanted to be alone with you for a while. They hesitantly left him alone in the room with you. You were slowly gaining color back again. He does the mental math of how long it should take you to wake up; the thought of you not waking up makes his hands tremble. He holds his head in his hands while he thinks about your situation logically; you weren't weak; he's known that since you were kids, hell, you were stronger than Taju in many ways and could be more potent than Tsukasa. Those thoughts don't make his hands stop shaking, though. He returns to what he's good at; he grabs your hand, finds your weak but steady pulse, and counts.

1

2

3

4

5

It was steady and comforting, grounding and reminding him that you were still fighting. He counted for a while, shutting everything out until he felt your wrist twitch in his hands. Senku's head snapped up at your slight motion and found you looking straight back at him. You gave him that same stupid smile from when you were kids; he couldn't help but crack his grin. His eyes felt misty with emotions he thought were illogical.

"You idiot. I had a plan, you know." He scolds you as he rubs your hand without thinking too much about it.

"Senku..?" He gave you a hum, letting you know to continue,

"I love you; I've loved you since you showed me how to build a rocket. Since we were children, I loved you with my entire being, and I couldn't stand the image of you dying in front of my eyes again." Tears spilled from your eyes as you watched his face; he took in your words and stayed quiet for a while before responding.

"Yeah, me too…" he told you with a little huff through his nose. He tried to play it off, but his hands were shaking again. You grabbed his hands and brought them to your mouth, pressing kisses to his palms. He let you continue for a while before abruptly grabbing your face and kissing you; the angle is awkward, and he's sloppy, but you wouldn't trade this for anything in the world right now.

"I'll always protect you, Senkuu, I swear."

"I'll keep you to that."

[umikawa]

Could I request a Dr stone Xeno x fem reader. Xeno and Stanley decide they need a doctor of medicine so they don't have to worry about injuries and stuff and what better person than their friend Y/N(xeno actually likes her). She managed to retain consciousness so the nitric acid works.

Thank you and have a good day

a/n: hiiii sorry for taking so long!! here you are <3 (seeing if i like replying to requests like this instead of how I usually do it, we’ll see)

xeno houston wingfield x gn!reader | 1k wc | no major warnings, Stanley takes a tumble and gets scored by a rock– so blood, reader gets called cute? that’s about it!

“Shit–” The curse falls from Stanley’s mouth quietly, the blonde raising his arm to inspect the large gash on his arm where blood slowly trickled out. “You’re kiddin’ me, a stupid rock did this?” 

Xeno picks up the rock, turning it towards the sun, a shiny red spot on the side where Stanley’s skin was torn. “It’s jagged, terribly uneven. Not to mention the added friction from your fall.” 

“Yeah, I get it,” he groaned, not waiting for another spiel. “Rock’s a damn cheese grater.” Xeno chuckles, handing the rock to Stanley when prompted. He chucks it away with a curse. “ Didn’t you have a friend who was a doctor? A medical doctor.” He’d quickly added once he saw his friend open his mouth, probably to say ‘I’m a doctor.’

With a roll of his eyes, Xeno moved to walk ahead of Stanley, a timid aura surrounding the scientist. “Yes, their name was Y/n.” 

Stanley hums, looking to his friend with a mischievous grin. “That was the cute one you were always yammering about, right?” Xeno freezes at his words, whipping his head around to stare at Stanley like he’d just admitted to murder. “What, I’m not wrong and you know it.” 

“Whatever.” 

After seemingly forgetting that he was quite literally bleeding, Stanley says, “We can send out a team to retrieve them, yeah? Having an actual doctor would be helpful.” 

“I’m going to ignore your blatant insults,” the blonde raises his arms in surrender. “And tell you I agree with you; it would be quite useful, especially if one of us falls ill or you decide to go toe to toe with a pack of wolves again.”

Stanley rolls his eyes, setting a hand on his waist. “Then it’s settled, we’ll get them first thing tomorrow.” Xeno hums quietly, mind clouded with the thought of having you in his life again. 

——

Come morning, Xeno doesn’t even get a word in before Stanley’s marching out the doors with a small crew, waving to the scientist from below before disappearing. 

He preoccupies himself in the meantime, stitching together an outfit, something simple but tied to your personality. He’d made sure to make a surgeon's coat, just in case, though it was partially for his own entertainment.

“Boss.” At the voice, Xeno turns, raising a brow at Maya, who stood in the door with a wide smile. “We’ve got word back from Stanley, they’ve retrieved the doctor and are headed back now.” 

He hums in response, thanking her before returning his focus to the pile of clothes on his desk—maybe he should ask Maya if she wants anything new. 

An unfamiliar pit forms in his chest when he gets up, a hand coming up to rest over the area. Heartburn? Xeno shakes his head, walks over to the window overlooking the fields, and stares at the tree line where four figures emerge.

And with them, you. 

He holds his breath the entire time it takes him to meet them in his lab, releasing it slowly when Stanley presents your petrified statue in front of him. The jar of nitric acid sits heavy in his hold, a silent prayer bouncing in his head that you’ve retained consciousness and the fluid would work. 

“Turn around, Stanley.”

The blonde huffs out a laugh, raising his arms in mock defense before stepping toward the door. “By all means, you two can have some privacy.” He waves over his shoulder, lighting a cigarette before walking out the door. “I’ll be at the range if you need me.”

Xeno hums, raises his hand over your head, tips the bottle slightly, and pours the liquid over you. 

It cascades down your body, dripping off your elbows and pooling onto the floor beneath you– Xeno holds his breath once more. 

He steps back, gripping the jar tightly as if it were his lifeline, counting the seconds that pass before he hears that all too familiar crack before the first piece falls. 

Your skin pokes through the jagged stone, the light seeping through the windows casting a faint glow. An eye reveals itself slowly, catching Xeno’s with a widened stare– he finally lets go of his breath. 

Finally, as the last piece falls to the floor, shattering as it hits, Xeno’s quick to toss his coat over your shoulders. “It’s been 3,700 years since that day.” He says slowly, walking back to his desk to fetch the clothes he made. “Humanity as we know it has been erased; we’ve been sent back to the Stone Age.” 

You hum quietly, thanking him when he hands you the clothes. “You’ve been busy.” You say in amusement, eyes trailing over the gray walls lined with machines and vials. “I expect nothing less from you, Xeno.”

At your words, he felt his breath catch in his throat. It was a simple compliment that sparked a little too much warmth, but it was still a normal reaction. 

“Well, dear, I hope you don’t mind—we’ll need your expertise in medical care.” 

“As expected,” you chuckle, buttoning your shirt slowly, catching Xeno’s eye for a moment. “Has everyone been healthy?” 

“Shockingly.” He answers, taking his coat back when you hand it to him. “Last winter was a close call, but you know– soldiers have inhuman immune systems.” A chuckle comes from you, Xeno’s eyes snapping to you to catch the smile on your face. 

“Of course, and you?” Xeno raises a brow, looking at you in confusion. “How have you been, Xeno?” 

His fingers curl around the edge of his desk, leaning his back against it slightly as he draws out a long hum. “I’ve been well,” you nod in response, holding your hands behind your back as you stare at him. “I’m…glad to have you back with us, Y/n.” 

He catches your gaze, ignoring the hammering in his chest when you give him a soft smile. “You’ll be quite helpful if anyone gets injured or falls ill.” He adds, turning away from you when he feels heat running up his neck. 

A quiet laugh spills from your lips, finding amusement in his timid behavior. “Of course, I’m happy to assist you, Xeno.” 

He lowers his head into his hand, expelling a sigh before he clears his throat and turns back to you. “Come, I’ll show you around.” 

a/n: big fan of xeno being a little out of his element when he’s got a crush <3

[yandere-sins]

The Cure

[My Commission Info] | [My Ao3] | [Ko-Fi]

a/n: Another commission for a lovely anon ♥

Characters: Dr. Ratio (HSR) x Male!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Non-Con/Dub-Con, Rimming, Anal, Hand job), Domination, Obsessiveness, Insults, Long Post Words: 6684

"I told you to be punctual."

Sighing inwardly, you put on an apologetic smile as you hurried into the exhibition space housing all the statues the museum had collected over the years. The hefty footsteps of the moving sculpture and the squeaky ones from your shoes were the only sounds echoing through the halls this late, and you scurried over to the bench closest to Ratio before letting the pile of books fall down on top of it, relieved once the weight was gone. 

"I know and I was, but it's getting harder to fool that old guard that I am really so forgetful I need to be let in every night after closing." 

"Excuses."

Dr. Veritas Ratio made no secret of his approach, not wasting any time before snatching the first book of the arm-full you brought and flipping it open. Better than anyone, he knew how precious time was when he had to return to being a silent and still piece of art again, the moment the museum opened its doors to the public. You could have been mad about his constant chiding, but in a strange way, you've gotten used to it, pitying him too much to do the self-respecting thing and leave him to fend for himself. 

Because it was partly your fault, he was in such a bad position in the first place.

His statue had been your big find. Your breakthrough. The thing that paid all your bills now. When you found him in that abandoned crypt, left alone and ready to be discovered after being buried there, you thought he was exactly what he looked like: A statue. A very beautiful statue, but a piece of art regardless. Never in a million years would you have thought that the statue you brought to your home museum, working on it for multiple nights to clean and restore it, would at some point come to life, step off its pedestal, and demand unrestricted access to books on all kinds of medical conditions, spirituality, and biology to find out how he had been turned to stone… hundreds of years ago.

"Thirsty?" you asked, twisting the cap off your water bottle before holding it towards him. Ratio turned his head, scowling down at you with his picture-perfect features, and you lowered your hand, taking a quick sip of your drink before hiding it behind the bench, reminding yourself that your kindness wasn't appreciated. In the beginning, you still told yourself he was just under a lot of pressure and the stress of solving his predicament, but in time, you came to realize it was just his personality. The man was so focused on himself that he hardly tried to understand others—well, you since you were the only one interacting with him. 

It was a conclusion you both reached. If it came out he was an immortal man, petrified by something or someone (Veritas swore he couldn't recall his last moments being flesh and blood), people would probably go nuts over the discovery. Not only would it raise questions about his rights and how to treat him, but he'd be the center of a freak show that he loathed even thinking about. Besides, maybe whatever made him this way would come to retaliate now that he had surfaced again, so he swore you to secrecy, and you, who put him into this museum in the first place, agreed. There were times you wished someone could assist the two of you in finding "the cure", but you respected Dr. Ratio's wishes not to involve more people than necessary. 

For someone grimacing just because you offered him water, he was unusually convinced you two were enough to figure out all the mysteries around him. 

Giving yourself a quick encouragement, you grabbed the second book from the pile, taking a seat before starting to browse. You two had gone through most of the common books found in the nearby library already, so you had begun scouting for more literature of interest around the bookshops and online. Still, neither of you were any closer to curing Veritas from his condition, and although he spent years able to ponder about it, the impatience was palpable as his heavy body walked up and down the exhibition. 

You didn't mind his pacing, the even rhythm of his steps even a bit relaxing as you read through yet another biology book, trying to find hints of petrification between descriptions of mushrooms, but it also made you worry. Even though he was stoic and self-centered on his better days, Ratio usually liked to talk about his findings, even when he wasn't solving his own mystery. He called himself a scholar before, so the new and groundbreaking knowledge of the last century really captured his attention like nothing else. He'd sit by your side, the coldness of his skin slowly warming as your knees touched, Ratio not even flinching when he felt your breath on his cheeks from how close he was leaning towards you to show you the paragraph in the book he was reading. It made you feel like you two were more than just caught in this weird situation. Like you were actually becoming friends. But as of late, he turned back to being colder and distant.

He didn't want to admit it, but he was getting desperate.

You couldn't blame him, really. The way he described the misery of being encased in stone made your heart ache for him, even if Ratio wasn't the easiest to get along with. "It's like time stands still, nothing moves forward, and yet, you are entirely and completely aware it does—just not with you," he once said. It wasn't painful to have his body turned rigid and heavy, but the feeling of constant cold and lifeless organs moving within made him feel like something was constantly wrong. As if he was in a state of mind and body he couldn't escape from but wanted nothing more. 

Considering this, centuries of being buried in the darkness must have felt like hell. And if that wasn't enough, you were the first face he saw in a long time, and he couldn't be sure if you were there to harm him. Instead, he was shipped off, and no one anticipated a living person as he was stuffed in a box and brought to an unfamiliar place at an unfamiliar time. The thought alone made your anxiety spike, and Ratio did it all without moving an inch and giving away what he was. 

So, of course, the prospect of solving his condition would leave him restless and eager to find out about it, even if it made you a little sad. You quite enjoyed the talks you two had, night after night, at the museum. The few but precious laughs you shared and what little similarities you had. You wished there had been more time to learn firsthand what it was like centuries ago and, in return, teach him about modern technology and how to browse the internet to satisfy all of Veritas's curiosities. Who knew, you two might have actually become real friends? His criticism could be harsh, but he was just as interested in going back and forth with ideas and finding solutions to even the most challenging questions as you were. If not friends, you two would have made great work partners.

Your eyes tore away from the page to look at him across the room, standing still like the statue he was, in a thoughtful position. Although it was bad to objectify him, he was beautiful, his skin glistening in the moonlight, almost like marble, cold and mysterious as it stretched over fine details like the lines of his muscles and his firm expression. A sight to behold, even though his chest didn't lift like a real person's, and he could stand completely frozen in one position for hours if he wanted. It was somewhere between uncanny valley and marvelous. 

Catching yourself staring at him for far too long, you shook your head, finally realizing that he seemed way too interested in the same page of the book he was holding. Knowing him just a little by now, you were well aware that the Dr. Veritas Ratio would not ponder just a single page in a book if it wasn't of any interest. Curiosity got the better of you, and you set your own book aside, standing up to walk over to Ratio and look over the edge of his book, standing on your tiptoes to see the contents.

Unexpectedly, Ratio jerked away, his whole body moving like a pillar being rocked by an earthquake, and yet, you jumped, too, expecting some kind of danger. Looking around, the exhibition was still the same, quiet place. Still, when you turned back to Veritas, his eyes were wide open, staring at you as if he had just caught you committing murder or something just as atrocious. 

"Are you alright? I just wanted to check if you found something."

"I'm quite fine!" Ratio replied, emphasizing his words a little too much to sound believable. Narrowing your eyes, you took another step forward, and he let the book snap close loudly before clearing his throat. "It's fine. Just an interesting segment."

"Really?" you followed up, your eyes landing on the title of the book. "Ancient Spells and Curses," you read it out loud, raising an eyebrow and looking up at him. Ratio refused to look at you, his chin raised high like a prideful peacock. "Did you find a cure?"

"What? In this? Don't be ridiculous."

While he was speaking, you reached out towards the book, using his moment of vehement denial to snatch it from his grasp. If there was one positive for you about his petrification, he couldn't react or act as quickly as your soft, blood and skin body could, and you were almost across the room already as he put his feet into motion. With a grin on your face, you couldn't wait to see what the doctor had been looking at so intently, be it a cure or just another interest of his, and you skimmed through the book, looking for keywords that would reveal the pages he had read. 

Naturally, when you saw the word "stone", you paused, flipping back two pages to find the following:

Cure against Petrification

The turned individual can resolve the misery of being petrified by being with their one true love. A body resting warm against their skin of stone, mouth soft to free their hardened lips, sounds loud to rush the still blood in their veins, and accepting the person no longer living as such—a human. Then, the spell may be lifted, and the body can return to flesh and bone.

Occasionally, the petrified will need multiple encounters with their one true love to sift out any remains of the spell.

You weren't sure if you should be laughing or rejoicing as you read the words. They sounded as fake and corny as only spiritualism could, and yet, it was the first thing you two ever found that would resolve the problem you were facing. Turning around, you stared at the hulking figure marching over to you with a sense of dread on his face, Ratio's expression turning from irritated to skeptical to surprised at seeing your wide grin and excitement. 

But then you felt your own mood shift as you suddenly realized why he stared at the solution for so long. If there was anyone that loved Veritas or he loved them, they were long gone, centuries-long. Now that you two had found them, there wasn't anyone who could fulfill the requirements. It was heartbreaking to realize that the only thing that helped could never be tried and tested. Even if you two went public with Ratio's condition, there was no guarantee he'd find the one. His one and only love. And if you two didn't, then… 

"I'm sure we can find something else," you mumbled, closing the book slowly. "I mean, this probably won't work anyway, right? It's just humbug."

You felt awful discouraging him after finally finding a solution, but you also didn't want him to feel your own disappointment. The nights spent with him had also taken their toll on you and your life. You didn't want Ratio to think you were going to drop him and leave him to deal with his predicament just because you were slowly giving up hope. He couldn't need that in his situation. He needed you by his side, helping and supporting him, even if Ratio made it hard to get along. With his personality, finding another pushover to rope into his plans would probably be even harder. Besides, he was your responsibility now. 

"It'll be impossible to get anyone else here and we can't really drag someone into this either, right?"

You did your best to make it sound like you were joking to cheer Ratio up, turning towards him and shrugging your shoulders dramatically. It was your best try to cover up this awkwardness surrounding you two after finding the spell removal, especially considering that Veritas would not try to keep you both focused on the mission, so it was up to you to stay positive.

"Where would we even find anyone else?" you laughed as if it was the funniest idea you had in a long time when your body suddenly fell forward, the book being ripped from your hand while you face-planted directly into a stone-hard chest. 

"Why would we need anyone else?"

The question sounded too certain for it to be a joke, yet you chuckled awkwardly, pushing your hands into his chest to create some distance again. Surely, he must be jesting, however weirdly phrased it was. So when you looked up, meeting his gaze head-on, his eyes clear and unwavering, with determination shining in them that made them look like jewels pushed into a bust, you gulped, wondering what else he could have meant. 

"Exactly…?" you agreed hesitantly, wondering if you had upset him. It was frustrating how hard he was to read, but you couldn't dwell on it. You yelped when he suddenly took a step towards you, your bodies colliding further into each other as you stumbled backward. But one of his defined arms caught you before you could topple over. Step by step, Ratio led you back, and you looked left and right at a way out.

"Exactly," he repeated your words, his voice suddenly low, rumbling like a purr in his chest. It was a reminder that he was still human and could make your head flush with heat, goosebumps rising up your arms. He sounded almost sultry, but you would never admit that. Ratio wasn't the type to make your heart jump, he was barely even a friend!

"I'm glad you understand. Now, I don't need to explain myself."

Your hands pushing against his chest were snatched from their place on top of his pecs. You let out an involuntary gasp as he raised them so high over your head that you had to raise your heels off the ground to avoid the sting in your muscles. "Wait, what? What do you mean?! I don't understand it at all! What's gotten into you suddenly?!"

Ratio clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed that he would have to explain himself after all. You looked up at him in confusion until your back hit the wall, and your body was sandwiched between two unmoving objects, your arms pinned above you. "Let's not waste time talking, when we could be conducting our research in the meantime already."

"Research? What are we–"

Ratio pinched your chin between his fingers, his stiff lips falling to yours with the full force of determination. The rock bounced against your soft flesh, and yet, you couldn't taste any stone at all, not even as his tongue pushed inside your mouth. It was a strange, hardened, foreign object that slipped against yours, brushing the tips together and coating it in your spit. Yet, the longer the kiss lasted, the warmer it grew, its flexibility returning as it explored more of your mouth than anyone had ever done before.

By the time he finally released you from the kiss, Ratio was dipping his softened lips lower, down your jawline, and hovering above your throat, your pulse hitting them over and over. His tongue lapped at you, tasting your nervously shivering skin all the way down to your collarbones. 

"W-What are you doing?!" you asked, flabbergasted and incredulous. Your relationship was undoubtedly special, but that didn't permit him to attack you suddenly! "That's not–Ah!”

Without warning, Ratio dug his teeth into the flesh between your shoulder and your neck, not enough to hurt, but enough to cause your muscles to jerk, your hips jumping forward and against him. You two had never been so close, never felt as much from each other as you did at that moment, and you felt all the blood leave your body as you met something prodding from his hips, brushing against your own crotch in an unmistakable feeling. 

He had an erection. 

Veritas let out something akin to a moan, but he caught himself and quickly cleared his throat, finally stopping the assault on your tender shoulder. "I had my doubts," he admitted, drawing away from you to look you in the eyes. His gaze was calculated and focused. It was the same with which he chided you for not understanding, minus the sneer usually plastered on his face. A face still stuck in a spell but with lips that had regained color after just a few seconds of being entangled with yours. 

"But it seems to work, let's continue testing."

Pushing his leg forward, you hissed sharply as he ground it against your crotch, parting your legs and sitting you down on his thigh, the tips of your feet struggling to reach the ground. "I-Impossible!" you panted, trying hard not to moan as Ratio lifted his thigh even higher, gravity pulling your weight down like you were sitting on a wooden horse. "We're not… we're not like that! It said you need your one true love, and we've been tolerating and working together at best all this time! No way you like me like that!!"

Ratio didn't humor you with an answer, merely leaning forward, more of his cold rubbing against the warmth seeping through your clothes. He was all hard muscles and breathtaking pressure as he pinned you between himself and the wall. A slight shudder went through his body as his cock perked up from beneath the sculptured waistcloth around his waist, brushing up against your thigh. His one free hand slipped along your arm to relieve his other hand from pinning duty. Instead, both of them crept across your palms until he could slip his fingers between yours. But when Ratio interlaced his fingers with yours, you were surprised to find them already fleshy and warm, and you glanced up to watch the stone subside, turning his skin back into flesh. 

"Your stupidity knows no bounds, but luckily, I am here to teach you," he mumbled, face back against your throat as Ratio let out a long sigh. "I waited so long for this. To feel that warmth, taste your skin. I'd done it at some point anyway, but if it returns my humanity, I won't waste time waiting for you to understand my desire."

Finally, Ratio rose to face you again, a slight flush in his expression, his cheeks not yet rosy. "I've never met someone even close to understanding me—until you pulled me out of that crypt. Yet, you think my feelings for you are so abysmal? If I'd care, it would hurt hearing you say that."

"S-Sorry," you whispered, his face so close that every sound louder than your breathing felt as if you were attacking him. Why were you apologizing? His brilliant eyes had their shimmer returned, the amber showing your reflection in them, making you shine in the golden light. You appeared even warmer than you felt with his cold body pressed against you, but it highlighted every one of your features, the beautiful glow of your tanned skin, the puzzled yet adorable look on your face, and the way your body contorted in front of Veritas in an almost sexy way, making you wonder if this was how Ratio saw you, too. 

But just as quickly, the illusion shattered as you came back down to earth with Ratio pressing his leg even higher, grinding you against it. He was beautiful, apparently interested in you, and frankly, a catch if he didn't open his mouth, but that didn't mean you wanted him that way. He was reaching for straws with his research into the occult, and you had been an enabler and pushover so far, but not to this degree! You had to do something, or it wouldn't end how you thought it was right!

"Wait!" you cried out, but you were immediately shut up by Ratio's lips. This time, the kiss was passionate, yet soft, lips engulfing yours as he robbed the breath right out of your lungs, breathing it in as if he had drowned and was desperate for air. You slammed your torso forward, grinding your cock over his defined muscles on his thigh, but it only pushed more air out of your body as you were met with the same cold stone that used to cover Ratio whole. 

When he finally released you, you were too busy gasping for air to continue your reasoning, and then suddenly, your soles hit the ground again as you were twisted around, your hot cheeks meeting the cold wall with a small thud. Your arms were released, immediately slacking to the side, and you listened to the sliding sound of fabric as Ratio pulled down your pants before you could react. 

Gasping, you pushed yourself away from the wall, trying to cover your ass and crotch as Ratio dropped down behind you. He was down on one knee, and still had his head way above your waist, making you wonder just how good his genetics had been for this kind of growth in his century. But that wasn't the point at that moment!

"Stop it, Doctor! We're not that close, we can't just have sex! In the museum nonetheless!"

"Disagree. You and I are both men of science. If not us, who else can prove this method works? Look."

Parting his lips, his tongue dipped out, the pink flesh twisting and moving in perfectly human motions, no amount of stone left in it. You watched it, entranced by its flexibility, when Ratio suddenly parted your buttcheeks and lowered his head while keeping eye contact with you. 

"Besides, I still seem to have failed in conveying my desire for you. I shall rectify it now."

You felt the slippery, wet drag of his tongue on your ass before you could attempt to move away. With a shudder and a jerk from your cock, your bud accepted the prodding muscle, allowing it to stimulate and pleasure you. With a face burning with embarrassment and arousal, you looked down to see your twitching cock bopping up and down as Ratio was undeterred, rimming you with more awkwardness than expected, yet his determination prevailed. 

Half stone, half flesh hand reached between your legs, a palm dragging over your balls before his fingers split and reached around your cock, moving slowly back and forth. It was a harsh feeling, followed by softness, constantly interchanging, and your precum soon wet the palm stroking you, making it even stranger. That didn't stop you from gasping as Ratio's tongue finally breached the rim of your hole, caving out the entrance until it could fit inside. You let out an involuntary moan as you felt it wiggle inside of you, making space for itself and what was yet to come, while Veritas's hand moved faster, the back and forth soon falling into a rhythm with his tongue, making it very hard to think clearly as your legs began to shudder from the pleasure. 

But just as you were edging closer to your orgasm, suddenly, his tongue slipped out, dragging over your bud one more time before his face retreated from your ass, and Ratio's hand came to a standstill. Your heart was beating so fast, it was tricky holding back and not fucking your cock into his palm for the sweet, sweet release. You bit your lips in an effort to keep them close and not reveal a pitiful mewl or moan. 

You felt Ratio shift behind you, effortlessly standing up again, your cock still in his hand as he slowly tugged you forward with it, your hips shamelessly following where his hand went. Soon, your chest was pressed against the wall again, your body hot even when his stone hips molded against your ass cheeks. You felt the outline of his cock rub between your flesh, realizing it was far too big to take inside despite Ratio's preparation. 

Looking back over your shoulder, you gave him a pleading look. "W-We can still stop this," you begged, but his grip on your cock only grew more rigid in return. 

"We've come so far, and you just want to stop? I thought I taught you better than this."

Drawing his hips back, Ratio positioned the tip of his cock in front of your ass, releasing your dick so he could grip your hips instead. You mewled, trying to move forward and away, but his hold was firm, keeping you in place. Ratio's hands were big enough to part your ass cheeks for easy access whilst settled on your hips, and you watched in horror and awe as he was able to produce enough spit in his mouth to drip on his cock for lubrication. The fabric around his hips had magically moved aside to bare his still gray cock, but it was as lively as a real one, the tip glistening as the spit ran off and down the shaft. 

"We've come too far to stop now."

And with that, his hips jerked forward, tip pressing inside you forcefully. You cried out in surprise and the first hints of pain as your bud parted to accommodate the cock prying it open. Another jerk, and this time, you felt him enter you for a few inches, the cold burning against your abused hole and being wet from your juices. "Shh," Ratio muttered, leaning over you and pressing you further against the wall. You hadn't even noticed the whines that had escaped you, too focused on the feeling of his cock forcing his way inside you. 

"I know you can take me. Just relax."

One hand released your hips, his cock lodged between your cheeks now, stuck to your entrance, and Veritas reached around to the front, massaging his palm over your previously abandoned cock again. Slow, deliberate movements that made your hips move in sync with him while he pressed up from behind, your body both fleeing and welcoming him outside of your control. You took a sharp breath in…

And Ratio pushed it out of your lungs at the exact moment, snapping his hips forward and lodging his length completely inside. 

You didn't know what hurt more, your body or the violating feeling you couldn't shake. Ratio could speak about research and desires as much as he wanted, but all this time, it hadn't felt real until you felt your insides clench around his cock, the cold sensation the only thing that didn't make you scream from pain—yet. Your own dick twitched in his hold, spewing ropes of cum over his fingers and onto the wall, and you barely noticed them, lost in a pitiful orgasm that made your muscles tighten and your legs shudder, your body unable to move even an inch. 

But you didn't need to. 

Slipping his feet beneath your soles, Ratio made up for the height difference by letting you stand on top of his toes, even though your heels still didn't manage to come down. It was all so he could keep you in place as he slowly dragged his cock out and plunged it right back in as if to preserve the space he had created. Your body tingled as he stroked your dick half-heartedly, resting his forehead against your shoulder before letting out a deeply held breath. He slowly, painfully retracted his body, dragging his cock out of you up to the tip before ramming his hips upwards and all the way back into you. And from then on, nothing was holding him back. 

In a mix of screams, gasps, and moans, you two felt the desire burn through his stoney body, his cock pulsating inside you as it changed back with every plow Ratio conducted. Mercilessly, he forced your ass to take all of his length over and over while gripping your cock in his palm, fucking your hips into his grip. You could barely find any hold, falling and rising at the same time as gravity played the third wheel in the debauchery, and the once silent museum was filled with your sounds—both the pained and the aroused.

You couldn't be sure if he was still aware of the scientific research he claimed this was or if Ratio had been taken over by desire and pleasure, much like you. He didn't speak, only grunting his emotions into your ear. But with his free arm, he kept you tightly secured, wrapping it around your body while sandwiching you between the wall and him, never letting you fall or even escape as he fucked you senseless. The foreign object moving in and out of your ass pressed up against the wall, too, as it bulged your stomach to accommodate its size, your skin scrapping the cement and leaving it bruised, but it didn't seem to deter Veritas.

Soon enough, you both were gasping, breathless messes, feeling blazingly hot against each other. It was nothing compared to the cold firmness of his cursed body from before. All that was left was soft, fleshy, and comfortingly warm, his touches unrestricted, his cock wet and moving sloppily as Ratio was nearing his orgasm as well. And yours? You had spilled your jizz twice more while he had yet to finish once, sullying the wall with the pitiful painting of your violation. 

"That's it," Ratio breathed into your ear. "We did it! We did–"

Interrupted by his own breathless groan, you felt his cum spill inside you, swapping around like molten lava, hot and sticky, a testament to his transformation. You cried out as he filled you up with years of restraint, almost feeling as if he was shooting another load right after the first one. You, too, let out one last pitiful, watery string of cum; his hand, now completely human and sticky, was dripping with your seed as if it was lotion for his newly acquired skin. 

Your breath was ragged as you forced some focus on your hands, pressing them to the wall as your body shivered and moved. Ratio was still pumping you full of cum, but even he seemed to grow tired, staggering on his spot. And the mean, mean gravity did what it did best: pull you down the second Ratio took just one step back. 

His cock slid out of your buttered hole, releasing all the cum to seep and bubble out of you as you sank to the ground. You didn't even register the pain of your knees hitting the floor as your mind focused solely on the feeling of cum spewing from your abused ass. But reality hit you hard as you leaned your face against the wall, only to be met by your own sticky semen now drawing ropes between you and the cement. 

"Amazing," you heard the doctor mutter behind you, and although your ass and hips felt like they were mangled, you twisted around to look over your shoulder at him. Before you stood a man with the same statuesque looks as the statue you had spent so many nights sitting over books with. Yet, you couldn't see him with the same eyes again. At best, he was mad, completely out of his mind. And at worst, you had truly never registered what kind of monster he was all along, although the signs were clear and right in front of you. 

Neither perception looked as good as he did now.

With hair as blue as the night sky through the ceiling window above you, eyes that of liquid gold, and the build of an Adonis, Dr. Veritas Ratio was still a breathtaking sight. And you hated how it made your body flush with arousal when his gaze lowered back to you, gracing you with that unreadable, haughty expression on his face you knew too well, his cock still standing majestically, even after fucking you. To think you wanted to be friends with someone who had no regard for your feelings and rights if it proved useful to him. There would be no such thing now. You two would never be able to recover and form a relationship after what he did to you. 

Absentmindedly, you watched as Ratio picked up the book that had caused all of this. At some point, he had discarded it to force himself on you, but he seemed to immediately find the page again, reading it over when something else caught his attention. A short, unamused laugh echoed through the room, and he lifted one hand, twisting and turning it in front of his face. Squinting your eyes to see better through your teary vision, you could see the rigidness taking hold of his fingertips, stone spreading like ice crystals over his skin. His lips parted as if to comment on the circumstance, but he quickly closed them again, knowing it made no difference whether he spoke about it or not. It was happening again, and he could only watch. You saw his euphoria disappear into the depth of disappointment. However, you couldn't feel bad for him this time like before. 

Ratio's expression turned stern, his thoughts unmistakingly twisting around what went wrong and how to fix it. His gaze fell back to the page, then to his hand, the book, and finally, to you. Tapping his petrified pointer finger onto the paper, he took a deep breath before reading aloud, "Occasionally, the petrified will need multiple encounters with their one true love to sift out any remains of the spell, it says. Let us do it again to be sure."

Do… it? Again? Did he mean sex? Forcing himself on you as if you were nothing more than a means to an end? Perhaps you were—at least to Ratio. It had never been about camaraderie or pursuing the same goals, but now you had to suffer for his selfishness. Were you nothing more than an accepted sacrifice to solve his problem?

Your thoughts were interrupted by a tender kiss, much different than the ones before. His lips were almost playful as they coaxed you to return the affection that you refused to do. "Tell me what's bothering you," he mumbled against your lips. "I can see your brows crinkling from all the thinking when, really, you should only look at me."

His words only made you more upset, as if to say you weren't smart enough to think. Your contribution was no longer appreciated unless it was your body he needed to reverse the spell. You should have said something, making him understand how awful he was. But your anger settled above everything; your need to be validated after being used and abused greater than anything.

"I brought you here. You should be thankful I took you out of that crypt and helped you come this far. How dare you think you can treat me like this."

Ratio grew silent as he listened to your words, his eyes falling down to your lips ever so often before returning your angry gaze with one of belittling mockery. "I must admit, you're cute when you're angry. Is this what you are thinking? That I am using you, ready to discard you once I'm done? You are wrong, which isn't new, but you should know I am not planning on letting you go, especially not now."

Pushing your legs apart, Veritas positioned himself between them, his hands falling to your body, roaming until you attempted to stop them with your own. However, he merely interlaced your fingers again. This time, they had already returned to their stone-cold version. Yet, he forced them to comply, however uncomfortable it must have been. Back in this compromising position, you had no choice but to let him pin your hands to the ground, hovering above you with eyes so brilliant, they were beginning to fill you with dread. 

They showed yourself in them, vulnerable and resigned, knowing you couldn't fight him. That despite what he was doing, you couldn't just leave him and this place behind. That his discovery would always come to haunt you, one way or another. But far behind that reflection of yourself lay something much more sinister. It hadn't been there when he was still petrified from hair to toe, but you saw it now. Ambition and desire, feelings that only you could awake in him after all this time and in this new day and age.

"You could have left so many nights ago, but we both know you need me," he whispered, lowering his face again and bumping his forehead to you. "All these times I gave you a chance to never return, but you did. Perhaps, I know why. I am your magnum opus—and you are mine. I will make sure those idiots mocking your finds and achievements witness the greatness of the one and only person I desire to be with. Once I have my body back, you'll bask in the glory of excellence with me by your side. Together we will be unstoppable, darling."

His hand slipped off yours, and you remained still as you let his words repeat in your mind, like a proposal of sorts. But when his touch found its way to your ass, you jolted awake, trying to scurry away as he probed at your violated bud with his cold, stiff fingers. 

"But first, you need to do this for me. For us. A small price to pay for recognition, don't you think?"

Panic set in, tears shooting into your eyes as you shook your head vehemently. You wanted to say something, but the sounds coming from your hoarse throat didn't form words. 

"Don't pretend to be shy now," Ratio scolded you gently, and for the first time since meeting him, you saw a genuine smile play on his lips. Lips that parted to lick his fingers as he raised them before they twisted into a wolfish grin. "We still have a lot to study and find out. What's your favorite position? What makes you cum the fastest? Things like that. And we need to be thorough." 

He looked almost boyish as his smile softened again, eyes scanning your body with a never-before-seen interest before he found your gaze with his. You flinched as you felt his wet fingers back at your entrance, and you couldn't help but struggle, mewling and trying to get away from what seemed inevitable. Ratio shook his head and sighed. "Still resisting? Thankfully, we have all night to answer the questions."

Ratio looked up. Gone was all the softness, only ambition and lust remaining in its stead. Desire that needed to be quelled and strive that demanded absolut dedication from him. And then there were you, caught in the bullseye, the only thing he was focusing on at this and surely many other moments.

"I am sure you'll be a valuable asset to my research. Now relax, darling."

[sminny-wew]

I've been thinking about how differently Agent Stone looks at Eggman vs. how Dr. Starline looks at Eggman. They both love him, but in very different ways.

Starline started out as a huge fanboy, aiming to turn his parasocial relationship with the doctor into an interpersonal one. He built up this ideal in his head of what he thought Eggman was like, based on outside observations. And once he began working directly with Eggman and got to see for himself that the man wasn't everything he envisioned, that disappointment crushed him. He became obsessed with proving to Eggman that he was doing the whole "villain" thing all wrong. You don't do it like this, you do it like that, and to prove that my way is the right way I'm going to conquer the world first and let you stand by my side. Surely you'll realize I was right all along and thank me for my help and this won't blow up in my face at all.

Stone, on the other hand, knows exactly what Eggman is like from having worked under him for a while. He does not care about how "problematic" Eggman is, even when he maybe should; he is 100% ride-or-die for that man, warts and all. And he's not clueless about his position as an underling, either; the Sonic 2 Pre-Quill tie-in comic shows that he can be just as ruthless and cunning as Eggman if he wants. Unlike Starline, Stone has no desire to conquer the world himself, though he absolutely could if he wanted to; he just wants to be part of the doctor's conquest, no matter how big or small that part may be. Ironically enough, by being his sycophant, Agent Stone brings out Dr. Eggman's humanity. Stone loves Eggman unconditionally when unconditional love is something Eggman's never had. Stone gave him a human connection at a time when Eggman believed humanity wasn't worth connecting with; and yet, when Eggman was so desperate for companionship while stuck on the mushroom planet that he put a face on a rock, he didn't call it Agent Boulder, he called it Stone. And in the third movie, he (apparently) died realizing that for all the trouble he went to to seek his grandfather's approval, he already had someone by his side this entire time, someone who never willingly left him in spite of all the mistreatment at his hands.

Eggman is such an interesting and compelling villain to me (specifically in the games and comics and movies) because underneath all the grandiose schemes to take over the world, he's still so painfully human. He admires his grandfather, he envies his cousin, and he got so attached to the AI he created that she wound up becoming a daughter to him. He wants attention, respect, recognition. He can be a caring father (Sage) and a deadbeat dad (Belle) at the same time. He's so goddamn multifaceted and I fucking love it.

I once read a really great post that essentially said Eggman is a right-brained villain (creative, emotional) while Starline is a left-brained villain (calculative, logical) and I've never stopped thinking about it because it's true.

(Btw I'm not trying to say that any of this makes Stone "better" than Starline as a villain/love interest, I'm just pointing out how differently they approach their affection for Eggman and how differently he responds to both of them.)

[dearlenore]

BAMBI. / S.REID / SUMMARY - Spencer meets a young criminal law student

PAIRING: allison!grey x spencer reid / w/c: 2.0K / fluff

a/n: I wanna make this a series so bad, also credit to @cheriesbucky for inspiring me to share my oc!!<3 not proofread I fear…

The moment Spencer Reid stepped onto the Princeton campus, a familiar chill ran through him—not from the weather, though early April still bit through his coat—but from memory. These kinds of places never changed. The stone buildings. The tightly-trimmed lawns. The buzz of students too smart for their own good and not nearly as smart as they’d one day believe.

He wasn’t sure why he said yes when Rossi asked him to come along. It wasn’t like his presence was necessary—David Rossi could give a criminology seminar in his sleep, probably had before. But when the invitation came from the university, and Rossi offered a guest seat beside him on the panel, Spencer heard himself agree before he could figure out why.

Maybe it was nostalgia. Or maybe it was the ache—something deep and slow that settled in his chest more often these days, like a ghost of something he couldn’t name.

The lecture hall was warm, filled with the scent of dusty books, coffee cups, and a kind of hunger that only academic places carried. Spencer followed Rossi inside and took the side seat near the stage, where he could fade into the background. His eyes flicked around, scanning students who leaned over notebooks and laptops, whispering to one another in anticipation. Most didn’t recognize him. A few stared a moment too long, perhaps uncertain where they’d seen his face before.

Then he saw her.

Front row, dead center. Small. Maybe five-foot-five. Pale blue cardigan slipping off one shoulder, an open notebook resting delicately on her lap, even though she hadn’t written a single word yet. She was staring at Rossi like he was reading a poem. Not with infatuation—no—but fascination. Her eyes were wide, lit from inside with something he couldn’t place.

Curiosity. Eagerness. Maybe both.

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and bit her pen in thought. The motion was small, almost automatic. And yet, it stuck in Spencer’s mind longer than it should have.

He forced himself to look away.

Rossi launched into his introduction, commanding the room with the ease of a seasoned profiler. “Who here knows the difference between an M.O. and a signature?” he asked.

A few hands shot up, and then—hers.

Spencer watched her from the corner of his vision. Noticed the way she hesitated for a second before raising her hand all the way, like she wasn’t sure if she had the right to speak.

“You,” Rossi called.

Her voice was soft. Musical. “M.O. is the method an offender uses to commit the crime—practical things. Signature is the psychological need they fulfill through specific acts. It’s not necessary to commit the crime, but it satisfies something deeper.”

Rossi nodded, clearly (at least mildly) impressed. “Textbook answer.”

Spencer found himself leaning forward.

Later, after the seminar ended and students began packing up their bags, she lingered. Most of the audience swarmed Rossi, shoving copies of his books at him for autographs or asking questions they could’ve Googled. But she stood a few feet away, notebook in hand, staring at the crowd intensely, as if deep in thought.

He should’ve left it alone.

But something about her kept pulling at him—an invisible string he couldn’t stop tugging.

“You asked a question earlier,” he said, calling out to her with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. “About signature behavior.”

She blinked up at him, startled at first, then visibly relaxing. “I did.” Her eyes flicked across his face. “You’re Dr. Reid, right?”

He nodded. “That’s me.”

“I’ve read a few of your papers,” she admitted, cheeks flushing pink as she smiled. “Especially the one on spatial-temporal patterning and ritualistic homicides. It’s… a little terrifying….But brilliant of course! Really brilliant!”

The panicked praise made something flutter in his chest, a reaction he didn’t quite expect. “Thank you. Most people don’t make it past the abstract.”

“I liked your footnotes,” she said, laughing a bit. “They read like side conversations. Almost like you’re thinking out loud.”

He smiled back before he realized he was doing it. “That’s… probably because I was.”

She laughed again—a small, bright sound that curled around his ribs and stayed there, placing itself as if he’d been missing it all along.

“I’m Allison,” she said.

“Allison,” he repeated. Her name fit her. Gentle. Old-fashioned in a soft way. “Are you majoring in criminology?”

“Psych and criminal justice,” she said. “Double major. I want to work with children who’ve experienced trauma. Maybe help them testify in court…. Or maybe just help them survive it. I’m only human.”

That stopped him for a moment.

So young. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-three or twenty-four. And yet, her voice didn’t waver when she said it. She meant every word. She’d sounded like him at that age.

“That’s… admirable,” he said, quieter now. “And difficult.”

“I know.” She laughed awkwardly again. “But I’ve seen what happens when no one helps them.” Allison flashed a small awkward tight lipped smile.

Spencer studied her. She didn’t elaborate, and he didn’t ask.

“I’m surprised you’re not one of Rossi’s groupies,” he offered lightly.

She shook her head. “He’s brilliant, but a little… intimidating. You’re a lot less scary and official looking… plus you’re not selling yourself so I just assumed I could relate to you more than him.”

Spencer laughed. “You’d be surprised. I’m just bad at it.”

She tilted her head. “I think that’s why I like your writing. You don’t try to convince anyone—you just share what you know. Like a polite invitation into your brain.”

He didn’t know what to say to that.

There was a pause—brief, but thick. Students filtered out around them, filing toward the doors, laughing and shouting about midterms. But Spencer stood still. And so did she.

“I’m headed to the arts building,” she said, finally breaking the quiet. “They’re holding a mini recital in the quad. I’m playing violin with some of the kids from the local elementary school. It’s kind of chaotic, but… cute.”

He almost said goodbye.

Almost.

But instead—“Do you mind if I come?”

She blinked. “You want to?”

“I like violin.”

That made her smile again. Something sparkled in her eyes. “Sure. But only if you’re okay with tambourines and maracas interrupting every other note.”

“I’ve worked crime scenes next to train tracks and screaming neighbors,” he said. “I think I’ll manage.”

After Spencer had excused himself, they walked side by side through campus. The wind tugged at her cardigan again, and she didn’t bother fixing it. Her hair blew into her face, and when she laughed, it was as if the whole quad leaned in to listen.

They didn’t talk much as they walked across the quad.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt easy—like they’d done this before in some other life. Spencer glanced at her from time to time, watching how she tucked loose hair behind her ears, how her fingers curled tightly around the strap of her violin case. She was nervous, maybe. But not because of him.

“Do you perform often?” he asked, his voice breaking the hush of spring wind.

“Only for things like this,” she replied. “The kids are part of a music therapy program downtown. Some are neurodivergent, some have anxiety, and a few are dealing with grief. Music helps….Even if it’s messy and loud.” Allison chuckled to herself, a small smile playing at her lips.

Spencer nodded. “There’s research to support that. Auditory rhythm can activate the limbic system and regulate emotional response.”

She glanced up at him, smiling. “You’d love our practice room. Pure chaos.” Allison made a cut air motion. “But their smiles make it worth it.”

When they reached the grass clearing near the art building, there were folding chairs set up in uneven rows, half-filled with local parents and students bundled against the breeze. Children buzzed around like bumblebees, laughing and crashing tambourines together, each sound a wild burst of joy.

Spencer hesitated at the edge of the group. His coat felt too formal, his shoes too polished. He never quite knew how to be casual, especially around people who moved so easily through the world.

“Want to sit?” she asked, gesturing toward an empty bench near the front.

“I’ll watch from here,” he said. “Better view.”

Allison gave him a quick smile, then moved to join the kids. One little boy immediately wrapped his arms around her waist, and she bent to hug him, laughing softly as he clung. Another girl handed her a bright red plastic maraca.

“She’s gonna play the pretty song again,” the girl told her.

“Only if you help me with rhythm,” Allison replied, crouching down to their level.

Spencer watched, unable to look away.

The violin came out of its case like something sacred. She tuned it quickly—gently—before resting it on her shoulder. The first note drifted out into the air like breath, soft and golden. Not perfect, not polished. But real.

The children chimed in soon after, their percussion wild and unsynchronized, but she never corrected them. She let them play. She let them be. And somehow, the mismatched rhythm and sharp off-beat clapping wove itself into something whole. Something alive.

Spencer sat still, arms folded, heart unexpectedly full.

She was luminous like this—wrapped in music, surrounded by joy, completely unaware of how radiant she looked. Not in an untouchable way, but in a quiet, reverent one. Like she was full of light and trying desperately not to spill it.

After a few songs—mostly lullabies and one wobbly rendition of You Are My Sunshine—the concert ended. The crowd clapped. The kids laughed. And Allison bowed deeply with exaggerated flair that made all the children giggle.

Spencer stood when she approached, her cheeks flushed and eyes bright from the cold.

“I warned you it’d be chaotic,” she said.

“It was,” he agreed. “But it was… good. Really good.”

She beamed at him, tucking the violin back in its case. “They’ve been practicing for weeks. I’m glad they didn’t freeze up.”

“You’re really good with them,” he said, watching the last few kids run back toward their parents.

“I just try to listen.” She shrugged. “Most of them don’t get that very often.”

They fell quiet again, the kind of silence that meant more than words. The sun had dipped lower in the sky, casting golden light across the quad. Allison stood there with her case at her side, the wind catching the edge of her cardigan again.

Spencer wanted to tell her she reminded him of spring. The kind of person who made things grow. But it felt too much, too soon, and he didn’t know how to say it without sounding foolish.

Instead, he asked, “Would you want to get coffee sometime?”

She blinked, looking surprised—but not displeased.

“With you?”

“With…me I’d hope,” he confirmed, nerves curling around his ribs. “If you want.”

Her smile was soft and slow. “I’d like that.”

They exchanged numbers awkwardly—Allison fumbling with her phone, Spencer typing with the kind of caution he usually reserved for crime scene reports. Then she glanced at the time and winced.

“I promised I’d help clean up the art room,” she said. “But… thank you. For coming.” She made an awkward gesture before hitting her fist into her palm and swaying nervously.

“I’m glad I did,” he said truthfully.

And he meant it.

Because even as he walked away—coat buttoned against the evening chill, the sounds of laughter still echoing behind him—Spencer knew something had shifted. Maybe it was the way she played. Maybe the way she listened.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was the way he felt a little warmer now.

Like she’d lit something in him he didn’t know was still capable of catching fire.