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xiaprint · 6 hours ago

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hi so i cried real human tears

a vampire's heart

vampire!zayne x f!reader

⭑.ᐟ collab with @heartyluv

summary: zayne chose to exist for eternity so he could research the death of his beloved bride. but what happens when his bride is reincarnated 600 years later and shows up as his new medical intern?

contains: nsfw, mostly historically accurate (1840s), gore (anatomical dissections + surgery), zayne's having a religious crisis (christianity), reader doesn't remember zayne, swearing, zayne (kinda) loses control, reader vomits once, 14.5k words

moodboard ⟶ fic

Coming up...

“Is there some affliction you are experiencing, Zayne? If so, you don’t have to keep it from me,” you respond, your voice delicate and attempting to calm the raging storm you sense brewing beneath the surface.

He scoffs, “Keep it from you?” Shifting to face you now, he glares down at you and mutters, “What is there to hide when you are my affliction?” The vampire inches closer, his eyes shining; it appears unnatural.

You shudder as he continues, “Is our reunion by God’s hand? Does He intend to salt the wound He inflicted on me centuries ago?”

But first...

Welcome to the 1840s. I’m your host, Star Girl, and allow me to orientate you in this world. Please fasten your seatbelts as we journey back to the time of no sewage systems, cramped urban living, and poor hygiene.

Key attractions of our destination include:

operating theatres were called ‘theatres’ because an audience watched the surgery

in the 1840s, anaesthetics were introduced in two forms: ether and chloroform, the latter of which became widespread in the following decades

miasma theory had not been disproved yet ⟶ by miasma theory, the cause of disease was from ‘bad air’ (miasma) sent by God to punish humans for their misbehaviour

surgeries, before anaesthetics, prioritised minimising patient suffering over precision

surgeons did not wash their hands or change their clothes before or between surgeries

operating theatres were never cleaned

bloodletting was widely practised from ancient times until the late 19th century

the average mortality rate of surgery was 80% ⟶ Robert Liston once amputated a leg in less than 2.5 minutes; the procedure killed the patient and Liston’s assistant from infection, and a witness died from shock

cemeteries were popular for strolls and picnics in the 19th century, functioning as a public park does nowadays

This fic embraces most of these characteristics, while suggesting that our lead, Dr Li, has some knowledge of future scientific advancements. For the surgery, I used the operating theatre setting and pulled the rest out of my ass😁

Zayne dips his hands into a bowl of chlorinated lime. Cupping his palm, he sloshes it up to his forearm and repeats the process on his other arm. He stares out the window, overlooking the medical school’s cemetery.

The sun is distilled by fluffy clouds, painting the landscape white. There’s frost lining the windowsill, a testament to the snow sticking to the headstones. Pure flecks drift from the heavens, leftovers from last night’s blizzard.

Those hazel eyes—their shine long extinguished—see, but they don’t see. What is another day when you will exist for eternity?

The solution splashes over the rims of the bowl, and Zayne’s head immediately snaps down to his submerged forearms. Taking them out, he dries himself off and turns around. He’s alone in the examination room, except for the body lying on his table, that is.

An unwilling cadaver, how unfortunate yet common for criminals. The doctor picks up the crumpled piece of paper that came with his specimen.

Name: Mr Walter Clark Born: 1809 Crime: Stole four sheep

Zayne sets the paper on the bench behind him before grabbing a scalpel. He drives the sharp blade into the centre of the deceased’s chest and drags it down to the navel. The stench of blood is overwhelming, yet the doctor’s thirst is kept on a tight leash.

He may no longer be human, but he is not so beastly as to drink from his specimens.

Mr Clark’s eyes—bloodshot and very much open—seemingly gaze up at Zayne as he leans over and rips the criminal’s skin back with his bare hands. Pale skin is tainted by crimson blood; a familiar sight.

The doctor grabs his chained hooks and hooks back the cadaver’s hanging skin and muscles. He then takes a hammer to Mr Clark’s sternum and shatters the ribcage—it’s in his way. What Zayne is most interested in lies beneath.

The heart.

Zayne couldn’t care less for the afflictions of man if they did not bring him closer to you. You who were fated to pass from some ailment the night before your wedding all those years ago. The coroner had deemed that your death was by miasma.

Ah, yes, miasma. The infamous, brutal killer of millions throughout history until the work of John Snow and Louis Pasteur proved otherwise in the 1850s. Only… a few years from now.

If there is one thing Zayne couldn’t believe in—besides God—it was the concept of miasma. Perhaps because it was divined. Perhaps because it didn’t make practical sense in hindsight. Likely both.

The doctor closes his eyes, the world going black as his hands soak up his specimen’s blood. Zayne casts his mind back to those fateful few weeks before your demise, when you had claimed you were experiencing frequent chest discomfort and nausea. You had even vomited from it at times.

He was sceptical but remained calm for you. He was your support until the very end, and held you when an affliction of the heart struck. What affliction? That’s why Zayne is here. He’s determined to discover the cause of your death, even if it will never bring you back. That’s why he agreed to this… condition.

It was a simple trade. His humanity for inhumanity. Without his beloved bride, how could Zayne live on? He couldn’t. So he chose to exist instead.

The vampire sighs, his nostrils flaring as blood curls the short hairs. His eyes snap open, and he returns to examining Mr Clark’s chest cavity. The criminal’s heart looks the same as many other hearts Zayne has seen. No scarring, ruptures, or enlargement. Perfectly normal.

What a waste.

Greyson, his second-in-command, often reprimands the doctor for not spending more time dissecting the cadavers. Zayne is leading the advancement of Europe’s scientific understanding. The vampire did initially, and still does sometimes. But Zayne also isn’t going to let another minute of his prolonged existence slip by if it is filled with useless productivity.

He heads back to the chlorinated lime and washes himself off again. Greyson will be disappointed that he’s already finished up with this cadaver, especially since a new intern is starting today. Zayne was briefed on their arrival last night, long after office hours. Just another young medical student hoping to save lives.

A slight smile tugs at the vampire’s lips—his eyes as lifeless as the snowy cemetery outside. Many aspiring doctors’ dreams have been crushed under his watchful eye and careful instruction. So too shall this new intern’s be.

It’s for the best, really. Demand for cadavers is high enough already. Preventing new anatomists prevents the monarchy from introducing new hangings for minor crimes. And Europe has Zayne and other surgeons to bring about the Enlightenment.

Crushing dreams is the ethical thing to do in this situation, right?

Zayne catches Greyson’s familiar scent and hears his steady heartbeat thrumming down the hall. His footsteps echo, accompanied by a lighter pair. His accomplice’s scent is… Jasmine? And their heart beats rather quickly. Nerves? Or something else?

Zayne’s still stuck on who-must-be-the-new-intern’s smell. Fresh jasmine, fragrant and soft. It reminds him of the jasmines he laid you to rest with centuries ago. He sniffs the air like some dog, his senses piqued in ways they haven’t been in years.

The door bursts open at the same time Zayne removes his clean hands from the chlorinated lime and wipes them off on a nearby rag.

Greyson announces, “Dr Li, this is Miss L/n. She is your new medical assistant.” Zayne sets the damp cloth on the bench and slowly pivots.

For the first time in over 600 years, Zayne’s green eyes brighten as they trail over you. Perfect. Completely, utterly perfect. Maybe God does exist, because in some cruel card He’s dealt Zayne, you’ve been returned to him.

Your cheeks are filled with that rosy liveliness, and you’re playing with your necklace—the one he made for you as a wedding gift, Zayne notices—out of nervous habit. You gnaw on your lower lip, anxious under his scrutinising gaze as the doctor commits you to memory and weighs you up against his past bride.

“Uh, well, I will leave you two to become acquainted,” Greyson says, desperate to leave this awkward atmosphere behind. He darts to the door, but before he can exit, Zayne calls his name. Greyson rounds on his heel, waiting for his superior’s instruction.

The head doctor gestures to the cadaver and says boredly, “I’m finished. Have the next brought in.”

“Yes, Dr Li,” the second in-charge agrees before heading off.

You stand there, staring at this man you swear you’ve met before. But that’s silly. Of course, you haven’t met before! You’re not even from these urban parts. But his voice is like a distant dream, and those eyes have peered at you in the dark, you’re sure of it.

Zayne turns his attention to you and addresses you coldly, “Wash your hands.” Your eyes widen, a million thoughts racing in your head as you grapple with his three simple words.

“Sorry?” You ask while shaking your head, trying to calm your buzzing mind.

Fuck. You sound exactly the same, too. If Zayne were in another universe—a universe where you remembered him—then he would have run to you and twirled you around his arms and kissed you until you begged for mercy. His sweet woman walks this Earth once more, and as of this moment, the vampire resolves to keep you here by any means necessary.

“I said, wash your hands. You will not examine a body with me if you do not do so,” he states as if it’s the norm.

You challenge him without a second thought, “Why? No one washes their hands to examine cadavers. Surgeons don’t even wash their hands before performing surgery.”

He mumbles, so quick and quiet you barely register that he spoke at all, “Mouthy as always.” It dawns upon you, seeing the rapid movement of his lips, that you may have just lost your position before you even began

“I mean—”

Zayne cuts you off, “If you are to work under me, then you must follow my instructions. And I instruct you to wash your hands before and after any dissections or procedures. Is that clear?” His voice is reminiscent of the bone-chilling winds outside. You nod and quickly move around the table, not even looking at the open body as you come up to the doctor.

He slides the bowl over to you, the blood-ridden water oscillating as you stare at it.

You ask, confused, “Will this not make things worse?”

Zayne counters, “How many times must I ask you to wash your hands, Miss L/n?” His jaw tenses as you gaze at him for a moment too long.

You hastily apologise, “Right, okay, sorry. Sorry, Dr Li. I’m washing my hands now.” You push up your sleeves and seemingly struggle with such a simple task.

The vampire backs away from you as you fuss with the cuffs of your newly given coat. It’s been worn by almost every intern Zayne’s had since joining Oxford’s most prestigious medical school. It reeks of bleach—Zayne’s special touch to the washing load—and your sweet scent.

He nearly smiles upon observing how big it is on you. The shoulders are far too prominent, and the hem hangs by your clothed calves. How cute. Desire overcomes him to roll up the sleeves for you, but you’re a big girl, and you get it eventually. He watches as you dunk your hands in the bloodied water and frantically rub your hands together.

Your heart is beating even faster; it pounds in Zayne’s ears. His sharp eyes pick up on sweat rolling down the side of your neck, right near your hairline, to below the collar. He’s so ravenous for you, he could lap it up and be satisfied.

But satisfaction is an interesting concept, especially for a man who is doomed to exist for eternity. Sure, his thirst can be tamed. But quenched? That’s something entirely different.

The vampire revises his statement: he’s so ravenous for you, he could lap it up and be momentarily content.

You remove your hands from the water and reach over to grab the cloth next to Zayne. He flinches on instinct, your body far too warm and close.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your palms.

The doctor shakes his head slightly and sighs, “No. You must wash your hands properly. Have you never been taught how to wash your hands?” Your eyes go wide, your brows lift, and your lips part from your shock.

You stutter, “O-of course—”

“Then wash them again, to the elbow this time,” he demands. A small, exasperated ‘ah’ escapes your lips as you stare at him.

Zayne clarifies, “That was not in jest.”

“I… I didn’t say it was,” you huff frustratedly while chucking the rag down and scrubbing your forearms in the solution. A micro smile ghosts his lips for a split second, unnoticed by your human eyes.

The vampire murmurs, “But you thought it.” He doesn’t need to read minds to know what you were thinking. And from the way you scoff and grumble to yourself, he knows he was right. How couldn’t he be right? Zayne is the man who loves you with every fibre of his being. Who defied death to spend forever investigating yours.

However, now that you’re back, that does complicate things.

As you’re wiping your hands for the second time, the door slams open. An assistant wheels in a fresh body for you two to examine. Zayne removes his hooks and other tools from Mr Clark’s corpse before approving the dissected body’s removal. The doctor helps the assistant set up the next specimen on the table; a 28-year-old Mrs Sarah Baker, who was hanged for robbing a brothel.

Once the door shuts, you pad over and ask, “So, what do you want me to do, Dr Li?” Placing down his freshly cleaned tools, Zayne glances at you over his shoulder.

“First, don’t come so close to me. Second, move to the other side of the table. I will delegate as we proceed with the dissection,” he orders sternly. Is it some cosmic force drawing you two together, or do you still lack the concept of spatial awareness? At least when it comes to your vampiric lover. Zayne chalks it up to a third option: jitters.

The doctor slices through the deceased’s chest and abdomen with the same, controlled, brute force as he usually does. You wince as blood pools out. Dear Lord, she’s fresh.

You breathe out, “Jesus Christ,” as Zayne rips back the skin. His hazel eyes flicker to you, burning like an emerald flame as he hands you his set of chained hooks.

“Right,” you say while accepting them from him. It’s taking everything within you not to hurl your breakfast up as you help Zayne hook the cadaver’s flesh back.

You’re not very good with blood. And organs. Especially not when they’re threatening to spill out of a corpse who likely died not even a day ago. Zayne examines the colour draining from your face as you examine the red staining your hands.

Being a medical student from a rural town, you’ve never done anything of this magnitude before. The furthest you’ve gotten is some rats, seeing as how valuable sheep are. And even then, they were dead dead before you cracked ‘em open.

The doctor asks, “Why were you selected for this role?” You look up at him and find his shrewd gaze trained on you.

Coherency flies out the window as you sputter, “O-oh, me?” He averts his eyes and shakes his head lightly, amused by your sudden cluelessness. Still the same, he tells himself.

“Who else would I be asking, Miss Intern? Surely not the deceased.” You scream at yourself to get a fucking grip. It’s been how long, and you’ve already made how many mistakes?

As Zayne grabs his hammer, you ramble, “Well, uh, the Oxford team was looking for diversity, and I’m, uh, the only female candidate who applied so…” Bang! Bang! Mrs Baker’s ribcage shatters into tiny, blood-soaked fragments.

“I see,” the doctor replies as he begins removing the larger fragments. You start picking up the pieces as well, careful not to injure yourself as you drop the bones in a nearby bowl. The deceased’s lungs and heart are bare and oh-so-gooey. You take shallower breaths as the smell of blood licks tendrils up your nose.

You’re feeling a bit light-headed as you observe the doctor use a smaller scalpel and cut the pulmonary artery. This queasy feeling rises in your tummy, bile bubbling up your oesophagus, but you will it to go down. You beg it to go down.

Zayne’s halfway through slicing the pulmonary vein when he removes his blade and gazes at you. His eyes narrow.

He announces, “You’re about to vomit.” You shake your head and go to put your hand on your mouth, but it’s covered in blood. Blood that 1) isn’t yours and 2) is terribly pungent. The time you have left until you throw up just decreased by approximately 43 seconds.

“I’m not,” you say, your voice strained as you look away from the oozing body in front of you. Zayne grabs an empty bowl for holding organs and passes it to you.

“I’m—” Fine. You close your mouth immediately and take the bowl. Stepping away from the table, you start walking to the corner of the room. But you don’t make it that far before you’re doubling over and drawing on the power of prayer to not vomit in front of the only surgeon in Europe with a 60% mortality rate.

Behind you, Zayne cleans off his hands and grabs a chair. He sets it down beside you and guides you to sit down. If it weren’t for the ongoing war between your tummy and your brain, you would have noticed how freezing his hand is; the temperature is comparable to the powder blanketing the town.

The vampire is grateful that you don’t flinch. But he’s not enthralled about the reason why. You’ve only just reunited, and this is how the first hour goes down. With him by your side as you inevitably bring up and pour forth the contents of your stomach.

Your hair is tied up, which means Zayne doesn’t have to get closer and hold your hair back. But it also means that he has no real business being this near to you at all, except to watch you throw up with a stoic expression on his face.

On the inside, he’s torn between tallying up enduring similarities of his bride, and empathising with the current you.

Vampires aren’t very good at human emotions, the doctor has come to learn. Vampiric emotions are very intense and driven by instinct (bloodlust). Yet, he has heard rumours of the undead who feel love and stay with their soulmate for a lifetime.

Is this what Zayne feels, then? Overwhelming love and relief that, in light of your spew, you are indeed the woman he’s been surviving for all of these years? That must be it.

In a rare display of affection–an inappropriate one, perhaps given how he’s a mere boss to you–he pats your back as you spit out the last little chunks.

“Ugh,” you groan, about to wipe your mouth when Zayne grabs your arm. Now, you feel his searingly icy touch. You sigh, the cold a relief from the heat bursting all over your body. He pulls out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wipes up your swollen lips. You turn your head and gaze at him as he does, your glassy eyes fracturing his smooth, angular features.

Blinking, tears roll down your cheeks as you reckon he’s been carved from stone; he looks so ethereal. Zayne folds his handkerchief and pats your tears dry. Then, he takes the befouled bowl from your sweaty palms and places the little cloth in your hands.

He orders you to, “Go clean up. Washroom is at the end of the hall on the left, and there’s fresh water at the nurse’s station. Don’t return here. Instead, see Greyson for our new orders.”

“Dr Li,” you croak out, spiritually prepared to challenge him, but physically exhausted from what just happened.

He nods firmly, “Go now.” Pressing your lips together, you hum in agreement and reluctantly leave the examination room. You do as you’re told and find Greyson with the medical assistants once you’re feeling better. He informs you’ll be staying with the nurses for the remainder of your shift, as per Dr Li’s instructions.

You accept your new duties (not like you could refuse), feeling embarrassed and disheartened. Greyson pats your shoulder upon seeing how they slump and reassures you that it happens to everyone.

For the rest of the day, you help the nurses with sweeping the floor and cleaning the dining areas. It’s domestic labour—a reminder that you’re a woman and this is the 19th century.

Leaving for the day, you walk down the snowy drive, hoping to be of greater use to Dr Li tomorrow.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

For the first month of your three-month placement, you’re stuck with the nurses. Every time you catch a glimpse of Dr Li, he’s rounding a corner, seemingly going about his day.

You try to visit him after your shifts, but you’re always sent on your merry way by Greyson. He says that you need to rest, direct orders from his superior, of course. But instead of professional concern, it sounds like Dr Li is avoiding you.

Just last week, you had entered the staff dining room for lunch when the stoic doctor was sitting at the back, by the window. Before you could approach him, however, he stood up abruptly and stalked past you, meeting your eyes for a mere moment. And at that moment, his gaze was harsh. It sent chills running up your spine, paired with the gust of cold air that whipped you as he passed by.

Since then, you’ve seen him even less. He’s like a ghost roaming these halls, existing in the examination room you’re barred from entering without special permission.

When you ask Greyson if Dr Li’s behaviour is… typical, the kind second-in-command tells you that his superior has been terribly busy, given a recent local disease outbreak. Greyson reminds you to be wary and keep yourself safe when going out into town, seeing how easily sickness spreads during winter.

Today, you walk into the medical school feeling apathetic about another day of dish washing and snow shovelling awaiting you. Imagine your surprise when Greyson greets you with urgent news.

“Dr Li’s surgical assistant has contracted the illness spreading around. He’s requested your aid in today’s surgeries.” Your heart skips an anxious beat.

You sputter, “S-sorry? Dr Li requested me?”

Greyson nods, “Yes. Surgeries will take place in the school’s operating theatre on the ground floor. The first is an arm amputation.” He tilts his head and gestures for you to follow him.

With rushed footsteps and quick breaths, you pace down the hall with Greyson as he continues explaining, “You’ll be responsible for managing the surgical tools. In other words, if Dr Li needs a scalpel, promptly hand him a scalpel.” He leads you into the dressing room and tells you to take off the bulky coat you’ve been wearing since day one, as it’ll get in the way.

Tying a blood-stained apron around your waist, you admit, “I’ve never been in an operating theatre before.” Greyson whirls around and stares at you with wide eyes. His parted lips soon fade into a nervous laugh.

Drawing closer, he squeezes your shoulder and says, “I didn’t think so. Your application stated you work well under pressure. Dr Li will be interested to see how well you tolerate noise and copious amounts of blood as well.” He breezes past you and starts down the hall, leaving you momentarily shocked and confused before your senses catch up and you run after him.

Tolerating blood? You’re expecting that. But why would you need to tolerate noise, too? Surely, it’s going to be an orderly affair. You’re not expecting tense silence, but there should be relatively little chatter, seeing as a surgery will be taking place, right?

You wish.

Approaching the theatre, it sounds like you’re approaching a town fair rather than a surgical room. Greyson pushes the door open and gestures for you to enter first. Bunching up your apron and skirt anxiously, you slip past Greyson into the theatre.

Holy hell, if this wasn’t the devil’s kingdom. The operating theatre is huge, with multiple terraces and primarily men in suits crowding around the arch’s edges. Medical students and members of the public chat jovially, some rowdy youngsters shoving each other for a better view while older men burst out into aristocratic laughter.

Excitement is palpable in the stifling air, almost electrical as Greyson lightly nudges your shoulder. You gaze up at him with wild eyes, a primal fear residing there as it dawns upon you just what you’ve gotten yourself into. He wraps his fingers around your upper arm and leads you over to the operating table.

On it lies the patient—a young man around your age—clearly nervous as he waits for his amputation. Greyson lets go of you and joins Dr Li in setting up for the surgery. The man meets your gaze, and understanding passes through your eyes about your collective fear for what’s to come. He fears for his life, and you fear not only for his life, but for throwing up on him and passing out as he potentially bleeds out beneath you.

“Miss L/n, how long do you intend to make eyes with the patient?” That familiar, cold voice. Your head snaps up. Dr Li is staring down at you, his sharp, hazel eyes piercing through your minimal confidence. It feels like he’s stepping down on your ribcage, each rung creaking beneath his weight as you try to inhale.

You stutter, “I-I—”

“Wash your hands and prepare the tools,” he orders you. Snowy fingers dance gracefully over clean cloths. You watch as they encircle the patient’s wrist and position his arm distal to the torso. Your hands shake as you push up your sleeves and dip your hands in the nearby bowl of chlorinated lime. You scrub your skin more meticulously than on your first day. After drying your arms, you start unpacking the surgical tools kit according to your training.

Sweat drips down the back of your neck and slicks up your palms. You flinch as nearby students holler at their peer that just entered. The theatre’s cacophony ramps up your nerves, a current flowing through your body as you almost cut yourself on a sharp blade.

Dr Li and Greyson are speaking in hushed tones when you suddenly retort, “We weren’t making eyes.” Zayne shifts to look at you, his harsh gaze draining your strength like a leech slurping up your blood.

Maybe too much time had passed, and now you seem like a fool, attempting to regain a shred of dignity but losing whatever was left in the process.

You press on while avoiding the doctor’s stare, “He’s scared. And with all of these people here, I would be, too.” You hear Zayne sigh; the sound of disappointment laced with exhaustion.

“Whatever self-doubt you have, expel it now. You will not operate with fear,” the vampire mutters. You continue laying out the tools while breathing in for four, holding for two, and exhaling for another four.

It’s a trick someone taught you whenever your heart was beating too rapidly (so most of the time), but you can’t remember who or when. You just remember always counting your breaths whenever you become overwhelmed.

Usual effectiveness is around 30% calmer, but due to the menagerie surrounding you, effectiveness has dropped to approximately 4%.

Dr Li gives you a stern look, his vibrant hazel eyes holding yours for a moment before he addresses the patient.

“We will begin shortly.”

Turning to you, Zayne instructs, “Administer the belt.” He notices the trembling of your hands as you pick up the leather strap, fold it, and place it between the patient’s teeth.

Zayne exchanges a nod with Greyson before announcing to the crowd, “Take your seats, gentlemen. The surgery shall begin now.” His voice echoes throughout the room, commanding an authority that makes you shiver. The buzz dims for a few seconds, dropping to a constant hum that’s no less anxiety-inducing.

Pivoting around, the doctor says to you, “Saw.” You blink at him for a second, your mind whirring with a million questions. Are you really about to do this? Is Dr Li really about to cut this man’s arm off? Can you manage to not throw up during this procedure and subsequent procedures? Will these spectators shut up? Only the Lord knows.

You thrust the saw by its handle into Zayne’s outstretched hand. Tiny scars litter his silky skin and trail up his veiny forearms. Horror creeps into your features as Greyson holds the patient’s right arm down and Zayne positions the serrated blade just above the patient’s elbow.

Nothing can prepare you for what happens next.

Dr Li saws through flesh and bone in seconds until the patient’s forearm comes clean off. Blood gushes and splatters, marring the white cloths draped over the patient. His scream is muffled by the leather strap. Ivory, jagged bone amid a sea of crimson and ligaments hangs limply. Acid claws up your throat, burning your tongue as you taste the churn of your stomach and force it back down.

“Needle and thread,” Dr Li utters calmly, with his hand waiting. You’re shaking as you pick up the needle that has luckily been threaded up securely. The doctor takes it from your sweaty fingers brusquely.

Greyson staunches the blood, but it keeps on pouring. Like rain pattering on the window, drops colliding into others to carve new paths down the glass, so does the patient’s very essence drip onto the table. It conquers the wood and tips over the edge, rapidly pooling at Greyson’s feet; the sawdust is insufficient.

He steps back to allow Dr Li to stitch up the wound. You press a perspiring hand to your mouth, forcing back bile as you watch the doctor suture major blood vessels with nimble fingers. Like he’s done this over a hundred times for hundreds of years. His speed is almost inhuman, a blur before your eyes, yet the red has not ceased.

“Pass me the scalpel and chisel, L/n,” Greyson asks. You do so frantically, and your attention shifts to him cutting a rectangle in the boy’s former forearm like he’s shaping clay. With a chisel, Greyson forms something magnificent: a strip of slippery flesh.

You reach over and take the bloodied tools from him. Out of your periphery, you see Greyson wrap the detached skin and muscle around the site of the wound. You stumble on your feet after placing the chisel and scalpel on another bloodied cloth. The sound of Dr Li’s needle piercing the patient’s flesh reaches your ears, barely audible over the incessant chatter of the theatre’s audience. Their comments reverberate off the walls.

“Wow. Look at Dr Li’s skill. He might up Liston, don’t you think?”

“Did you see that? He cleaved that boy’s arm off like a pig’s tail!”

“Always puts on a good show, Dr Li does.”

You clutch your chest, soiling your apron with foreign blood. Your heart is beating rather fast, and your half-digested breakfast won’t stop pushing against the boundaries of your lips. Metal consumes your senses, swirling with your spew and making your head spin.

Everywhere you look is red. It’s as though the theatre has been bathed in it.

“Time,” Dr Li directs at a nearby medical student. He’s all jittery and elated, like his lover just accepted his proposal, as he flicks his wrist and studies his watch. But there is no lover. No love. There are only blades, bloodshed, and nightmares waiting to be dreamt when the world is plunged into darkness once more.

“Three minutes and twenty-seven seconds, Doc,” the student chirps.

“Clean cloth,” the doctor demands, his dark-rimmed gaze pinpointing every bead of sweat trailing down your forehead. You try to give him one, but it’s already stained once it reaches his hands. He wipes them as Greyson bandages the patient’s amputated arm. The man’s mutilated forearm just sits there, lifeless and bleeding out on a separate small table.

Dr Li shoves the cloth into your unsuspecting hands and murmurs for your ears only, “You will not faint or vomit in this theatre, Miss L/n.” Your head turns sharply. He’s close to you, a chill radiating from his pristine skin.

Swallowing down dry chunks, you start, “I can’t help it—”

“You must,” he interrupts before leaning back and pulling the blood-soaked sheets off of the patient’s body. Dr Li informs the patient on surgical aftercare while Greyson helps him to sit up. Realising you have a job to do, you take the leather belt from the patient’s mouth. He’s got tears streaming down his cheeks, and his clothes are as stained as everything else from the surgery.

Your heart thumps in your ears as the young man stands on uneasy feet. A choked-out sob escapes his trembling lips, and a middle-aged woman comes over. You assume she’s his mother, seeing how she speaks quietly with Dr Li and guides the boy out of the theatre once finished. And just like that, you’re instructed to prepare for the next surgery.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

You spend the next few hours in a daze as more blood is spilt, screams are hushed, and audience members laugh and gossip about the agony before their eyes. Dr Li orders you to get cleaned up once the final surgery has been completed. You nod, feeling too nauseous and defeated to insist otherwise.

The medical school has bathing facilities for staff on the third floor. Taking the nurses’ uniform from the head nurse (and now friend), Mary-Anne, you trudge off to the bathing room. You peel off your apron and dress; your skin is soaked in diseased blood. Sinking into the barely warm barrel, it turns red in seconds.

You clean yourself to the best of your abilities before drying off and pulling on the borrowed dress and apron. You make a mental note to bring a change of clothes tomorrow and keep them in the storage room just in case Dr Li requests your presence again. After emptying the water, you head back to the nurses’ station and hand your dripping clothes to Mary-Anne.

“I think I made a mess all the way from the ladies’ room to here,” you sigh as she takes the garments from you. Mary-Anne has become your anchor in this chaotic place, considering how much time you two spend together. She’s married and has four children at the ripe age of 30. How she manages to work and care for her household often baffles you.

“Ah, well. George’ll mop it up later,” she replies cheerily. In your short time here, George, the gardener, has become another friend you can rely on. Usually, you two clear snow from the drive and cemetery in the final hours of your shift. His wife passed a few years back, and he lives on the outskirts of town by himself.

Coming back over to you, Mary-Anne suggests, “Why don’t you go take a stroll in the graveyard? Everything has been taken care of here, and the snow’s melted.”

You shake your head and attempt to refuse, “I can’t, Mary—”

“Go on,” she cuts you off.

The nurse leans over and whispers, “Everyone’s first surgery is tough. Don’t be too hard on yourself, dear.” When she pulls back, tears sting at your waterline.

You nod once, “Yes, ma’am.” Sniffling, you avoid the trail of red on the floor, grab your coat, and head down to the ground floor. Slipping past the doors, the cool breeze blows straight through you. You pull your coat tighter around your shoulders and press ahead.

The cemetery arches stand tall and menacing, guards of the souls at rest. You walk beneath them and enter the graveyard. It’s eerily quiet, a welcome contrast to the few hours of spectators gnawing your ear off with their noise. The beetle hum and rustling branches are inviting; an unspoken approval of your presence.

You wonder if those buried here died during surgery, or if they were esteemed doctors inseparable from their trade. Maybe the inhabitants of these graves are poor individuals whose families couldn’t afford a plot. Maybe they’re centuries’ worth of cadavers.

Gazing at the intricate headstones, you assume George has made the rounds already. They’re clear of snow and shining in the white sun’s light filtered by thick clouds. A particularly chilly gust whips your hair about your face, though your breath remains invisible.

Your mind drifts to your life a month prior. You’ve traded your safe little life for something grand, the chance to change history. To change history, doing what, though? You never got that far. You thought perhaps surgery was for you, but today’s experience in the theatre has disproved that theory.

It replays in your mind, Dr Li sawing through limbs like he was chopping carrots. His quiet strength is frightening, as is the speed and stoicism he works with. In the times he looked at you, barely a sliver of emotion resided there. Only when he was scolding you did you see something lingering in his heart.

You shiver as oozing blood and discarded flesh come to the forefront. It pulls a whimper from your lips, intangible as the wind snatches it up and carries it off to the heavens.

You had also entertained the idea of nursing, but that didn’t seem right either. At some point, you must get married, so why would you want to do domestic labour at work when you will already do it at home? That didn’t make sense to you.

But then, what else do you do? Have these few years of studying medicine been for naught? The ridicule you’ve endured over the years for being a woman and desiring to be more than a mother. Was it all for nothing? All for your disillusionment?

A cold voice from behind has you jumping out of your skin.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You whip around, eyes frantic as they land on the tall doctor a little ways off. He’s changed into a fresh suit, no sight of his usual coat. You gulp. Were his shoulders always this broad?

“Cat got your tongue?” He prompts while slowly closing the distance between you. The grass is mushy, dampening his footsteps.

You laugh awkwardly, “No, I… I was just taking a walk. Clearing my head after today’s happenings. And you, Dr Li?” He gazes off to the side, his interest captured by a headstone glinting in the cool afternoon rays.

“I could say the same,” he remarks. His eyes flicker back to yours, devoid of warmth as per usual. You force a smile and look down at your feet. Your leather boots are splattered with dried blood and mud.

Zayne clears his throat and praises you, “You didn’t faint or vomit. I commend you.” However, it feels more like mockery than praise. You glance up at him. He’s leaning on a grave only a metre away, archaic rings encircling his slender fingers, which grasp the stone’s edge. Those same fingers that had fleeted across mangled flesh, causing destruction and aiming to heal it at the same time.

Your voice is small as you call his name, “Dr Li—”

“Outside of office hours, you may address me as Zayne,” he interjects. You stare at him blankly, your jaw slack and brows slightly raised. Zayne. Where have you heard that name before? And why is your superior asking you to call him by his first name? You two were not on particularly friendly terms. Perhaps he’s trying to ‘break the ice’.

“O-okay,” you stutter, your heart hammering in your chest so loud it pierces your eardrums. Amid the hundred things that don’t sit right with you about today’s surgeries, one specifically nags at your mind like a maggot feasting on a fresh brain.

You ask tentatively, “Zayne, don’t you think this is performative?” He releases the tombstone and straightens up. Under the sun’s glow, he looks even paler than before, a shade all ladies strive for with pearl powder. The doctor ponders your question, his index finger and thumb coming to his chin, and hazel eyes roving over the cemetery beyond.

“Perhaps. But aren’t all niceties performative?” He answers while returning his attention to you. You shake your head.

“Not that, Zayne. The surgery. Don’t you think it’s wrong to perform surgeries in front of a crowd?” His hand falls to his side and brushes his coat.

The doctor shrugs slightly, “Regardless of my opinion, most surgeries are performed in front of a crowd. It’s expected.”

“But it’s wrong!” You exclaim, the stress of the day bubbling to the surface and spilling over. Zayne stares at you, observing carefully the colour that’s risen to your cheeks. He can hear your short breaths and pounding heart. It’s what brought him here in the first place. Your racing heart. Your sweet scent, albeit marred by hours of bloodshed.

You scoff and shake your head a bit, opting to gaze off to the side at the doctor’s lack of response.

“Nevermind,” you mutter and begin stalking deeper into the graveyard. Anything to put some distance between yourself and your embarrassment. Of course, he doesn’t care. It’s what he does for a living. How could you have—

“Why did you come to Oxford?” You stop in your tracks and whip around. Your eyes widen. He’s been silently following you the entire time.

“Didn’t you already ask me that?” You spit out and take a couple of steps back, seeing how close he is–the same man who told you to stay away from him. There’s a chill accompanying your superior, you’re certain of it. This frosty nip at your skin cannot merely be the result of a winter’s noon.

He replies composed, as if your frustration was beneath consideration, “I asked why you were selected, not why you came here, Y/n.”

You gasp, “I didn’t give you permission to address me by my first name.”

“My apologies then. I thought it was a mutual exchange,” the doctor quips. You release a clipped hmph! and cross your arms beneath your chest.

You mumble while staring off into the distance, “I suppose it’s acceptable, Zayne.” Every time you utter his name, the centuries-old vampire could purr and wrap his tail around your calf like a stray cat does when it’s fed scraps. Insect chirping fills the silence between you. You can feel his judgmental gaze on you, unravelling the skin and muscle clinging to your bones for a glimpse into your heart.

You sigh, “I came to Oxford because I wanted to study under you.”

“Me?” He clarifies, disbelief lacing his otherwise dead tone.

You nod, “Almost everyone knows about the great doctor who is less likely to kill you than others on the operating table. I’ve felt called to medicine ever since I was young, and I applied here for a chance to learn from the best.” He seems to consider your explanation.

But in his mind, Zayne is deliberating on them like the holy truth. You, his precious bride, have been dreaming of meeting him? All this time, you’ve been yearning for him as he’s been yearning for you—Well, no. You’ve been yearning to learn from him, not for the man himself. And what has he taught you? To remain conscious and useful during surgery despite it being the embodiment of your worst nightmares?

He replies offhandedly, “You could barely endure today’s surgeries as an assistant. What makes you think you can become a doctor?” He might as well take a hammer to your ribcage with how his words sting and shatter any hope hidden in the crevices of your soul.

You admit defeatedly, “I don’t think I can become a doctor. I can’t do what you do, Zayne. And I refuse to after today.” His heart thunks against his diaphragm, sunk like a ship to the ocean’s depths.

You deal the finishing blow pensively, “My aspirations have been crushed. But I am grateful. What if I had not faced reality sooner and continued on this trajectory? That would be a much crueller fate, no?”

Something twists within the vampire, a knot in his stomach; malicious hands wring the bile from it. Had he been too harsh? For now, the woman he loves is without direction in her life. Zayne had intended to show you the future awaiting you, not to vapourise your dreams. But wasn’t that his intention from the start? Hasn’t that always been his intention? To destroy hopes so that only the strongest remain?

You, the woman he’s traded his humanity for, are strong. Undeniably so. What has he done then, to burn your aspirations till they’re ash and toss them away like the corpses he couldn’t possibly care less for?

“Zayne.” He blinks, your hand waving in his face coming into focus. Oh, how he wants to catch it and press an eternity’s worth of kisses to your soft skin.

Changing the subject, you ask curiously, “Have we met before?” If Zayne’s heart could beat, it would have skipped one hearing your question. His eyes widen, a vibrancy to them you swear wasn’t there previously.

He counters coldly, “Has the exhaustion gotten to you already?” Your lips purse as you roll your eyes.

“No. I just… You seem familiar, that’s all.” Your voice becomes quieter at the end.

The vampire’s faux breathing stalls. He wants to hurl a million questions at you. What do you mean familiar? Do you remember him? Do you remember your life together before it was tragically cut short? Or is it intuition?

He settles on, “I see.” Pause. You step back, accidentally having crossed an unseen boundary when trying to capture his attention while his thoughts carried him away. A boundary, Zayne wordlessly welcomes you to cross any time.

“Well…” He breaks the amounting silence. “Do you intend to stay on until your internship is complete?”

You nod and insist, “Yes, of course. I am very fortunate to be working under you, even if the work isn’t pleasant.”

“Then, I won’t let you off the hook so easily,” Zayne says. There’s a finality in his choice that you wouldn’t dare dispute, even if it meant assisting in future surgeries (Dear Lord, you hope not).

With that, the doctor takes one last sweeping look over you before turning around and walking swiftly out of the cemetery. As his figure is consumed by the landscape, a lightness springs in your chest. Your heart can rest at last.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Could Zayne be hung for his behaviour right now? Everyone in England knows just how vital sheep are to society’s welfare. However, Zayne has sunk his pearly fangs into a shrieking sheep. It flails in his strong grip. A sickening crunch. The animal goes still.

Blood coats the vampire’s lips and runs down his chin, staining the collar of his button-up shirt. The sheep’s fur is dyed crimson as more of its life force is slurped up.

Stealing sheep is a crime punishable by hanging. Buuuuuuuttt, drinking sheep's blood straight from the source isn’t. Therefore, the vampire cannot be hung for his current meal.

Reeling back, Zayne’s now-red tongue darts across his lips to lap up the excess blood. He’s usually not such a messy eater. But as of late, he’s been insatiable.

Why? All because of his medical intern, that’s why.

Since your stroll in the cemetery, Zayne has reinstated you as his assistant. On that day, he told you he wouldn’t absolve you of your duties. But he hasn’t been enforcing them with the same objectivity as he has with previous interns.

Often, he’ll let you hover in the corner as he completes dissection after dissection for ‘observation purposes’, of course. It almost makes him grin when he asks you a question and you spend the next half hour responding. So, he continues asking questions, and suddenly the sun is kissing the horizon, and it’s time to return home.

But even when the doctor returns home, you haunt him. Not only with the memories you two created years ago, but also the memories you continue to create in the present. The fact that you exist and are not some figment of his imagination is beyond his comprehension. You consume every nook and cranny untainted by base desire in his body.

The vampire wipes his bloodied mouth on his sleeve before throwing the sheep over his shoulder. He drops it into a makeshift grave–several other blood-drained sheep are already in the pit–before he grabs a shovel and buries his kills.

Zayne’s figure is immersed in darkness, dawn still hours away. There’s nothing but farms this far out from the town’s centre. Fortunately, the residents of this property hadn’t awoken during the vampire’s feeding, otherwise things would have gotten even messier.

After burying the sheep, Zayne returns the shovel to its place in the shed and leaves a medium-sized bag filled with shillings—sufficient coverage for the farmer’s loss.

It’s as though Zayne flies when he runs, gliding over dirt trails and cobbled streets back to his humble home on the outskirts of Oxford. Stepping in, he sheds his layers and bathes. Small scars trail across his pale skin; some are from his human life, while others are the result of countless almost deaths the doctor has narrowly avoided with his condition.

The vampire nearly grimaces upon staring at his hands. Those hands that are near permanently soaked in blood, despite how many times he’s washed them off.

After drying himself, the doctor tugs on another suit and sits by the fireplace. The heat of the orange flames licks up his cheeks and nips at his nose. However, he will never be warmed. How can you embrace warmth when you’re dead? Undead, perhaps I should say.

Zayne entertains himself by recording his observations in the medical journal he’s had for centuries. It’s a log of your symptoms and anything drawing him closer to answering the question of why they exist.

He notes:

Reincarnation’s heart rate rapidly spiked, coinciding with near fainting today. She claimed it was from ‘excitement’. Resting heart rate remains above average.

Cadaver 159834 experienced nausea and sudden chest pain in months leading up to hanging. Left coronary artery showed signs of rupture. Scarring on vena cava.

A cloud of dust puffs in the air as he snaps the journal shut. The longest part of eternity must be the night, when no creatures dare approach such a powerful predator. Zayne is left to his own devices. To mourn, to learn, to contemplate. There is no way out of his own mind, which perhaps is more fearsome than the monster he has willingly become.

He settles on some new medical paper to pass the time, so dull that it could send him to sleep. How he wishes it would. Verbose and 1/58th interesting. It’ll do. His mind inevitably wanders to the situation at hand.

Maybe he should have chosen to die alongside you instead of clinging to his grief. Either way, his heart ceased to beat. However, since you’ve come back into his orbit, he disagrees. If it weren’t for his determination, then you two may have never crossed paths in the living world again.

The day breaks; there are no rays of golden light streaming into his windows, but a gradual lightness awakening the world through unspoken promises of snowfall.

Zayne sighs and tosses the papers on the low mahogany table at his feet. Then, he prepares himself for another cruel day of enduring your angelic presence without being able to hold you close and shower you in his long-held affection.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Your beating heart rings in his ears. It has become the background melody Zayne works best to.

Peeling back layers of skin and muscle, he observes the femur of a 20-something-year-old man. Normal. You laugh from your usual spot close to the examination table, but not too close to it.

“Mhmm,” Zayne hums while grabbing his scalpel and extending the incision down the leg to the ankle. A minute goes by. Your heart rate has picked up.

“Nervous?” The doctor prompts. In his periphery, he can see you shaking your head.

You chirp, “No, just wondering.”

“Mhmm.” The cadaver’s skin is bruised near the ankle, so Zayne takes a chisel and begins removing it to inspect the underlying muscle. No words escape your lips, but your heart pounds even faster. If it were another human’s, the vampire would have a raging headache by now.

You admit quietly, “You ask me many questions, Dr Li. Don’t you think it’s time I ask you a question?” His nostrils flare as he exhales.

“Go on then,” he encourages you. Those skilled hands place the removed skin in a dedicated bowl, the plap echoing throughout the chilly examination room.

You ask hesitantly, “Are you… married?” His tired eyes widen and gaze up. They zero in on you, noting the pink in your cheeks and awkward smile you bear whenever you’re feeling unsure of yourself. 600 years haven’t changed much.

Zayne glances back at the corpse as he mumbles, “No.”

The tension in your shoulders eases (he just knows) and you release a relieved sigh, “Oh, thank goodness. I mean! Uh, are you engaged?” The muscle looks the way it should, given the severe bruising of the cadaver. Using his scalpel, the doctor slices through the meat to reveal a dull bone.

“Zay—Dr Li?” How he wishes you wouldn’t call his name so sweetly, like a siren luring him in with your song. But you’re the innocent one. A lamb coaxing a lion into a deadly trap.

Returning his gaze to you again, the vampire clarifies, “I am not courting anyone, if that is what you mean to ask.” You avert your eyes to your fidgeting hands in your lap.

“Oh.” Silence. Zayne continues examining the cadaver.

You ask curiously, “Have you courted anyone before?” The doctor’s fringe falls over his hazel eyes. His head is tilted down, so you can’t see the micro smile stretching across his plump lips.

He teases offhandedly, “Out of all the things you must wonder about me, Miss L/n, you choose to ask if I’ve courted anyone before?”

You huff, part annoyed, part insecure, “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I get it. Talking about past lovers can be hard.” Straightening up, he nearly chuckles at the sight of you. Brows pinched together, lips pouty, and your arms crossed. Something pulls at Zayne’s chest, an emotion he hasn’t felt in a long time.

He can’t name it. But he feels driven to bundle you up in his arms and squish your cheeks because of how cute you are at this moment.

“Do you have any past lovers in mind?” He counters while fetching his forceps.

You grumble, “Don’t humour me, Dr Li. Now, are you going to answer my question or not?” Perfect. Exactly what the doctor wanted—no, needed—to hear.

Zayne uses his forceps to pick minuscule bone fragments out of the deceased’s lower leg. The shards are far too small to be seen with the human eye. He plucks one out and drops it in a separate bowl, yet it makes no sound upon landing against the metal.

The vampire begins, “A long time ago, there was a woman I was—” He pauses. Was? ‘Am’ is the correct word here, but you don’t need to know that.

He continues, “In love with. We were to be married. But she suddenly passed away the night before our wedding.” Zayne taps his forceps against the rim of the bowl. Ivory flies. A clank.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. He shakes his head.

“You need not apologise for that which isn’t your fault,” the doctor scolds you gently. He glances up at you. Your shoulders are drooped, and sorrow shadows your sublime features.

You offer your condolences, “I know. But her death must have been painful for you. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

He shrugs off your comment with, “The past cannot be changed. We must look ahead to the future.” More fragments fill the bowl as the doctor works away during the lull in your conversation.

After a few minutes, you pry, “What was she like? If you don’t mind me asking.” This time, you catch the ghost of a grin on Zayne’s face. His eyes almost twinkle as he casts his mind back to those times.

He reminisces, “She was radiant like a bright summer’s day. But she had quite the listening problem. Feisty and stubborn. Clingy and affectionate like a calf.”

“You must miss her,” you say quietly. Zayne’s eyes flicker to you. There’s something ignited within them, some otherworldly desire. But the curl of his lips suggests amusement. Like there’s a private joke you two have shared, but only he’s in on it.

His voice is deeper as he confirms, “I do.” You nod, uncertain of how else to respond. His attention returns to the cadaver.

Focusing on removing the final few bone shards, Zayne informs you stoically, “The Medical Association will be hosting an annual ball at the end of the month. Coincidentally, you’ll be finishing up with us in the same week. You should attend to celebrate.”

“A ball? I’ve never been to a ball. What’s it like?” You ask excitedly, the doom and gloom of Zayne’s past banished from your mind. Or concealed beneath the surface. That seems more like it.

The doctor responds in monotone, “Exhilarating. If you enjoy socialising.”

You giggle and say cheekily, “Let me guess, you’re not attending.” Zayne places his forceps down and gazes at you. Your heart thumps rhythmically beneath his intense stare.

“If you’ll be in attendance, then I’ll consider it.” Meaning, if you’re in attendance, then I wouldn’t dare miss it.

He continues, “Now go. I am permitting you to leave early.”

You attempt to protest, “But—”

“Your work is finished for today, Miss L/n. You are dismissed,” he cuts you off. The doctor observes the cadaver’s intact ankle bones as you rise from your seat. You move around the examination table at an arm’s distance and glide past Zayne to the designated chlorinated lime bowl.

Even though you didn’t touch anything, you’ve developed a fondness for washing your hands. It seems to appease Dr Li, which is a bonus. For some unknown reason, you yearn to be close to him. Like a moth drawn to flame, you’re entranced by his ethereal nature. He reels you in as a fisherman does a net filled with flailing fish—involuntarily.

Something within drives you toward him. Maybe you’ve been alone for too long and have since become dependent on the attention he gives you. Or perhaps because he’s an incredibly attractive, single young man. One you hope your future husband will take after.

But deep in your heart, it feels like more. It feels like the cosmos is pulling you two together. Like God has divined your meeting and won’t rest until the anxious itch in your brain is scratched.

You’ve never understood why you wanted to study medicine, or why you felt compelled to study beneath Zayne, apart from his esteemed reputation. Could this be the reason why? So you two could meet and—

Wiping your forearms on a damp cloth, you shake your head. Clarity descends upon you. Oh, how foolish and lovesick your thoughts sound! The audacity to even think that a man of Zayne’s calibre would be interested in you.

After all, he did say that such pleasantries were false. But this was real, wasn’t it? The conversations you two have shared. The fact that he goes easy on you when no other surgeon would.

Clearing your throat, you bid him a farewell, “I’ll be leaving now, then. Until tomorrow, Dr Li.” You slip past him, your eyes glued to those milky forearms flexing as he makes an incision down the centre of the corpse’s other leg.

You gaze at him for a few seconds more, waiting for a response that never comes. You’re in dire need of assistance. Perhaps a nice stay at an asylum should do the trick.

However, as you stride out of the examination room, you miss how Zayne stares at your back with a tenderness in his eyes. You also miss how he stands by the window and watches you pass the cemetery on your way to the medical school’s gates. He observes you from afar until a building obscures his view.

The doctor sighs and thinks over the ways he could gift you a dress for the ball without crossing professional boundaries. Unless you desire to cross those boundaries.

…˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚…

Your gloved hands soothe down your baby blue bodice, trembling slightly from your nerves. The night air is crisp, and the shawl draped over your exposed shoulders is ineffective in mitigating your chills. You’re walking along the road, alone and late to the ball. How dangerous. Your footsteps hurry as the mansion of the Medical Association’s founder comes into view.

You join the queue by the door and admire the glitz and glamour of tonight’s attendees. The couple in front of you must be wealthy, given the opulence of their attire. The lady is in white, the colour of nobility. Under golden lamp light, her silky skirt shines.

You gaze down at your own dress and smile. Even if you had all the riches in the world, you wouldn’t change your gown for the world. Not when it was given to you by a very special someone. He claimed it was merely a send-off gift for his intern, but you’d like to think it meant more than that.

The couple disappears past the open double doors; it’s your turn. You step up to the doorman.

He greets you, “Good evening, fair maiden. What’s your name?” You tell him, and he skims through the party list.

“Here you are. You may enter, Miss L/n.” You nod and step past him. Slipping through the doors, your heart rate spikes and air is stolen from your lungs. The main foyer is decadent. Honeyed chandeliers, velvety lounges, and marbled floors. Old acquaintances chat in small groups across the room. You lift your bell-shaped skirt and step down the stairs. Another attendant greets you and leads you to the ballroom.

You suck a sharp breath in, painfully aware of how out of your league you are at this moment. Some peasant, all dressed up in a sea of aristocrats. Gulping, you head inside.

The orchestra plays a lively song, and skirts swoosh as partners dance to it. More chandeliers illuminate the space, the made-up faces of young and old a blur as you stumble through the crowd surrounding the dance floor.

You hear your name being called. Whirling around, you see a familiar figure rushing toward you.

Mary-Anne crashes into you and squeezes you in a tight hug. You laugh and pat her back. She feels so warm against you, or maybe it’s the heat from all of the guests shuffling around you two.

Pulling back, she holds your upper arms and grins, “I’m so glad you could make it tonight! No send-off could rival this, hmm?” You shake your head and wrap your hands around her forearms.

“Of course not. I’m so glad you could make it tonight. What about your children?” You ask. She throws her arm around your shoulders and guides you through the hordes of attendees to a table at the back.

Your flouncy skirts squish together as she informs you, “Their father’s taking care of them for once. I never miss the Medical Association’s ball. I mean, look at the extravagance! And it’s all for free.” You giggle, anxiety morphing into joy and then back into anxiety when you catch sight of a certain dark-haired doctor.

“He’s here,” you breathe out. Mary-Anne casts you a knowing look, a cheeky smile on her thin lips as she pinches your shoulder.

You exclaim, “Hey! What was that for?” She halts abruptly, causing you to do the same a few feet from the medical school’s designated table.

Leaning in close, she says quietly, “If you two don’t kiss tonight, I’m going to haunt you for eternity.” Your lips part, stuttered sounds seeping past as blood scampers to your cheeks.

“Now, come on. He’s dying to see you,” the nurse smirks and practically drags you those last few steps to the table. Zayne’s sleep-deprived eyes are on you in an instant, feasting hungrily on your beauty in the gown he picked out for you. He looks at you in awe and surprise, as if he couldn’t smell your fragrance the moment you stepped into the foyer, or hum to your erratically beating heart.

Speaking of which, your heart thumps harder as you gaze at him, equally as shocked at how well he’s cleaned up for tonight. His black tail coat clings to his broad shoulders and muscular arms just right, and his waistcoat highlights his slim waist; envy sparks within you at his triangle proportions.

Greyson interrupts your longing gaze seemingly innocently, “Ah, Miss L/n. So glad you could join us. It’s such a shame your time with us has come to an end.”

It takes every shred of strength to tear your eyes from Zayne and nod to his second-in-command, “Yes. I couldn’t agree more.”

Gesturing to the few empty chairs around the table, Greyson offers, “Why don’t you sit?”

“Okay—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Zayne speaks at the same time you do. Your gaze snaps to him, wide and confused.

Though his expression remains stoic, you can hear amusement in his voice as he announces, “We’re going to dance.” Your eyes almost pop out of your skull as you stare at him, striding toward you confidently. He extends his hand out to you, his pale skin hidden beneath a white glove. You can feel the table’s eyes on you, beyond perplexed by the cold doctor’s offer and anxious for your response.

Never before has Dr Li attended the Medical Association’s ball. Each year, he claims he’s simply too busy with additional research or preparations to go. And never before has Dr Li demonstrated romantic interest in anyone before you wandered into his life.

Mary-Anne wants to grab your hand and put it on top of the doctor’s while Greyson blinks dumbly at the scene before him. Other nurses whisper to each other. The moment draws on.

Zayne doesn’t falter. He waits patiently for you to lift your shaking hand and clasp his through fabric. Sighing gratefully, he leads you to the centre of the dance floor. The orchestra transitions into a slower, romantic song. Heavenly strings accompany the doctor who releases your hand and steps back. He bows low, and you curtsey in response.

Straightening up, he moves toward you. Those eyes, so alive–how could you ever think they were dead–watch your every reaction as he slowly brings one of your hands to his shoulder and holds your other. The chill of his touch oozes through the thin gloves and material of your dress. His body ghosts yours as he starts to move to the melody.

“Do you know how to waltz?” Zayne asks, a warmth underpinning his tone.

You shake your head and admit, “I was never taught.” Some things never change, the vampire thinks. In this lifetime, he’ll still be your first dance.

“Follow me,” he instructs. You nod and look down. Staring at his black dress shoes, you copy his footsteps, but your rhythm is clunky.

“Look at me.” You tip your head back and do just that. Beneath his intense gaze, you feel terribly self-conscious. He steps forward, and you stumble backward. The hand on your waist slides to your back and pulls you in reflexively. Your chest presses against his, the tops of your breasts spilling slightly over the delicate lace of your low neckline. Your heart thumps wildly at your proximity.

He bends down slightly and tells you that, “It’s supposed to feel natural. If copying me is too difficult, then move with me.”

A small “Mhmm” is all you manage as he draws back. You two continue dancing with your bodies snug against one another. Zayne can’t stop staring at you. Your beauty has encapsulated him, taken hold of his soul. Whatever is left anyway. A light smile spreads on his lips as he notes the rosiness of your cheeks.

You avert your eyes and mumble, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?” He asks, his grip tightening on you imperceptibly. Your doe eyes dart up to his, and your chest rises as you take a deep breath in.

“You won't look away.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but with Zayne’s vampiric abilities, it’s the only sound he cares to hear. Now it’s his turn to avoid your eyes. He gazes at the back table and notices Greyson and a fellow surgeon engaged in a lively conversation.

Zayne exhales, “I’m entranced. No man deserves to gaze upon such beauty.” He returns his eyes to you, the sweet smile on your face thawing his frozen heart.

His insides turn all mushy when you giggle, “Come now, Zayne. I’m hardly the prettiest girl here.”

He shakes his head sternly and counters, “You clearly haven’t looked in the mirror then.” You beam up at him, your bodies subconsciously inching closer together. Without even realising it, your hand has slid down from his shoulder to his chest and rests over his stone heart. He grabs your wrist, but it’s too late. Your brow furrows, and your eyes flit from your gloved hand to his face back down to your hand.

“Zayne—”

“Why don’t we get some fresh air?” The vampire suggests. He removes your hand from his chest and holds it firmly while leading you out of the ballroom. You trail behind him in silence, up the grand staircase and through the second floor’s halls. He pushes open one of the many doors and guides you into a moonlit bedroom. Snowy curtains billow in the cold breeze. He heads over to another set of doors and pushes them open, gesturing for you to follow him.

You step out onto the balcony, your blood rustling in your veins and heart beating like some wild animal is trying to claw out of your ribcage. The chilly air distils your nerves. You know what you had felt. Or rather, what you hadn’t felt. You tell yourself that maybe his heartbeat was slow. But your hand was there for at least 10 seconds. You should have felt something, a little pulse beneath your fingertips at least. But his chest was still. Like he had forgotten to breathe, but he wasn’t holding his breath. Like he didn’t need to breathe.

“Zayne,” you call his name, your soft voice carried by the soothing breeze to the doctor. His back faces you, and his hands grip the balcony’s railing. The moon casts a cool glow on him; there’s something so perfect about his sharp features in the pale light.

Stepping beside him, you ask gently, “Is everything okay?” At his side, you nearly shiver. No heat emanates from his body. This, you know. You’ve known for some time. But the evidence isn’t aligning. You’re puzzled more than anything else.

Zayne says so quietly, you strain to hear it, “If I told you I was fine, would you believe me?” Your eyes roam over his tense jaw and bright eyes that seem determined to avoid you.

Sighing, you turn to gaze at the scenery below. The mansion backs onto woodland. A critter buzz. The night air sets your lungs aflame, it’s so cold.

“Do you believe in God?” He asks abruptly. Your head turns to him, but he continues to look off into the distance. You ponder his question and just where this conversation might lead you. Was there something exceptionally holy about the mystery of a man beside you? Perhaps given how he appears to be carved by the Lord’s hand.

You shrug, “Well, of course. Tis it not the Lord who is responsible for our lives?”

“And what of the cruelties? Is God the explanation for the afflictions we are plagued with?” Zayne prompts. You breathe out heavily, unprepared for a theological discussion with the man you’ve been dreaming about since you two crossed paths.

You shudder as he continues, “Is our reunion by God’s hand? Does He intend to salt the wound He inflicted on me centuries ago?” Zayne reaches out and grasps your waist. He pulls you into him, making you cry out as your soft body crashes into his much harder one. Those gloved hands squeeze your waist through your bodice, ravenous to tear it off. He must quell these thoughts if you are to survive the night.

The dryness in his throat is unbearable. A divine punishment, then, given he only fed last night.

“Zayne, I don’t… I don’t understand. Have I done something wrong?” You pout. Your brows are drawn together, and your eyes are gooey and round as they stare up at him. He drops the act, his chest unmoving while he palms your hips through the icy blue ruffles of your skirt.

Leaning down, he whispers, “There is no salvation for demons such as myself. Stop trying to trick me.” He squeezes your hips near crushingly, silent strength lurking in his fingers. You yelp, your noses brushing now. His gaze is narrowed, terrifying as it drifts down your face to your heaving bosom and back up. You pulse so perfectly in his grasp, so warm and pliant. His fangs elongate and nudge at his lower lip.

Fuck, this cannot be happening. Zayne cannot lose control like this. But you’re so soft. Your jasmine scent is nostalgic and inviting. Your bodies fit together like this was the Lord’s doing.

In a second, he could claim you. He could bestow upon you the ultimate gift: eternal life. He groans quietly as your hands grip his white button-up.

You murmur his name. The vampire’s resolve wavers. Curiosity and fear intertwine in your eyes.

“Am I scaring you?” He asks in a low voice. Moonlight glints off his fangs. Your heart stammers. This cannot—is not real.

“I’m scared that I am trapped in slumber, about to awake all alone. Is this truly happening?” He chuckles cruelly, the sound sending chills sparking across your skin.

“I wish it were merely a dream, my love,” he replies, voice dripping with desperation as your foreheads press together. You’re burning up, your skin akin to Hell’s flames as his fingers trail up your arms. His hands cup the back of your neck, his gloves soaking up some of your sweat. Caressing your jaw, his pink tongue darts out across his lips. You whine softly, your eyes following the movement shamelessly.

Zayne rasps out, “Will you permit me a kiss? Or am I to steal it from you?” Your confidence is admirable as you snake your arms around his neck and lean up. On your toes, you press your lips to his. The vampire simply cannot resist any longer.

Against your mouth, he whispers, “Forgive me.” You whimper as he kisses you harshly. His lips move against yours in an insatiable rhythm, starving for more and unable to conceal it. You clutch his collar, trying to steady yourself in the tidal wave of his unrelenting affection. His hands slide over your shoulders and return to your waist.

Circling his arms around you, he lifts you effortlessly. You squeal into his mouth, providing the perfect opportunity for his tongue to slip in. Those razor-sharp fangs brush against your delicate lower lip, catching and eliciting a cry from you.

Zayne places you back on the ground and breaks your kiss regretfully. Saliva drips from the corners of your mouth and connects your parted lips. The ball downstairs has long since been forgotten.

In the blink of an eye, he’s bending down and picking you up bridal style. He carries you back inside and drops you onto the bed. You bounce against the mattress in a flurry of blue.

The vampire climbs over you. Biting the tip of his middle finger, he slides his hand out of the glove and tosses it aside. You squeal as that same hand grabs the centre of your bodice, freezing fingers against hot, soft flesh. He yanks you up to him and ensnares you in another depraved kiss.

600 years' worth of yearning lies behind every swipe of his tongue across your inner cheeks. You whine as he nips at your lower lip roughly, but not rough enough to draw blood. If there is one vow Zayne must fulfil tonight, it is not to taste your blood.

Your hands tangle in his locks and tug them, a need to have him impossibly closer blazing within. The celestial moon bathes your heated exchange in the purest light. In your lustful daze, you swear his skin glimmers, the milkiness radiant like an opal.

“Zayne,” you moan into the kiss. Kiss? Such a simple word, it cannot begin to cover what is taking place between you two. His bare hand releases your bodice and slides up. He grabs the pendant of your necklace—an intricately detailed cross.

Tearing his lips from yours, he asks breathily, “Who gave this to you?” Your mind is fuzzy.

You pant, “What?” He pulls on it, testing the durability of the clasp, surely. The motion sends you jolting up to him. His nights of slaving away on this symbol of your love and faith were not wasted.

The vampire grits out, “Who gave this to you?”

“M-mother,” you stutter, your eyes the size of saucers as you stare at him. Your rapidly rising and falling chest presses against his still one. Your swift heartbeat resounds in his ears.

“Wrong.” He tugs on the pendant again, making you yelp.

“Try again,” he says, softer this time. Zayne knows you don’t remember the life you two shared all those years ago. And you likely never will, despite how much he craves for you to.

Seeing the set of his jaw and possessiveness in his eyes, you whisper, “Was it you?”

He nods and explains breathily, “That’s right. This necklace was my gift to you for our wedding.” Your hands slither down to his shoulders and squeeze them.

“Our wedding?” You ask curiously. Letting go of the necklace, Zayne strokes your cheek with the back of his hand. His head dips. A soft kiss to each of your eyelids.

He promises, “I won’t allow you to slip through my fingers again, regardless of God’s Plan.” The kiss he draws you into is comparably gentler. In it, you feel the weight of his enduring love. You sigh into his mouth, needing this short reprieve.

Zayne’s lips shift to your jaw and kiss along it. His breath is like icicles as it fans across your skin. The scent of your blood is saccharine. Your arteries pulse in your neck; the sweat sticking to your skin is intoxicating.

The vampire places a shaky kiss just below your ear, causing your breath to catch in your throat. The tip of his nose roams the column of your neck, chaste pecks pressed against searing flesh when he can find the will. His fangs puncture his lower lip now, even sharper. He’s salivating, spit mixing with dark blood, which he swallows down.

This was a bad idea. Your body is flush against his, far too many layers separating your skin. One heart pounding. Your fingers curl around the back of his head.

What was Zayne thinking? Oh, wait! He wasn’t! Instinct drove him to the position he’s in now, fangs hovering above your delicate flesh, ready to strike should you give the word.

“Zayne,” you coo. He closes his mouth and starts pulling back, but your hands press him into your warm body. With ease, he could resist your faint strength. But out of respect, he obeys your wordless command.

Your fingers twirl the short locks near his nape as you ask nervously, “Are you going to bite me?”

Into your neck, he confesses, “If I do, I won’t be able to stop. You could be dead or the undead when I manage to pull away.” You giggle. You. Giggle.

“This is no laughing matter, my dear,” Zayne scolds you lovingly. He can’t help but lick a stripe up from your collarbone to your jaw. Your sweat tastes even better than he thought it would. Anything to be close to you. This love, all-consuming. He groans at the thought of how delicious your blood will taste.

You whisper, “I know. But I’m willing to take a chance, if you are.” The vampire’s eyes widen. He pushes himself up to get a glimpse of your face. Serious. You’re being serious.

“Do you know what you’re asking for?” He snaps.

You nod and say so gently, “Forever. With you. Please.” Zayne shakes his head, already preparing his 15-page rebuttal when you cup his jaw.

Staring into his narrowed eyes, you insist, “Please, Zayne. I don’t think I can go on without you.”

He retorts, “Foolish girl—”

“You want this just as much as I do, no?” His lips purse. No response.

You press on, “So please. Give me—give us the chance of eternity together.” He averts his gaze to the light cast upon the thick blankets; metallic embroidery shimmers. The vampire gulps, attempting to soothe his thirst, only to breathe you in and make it infinitely worse.

“And if I fail?” He asks, voice almost cracking as he dares to gaze upon you once more. Your next words would have him falling to his knees, worshipping the ground you walk on if he were standing.

“I trust you.” The one thing you shouldn’t do is place your trust in a vampire. You mewl pathetically, the sound raw and sumptuous as his gloved hand covers your neck. With his thumb pressing into your jaw, he tilts your head to the side, exposing your delicate neck to him.

Zayne nearly pants like some dog as he laps at your skin. His tongue traces your veins and arteries, mapping them out like the constellations. Then, his onslaught of sloppy kisses and hesitant nips.

Your back arches as he pulls at your flesh, leaving red marks across your smooth skin. He releases a shaky breath as you pull on his hair, small moans tumbling from your kiss-swollen lips.

Finding the perfect spot on your neck, he swirls his tongue over it in a daze. Venom fills his mouth, the acid tingling on his tastebuds. His fangs ache with the need to puncture your flesh, like he’s had one too many sweets.

Against your skin, he whispers a phrase he hasn’t said since his rebirth: “Bless me, Heavenly Father, for I have sinned.” Your scream is muffled by his bare hand as his fangs sink into your neck. Blood, scorching hot and mind-numbingly delicious, pours into the vampire’s awaiting mouth.

He groans loudly, your taste crafted to his liking. His fingers slip into your mouth, muffling your cries. Unknowingly, his hips rut into your leg, this final unity driving him to madness.

With everything he is, Zayne needs to be tethered to you. Being your creator simply isn’t enough. He must show you his undying love and pledge it to you every night for the rest of your immortal lives.

Your screams turn into moans around his spit-soaked fingers, and you tug on his hair as he bites down harder.

Zayne’s a doctor. He knows just how much blood a human can lose before it’s fatal. And you haven’t lost that much blood yet. He tells himself that he’s still got another minute in heaven before having to release you, assuming he has the strength to.

The vampire reasons that perhaps he should start pulling away now. Give himself a bit of extra time should things fall through. But he can’t. The ecstasy coursing through his veins spurs him on.

Unlike his messy eating lately, Zayne doesn’t spill a single drop of your coveted blood. Every last gulp flows down his throat and slushes around in his stomach.

His hunger is not satisfied. Far from it, actually. All he desires is to drink more and more of your blood. Forget an eternity by your side. If he could just have another sip—

His minute is up.

Hisminuteisuphisminuteisuphisminuteisuphisminuteisup.

You’re mewling his name. Your body is growing colder, your limbs weaker. Not vampirism, but death. That is what he shall bring you if he cannot stop himself.

With a grunt, Zayne tears his fangs from your neck. He’s breathing heavily, licking his lips and diving down to clean your wound with his tongue should your blood go to waste. Pulling back, he removes his fingers from your mouth. They’re red, with teeth marks indicating where you bit him for support. He didn’t even feel it.

Seeing your pallor, dry lips and your eyes low-lidded from exhaustion, not lust, Zayne whimpers. What has he done? An unseen knife slashes his abdomen open, intestines pouring out in a suicide fit for an ancient Samurai. If you die again, by his hands again, he cannot go on.

Perhaps the Lord has been merciful this time around, but He will not give the vampire a second chance. Zayne knows it. With one hand, he cradles the back of your head. His other arm wraps around your waist and pulls you into him.

He murmurs, “My love.”

You cry out, “It hurts!”

“Where? Where does it hurt?” The vampire asks panically. Tears smear against his cold neck; you’re sobbing.

“E-everywhere.” He sighs, recalling what his transformation was like. Painful? Agonising? Those words don’t even begin to cover it. Zayne muses that the pain is akin to Prometheus’s, when his liver is feasted upon every day by an eagle. It’s vivid and feels never-ending, until you emerge from the depths as a monster.

A monster. What Zayne is. And now, what Zayne has brought to life. Some twisted Frankenstein, did he pause to consider your pain? Only after the fact does he realise the hellish creature he has condemned mankind to.

Zayne might be a monster. But you won’t be. In no lifetime does there exist a monster that is you. You might be a vampire, but your lover refuses to believe that you are not holy. He refuses to believe you will be abandoned by the divine.

Zayne cradles you, his hand stroking your dishevelled hair as you bite down on his collar to stifle your cries of agony. He whispers praises into your forehead, half-heard by a soon-to-be thrashing you. You’re held steady, tender kisses peppered across your hairline as you walk the tightrope between life, death, and damnation.

The room falls completely silent. Your heart stops beating, and no breath ghosts your upper lip.

When you open your eyes, the world is… clearer. And it smells like bloodied jasmines.

You croak out, “Zayne.” He lies you back down. The woman staring up at him is his immortal bride. Not quite you. But undeniably you. Your cool fingertips trail across his cheekbone. He leans into your touch, love accumulating in his chest until it overflows.

“Zayne.” He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, now the same temperature.

Your vampire murmurs, “I’m here, my love. For eternity.”

masterlist

star girl's final words: thank you for taking this journey with me! and a big thank you to jay for doing this collab with me! it's been super fun and has pushed me out of my writing comfort zone. i'm so grateful that we're mutuals, and i hope we can make even cooler fics in the future!

additional resources

the study of anatomy in england from 1700s to 20th century britain health timeline 1840-1920 mourning in the victorian era 19th century surgeries in the uk post-mortem instruments 19th century 1840s fashion history robert liston inside the operating theatre 19th century nursing uniforms brief history of cemetery in america mental health treatment reforms in the us punishments from late 18th to early 20th centuries history of bloodletting

#what a rollercoaster of emotions this was #you are so very talented i’m floored #this was beautiful from beginning to end #THE DIALOGUE IS SO VERY ZAYNE MY HEAD HUERS #ZAYENDDFFF #art #frame it #print it and frame it RIGHT NOW #thank you for blessing us #he’s just the most gentle man to ever grace the fictional world #so beautiful i don’t have the wordjdjsksjdjdkwjd #READ THIS NOW #⭑.ᐟ recs

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xiaprint · 7 hours ago

Text

WHAT A FUCKING READDDDD

Note: Longest fic I have ever written, my goodness. To my luvly @stargirlygirl who I'm doing this collab with and who has listened to all the ideas I've cooked up and tossed away—I LOVE YOU! Let me let you luvlys jump into this. ✨ Please, if you’d like, —Click Here— for the moodboard!

Warning/Contains: Vampire/Mechanic!Caleb, you’re a reincarnation of his past lover, ANGSTY, you’re grieving the loss of your mother, mentions of lacking the desire to go on without you, you get bitten by him without having a choice (i think that’s it, but if i missed one, please feel free to tell me!)

Word Count: 8.7K

Summary: When Caleb lost you, life held no meaning for him anymore. The only escape he had? He made a business out of it. But is it a trick of the mind when you're presented to him again, alive? The only con? You have no recollection of the history you've shared and now you're here for an interview at his auto shop. He won’t make the same mistake of letting you slip away from him again.

Once Bitten, Twice Repaired

“Hey,” an employee calls as he approaches the working man beneath a ‘95 Chevrolet Camero. “That interview I told you about. She’s here. Waiting out front.”

The intricate undercarriage that's currently in Caleb's face has him focusing with a tunnel vision level of concentration as he takes his time to inspect one more part of the suspension before responding. Only seconds pass until he's whistling with triumph just as he identifies what’s the issue with the dated vehicle.

He rolls out from beneath the automobile with a grin, then pulls himself off the mechanic creeper to stand at his full height.

“She’s eager,” Caleb smirks with a raised brow at the early bird who could potentially be a new employee in the next half hour.

“And excited,” Gideon chuckles. “You want me to bring her to your office or..?”

“Nah, I got it,” he assures, tapping on the trunk as he departs. “But do me a favor and get an order put in for some new shocks and struts for this one right here.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s all!”

On a regular day, Caleb had someone else talk with and handle new hires and prospective candidates when the time came. But seeing as the girl that Gideon told to come in had arrived sooner than instructed, he actually wanted to greet the face behind the overachiever himself.

Being the owner of an auto shop, the 6'2 motor enthusiast preferred to be where his interests were. If you asked him, he wasn't too fond of the technicalities, but running his own business made keeping his identity hidden an infinitely easier task.

His love for cars is a bone deep infatuation that's lasted for as long as he can remember—which is funny to think about for someone with a significant number of years on his belt compared to the average life expectancy of anything “normal”.

The double-edged sword of living as long as he has to watch their creation and evolution into the machines they are today, has been a journey that's given him a meek light through the never-ending dark tunnel which harbors a past too painful to reminisce on.

It's exactly why he doesn't. Or at least tries really hard not to, anyways.

Pushing past one of the doors that separates the waiting area from the garage, he nods to the receptionist. As he looks around the room though, there's only one person present and it’s not who he’s looking for.

"Gideon said there’s a woman here for her interview?" he questions the older lady sitting in the office chair.

"Mhm," Gladys nods. "Should still be here since she only stepped outside a minute ago."

Caleb's lips pout in thought with a slight tilt of his head. Stepping into the early rising sun that's fairly tolerable compared to what it can be later on, he stands root in one spot in search of the lingering mortal.

It consumes only milliseconds of his time before he sees who he presumes to be her, sitting on the ground to the left with a baby kitten in her lap.

"Oh, you sweet little thing," you coo. "It's okay, I got ya."

He freezes. There’s no way. Not a chance.

"You're shivering bub, my goodness. I'll talk to boss man and see if I can keep you warm while we chat. It's not unprofessional, right? In fact, I think it's showing how resourceful I can be." Your titter that follows has the vampire beside you tripping the fuck out.

You sound exactly like her. Your laugh is eerily similar. And when you look at him...

"Oh!" you chirp, quickly standing with care to the animal that's as small as your palm when you realize his presence. “Sorry! This little guy was meowing like crazy while I was waiting and I couldn't leave him out here like that."

He can't move. He doesn't want to in fear that if he makes any sudden gesture, you'll fade into thin air like a mirage. That he'll blink and nothing will be there but the memory of the universe once again stabbing him with a knife curated of nothing but sick jokes.

"Um, Sir?" you step closer with worry. "Everything alright?"

The same nose, the same curve of your lips, the same light that twinkles behind your irises—you were a carbon copy of the woman he failed to protect over a century ago and had the unending life he lived to thank for the fact that he couldn't join you.

Vampires are incapable of taking their own lives. Not only a rule that's been set in stone for longer than he's been alive to protect the population of his kind, but the genetic makeup of one wouldn’t easily allow it.

And believe him when he says he’s tried.

No matter what one's mind may want, the vampiric influence held more dominion.

So, when he came home after hunting to see you dead on the kitchen floor of your small cottage years ago from your heart condition claiming you faster than he could comprehend, he was cursed to live on without you what he presumed would be for eternity.

But there must be something that now pities him or finds his everlasting grief comical to put you before him once more.

Bubbly, cheerful, and all the more beautiful. Seeing you again for the first time is enough to make him as sick as his last.

"Should I call someone?" you mumble, walking around him to run inside and ask for some back up for the statue, but a firm hand wrapped around your wrist stops your venture and startles you.

"Tomorrow. C-Can you start tomorrow?" he spoke lowly, his violet eyes unable to look in your direction as they stared at the concrete out of uncertainty of what he'd say or do.

You even felt like her. You are her. And he needed a small amount of separation to correct his behavior before he could determine what it took to keep you. He wouldn't lose you this time.

You gasp. "I got the job?!"

He nods sharply in an attempt to control his instincts. "Seven AM."

Realizing he's still touching your smooth skin, he drops your appendage like it's made of flames.

And when he regains the little sense he has left, Caleb storms back inside without another word and leaves you in the desolate parking lot.

Gladys knew better than to inquire about what happened when he passes her, seeing as she watched enough to create her own assumptions courtesy to the see-through glass door.

Gideon looks back and forth behind his buddy as if you'd be hidden by the brooding male when he steps into the working area.

"You look... I don't even have a word for it. Where is she?"

His thumping steps don't stop on his retreat into his office as he gruffly responds, "She's my responsibility."

Whatever was your side the day you secured the first job you applied for after making your big move, it was an accomplishment well deserved and would be the kind of luck you'd be holding onto going forward in all your endeavors.

Finally, things were looking up after your mother had passed away. It took you some few years to get back into the groove of life, but growth and grieving weren’t linear, and that was okay.

That’s the mentality you’ve been trying to instill to give yourself grace for being so stagnant and admittedly lost for all this time. But where you are now is what matters, not the rock bottom that you grew too comfortable in.

Securing a job that would temporarily keep you sane as you adjusted to your all new everything was important. Not only would your pockets and bank account see profit, but perhaps your heart would benefit all the same and not ache as much being surrounded by the things you and your mom used to spend countless hours gushing about.

Cars were her world and when you were made an addition, naturally the same would apply from being raised solely by the automotive expert. Not only were you thankful for the skills and the memories, but they let you keep a part of her anchored to this world that could never slip away as easily as she had.

Hitting the jackpot and finding a position online for the decently popular location was pretty cool. It was close to your new apartment, the pay was good, and the expectations matched your criteria.

This is what progress looked like.

The smile on your face couldn’t be shaken as you approached the doors that have brought you genuine joy to see for the last two weeks. In fact, this entire building, it's been a consistent reminder of what you were working to achieve in the long run.

Starting up your own establishment in a world of cars is a dream you and your mom were always meant to reach before something took her as if it needed her more than you did. Now that your head was back in the game, that vision would be coming into fruition if it was the last thing you did to honor her.

“Morning, Gladys,” you greeted in passing.

“Mornin’,” she replied as her French tip nails tapped along the keyboard.

With your bag slung over your shoulder, you playfully shove Gideon’s as he fishes for something in his toolbox and he chuckles.

“You better not have that thing in there.”

“That ‘thing’ has a name, jackass!”

You opened and looked into the oversized tote, surging with love because of the gray fluff ball that you’ve been bringing into work with you ever since you found him. Keeping that luck held tight wasn’t an exaggeration and you were convinced this little dude was your charm.

“Isn’t that right, Muffler?” you coo, reaching a finger in to scratch his chin as he meows with what you hope is joy. He’s been as loud as a damaged part no matter what you did, and you wouldn’t change that for the world.

Everyone you pass is greeted with waves and whispered hellos on your way to your “mentor”. He's deep in the engine bay of a pretty metallic army green pickup truck, his back muscles rippling beneath his white tank top as he leans into the complex area.

“We’re reporting for duty Mr. Xia, sir!” you salute, the image of Muffler doing the same in your head enough to make you snort.

After his freezing episode and you came into work the day after, he made it a point to apologize immediately, but didn't attach an explanation behind it.

And you didn’t really need one despite your curiosity.

Being given what you received without hesitation, even though you didn't understand why, was not a victory you'd question.

He's loosened up quite a bit in your brief time here, too; making a few corny jokes that you’d never admit was actually funny, testing your knowledge from time to time like a pop quiz, and sticking by you every step of the way in your adjustment to the new environment.

Though for some reason, he refused to look at you. If he did, it was never for long—almost as if letting the gaze that you couldn't help but be drawn to when you caught it, was forbidden. Too much.

There was something inside of you that wondered if his strange reaction the first time you met had a deeper reason you didn’t understand.

“Lookin’ at this—think you could you tell me what's wrong?"

He doesn't have to look to know you're there. Past all the drilling and heavy machinery, your arrival was made known to him five minutes before you even opened the door.

You believe that ability is a keen talent rather than a natural skill, as you’re unaware of the true nature of the blood drinking mechanic who’s gained such a power through his transformation. It’s why you grin with such impress at his never-faltering accuracy.

"Of course I can."

Caleb tries not to buckle under pressure when your sweet perfume and the intoxicating aroma of the delicacy pumping through your system consumes his heightened senses the moment you lean in close. The urge for his fangs to bare is most difficult to keep at bay when he briefly eyes the vein that trails into your navy blue jumper and past the top of your breasts.

If he could sweat, he’s sure he would’ve made a puddle by now.

Although your scent is nowhere near identical to what it once was, this is the most inebriating it's ever been. With a tensed jaw, he works to keep his control before he makes a mistake that would cost him everything he’s intending to do.

He's been training you since day one—if you wanted to call staring at you while you asked him questions and he'd respond with a head movement a little too late—training.

In truth, your knowledge and expertise impressed the vampire who couldn't understand where you came from, but the fact that you seemed to carry zero memory of him and your past? That perturbed him even more.

You talked with him like this is the first time you and he have ever spoken. Like he didn't know what you felt like from the inside, like he didn't know all your ticks and all your favorites.

But perhaps this was the first time, because not too many of those things seemed to apply anymore to the somebody that he used to know, and he was unsure about how to juggle that fact.

You liked coffee instead of tea, preferred the hot summers over frigid winters, you were boisterous and out there instead of quiet and reserved.

You were different. But was it betraying you to like this you all the same despite the changes?

"There's nothing wrong,” you answer after your once over.

He smirks. "You sure?"

"Positive.” You’re smug as all hell and he likes it.

You pull Muffler out and giggle as he licks his nose from eating the dry food you left in there for him to snack on until you got him settled in Caleb’s office.

"Isn't that right, Muff?"

He looks between you two, silently admiring the position it holds in your hands. After you came in the first time with the noisy feline and begged to be able to bring him in on the daily, he should’ve said no. Anyone else, he would’ve—not a second wasted in his swiftness to decline.

But with you? How could he?

"Yeah?” Caleb folds his arms and leans against the vehicle. “Enlighten me. What makes you say that?”

"Well." Petting Muffler, you continue. "My mom used to always say, 'The difference between a mechanic and an artist is that a mechanic’s work needs to be perfect every single time.'”

"Ayrton Senna," Caleb nods in appreciation for your quick wit quotes.

"Look at youuu. But yes, exactly. And that means we can't afford to make a mistake, not with things as important and as intricate as this. Liquids are full and in their designated compartments, belts and sensors are in tack. No rusting or misplaced parts in sight. Yeah, this is good to go."

The immortal grins cockily. "Interesting. Now,” he gestures to where you presume the keys to be. “turn it on."

Your eyes widen. "Wait! That isn't fair! You didn't say to check it while it's running!"

“A mechanic’s ingenuity comes from their willingness to look beyond the obvious—”

"—for solutions.’ Steve McQueen, yada yada," you groan, tossing your head back in defeat. "I hate when you're right. Mom is rolling in her grave right now."

"She was important to you." Not a question, but an unveiling that similarly hits too close to home.

"My world," you correct with no malice in your tone. "Everything I've been doing since I came here... It's so I can give us what we should've had the time to do."

"I'm listenin’," he nudges your arm after you grow silent, using playfulness to break your walls down so that he can make his way in and determine what he may or may not need to do.

"I shouldn't be trauma dumping on my boss."

He shrugs. "You call it trauma dumping. I call it talking to someone who... understands."

You whip your head in his direction, Muffler purring like a motor on his journey to the land of sleep just as you halt his head rubs.

“You’ve lost someone, too? I mean who hasn’t though, right..?”

“I’ve lost a lot.” He focuses on the dirtied floor while you move beside him to lean like he does.

You frown when you see the clear disturbance in his face. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

If he had a heart that gave him life, it would’ve been pulled from his chest and put in your hands so you could watch how fast you make it beat.

I’m sorry, Caleb.

To him, you're indirectly and unknowingly apologizing for leaving him when it was never your fault or intention. Hearing that brings him an odd sense of closure. And determination.

Because there’s no need for you to be sorry. You just have to stay this time and he aims to make sure that happens. He won’t allow for the same mistake of letting mortality be your weakness.

“Whoever they were, I’m sure they added so much to your life.”

He chuckles wryly. “You have no idea.”

“Do you miss them?”

“It’s all I do. At least, all I did. Now? I… I think I may have something, someone, so different and new to not replace what I had..”

Carefully you watch his sharp jaw tick, and his thick neck move as he turns to face you, giving you his eyes for longer than the milliseconds you’re used to.

“But to give me the chance to make sure I never lose it again.”

You stare into his orbs with so much familiarity and understanding as if there was a time where they were what you’d called safety. Refuge.

It should freak you out to think like that, but instead, this is the most grounded you’ve felt since Mom. That bizarre reality is what makes you break the connection with fluttering lashes and watery eyes.

“I’m gonna make this right. I promise,” he whispers, and before you can try and decrypt if that was something dedicated to you or a declaration meant for the universe, Gideon calls out from across the garage.

“I’m this close to throwing a wrench and you’re lucky if I miss! Enough slacking!”

Honestly, you don’t know who he’s talking to, but it still applies to you and Caleb, even if he is the boss.

Blushing, your focus is pulled away from the hankering vamp and placed upon your sleeping kitty.

“He’s right… Thanks for the talk. It was…” you shake away the initial words on the tip of your tongue.

It was needed. It made me feel. It’s something I need more of.

“I’ll get to work.”

He watches you briskly walk to his office to get Muffler set up before your shift.

While he doesn’t exactly know what just happened between you two, he’s giving the glory to chance, that the subtle exchange of shared experiences created a resonance that has broken an invisible layer.

What’s certain? He’s taking advantage of it.

“I have no business doing this,” you chastise yourself silently just outside Caleb’s office. “I need to be bringing Muffler home. It’s way past his bedtime. And it's kinda late. But it’s not… like it wouldn’t be weird if I asked, right? It’s a boss-employee thing. Something to—”

Your back-and-forth external monologue is interrupted by the door opening in front of you and out walks the man who's been running circles in your mind ever since that enigmatic conversation last week.

Caleb didn’t miss how you redirected the exchange you were sharing toward him after he asked you about your unspoken plans. Skillfully, you placed the attention onto him so that he'd speak on the things that have brought him his own anguish rather than opening up about yourself.

But little do you know, biding his time and relearning the woman you are now, has been a monumental asset that's gotten him further than he could've imagined.

It's how he's already earned your trust in the month of you being here and why he's gained a definitive understanding of how to dismantle those barriers so that he could be the one to replace them and protect you instead.

The more he became familiar, the more prevalent your need to have a sense of control over the arbitrary system of life, became. You needed to be the one to open up on your own time, not when it was asked of you.

Cut to you talking yourself up into inviting him over for dinner for the last fifteen minutes to prove that accurate assessment true.

Of course, you wouldn't know that he has been listening to every single word of your contemplative banter or that he was internally begging for you to not withhold the request he knew you were hesitating to ask.

Who you are made sense for someone who lost the only person who gave them love, stability, and comfort in this lifetime (so far). You were like an open book already. But for Caleb, being the ever-greedy man he has always been, he wanted access to your glossary, cliff notes, and all the things in between.

Whatever higher power above has returned you to him, he would make them proud and be the one to refurbish you from all you’ve lost.

So please, please ask him so he can tell you yes!

While he harbors all the information and memories that you don’t and was certain about your universally aligned connection, you on the other hand, were mystified.

Besides the fact that you had what could be labeled as a very unprofessional attraction to your boss, it wasn't just a physical thing. Oddly, he brought you a semblance of normality that stumped you no matter how you tried to come up with a logical explanation.

There was none. Not that you could think of in your hours of trying.

You couldn't understand why you seemed to be so tethered and drawn to him, but the reincarnation of your soul? That did.

You found yourself wanting him near, craving his opinion and the sound of his voice, even wanting to hear him ramble for hours about all the same automotive knowledge you already knew.

"You alright, pips?" he smiled.

Get your head in the game.

"You're really sticking with that nickname, aren't you?"

"What? You don't like it?"

"It feels like an insult."

"I'd never insult you."

"You insult Gideon all the time."

"You're not Gideon though, are you? Besides, he deserves it."

Their aggressive but humorous jesting throughout the day never failed to make you and everyone else hysterical. You always wondered how Gideon got away with talking to his employer the way he did, but the clear bond between them was more than enough of an answer.

"Sometimes," you agree.

"You've got somethin' on your mind." He shuts the door and locks it. "Care to share?"

"How do you do that?" You follow him around as he checks on everything once more.

"Do what?"

"Always know what's up with me. It's so trippy."

"I've had a... good amount of time, I guess." (Just a few years of being your other half as experience, no big deal.)

"I guess," you parrot, smiling like a doofus when he winks at the noticeable heated rush of pink to your cheeks.

Shaking off the reluctance, you blurt out what you wanted to propose before you can further convince yourself that you were a fool for even thinking about it.

"Do you—Would you want to come by my place… for dinner?"

Caleb stops where he is, and you regret it instantaneously.

"Shit. Okay, hold on, please don't fire me. I only wanted to thank you for making my time here so gratifying and—Alright, maybe I should've invited you to a restaurant or something so it's more appropriate and palatable, but we always get off late, Muffler needs to be brought home, and I didn't—"

"Pipsqueak," he interrupts your tangent. If only you knew he was all in the second you made it a consideration. "I'd love to."

"Come on in," you gesture, and the contement that washes over the man who already knows your layout, is otherworldly.

Being able to walk freely in your space without sneaking and keeping silent is way easier than waiting until you were showering or sleeping to climb in through a window to snoop around.

Yes, he has followed you home and invaded your privacy, as well as rummaged through your things without your permission.

And yes, he took one of your shirts and a pair of (dirty) panties with him for safe keeping to... hold, on the nights he missed you more than he could reason with.

It was fine, though. Look at how close you were! Already inviting him in with no qualms about it.

Muffler was the worst guard cat he's ever seen, though. He’d meow cheerfully at his feet in each room he followed the invasive man into on the nights of his trespassing, but Caleb chalked it up to still being so young and familiar with him from all the hours inadvertently spent together.

He had your kind heart to thank for such a companionship that works in his favor.

"I know you said you weren't hungry, but I'm still glad you came by. TMI, but I'm pretty much alone now and it's been difficult making friends since, well, you know. I’m really thankful, is what I’m trying to say.”

Obviously, he couldn't eat what you were going to prepare and worried telling you was going to make you change your mind. But that didn't deter you at all after he promised that he had a hearty lunch and didn’t mind stopping by if you were still open to it.

You were shocked because you swear you've never seen him or Gideon for that matter, eat anything. Come to think of it, you’ve never seen a lick of sweat fall from the two consistent hard workers, either.

Diet plans? Botox? You didn’t judge. Maybe you could ask about that another time.

Caleb made sure to drink some blood bags five because look at the size of him that he gets from his close friend Zayne who walks the same vampirism “lifestyle”. The preventive measures would guarantee that he wouldn't be ravenous and endanger you from being possessed by an insatiable hunger he couldn't trust himself to control around something so incredibly enticing.

"If there's no one else you think you can turn to, I'm always going to be there, you know?" he added.

You don't have anything proper to say to that, so you simply tip up the corner of your mouth in response and get Muffler settled before cooking yourself dinner.

Caleb sits at your cute kitchen island and has small conversation with you as you busily move around while simultaneously analyzing all the things he's already memorized about your home-in-progress.

All the while, your mind is flooded with the notion that this feels so… right? That you wouldn’t necessarily mind more nights like this.

Nip it in the bud, sista. This is your boss.

Once you're finished and have a simple plate of chicken breast with the starch and vegetable of your choosing, Caleb sits at the small table across from you.

"Good?"

"Mhmm," you nod and cover your mouth as you chew the piece you consumed. "It may look simple, but this was one of Mom's favorites. Chicken breast is so versatile, you know? And we'd always eat late after working on whatever project we were obsessed with at the time. Chicken tacos, quesadillas, or a salad—it was always so different even if it was the same cut of meat or meal."

"Mm..” he hums. “Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong, but your mother sounds like your sole drive for everything you do." He rests his chin in his palm, watching you eat and waiting for you to give him what he's looking to get answers to.

"She is. I mean, I'm working this hard and doing it all on my own to get the garage that's been on our radar since I was like five. I owe that to her.”

Bingo.

"You wanna go into business for yourself?"

"Our plan was to move up here together and buy the property she had her eye on for all these years... but the cancer had other plans."

His eyes narrow in thought. "And if that doesn't work?"

You stop mid chew, looking at him with a newfound carefulness.

"Why would you say that?"

He sees the offense mar your normally enthusiastic visage and quickly activates damage control.

"I don't mean it offensively, pips. Just a question I'm asking as someone who knows the difficulties that come from starting his own from the ground up."

"All I've done is have anxiety about the what ifs and the potential losses. I don't want to be controlled by that anymore. I can do this."

The memory of what your life together once was, the times in which you'd say something almost identical, rings in his mind like a raging alarm.

Through all his concerns that pertained to the fragile state of your heart before it showed you how necessary it was for you to worry; you always brushed him off. Always tried to act like you were stronger than something you would never have control over in a world of underdeveloped medicine and healthcare.

He'll never forget how you consistently rejected his urgent propositions to turn you, to make you like him and rid you of your condition to live with him pain and worry free for eternity.

But you refused to take what you deemed "the easy way out".

Your determination to conquer it on your own like your father had been doing at the time, made him admire you and your resilience.

That admiration was buried the same day you were.

He willingly let that be your demise when he should’ve taken matters into his own hands regardless of how many instances you assured him that you were doing everything right to give yourself the best chance.

Look where that decision left him. If one could have a play by play of the timeline of his pain and despair, you would've seen what it did.

What's to say this same negligence being shown towards your aspirations wouldn't do the same now?

The thought of you trying to leave because something didn't pan out how you anticipated. Or of you letting your pride be your downfall with the potential of being so overcome by another monumental loss directly connected to your last to the point that you try to leave him entirely—again...

No. He wasn't enabling another repeat of anything remotely similar.

"There’s no shame in asking for help, pipsqueak. I can be that for you. Why don't you let me—"

"I don't need your help, or your pity!" you cut off defensively.

I don't need your help. I don't need you.

I don't want you, Caleb.

He's blinded by irrationality. You do need him. You always have. You always would.

"If you don't, then who else but me do you think will be there? You said it yourself; I make things easier for you, don't I?"

Quickly you've completely lost your appetite and what was once a good idea has surprisingly turned sour.

"Me," you emphasize, index finger pointed to your chest. "I've always had my own back through all this. I did it on my own! Who do you think you are, Caleb?"

He wants to tell you. So badly has he thought about it putting it all on the table.

I'm the man whose soul you governed. I'm the vampire whose existence you welcomed and accepted. I'm the immortal who barely recognizes who you are now, but I don't want the old version—I want the one I've been regifted to love me just as you once did.

I’m the only person in the entire world that you once depended on for everything and I couldn’t even do that right.

Besides the likelihood of you believing him being lower than hell, comparing you to what only he recalls is a mistake he can't afford to continue making. Not when it begins to impact the building relationship he was fortunate to have now.

"I'm sorry—"

"You should be," you scoff. "Do you know how many times I’ve been “warned”, told about the negatives? The likely failures? Why can’t anyone be happy for me? Why can’t anyone just… celebrate or congratulate, or-or just encourage, without trying to make me feel like I’m inherently doomed!? I’m not some ticking time bomb of disaster!”

He doesn’t have anything to say, but his silence speaks volumes.

“And you know what? I-I think… I need you to leave. Before I say something I'll regret."

Listening to you now is the last thing he wants to do, but it's what he has to if he wishes to not further ruin what he's doing a damn good job of doing already.

With a heavy mind and an ache inducing blunder, his night with you steered in the complete opposite direction than he expected and is concluded by the loudest farewell of a slamming door to his back.

He already made you a promise and though you’re oblivious to the fact, your fate with him has long been sealed.

"Like I just got this car from my father a couple months ago for my birthday right, but my grandad has been freaking me out about some transmission thing! So, I'm worrying and thinking 'Maybe I do need to get this looked at, just in case' and that's when I looked up some good mechanics nearby and you guys popped up, your reviews were pretty fire, so I figured maybe—"

The frantic fast-talking customer abruptly stops her tumultuous rambling to catch her breath, grumbling to herself about how she needs to remember her breathing exercises with a woosah and a countdown from ten.

"I'm just really hoping you can help me understand what I need to be panicking for," she finishes, her cheeks patchy with red from the mix of the warmer temperature and hysteria.

You smile understandingly at the young teenager who's brought in her 2017 Volkswagen Jetta in a frenzy just as the shop was closing up for the day.

It's always nice to see people seek out knowledge about the things you're passionate about because you get to unleash that inner nerd, but not when it has them is such disarray.

"You have nothing to be panicking for," you assure with a hand to her arm in solace. "I'm almost certain that your grandad is concerned about manual transmission. See, Volkswagens are equipped with something called Tiptronic transmission and what that does is replace the manual one. Back then, if you shifted your gears incorrectly, your vehicle could suffer from that mistake and maybe even your pockets if the damage was bad enough. Now? Tiptronic is sort of fused with automatic, so in the event that you make such a mistake, your car will recognize and correct it for you to prevent any damage to the transmission."

The redhead nods in understanding and huffs out a breath of relief. "So I'm like, not going to screw it up right? I'm not driving in some death trap?"

"Not at all," you chuckle. "It's a hybrid system. What it does is offer you convenience, so you won't even notice. But it's still wise to learn and understand your gears by heart and the overall functionality of your car. Even if something may not be utilized, a good and conscious driver knows how to operate all of it effectively."

She closes her eyes like she's just found peace. "You actually just prevented an impending spiral, oh my gosh you don't even know. I thought I was going to have to miss out on my trip this weakened because my dad screwed up!"

"Next time, just give us a call about any questions that we may be able to answer over the phone so you can save yourself the trip! But yeah, we ran you a diagnostic for your peace of mind and everything is up to date and in the right order, so you're good to go."

The now tranquil teen offers you several thank yous before gleefully getting into her driver's seat and carefully peels out of the parking lot.

With another busy day coming to a resolute close, you look around the mostly empty garage besides a Gideon who throws you a thumbs up for your explanation as he gets ready for closing after the hustle and bustle, and an attentive Caleb wrapping up an oil change.

It's been four whole days since your bout that ended up with you kicking him out. And you were wrong about what you did and the things you said.

Dead wrong.

But you were positively livid to hear another voice questioning you like you weren't capable. Admittedly, that's where you made your first mistake.

Caleb wasn't just another voice, and he wasn't knocking your capability to achieve. He cared, and instead of letting him do that and listening to his logical concerns, you surrounded yourself with titanium and pushed him away because of your egotistical stance of self-sufficiency.

It wasn't your wish to sound so bitter and guarded. It was a defense mechanism from all the discouragement rained down upon you no matter who you once trusted to share your dreams with.

"You're already moving across the country. I know the house didn't sell for that much to afford living expenses and a business."

"Something like that is usually passed down from generations in terms of seeing substantial profit... You sure?"

"You're still grieving, friend. I think you're rushing this."

"If your mom hadn't been able to do it, what makes you think you're going to do different?"

Rather than checking all the naysayers, you'd freeze and feel your nose burn with sorrow.

All the anger and frustration that's been pent up was given to him instead of being properly dished out to the ones who really deserved it, and you were riddled with guilt because of that.

He's shown you kindness, given you care and liberties to do things no one else would. He made you feel like you again, yet you liquidated a moment you could've taken to experience sincere congeniality because of your unresolved issues.

The shame kept you out of work the day after, the matter only worsening as you ignored and steered clear of him for the last three including today. You've been so avoidant that you haven't even been bringing Muffler in, and that's what solidified your position with the troubled vampire.

It's a revelation you weren't too sure how to cope with, but you missed him.

You missed him so much that when you didn't get your good mornings and stupid pop-up questions, all you wanted to do was go home and wallow in your stupidity and useless pride.

But it's high time for you to swallow it and take charge like the adult you were.

You walk over to him with a twisted face full of irresolution. There was no script written out in your mind about what you'd say or how you were going to make amends, but you were hopeful that he'd understand in your attempt.

"Hey," you whisper, twiddling your fingers to keep yourself busy until he responded as you stood beside him.

"Pips... hey" Caleb answers, not taken aback at all by your sudden appearance. Identifying you without fail is a favorable advantage when he can't hear you mutter about all the things being pondered in that turning cogwheel of a brain.

He was unable to hear you make the eventual decision to speak with him because for the first time since you've met—even when you were alone in your home—you were hauntingly silent, keeping all your thoughts in the safe space behind your skull.

To say that he yearned for you was an understatement.

Your smile, your stories, your voice—they were irreplaceable just as much as they were unobtainable. And sitting on the floor of your bedroom at night while you slept as Muffler purred himself to sleep in his lap wasn't cutting it anymore.

"If you had the time, I was wondering if... if we could talk—"

"Yes," he cuts you off unintentionally. "Sorry... Yeah, I'd like that. Please."

Nodding at his eagerness that you struggle to refrain from giving a reaction to, you eye his sexy hands that he cleans with a nearby rag before calling out to Gideon to keep an eye on everything until he returns.

Crossing the threshold into his office, you roll up the sleeves of your flannel and try calming your jittery hands that don't have a clue what to do with themselves.

Once you turn to face him, he can't explain why he anticipated for you to be calm and orderly, but instead, you begin to spill your guts like there's a time limit that will come with consequence if you're not finished in time.

"First of all, I'm sorry. So sorry. My anger was misdirected, and you didn't do anything wrong. Instead of taking your advice with discernment, instead of understanding where you were coming from, I boxed you in with all the other people who never cared about me. A-And I don't know if I've ruined the dynamic we have outside of what we are as two people who work together, but I want to fix it if I have."

Your breath shudders as you prepare to reveal what you've been feeling but were too scared to say out loud because of the ramifications that may tag along.

"Caleb, I know you might think I'm crazy or some mourning mess with attachment issues when I say this, and maybe I am. I just... I don't have anyone else, a-and I can't do everything on my own like I thought. I feel like I need you... but I'm not your responsibility and neither is my trauma, but I can't..."

Your words begin to drone out and it's not because he wishes to disregard what you're laying out for him.

It humors him... because he knows all of this already.

I feel like I need you.

Once again has he become an extension of you, this time so much so that he can feel the restraint he's been wrapping himself up in, release him with every word you articulate.

Caleb is drawn to you like the stars that stick to the sky, done with the waiting and the cautiousness, and slams his lips onto yours as he cups your jaw hungrily in his hands. You're nearly knocked to the floor by the sheer force, but the desk you clatter against braces the fall.

His lips slowly massage yours like a starved man being free from the shackles of famine, a primal satisfaction taking hold of him when your hands slowly find purchase in his locks and you moan into his mouth.

You wanted him? He was already yours.

The smell of all the blood fueling your healthy palpitating heart makes him feel like he's growing dizzy and the headiness of the arousal that he senses gathering in your shorts begins to...

Hold it. Hold it!

But the vampiric dominance conquers his long forgotten humanoid instincts, overriding his attempt to repress his true identity.

This was happening now, then. There was no need to hold off anymore. He had all he needed with the perfect opportunity to take it.

Patience didn't exist anymore. You would have dozens of lifetimes in unity for that.

From the beginning, getting you in a position like this was the final play before he gave you an irreversible hardship that he would pledge an undying oath to guide you through.

Caleb vowed to stop you from abandoning him again and the desire to fulfill that is what draws his fangs out.

For the first time in a long one, all the control he had once mastered after decades of being a creature in hiding, is being revealed before you can realize.

The fact that you're pressed to him in a closed room like an unwary sheep left to the slaughter, precedes you as you lose yourself in the slip of his tongue past your puffy lips and the feel of his strong hands imprinting on your waist.

But don't mistake his devotion to you, what he's about to do, as punishment.

He'll teach you everything. He swears it, cross his useless heart and hope to die.

He'll kill for you when you're scared to do it, please you when you need him to. He'd go hungry if it meant making sure all your newfound needs were satisfied.

It's the least he could do for the only man who'll ever be allowed to love you and is about to strip you of all you've ever known to give you something that you will make better together.

Taking care of his eternal beloved was always his purpose. You came back to him for a reason.

And what an unknowing angel you were to give him the opportunity to succeed this time.

His kisses trail down your neck and a nip to your flesh offers an unusual blend of pleasure and a pain you can't quite say mixes, but overrides.

"I've waited for you for so long..." he whispers, licking up the length of your neck and grunting when you whine and press your breasts to his hard chest.

"You're so dramatic," you grin foolishly as you pull back. "It's only been like four days—"

Your eyes widen and your already elevated heart rate steadily reaches heights that only makes his thirst for you edacious.

"Caleb...?" Your tone pitches with concern and perplexity. "What—"

"I remember when you used to be mesmerized by me." He angles his head, observing you and the way your throat works to swallow your timidity. "Do I scare you now?

The sight of his pointy and sharp elongated canines makes you incapable of responding. You have to be dreaming. That's the only way for what you're witnessing to make any sense.

"How did you—I don't understand..."

"You will, pips. I promise you will. I won't make it hurt as much as it hurt me. I always protect you, you know that."

"Hurt?! This is not... What the fuck are you talking about?! I don't know...w-what is wrong... with you?"

"...If I told you that I've always been this way? The times you trusted me with our Muffler, the lunches you'd eat in here because I eased your rampant mind, every instance you laughed your pretty little head off because of the things I've said. Oh, honey... I was this, hiding—waiting."

His hand trails up to grasp your throat with zero pressure applied, taking a moment to inhale you deeply.

"Before you, before the materials that keep this building together, I have walked this Earth for a long, long time. But I haven't been able to live without you."

A devoted kiss to your jaw. "You remember... I've told you that I know what it means to lose."

Another. "I watched my biological family be murdered by the same beings that turned me into what they are. They used me, materialized me in their war against the humans. I was a killer, unstoppable. But when I had a deliverance, a liberation, come into my life to show me how much control I had over my own fortune with the power I possessed... I was accepted without an ulterior motive—loved. I was in love. Pips, I held onto that with both hands. Until I was stupid enough to let it slip."

Warm tears pour over your waterline and down your cheeks as he shushes you sweetly to calm your worries. "You're not afraid of me. You're afraid that you're not."

His mouth falls to the crook of your neck. "I don't want you to fear us. I just want you home."

A sharp and painful stab is impaled into the side of your neck as a forceful pressure is pushed deep the more your blood is being extracted from every vein and artery that will no longer need the crimson to function.

You cry out clamorously from the burning ache taking over your body and muscles when you cling to his biceps.

Were you pulling away or succumbing to this? You couldn't comprehend.

No sobs can escape the more the decadent fluid spills into his mouth and makes a mess down his chin while it stains his top that was once only dirtied by grease.

His venom rewires your system to welcome the change, to embrace who you will become as you fall slack. He continues to consume even when your brightened skin grows pale the longer you're drained until you're completely immobile and unconscious.

Caleb holds you up by the back of your head to savor every drop, growling with delight just as he finishes. With inhumane speed, Gideon shoots into the room, his fangs presented and posture ready for a fight.

He drops his guard as he watches his comrade from all these decades, claim you until you have nothing more to give him.

Pulling back, Caleb licks away the trickle trying to escape and kisses your forehead as if seeing you like this pains him.

"You'll forgive me when you wake up, pipsqueak."

He keeps his eyes trained on you at the same time he commands his addled friend, "Bring the car around back."

Gideon looks at your comatose form then does as he was asked with harboring questions to be asked later.

Careful of your fragile state, Caleb effortlessly carries and places you atop the plush armchair you liked to sit and eat your sandwiches on.

He's done exactly what he wanted to. You are where he has always envisioned. But when you wake up, is he prepared for what you may say or do?

Your maker will want you to know that you're not isolated, that everything isn't over.

You will get your mother's garage, you will cement her legacy into this planet, and you will do it with him. But he wasn't too certain that he'd be the proper voice of reason or the one you’d initially want to hear.

So, he decides on the best alternative solution.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket and with eyes flipping between you and his screen, it takes him two scrolls before he presses the contact and call button of the person he needs to reach.

One ring. Two. Three. Four… Damn.

"Yes?" the voice answers impassively, thankfully before he was forced to try again until he got a response.

"Zayne," Caleb starts, wiping his mouth from the messy consumption. "You got time to offer some friendly advice?”

“I have two minutes.”

Caleb offers a dry chuckle. “Tell me, what was the first thing you did after you... turned your wife?"

Silence. An uncomfortable one. Lengthy.

"What have you done?"

"Something I was supposed to do."

"If you've made an intentional decision that you're confident about, why do you call me with vexatious riddles? Whatever it is, is it not what you wanted?"

Pressing his lips together, he leans down to brush your untidy hair away to see you without any obstruction blocking a view so captivating.

"It is. But I'm not entirely sure if I can say the same for her. Not yet."

"Her?" Zayne questions in slight alarm. Caleb feels like he can already hear the thousands of questions he wants to ask and points he's dying to make all professional like.

He's thankful that he keeps it short.

"Bring her over before she wakes and does something mindless without properly understanding what she is."

"Done. Will your wife be there?"

"And that matters why?" But Zayne doesn't even give a moment long enough to answer.

"Do as I've instructed you and we will go from there. Do not waste any more time. She needs to be controlled and monitored for her first feed."

Hanging up, your soulmate hurries to sweep you into his arms and fixates on your lifeless face in silence on his way outside. Caleb haphazardly explains to Gideon that he needs to hold down the fort for some time before either of you return and while he wants to inquire more, he knows that now is not the time.

You're placed in the backseat as he maneuvers you until you seem comfortable enough for the long ride and throws one of his sweaters over your body out of habit from all the nights he would do the same in your bedroom with your blankets.

He kisses your chilling lips when he's done and grins faintly.

"I'm gonna get Muffler for you. Our family sticks together. Always.”

Climbing over you, he presses your foreheads together before he gets ready to get behind the wheel to make the way toward your new future.

"I told you, pips. I promised I would make it right."

A/N: I’m nervous as all hell to see what anyone is going to say LOLLLL!!! Writing this was admittedly a challenge. It forced me to really lock in over the last week and I think I really needed that in an effort to improve my writing. Hours upon hoursssss I spent, so I can only hope with fingers crossed🤞🏽. I luv you. MWAH!

🍎 Tags: @xiaprint @mcdepressed290 @calebapplepie @xcelfer @honeymoonfleur @obeythebutler @ajyoursgirl @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @honeycrispangels @dummiebunny @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @meadowinthesky @grackerzzz @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc @hilliserose @alyakhq @rina-lidou @celestialhoneycaleb

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat @inutrasha94 @jadestone2 @lamogliedizayne @sylusqt

+ @nikirangs, @deathrye

*Photos do not belong to me!

#first of all caleb leave my panties the fuck alone!!!!!!#second of all….. THE WRITING?#THE WRITING IS TOO GOOD #THIS IS THE TYPE OF WRITING THAT YOU SHOULD BE PAYING MONEY FOR #CHARGE US A FEE #ohhhhhhh i am so invested #AND HONORED TO BE THE FIRST TAG HAHA STUNTIN ON U HOS #MECHANIC CALEBBBB #he said struts and shocks and i almost came #my oil needs changed calebbbbbbb #he’s such a devoted deep yearner in this #ALSO LOVE HOW YOU PORTRAYED THE READER IN THIS I LOVE THAT SHE CAN HOLD HER OWN #i’m so obsessed i need more #this is actual crack for caleb girlies #yet another banger thank you jay for blessing us #⭑.ᐟ recs

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xiaprint · 7 hours ago

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i can confirm that caleb is very much real because im carrying his child rn...sorry to break it to that anon </3

wow so we all pregnant rn

#caleb…..#explain urself #community dick at its finest i’m so not surprised #⭑.ᐟ ask box

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xiaprint · 7 hours ago

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that anon is delusional as fuck, i’m literally 8 months pregnant with caleb’s baby and he’s literally sleeping in my bed rn 😔✋🏼

that’s so crazy i’m ALSO pregnant and ALSO laid up with him rn

#GOOOD MORNINGGGG #⭑.ᐟ ask box

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xiaprint · 7 hours ago

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LATINA MAMIIIII AYEEE I SEE UUUU

latinas 4 caleb 🩶

#he lovesssss it ova here!!!!!#⭑.ᐟ ask box

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xiaprint · 1 day ago

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He’s not real bro 😭🙌

sorry i can’t hear u hes literally spinning like a windmill and doing donuts in my pussy rn ugh the mechanical dick is toooooo good what did u say? can u say it again? ugh caleb stopppp im trying to hear sorry hes being annoying

#no caleb wrong hole!#hate when he does that :/#⭑.ᐟ ask box

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xiaprint · 1 day ago

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bro this colonel cable guy isn't even all that... i say as i walk away with a strange 6'2 caleb shaped lump in my throat...

me anytime someone calls him cable

#that is the funniest thing EVER #hey wait come back here #⭑.ᐟ ask box

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xiaprint · 1 day ago

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you deserve all the love and appreciation and more honestly, your works are absolute peak. i eat them up each time nomnom

thank you so much for reading and loving me

#likeee i’m literally just a girl with a major in iwannafuckcalebrawism #this is the university of caleb fuckers u are all students i am professor mhm #with minors in rafayel ball play #sylus deepthroating #zayne vaginal inspection #and xavie creampies #:3 #⭑.ᐟ ask box

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xiaprint · 2 days ago

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hi a little overwhelmed with how much love is being shown to my writing and my blog :,) i’m a pretty timid and introverted person so being given a space where i can be perceived as… basically the opposite feels like the biggest blessing ever. thank u for matching my freak <3

#can u tell #i had 2 cutwaters and a gummy #happy friday?#⭑.ᐟ yap & chill

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xiaprint · 2 days ago

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GUYSSSSSSSS CANT TALK CALEB AND I ARE SKATING

hihi congrats on 1k!! very deserved you’ve been nothing but welcoming to me and your work is amazing <3 i wanted to join in on the cutesy date moodboard!! caleb and i are getting bored of kitty cards and claw machines :p

i’m jade and i’m 21! i’m a virgo if astrology is your cup of tea, infp. i try to keep an active lifestyle so gym, hikes, walks are all important in my day to day schedule. i’m a nursing student and my favorite color is lilac. huge tender heart for animals and my fur baby is my entire world! addicted to caffeine and lover of all things music.

thank you again i’m excited to see what your brilliant brain comes up with 🌸🌼🌷🌻

Thank you for choosing ivy's dating service!

The two of you lead a very active lifestyle together, always in the gym and going on hikes whenever he has the chance to join you. But our experts believe there are also other ways you can enjoy getting your blood pumping when you're together (no wait, we're not talking about in bed).

Our dating gurus think you and the colonel would enjoy a fun night out at a roller skating rink! Dance the night away together, and make sure to hold onto him tight so you don't fall and scrape your knee or else he'll crash out.

[Click for better quality] Please give credit if reusing/reposting

Side effects of this date may include: playing your favorite songs on the jukebox, hands gripped too tight, the light sheen of sweat while dancing, and accidentally falling in love all over again.

#OHDHFFFGF #IM SO #IM SO :((((( OH I LOVE THIS #i adore this #i will be busting my ass a million times but hey! that’s half the fun!!!!#omg the music the the the OHHHHHH THE MEMORIES HED BE SI GIDDY #HE WOULD BE THE MOST SMILEY GUY EVER #head in hands #i’m just so obsessed with this i’m gonna make it my desktop wallpaper #this is the sweetest thing ever ily thank you so much for taking time out of your day to create something so beautiful for me :(((#congrats on your 1k lovie many more to come!!!!#GUYS LOOK GUYS LOOK GUYS LOOK

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xiaprint · 2 days ago

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kicking that leg up to dig in the guts deeper ohhhh he was pissedddd

jealous colonel caleb and his lieutenant because i said so :)

“please!— please colonel! oh gosh—“ your begs and pleads filled the air, yet fell into deaf ears. the man behind you, your husband, was railing you into the large bed, his cock reaching your cervix with every harsh thrust, hands digging into your hips, “fuck—i-i can’t it’s too much caleb—“

“it’s not too much, you can take it,” he whispered in your ear, his hips pressing into the flesh of your ass, making it shake on impact, caleb’s eyes latched onto the jiggle, “damn—late nights at the gym with me has paid off,” slap! “your ass is getting fatter…didn’t even know that was possible.” you didn’t even understand what he was saying, your mind only filled with how deep his dick was going, how much pleasure your being given.

the sounds of skin slapping echoed in caleb’s bedroom, his hips reckless and powerful, thrusting into your wet pussy, his hand pressing onto your upper back to arch your back more.

the sight alone making him groan. your back arched nicely, your curls over your shoulders— fuck you were a masterpiece. grabbing a pillow, you stuffed your face into it, trying to hold back the loud moans which have probably waken up the whole of sky haven. that ass of yours driving caleb insane, shaking with every thrust, it was calling his name.

your ass red and bruised from his assualt earlier, spanking you for talking all cute and submissive for other men in the fleet. his heavy hand, still with his leather gloves on, landing on your flesh with every wrong answer you gave him. his other hand holding you down over his lap, until you apologised properly, which is when he finally rubbed your skin. squeezing the flesh and kissing your sore spots away, before putting you on all fours and fucking you raw.

“who do you belong to lieutenant? tell me,” caleb growled, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips, pulling your ass back to meet his own hips.

your head lifted from the pillow, black tears running down your face due to your mascara, your baby hair clinging to your face.

but nothing came out.

..did he even say anything? definitely not, however, it was too late when you realised he actually did speak, and even worse asked you something.

caleb’s silence sent shivers down your spine, and then his beefy arm went around your neck, pulling your torso up a little, bringing you to his chest. you could feel his muscles against your lower back, and his lips reached your ear, “i asked you a fucking question, don’t make me punish you again. or are you too cockdrunk to speak? can you only moan and beg? pathetic.” his voice was filled with power, commanding, making your pussy clench around him.

“i’m sorry colonel! i’m so sorry—fuck i’m so sorry! please—hah! what was the question? i’ll a-answer!” your hands went to his forearm, digging your nails into the firm muscle, feeling his arms tense. his arm was so muscular, so biteable it was hard not to sink your teeth into his flesh as well. “i’ll be a good girl colonel..!”

his other went to your bruised ass, landing another slap for your disobedience, “my poor lieutenant, can’t even remember what i said? little whore. i’ll say it again. who do you belong to?”

his thrusts picked up pace, slamming into your at an inhumane pace, feeling your tight pussy clench around his cock, your moans filling his ears. it only motivated him more, his cock reaching deeper into your cunt, you could feel it in your throat.

“i belong to you!—mhm! you colonel! only you!—ah! please—it’s too much!”

caleb’s arm removed itself from your neck, his hands. gently lowering your limp torso back onto the mattress. his hands going to your hips. his leg went up, to give him more strength to rail you harder. “too much? awh, little soldier can’t handle it? can’t handle my cock? huh?”

caleb scoffed, “silly girl, i’ll show you too much.”

@ alyakhq, do not plagiarise, copy or translate my work pls :)

i love caleb but i need to leave him alone more

#this is divine #reading it felt like watching a movie #was reminded of his height today too and i needed to sit down for a minute #caleb being meannnnnshfjsjdjdjf #i’m such a crybaby i can’t handle a mean husband but THIS #oh THIS?!?!??#tsunami in the thong idk what else to tell u #⭑.ᐟ recs

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xiaprint · 2 days ago

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the concept of making passionate sex at the drive in a tradition mhm

Request ✎ Car sex w the guys but I only care about snowcrowapple. Sylus and Caleb give like, trying to discreetly(not really) blow your back out while you’re parked at one of those drive in movie theaters and Zaynes making you squirt in his lap in the car at the parking garage of the hospital when yall are supposed to be havin lunch thank youuuu

Note: Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you likeeee. I changed up the setting for Sylus so each guy had their own little "story" going on, so I hope that's okay. Luv you. MWAH!

Contains: Smut, Porn with no plot, semi-public sex

Word Count: 3K (Total)

Car Sex W/ Zayne, Sylus, & Caleb

Zayne

Lunch with your husband was supposed to be spent eating the sandwiches you picked up from his favorite deli and spending some much needed time together.

You even insisted on taking the little date to the park nearby to get him out of the frigid and sterile environment of the hospital that he never seemed to get enough time away from, no matter if the experience only lasted for half an hour. It's what you did that made it special.

But you didn’t get the chance to leave the underground parking lot at all after Zayne kissed your lips so sweetly until you were practically begging for him to touch you. Being the loving, devoted, and equally needy partner that he was, what kind of man would he be to leave either of you unfulfilled?

Your cold cut subs never made it out of their paper bag and in the span of twenty five minutes in the backseat of his car, his cock had been in your mouth and his cum down your throat.

And now, like a sweet dessert to top off a savory entrée, you were sitting in his lap after he just finished fucking a load deep into your trembling pussy.

You were in blissful shambles as his skilled fingers rubbed your sensitive clit in slow circles while his lips peppered delicate kisses down the side of your already marked neck.

Thank goodness you didn't have to go to work after this.

The position you were in made sense for a couple who didn't get enough time to be as intimate as they wanted because of their jam-packed schedules. Ultimately, when you were presented with an opportunity to have one another in ways you've gone too long without, who could stop themselves from taking advantage?

"Z-Zayne... Baby, I can't..." you mewl, your back pressed to his chest and your head lazily lolling on his shoulder with every stroke of his thick digits. The combination of his release and yours being smeared through your folds made you positively rabid for him despite your overstimulation.

"Give me one more, darling," he whispers, his dick throbbing once again in his tousled slacks. "I must thank you properly for treating me today. It's only fair."

Your legs were hooked over his spread ones to open you up like a flower in search of the sun in the springtime. The obscene echos of your slick cunt being pleased made you forget all about the fact that you were letting yourself be fucked and fingered by the love of your life for anyone to see should they be graced with a glimpse.

Your wanton moans were mesmerizing. How selfish was he for wanting to keep you here regardless of that risk?

"You're close," he lazily grins, his breath hot and arousing against your sticky flesh. "Watch how pretty she looks when I touch her just right."

There's a familiar coil in your gut as you peer down to admire his veiny hand adorned with the silver band of his ring and a sleek black watch, working you with precision.

His fingers glisten in the dimly lit interior with your dripping arousal and he gathers all the slick you produce with a husky groan when he feels how much more you're adding to your mix.

"Baby... I think..." you stammer, hips bucking to chase the high that feels more intense than it's been in a long time. "W-Wait, I might—"

"That's what I want, my love. Feel good for me and let go. I’ll always be there to catch you.”

His speed increases just slightly to masterfully bring you to that mind numbing precipice. He knows what he's doing, and you would always surrender to the trust you gave him.

With a hand reaching back to tug on his damp locks, you crane your neck and hungrily devour his mouth to suppress your sonorous moans before you can be loud enough to draw out security.

Zayne takes your avid kiss with delight as your tongues mingle in the privacy behind his slightly fogged windows.

You repeatedly clench around nothing, tensing and convulsing when your third orgasm of the afternoon takes temporary ownership of your senses and makes you squirt uncontrollably all over your husband's lap. He swallows each of your high-pitched cries the faster abrupt streams of your pleasure spurt from your pussy to make a mess wherever it reaches, fueling your captivated spouse with infatuation and unaltered lust.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your lips, continuing that consistent momentum in between your thighs to drag out your high until you fall limp with his soaked hand to thank for it.

He kisses your temple with reverence once you fall still in the comfortable silence, and you hum from the satisfaction still coursing through your thoroughly used body.

"I'm sorry." Your breath steadies after the time you took to catch it.

"Hm? Why are you apologizing?"

"Because," you chuckle wearily. "I just ruined your pants and I'm almost certain I made you late. You didn't even get to eat."

"I have an extra pair in my office, and I can eat later. There's no need to rush. The only thing I have waiting for me is some paperwork before the surgery I am to perform this evening."

He wipes you down carefully with a cloth he keeps handy in the storage space behind his seats.

"This is my first time being tardy in a very long time and it's only by a handful of minutes, so please don't feel bad."

He nuzzles his forehead against you, eyes shut in contentment.

"Besides, getting to watch you fall apart is always a rewarding sight I never want to miss."

Sylus

The last thing you should be doing is allowing your boyfriend to put you on your back while you're draped in a ridiculously expensive dress and him in an overtly pricey suit.

Because the event you're about to attend?

You'll be pulling up in front of the venue in the next ten minutes.

Maybe you shouldn't have told your daring arms dealer about the scene you read in one of your filthy romance books detailing a woman who was fucked out of her mind in the back of a limo similar to the luxurious one you're currently in.

But you couldn't help yourself! The scene was still vivid in your mind despite having read it over a week ago, so sliding into the interior of such an expensive vehicle for the first time sparked all the memories of those smutty words your eyes unashamedly raked over.

And truly, the last thing you anticipated after bringing it up was for Sylus to ask you with a cocky raised brow and a knowing smirk, "Do you wish to have the same experience, kitten?"

You would’ve been an idiot to play coy. But a serious part of you thought he was just teasing, that he wasn't about to actually fill you with his cock with only a partition separating you from the driver.

Oh, how naive you were.

Sylus was on you lightning fast after your shy head nod, cupping your jaw and kissing you ardently until you became putty in his hands. Slowly did you begin to fall backwards onto the wide leather seat and of course, he was following you down immediately after.

"Sy, what if we can't? We’re almost there," you push out breathlessly, feeling how he rolls your deep red gown up past your hips and pulls your lacey black panties to the side once he hikes your leg over the headrest.

With one knee bended between your legs, he looked down at you with promise.

"We can, sweetie," he purrs, letting spit fall to the index and middle fingers he raised to his lips before bringing them to your pussy. He does this to get you nice and wet to make up for the time he can't spend to prep you properly.

"It's our money you're wearing and driving in. We have all the time in the world to do as we please. Own that like I've told you to."

You press up against him at the same time that your mouth falls open from the pleasure of his saliva being pushed inside your tightness. The clink of his belt that he skillfully works to undo with his free hand, sounds whilst his other keeps a consistent pressure to your drooling cunt.

"Mmph.. F-Fuck Sylus, that feels so good..."

"I know. You've ruined the seat already.” You hiss when he brushes against your taut bundle of nerves. “Good. That means I'm doing this right."

He removes his hand from your core and deeply chuckles at your whines of protests. They die in your throat as you stare at him take the mix of fluids to his hard cock, rubbing down and over the flushed tip.

Sylus winks at your gawking when you flicker your gaze up to meet the steadfast fixation of his lustful rubies.

A dribble of precum leaks out after a few strokes and lands between your slit, making his balls tighten with a need to become a part of such an alluring union.

Just as he looms over you once more, ready to breach your responsive body, the small navigation system that you’ve been able to follow along with on your drive makes an announcement.

You will be arriving at your destination in four minutes.

You look up at him with a frown. "We won't make it, babe."

"You know how much I appreciate a challenge." His smirk is confident. "I think we can."

You gasp when he pulls you closer by your leg with an unsurprising amount of strength and throws it over his shoulder.

He doesn't waste any more time, lining himself up and grunting when your hot cunt swallows him as he sinks into you in one deep and fluid thrust.

"Kitten," he shudders from being buried to the hilt. "Savoring you just like this is something that takes priority over any useless gathering.”

Slowly he rocks into you and grins at your frantic head shaking side to side, reminding him that he can’t be so impulsive. He knows how important tonight is for his business, so unfortunately, he’ll have to make this quick.

There's no time for sweetness or worship, then. Not when he aims to have you full of his cum in time.

He grips your thigh and kisses your calf as he drills into you, watching the creamy ring you form at his base with honor because only he gets to make a perfect thing like you feel this good.

"Sy, baby... 'M gonna... Please don't stop, right there, right—"

"Don't tell me what you’re about to do. Be good and show me.”

Greedily, he palms your tits through the exorbitant material and the swipe of his thumb past your nipples has you crashing. For your passionate lover, the tension of your cunt squeezing and holding him tightly is all that’s necessary for his seed to spill into your womb.

"That's it, sweetie," he grunts. "Take what belongs to you."

Make a right turn at the next light and your destination will be on your left.

Your muddled stammering from the inability to talk right amuses Sylus in his tough decision to separate from you instead of basking in your post orgasm.

He takes his time to correct his attire but takes even more with you as the navigation pings with a cheerful, "Arrived!" and the limo comes to a complete pause.

You grin when he pulls your panties back over your cum filled pussy and leans down to press a kiss to the mound like it’s doing a good job of holding something valuable for safe keeping.

Once he puts your dress back into place, he holds his hand out to help you sit up and restores your rumpled hair as best as possible.

"You're proud of yourself, aren't you?"

"I am." He collects your purse as you work on some last minute adjustments to your appearance. The driver then opens the door and waits patiently for you two to exit.

"But when we get home,” he leans in, breath fanning against your ear. “I want to explore another one of your... fantasies. I'll have more time to fulfill it properly then. Do we have a deal?"

You place your own kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I'm holding you to it, Mr. Qin."

Caleb

This is the third time you and your fiancé have embarked on an impromptu date to the drive-in movie theater near your home and once again, you barely got halfway through the film before you were more than ready to bounce on his cock.

You didn't know what provoked the horniness that had Caleb caressing your thigh or you palming him through his pants, but it always got both of you going without fail.

Was it the atmosphere? Perhaps the fact that this was very taboo (illegal) or the thrill and slight fear you felt about potentially getting caught?

Likely all of the above.

Whatever it is, it had your hand beneath the waistband of your man's pants and wrapped around his thick length while the romcom being displayed for all the patrons attending became irrelevant background noise.

"Fuck, pips..." he groaned as his hips bucked slightly to match your languid strokes, tone winded and unfairly sexy. "Never fails, huh?"

You watched him with an intense love the more you're serenaded by the breathy whimpers slipping past his lips when you run your thumb over his seeping slit.

"You can't be as loud as you were last time," you whisper. "Almost got us caught, doofus."

"I don't knowww. Your pussy was the wettest I've ever felt it when you thought someone caught on to what we were doing."

His teasing chuckle is cut off by a sharp intake of breath when you apply more pressure around his base.

"I'm serious, Caleb."

"And so am I." He looks at you with hooded eyes. "Sit on my dick before I become a problem you swear you don’t want, yeah?"

More heat rushes between your legs and the throbbing that was already there is now impossible to leave neglected.

This was routine for you by now. So much so that you started wearing skirts and dresses so he had easy access when you started getting busy in the backseat.

Your panties were slid down your legs while he freed himself just enough for you to slide him inside.

Bracing a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself as you climb into his lap, your knees anchor on both sides of his large body. You're held tight in a calloused grip while he starts kissing your jaw and sucking down the column of your throat.

"Pipsqueak, you're soaked," he smirks the lower he gets to your collarbone, feeling your slick cling to his thighs.

"You gonna fix it or keep talking?"

"I know how to multitask. You've seen and felt it first hand."

"Then put that skill to good use. Kiss me and give me your cock."

He bites his lip and smiles even more at your vulgar command, taking your words as a challenge before pulling you in for a heated kiss by the back of your head. Never faltering from the exchange, he takes a hold of his dick and guides himself to your lubricated hole while sloppily sucking on your lips.

Caleb consumes your cries when you eagerly welcome him home and his large hands take generous handfuls of your ass to bring you closer as if you were still too far away.

But where you're used to taking control when he has you like this, you're caught off guard when your husband-to-be immediately starts rutting into your pussy from below with no reservation. He's so far in your guts and so relentless that you choke on an attempt to speak like you can feel him reaching your throat.

The rapid slapping of meeting skin reverberates in the enclosed space just as much as your flesh ripples in his firm hold.

Trying not to come before you get a chance to really enjoy the dick he's giving you is a challenge you're doing your best not to fail. You recognize though, that it’s a defeat you’ll accept if the aftermath is just as invigorating as the deliciousness leading toward it.

"Babe... I can't." Your arms wrap around him even tighter than before as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, feeling the slight shaking of the car that only adds to your shared arousal.

"S-shit, 's too much, too much.."

"Nuh-uh." He guides your body to grind your clit against him to give you the small break you're silently asking for. "You know how to handle me. Act like it."

Your thighs burn, but it feels so fucking good and you’re far from wanting him to stop.

Each vein pulsing within your walls after every punishing stroke makes you woozy. You know it’s wiser to accept the way he conquers your body without trying to make it last.

"Caleb... Hah—I'm..."

"I know, I know, honey," he coos tiredly, his intensity only wavering the closer he gets. "I'm right here. Come on your husband so we can go home… I got you.”

His reassurance and the kiss of his tip to your deepest parts easily has you shattering.

The incessant squeezing of your cunt and rush of your sweet juices around his cock makes Caleb succumb to his own climax faster than he can brace himself.

Both of you muffle your sounds with a searing kiss, teeth clattering from the sheer force equally delivered.

There’s even a dull ache in your back that’s just as euphoric as it is sore from his rigorous treatment and you can’t wait to feel how bone deep it’ll get in the morning.

His cum paints your spasming walls with meticulous intent while he keeps pumping upwards to prolong the sensation for as long as he can.

"We have to stop coming to these things," you playfully comment when he finally rests.

"What?" he pouts mockingly. "You scared?"

"Oookay, don't be a dick."

"Just admit it. You love me."

"Sometimes," you shrug.

Suddenly he gets serious.

"Don't play like that." He kisses you delicately. "We're forever."

Creds to @/bbyg4rlhelps for the dividers!

#like he just can’t help it #the domesticity of it gets his airplane up idk #if there was a way to safely extract ur brain from your head and give it a tender little peck i so would #beautiful mind absolutely beautiful #my casual lunch #THE DIALOIYDGSYEEE MTHE DIALOGUE #this is getting reread nightly like wedding vows #⭑.ᐟ recs

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