Strawberry

Your phone alarm splits the quiet of your tiny apartment at exactly 5:00 a.m.—that shrill, insistent tone you set last night so you wouldn’t oversleep your first day. The sound cuts through the hazy fog of half-sleep, mingling with the warmth pressed against your back.

You blink groggily at the glowing screen on your nightstand, trying to silence it before it wakes up the whole world.

“God, turn that thing off…” a low, annoyed voice groans behind you.

You reach over to swipe it away, but before you can, his arm snakes around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest. You can smell the remnants of last night’s cologne, faint under the musk of sex and sweat from the night before.

“Babe,” you whisper, still half out of it, “I have to get up. It’s my first day—”

He doesn’t answer, just slides his hand lower, palm cupping your hip and guiding you back against him. His breath is hot against your ear, his morning erection pressing insistently at the back of your thighs.

“Five more minutes,” he murmurs, voice husky with sleep. “C’mon, you can’t leave me like this.”

Your heart stutters—because you want to stay, because it’s so easy to give in to him. You’ve been with him almost a year now, and these early-morning hookups have become a routine. He always wants you when you’re too sleepy to protest, when your defenses are down.

Still, you sigh and roll onto your back, meeting his lazy grin in the dim light creeping through the blinds. He leans down to kiss you, deep and unhurried, and despite your better judgment, you let him.

“Just quick,” you mumble against his lips, already knowing it won’t be.

His hand slips under your oversized sleep shirt, fingers tracing the curve of your waist, the softness of your stomach, before sliding lower. You gasp softly, arching into his touch as he pushes your legs apart, settling between them.

You’re warm and pliant under him, your body responding even as your brain screams you’re going to be late. Every time he moves, he mutters things—half praise, half possession—like, “God, you feel so good in the mornings,” and “You’re mine, you know that?”

By the time it’s over, the alarm on your phone is going off again.

You push him away with a breathless laugh, shoving at his shoulder when he tries to hold you there. “No—seriously. I have to get ready. If I’m late on my first day, they’ll kill me.”

He groans dramatically, flopping back against the pillow. “You worry too much. It’s just… whatever it is you’re doing now.”

Your jaw tightens at the dismissive tone, but you don’t argue. Instead, you swing your legs out of bed, feeling his eyes on you as you grab your uniform neatly folded on the chair.

The navy EMT shirt feels stiff as you pull it over your head, tucking it into the matching cargo pants. You move quickly through your routine—deodorant, brushing your teeth, tying your hair back into a ponytail. You glance at your reflection in the mirror. The uniform clings to your curves, the belt cinching your waist. You look… young. Nervous.

From the bed, he whistles low. “Damn, that’s kinda hot.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll see you tonight,” you say, grabbing your bag.

“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, already reaching for his phone. No good luck, no be safe.

You swallow the irritation, sling your bag over your shoulder, and head out the door.

The early morning air hits you sharp and cold as you walk to your car. Your stomach twists with a mix of nerves and excitement.

By the time you pull into the firehouse parking lot, the sun is barely rising. The building looms ahead, busy with movement—firefighters already in gear, trucks glinting under the streetlights.

You take a deep breath, step out, and walk toward the station, ready—or at least pretending to be.

Inside, you spot her immediately.

Sevika.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with a presence that fills the room even when she’s not speaking. Her dark hair is pulled back, and the sleeves of her uniform are rolled up to reveal strong, scarred forearms. She’s leaning against the truck, talking to another firefighter, but when her eyes land on you, they narrow just slightly.

The look says everything: rookie.

Your heart pounds. This day is about to be hell.

You step into the station’s main bay, the smell of diesel and disinfectant mingling in the air. The place is alive—voices calling back and forth, boots thudding against concrete, the clang of tools being checked and rechecked. You feel small in the middle of it, clutching the strap of your bag like it’s a lifeline.

A bubbly voice cuts through the noise. “You must be the newbie!”

You turn and see her. She’s about your height, maybe a little shorter, with an EMT uniform that somehow manages to look relaxed on her. But the first thing you notice—the thing that’s impossible not to notice—is her hair. Bright, electric blue, pulled into messy twin braids that swing when she walks. It looks like something out of a comic book.

You blink. “Uh… yeah. That’s me.”

She grins, all teeth and mischief, and sticks out her hand. “Jinx. I’m your mentor, lucky you.”

You shake her hand, still trying to process the blue hair. “Is that… uh, is that even allowed?”

“What, this?” She tugs on a braid, feigning innocence. “Totally natural. Grew up like this. Came out of the womb and the doctors were like, ‘Whoa, she’s glowing.’”

You laugh despite yourself, tension easing just a bit.

She winks. “Relax, rookie. They don’t care what color your hair is as long as you don’t screw up. And trust me, with me showing you the ropes, you’ll only screw up, like… half the time.”

Your brows lift. “That’s supposed to be reassuring?”

“Of course. Half is better than all, right?”

You find yourself smiling again. There’s something easy about her energy—like she’s been doing this forever, like nothing phases her. She leads you around the station, pointing out where everything is: the supply shelves, the med kits, the break room where a pot of coffee looks like it’s been there since last week. She chats the whole time, tossing in random stories about past calls, ridiculous coworkers, and growing up as Vander’s daughter.

“Wait—the Vander?” you ask as she punches a code into the supply cabinet.

“Yep, Chief Vander. The one and only. He’s a big softie though, don’t let the badge fool you.” She smirks, clearly used to people’s reactions. “Kinda makes me EMT royalty, I guess. But don’t worry, I’m not a snob about it.”

You shake your head, amused. “This is so weird. You’re like… famous.”

“Nah,” she says with a shrug. “I just like helping people. And driving fast. And scaring rookies when they least expect it.”

Your stomach twists again, that nervous flutter reminding you this isn’t just a tour—your first call could come at any second. You glance toward the trucks where Sevika is still talking with another firefighter. She hasn’t looked at you again, but you can feel her presence, heavy like a storm cloud.

Jinx notices where your eyes go and follows your gaze. “Ah, Sevika,” she says, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. “Don’t let her scare you too much. She’s… intense. Hates rookies. But she’s the best firefighter we’ve got, hands down.”

“I kinda got that impression,” you mumble.

Jinx claps you on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, stick with me and you’ll survive. Maybe.”

Before you can reply, the station alarm blares to life, loud enough to rattle your teeth. Red lights flash, voices rise, and suddenly everything is moving—firefighters rushing to the trucks, EMTs grabbing gear.

Jinx’s grin sharpens into focus. “That’s us, rookie. First call. Let’s go!”

Your heart slams against your ribs as you follow her at a run, adrenaline kicking in. This is it. No more practice. No more nerves.

Time to prove yourself.

Jinx tosses you a pair of gloves as you both sprint toward the ambulance. “Get in, rookie! Back seat’s yours for now—watch and learn.”

You barely have time to process as you climb in, strapping yourself into the jump seat while she slides effortlessly behind the wheel. The siren wails to life, slicing through the dawn. You grip the edge of the seat, knuckles white, as the ambulance tears out of the bay and onto the road.

“Car crash,” Jinx yells over the sound of the sirens. “Single vehicle. Teen driver, apparently. PD’s already on scene.”

Your stomach drops. A crash? Already? You’ve trained for this, but the thought of a real patient—someone hurt, scared—makes your pulse race.

Jinx glances at you in the rearview mirror, smirking. “Don’t puke. First rule of the job.”

“I’m not—” you start, but you’re cut off as she takes a sharp turn that nearly sends you sliding.

Minutes blur by, siren screaming, lights flashing. Finally, the scene comes into view: flashing blue and red lights, a crumpled sedan half up on the curb, steam rising from its hood. Police cars block off the road, and you spot Chief Vander himself, talking to an officer. Even from here, you can see his broad frame, hands gesturing as he directs the scene.

Jinx parks with practiced precision, slamming the vehicle into park. “Alright, rookie. Stay close, do what I say, and don’t freeze up. Got it?”

You nod quickly, your throat tight.

She throws open the doors and you follow her out into the chaos. The air smells of burnt rubber and gasoline. People are shouting, radios crackling. The teenager—maybe seventeen—is sitting on the curb, knees pulled to their chest, face streaked with tears. Their hands tremble as they clutch at a scraped knee.

You feel a pang in your chest. They’re just a kid.

Jinx kneels beside them immediately, her voice soft and soothing. “Hey, sweetheart. I’m Jinx, and this is my partner. We’re here to help you out, okay? Can you tell me your name?”

You crouch nearby, pulling out the trauma kit, hands shaking slightly as you unzip it. The kid sniffles and tells her their name, voice cracking.

While Jinx checks for obvious injuries, you hand her supplies—gauze, antiseptic wipes, whatever she asks for. You focus hard on the motions, trying to ignore the way your nerves are buzzing under your skin.

“You’re doing fine,” Jinx murmurs to the patient as she cleans the scrape. “Lucky escape, huh? Car’s banged up, but you’re tougher than you look.”

The kid gives a weak laugh, and you can’t help but smile faintly.

Behind you, there’s a loud voice: Sevika’s. She’s talking to another firefighter near the car, her tone clipped and commanding. Something about the engine, the risk of a fuel leak. You glance over just in time to see her looking in your direction, eyes narrowing. Like she’s already judging every move you make.

You straighten your shoulders and focus back on the patient. You’re not giving her a reason to call you out.

Jinx finishes patching the scrape, talking the kid through every step. “You feeling dizzy at all? Head hurt?”

The teenager shakes their head. “Just… scared.”

“Yeah, that’s normal,” Jinx says gently. “You’re okay. We’re gonna check you out in the rig, just to be safe.”

Together, you help the kid up and walk them toward the ambulance. They cling to you more than Jinx, and you feel a fierce protectiveness swell in your chest. You get them settled inside, wrapping a blanket around their shoulders as Jinx checks vitals.

For a moment, everything feels calm. Manageable.

Then it happens.

A loud pop cuts through the air, followed by a burst of heat. The car—still smoking—erupts with a small explosion, the hood flying up and flames licking the air. The shockwave knocks you backward, the kid tumbling off the bench as the ambulance rocks from the blast.

You hit the floor hard, ears ringing. The world spins—screams, shouts, someone yelling for water, for backup. The smell of burning metal chokes your lungs.

Strong hands grab you, hauling you upright. You blink up into Sevika’s face—grim, sharp, eyes blazing with anger.

“What the hell were you doing so close to the damn car?” she snarls.

You’re too stunned to answer, chest heaving, adrenaline flooding you.

She shakes her head, jaw tight. “Rookie mistake. You stay where you’re told, or next time you’ll be on a stretcher instead of saving someone.”

The words cut deep, but there’s no time to argue. She shoves you toward the ambulance, barking at Jinx to keep you inside until the scene’s secure.

You sit there trembling, clutching the edge of the bench as the kid clings to your arm. Outside, Sevika moves through the chaos like she owns it, commanding everyone with an iron voice.

You can’t tell if you’re more shaken by the explosion… or by the way she looked at you, like you were both a liability and someone she wasn’t willing to lose.

The ride back to the station is quiet at first, the hum of the engine and the occasional rattle from equipment filling the silence. You’re sitting in the back, arms crossed tightly over your chest, staring at the floor but not really seeing it. Every bump in the road seems to jolt the frustration in your body higher and higher.

Your jaw aches from clenching it. You can still hear Sevika’s voice barking at you, that sharp tone cutting through everything else. Rookie mistake. Stay where you’re told. The words echo in your head like an unwanted mantra.

You know she was right—part of you knows that—but the way she said it, like you were some idiot who didn’t belong there? That stings. You’re new, yeah, but you’re not helpless. You trained for this. You want to do this.

You feel your face twisting with every bitter thought—your nose scrunching, your lips pressing together, your brows furrowed like they’re permanently stuck that way.

From the driver’s seat, Jinx glances up at the rearview mirror. Her bright blue braids sway as she leans back slightly, eyeing you. “You uh… doing okay back there?” she asks, her tone light but curious.

You snap your head up, caught. “I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

The words come out too sharp, too defensive. Definitely not fine.

Jinx raises an eyebrow, smirking just a little as her eyes meet yours in the mirror. “Because your face says otherwise. It’s all scrunched up, and your eyebrows? They’re like, super furrowed. You look like you’re plotting someone’s death back there.”

You blink at her, opening your mouth to deny it, but the dam bursts.

“I just—ugh! She’s so—” You throw your hands up, words spilling out faster than you can stop them. “Sevika is the biggest bitch I have ever met in my life. She didn’t even know me, and she’s already on my ass like I’m some useless kid who can’t tie my own shoes. All I did was do my job, and then the car exploded and suddenly it’s my fault? Like what was I supposed to do, predict it with psychic powers?!”

Jinx’s shoulders shake as she tries not to laugh. “Oh boy, here we go…”

You lean forward, gripping the edge of the seat. “She talks to me like I’m an idiot, and she’s so… so condescending. Like, yeah, okay, I’m new, but she doesn’t have to treat me like garbage. And the way she looks at me—god, it’s like she’s just waiting for me to screw up so she can rip me apart. Who even likes her?!”

“She’s not so bad,” Jinx says between chuckles. “You just gotta… get used to her style.”

“Style?” you repeat, incredulous. “That wasn’t style, that was straight-up bullying.”

Jinx glances back at you briefly, grinning. “Look, Sevika’s rough around the edges, but she knows her stuff. And, believe it or not, she actually cares. She wouldn’t yell if she didn’t.”

You scoff. “Oh, so I’m supposed to take her screaming as a sign of affection? Great.”

“Exactly,” Jinx says cheerfully, eyes back on the road.

You groan and flop back against the seat, arms crossed even tighter. The adrenaline from the call is still buzzing in your veins, mixing with your irritation until you’re practically vibrating.

Jinx catches your expression again in the mirror, her grin widening. “You know, the more you complain, the more I think you’re secretly obsessed with her.”

Your head snaps up. “What?!”

“I’m just saying,” she teases, “you’ve been talking about her this whole ride. That’s dedication.”

You glare, cheeks heating. “I am not obsessed. I just—she—ugh! Forget it.”

Jinx laughs, loud and unbothered, and the sound fills the cab. “Don’t worry, rookie. Everyone hates her at first. It’s like… a rite of passage. Survive Sevika, and you can survive anything.”

You sink back into your seat, muttering under your breath. We’ll see about that.

Outside, the station comes into view again, the rising sun casting everything in gold. Your heart is still pounding, but somewhere under the anger, there’s a tiny spark of something else—something you can’t quite name.

You barely have time to grab a drink of water before the alarm blares again, shrill and demanding. Your head snaps up, and Jinx is already tossing you a pair of gloves with that mischievous grin like she’s been waiting for this.

“Another one, rookie,” she says, hopping into the driver’s seat. “Ready for round two?”

You groan under your breath, but your pulse spikes with adrenaline. “Do I even have a choice?”

“Not a damn one,” she chirps. “Buckle up.”

The sirens scream to life once again as you’re hurled back into the chaos, lights strobing against your vision. Jinx glances at the tablet mounted to the dashboard. “Fall victim, female, mid-thirties. Dispatch said she fell down, not responding. No further details.”

Your stomach knots. This one’s worse than a scared teenager with a scraped knee. You grab onto the seat as Jinx swerves through traffic with terrifying confidence, every corner sharper than the last.

By the time you screech up to the address—a small, rundown apartment building—you’re already unbuckling. Sevika’s truck pulls up just behind, the woman herself stepping out like some force of nature, towering and unbothered even in the rising heat of the day. She glances at you once, her eyes cutting sharp, before striding toward the building.

You and Jinx race up the narrow stairwell, gear in hand. The door to the unit is locked. Jinx knocks, loud and clear.

“EMS! Open the door!”

No response. Just the distant hum of something electrical and the pounding of your own heart in your ears.

Sevika takes one step forward, planting herself in front of the door. “Move,” she growls. You and Jinx step back instinctively. She raises one boot, braces, and with a single brutal kick, the door splinters inward, crashing against the wall with a deafening crack.

You swallow hard. Okay… why is that hot?

You shake the thought away violently, covering it up with a scowl. Of course it’s not hot. She’s just—ugh—so dramatic.

Jinx smirks, like she knows exactly what’s running through your head, but doesn’t say a word.

“Go!” Sevika barks, waving you forward.

You and Jinx rush inside first, the air stale and smelling faintly of dust. You spot the woman almost immediately—mid-thirties, sprawled on the kitchen floor, motionless.

Jinx drops to her knees, her demeanor snapping from playful to serious in a heartbeat. She checks the wrist, fingers pressed against the artery. Nothing. Then the neck. Her expression doesn’t change, but her voice sharpens. “Flat. No pulse.”

Your heart stutters.

Jinx looks up at you, eyes fierce. “Rookie, compressions. Now.”

Panic surges through you. “I—I—”

“Now!” she snaps, louder this time.

Your training kicks in, pushing the fear aside. You kneel beside the woman, placing your hands where you practiced a hundred times—heel of your palm on her sternum, fingers interlocked. You line up, arms straight, and push.

One, two, three—your body moves on autopilot, muscles burning as you count in your head. You focus on the rhythm, on the way her chest rises and falls under your hands. There’s no room for hesitation now.

Sevika kneels nearby, watching like a hawk. You can feel her eyes on you, that heavy, assessing stare. You’d think it would make you stumble, but instead, it fuels you. You press harder, faster, sweat dripping down your temple as you fight for the woman’s life.

Minutes stretch like hours. Your arms ache, but you don’t stop. You don’t even notice Sevika’s expression shift—from that usual cold scrutiny to something else. Something almost… impressed.

“Keep going,” Jinx says, checking for signs of life between compressions. “You’re doing perfect, rookie.”

Perfect. The word blurs in your head, but it keeps you moving. You refuse to let go.

Then, suddenly, the woman jerks, a faint gasp escaping her lips. Her chest rises with a shaky breath. You freeze for half a second, heart pounding, before Jinx grins.

“She’s breathing. We got her.”

Relief crashes through you like a wave. You fall back on your heels, panting, arms trembling from the effort. You can barely process the EMT crew that rushes in to assist, attaching monitors and oxygen, as you sit there stunned, staring at the woman you just brought back.

Behind you, Sevika’s voice cuts through the noise, low but clear. “Not bad, rookie.”

You turn, blinking at her. There’s no sarcasm in her tone this time, no bite. Just… something grudgingly genuine.

Your lips part to say something, but the words don’t come.

Sevika stands, towering over the chaos, and turns away before you can find your voice. “Wrap it up,” she orders the others.

You glance at Jinx, who gives you a proud nod. “Told you you’d be fine.”

Your chest still heaves, but for the first time since the morning, you feel something else—something fierce and steady.

You saved someone’s life. And Sevika noticed.

The rest of the day blurs into a dizzying montage of chaos, adrenaline, and exhaustion.

You and Jinx answer a handful of calls—each one stranger or more serious than the last. There’s an elderly man who insists he’s dying, only for you to discover it’s just severe heartburn. A toddler with a Lego lodged firmly up his nose. A young woman who’d fainted at the sight of her own blood from a paper cut.

Then there’s the bad one: a motorcycle crash, the rider pinned under his bike, screaming in pain as you and Jinx work quickly to stabilize him while firefighters—Sevika front and center—lift the wreckage away. You swear you feel her eyes on you every time you move, every time you make a decision. She doesn’t say a word, but that silent judgment presses heavy on your back.

By the time your shift winds down, you’re sore, sweat-dampened, and running on fumes. The station is quieter now, the chaos replaced with a drowsy hum as people grab bits of rest where they can. A few are sprawled on couches, boots still on, others half-asleep in their bunks. The smell of coffee lingers in the air.

You head for the lockers, craving the feel of your own bed and maybe a hot shower to scrub away the grime of the day. The hall is dim, shadows stretching long under the flickering lights. You reach your locker, spinning the combination with practiced ease, and pull out your crossbody bag.

You’re just slinging it over your shoulder when a shadow falls across you.

“Not bad, rookie.”

The voice is low, rough, unmistakable.

You turn and there she is—Sevika—leaning against the opposite row of lockers like she owns the space. Arms crossed, expression unreadable, her gaze sliding over you with something sharp and dangerous. The room is empty except for the two of you; everyone else is out cold or on duty.

Your heart skips, but you mask it with a glare. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”

A slow smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. “Do you always make it this easy?”

You roll your eyes and step to the side, trying to brush past her, but she moves faster than you expect. Her arm shoots out, blocking your path, and then she’s crowding you back until your spine hits the cold metal of the locker behind you.

You inhale sharply, staring up at her. The height difference is overwhelming, her broad frame caging you in effortlessly.

Your expression hardens into a silent challenge. Are you serious right now?

Sevika chuckles under her breath, leaning down just enough that you can feel the heat radiating off her. “Relax, rookie. You look like you’re ready to bite.”

“Maybe I am,” you shoot back, voice low.

That earns you another smirk, and her gaze drops briefly to your lips before climbing back up to meet your eyes. “Feisty. I like that.”

You laugh, biting the inside of your cheek to stop the nervous flutter building in your chest. “I have a boyfriend,” you say, the words laced with just enough defiance to make it clear you’re not afraid of her.

You don’t push her away though. You’re still pressed to the locker, and the smirk on your face betrays you.

Sevika tilts her head, her voice dropping to a husky whisper as she leans closer to your ear. “Something tells me he doesn’t treat you as well as a woman can.”

The words send heat rushing straight to your cheeks. You can’t stop the flush that blooms across your face, or the way your breath catches when her scent—smoke and leather—fills your senses.

You feel her hand then, slow and deliberate, sliding up the outside of your thigh. Your body goes rigid, but not with fear—with anticipation. She pauses halfway, scanning your face, searching for any sign of discomfort.

You meet her gaze, your heartbeat pounding so hard you’re sure she can feel it through the air between you. Instead of pushing her away, your hand comes up to grip her bicep, fingers curling around the firm muscle there.

That’s all the permission she needs.

Her hand ventures higher, fingers brushing the curve of your ass, the touch teasing and testing. She’s still watching you, her eyes sharp and intent, ready to pull back if you so much as flinch. But you don’t. You just hold on tighter, your breath quickening.

The tension between you coils tighter, electric. Neither of you moves for a long moment, the silence filled with the thrum of your pulse in your ears.

Then she closes the gap.

The first kiss is rough, almost punishing—heat and dominance wrapped in a single motion. Her mouth claims yours like it’s inevitable, like she’s been waiting for this moment as much as you have. You gasp against her lips, and she takes advantage, deepening the kiss until you’re dizzy, your back pressed hard into the lockers.

You melt into it, fingers curling into the fabric of her shirt, pulling her closer even as your mind screams this is wrong.

But God, it feels so right.

The kiss turns passionate, desperate, all the tension from the day burning between you. Her hand stays firm on you, keeping you grounded, while the other braces against the locker by your head. Every move, every touch is controlled—she’s testing the limits, but you’re not stopping her. You’re kissing her back with everything you have, losing yourself in the heat of it.

When she finally pulls back, just barely, her breath is hot against your lips.

“You gonna tell me to stop, rookie?” she murmurs, voice rough.

You can only shake your head, breathless, eyes wide.

Sevika smirks, the kind of smirk that promises this is only the beginning.

The sound of your phone ringing shatters the heated silence between you. It’s shrill, almost mocking, cutting straight through the haze of Sevika’s kiss still lingering on your lips. You flinch, eyes darting to the screen, and your stomach sinks when you see the name flashing there.

Your boyfriend.

Your brows knit together as you hesitate, the phone vibrating insistently in your hand. For a moment, you think about letting it go to voicemail, but you know that’ll only raise questions. With a shaky breath, you swipe to answer, turning your back to Sevika as you lift the phone to your ear.

“Hey, baby,” you say, voice soft and breathless.

You wince the second the words leave your mouth—you sound guilty, like you’ve just been caught doing something you shouldn’t. Which, technically, you have. You cross one arm over your stomach, gripping your side like you can hold yourself together.

On the other end, his voice is sharp, suspicious. “Why are you so late? And why do you sound out of breath?”

You glance at the floor, refusing to look at Sevika. The taste of her kiss is still on your tongue, your lips swollen. You wipe at the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, smearing away the faint trace of spit.

“I, um…” Your voice stutters, and you clear your throat quickly. “I ran a few miles on the treadmill after my shift. Thought I’d… burn off some stress.”

It’s a weak lie, but it’s the first thing that comes to mind. You start picking at your nails with your free hand, anything to avoid thinking about how close Sevika still is behind you.

He sighs through the line, the sound grating. “You’re going to wear yourself out doing that crap after a long shift. Just hurry home, alright? I’m waiting.”

You hum, low and noncommittal. “Yeah… okay. I’ll be there soon.”

The call ends with a click, leaving the room unbearably quiet again.

You lower the phone slowly, staring at it for a second longer than necessary. Your chest rises and falls in uneven breaths.

Finally, you risk a glance over your shoulder.

Sevika is standing a few feet away now, her back partially turned to you as if she’s giving you space. But when you shift your gaze higher, you catch her in the act—she’s staring at you from the corner of her eye, face composed, unreadable.

Her arms are crossed over her chest, and there’s something in her stance that’s almost… restrained. Like she’s holding herself back.

You swallow hard, tucking your phone into your bag.

The silence stretches, heavy and thick.

Then, without saying a word, Sevika pushes off the locker and walks toward the door. She doesn’t touch you this time, doesn’t tease. She just stops for the briefest moment beside you, close enough that her presence makes your skin prickle.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low, barely above a whisper. “See you next shift, rookie.”

And then she’s gone, leaving you standing there against the cold metal, heart pounding, trying to process the storm she left behind.

The drive home is a blur of headlights and quiet streets. You grip the steering wheel so tight your knuckles ache, replaying everything in your head—the kiss, the way Sevika’s hands felt on you, the heat of her breath against your ear. The way she walked away like nothing happened while you were left standing there, heart in pieces and on fire all at once.

By the time you pull into your apartment’s parking lot, the sun has long since set. You sit there in the dark car for a moment, forehead resting against the steering wheel, trying to breathe. The guilt crawls under your skin, hot and uncomfortable. You have a boyfriend. You’ve been with him for a year. You’re supposed to love him.

You drag yourself upstairs, the hallways blurring until you’re at the door. When you step inside, he’s there, lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He barely glances up when you walk in.

“Hey,” he says, voice flat.

“Hey,” you echo, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

He stretches, stands, and without asking how your day was, without noticing the turmoil written all over your face, he wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you toward the bedroom. His touch is familiar but lacking, his lips pressing against yours without any heat.

You let him. You let him kiss you, let him peel off your clothes, let him guide you to bed. You let him move against you while your body responds out of habit, but your mind is a million miles away.

Every time his hands slide over your skin, you’re thinking of someone else.

Sevika.

The rough grip of her fingers on your thigh. The way her mouth claimed yours like she meant it. The way she said those words—something tells me he doesn’t treat you as well as a woman can—and how they’ve been looping in your head ever since.

You close your eyes and bite your lip, trying not to imagine her instead of him. But the more you try to push her away, the clearer her image becomes—towering over you, teasing you, daring you to give in.

When it’s over, he rolls onto his side, scrolling through his phone again like nothing happened. You lie there staring at the ceiling, heart pounding with frustration and something darker you don’t want to name.

You’re angry—at Sevika for starting this, at yourself for letting it happen, for wanting it to happen. You should’ve shoved her away. You should’ve told her no. Instead, you’d let her touch you, let her kiss you, and then watched her walk out like she owned you.

The anger churns with something else, something messier—longing.

You don’t sleep. Not with his arm thrown lazily over your waist, not with his soft snores filling the room. You lie there wide-eyed in the dark, staring into nothing, every nerve in your body still wired and restless.

And no matter how many times you tell yourself to stop thinking about her, Sevika’s face is the only thing you see when you close your eyes.

The red glow of your alarm clock blinks 4:00 a.m. back at you. One more hour before you’re even supposed to be awake. You’ve been lying here all night, staring at the ceiling, staring at that damn clock, unable to rest with his arm draped heavy across your waist like a weight you can’t push off. The sheets smell like him. You hate that they don’t drown out the phantom smell of smoke and leather that’s been stuck in your head since last night.

Finally, you’ve had enough. You slip out from under his arm carefully, moving like a thief in the dark. The floor is cold under your bare feet as you pull on your navy EMT t-shirt and cargo pants. You grab your jacket—the one with the station’s logo stitched across the back—and shrug it over your shoulders. Your hair goes into a ponytail, messy with loose strands framing your face, but you don’t bother fixing it.

The drive to the station is quiet, the city still asleep. You roll through familiar streets under the dim streetlights, your hands gripping the wheel tighter than they need to.

When you step inside, the station has that in-between feeling: some people ending their shift, others just starting. A couple of firefighters nod at you as they pass, heading for the bunks. You murmur something back, clutching your gym bag closer. You’re not here for them.

You head straight for the locker room, throwing your bag into your locker with more force than necessary. The metal clang echoes in the otherwise empty hall. You peel off your jacket, folding it neatly despite the frustration boiling inside you, and shut the locker with a slam.

The private gym is at the far end of the station, and you’re grateful for it—no gawkers, no distractions. You push the door open expecting silence.

Instead, you hear the rhythmic clank of weights and the deep, controlled breaths of someone mid-set.

Your stomach drops when you see her.

Sevika.

She’s lying on the bench press, muscles straining as she pushes almost 400 pounds like it’s nothing. Her tank top clings to her skin, damp with sweat, every line of her arms and shoulders flexing with power. You freeze in the doorway, eyes locked on her, and for a moment you hate yourself for staring. But you can’t stop. The sheer strength, the way her jaw tightens with each rep—it’s intoxicating.

You must have been staring too long, because she notices. She racks the bar with a heavy clang and sits up, towel in hand. Her dark eyes lock onto yours, a smirk ghosting her lips.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asks, voice rough from exertion, low enough to make something twist in your gut.

The heat rushes to your cheeks, and you quickly furrow your brows to mask it. You’re still angry—at her, at yourself, at everything. “Why do you care?” you snap, brushing past her toward the treadmill without waiting for an answer.

You hear her chuckle under her breath, the sound sending an irritating shiver down your spine. You step onto the treadmill, hitting the button to start at a slow walk, eyes fixed straight ahead.

Sevika doesn’t go back to lifting. Instead, you hear the soft thud of her boots approaching. You keep your eyes forward, refusing to give her the satisfaction of looking.

She leans one hand on the console of the treadmill, her shadow falling over you. Her voice drops to that husky tone that makes your chest tighten. “Is this about last night?” she whispers, close enough that her breath grazes your ear.

You inhale sharply, biting down on the inside of your cheek. The blush creeps up your neck, no matter how hard you fight it. You turn your head just enough to glare at her, whisper-yelling through clenched teeth, “You cornered me and made out with me.”

Her smirk deepens, like your anger only amuses her.

“I’m a horrible person,” you continue, voice shaking as you look away, your feet still moving against the treadmill’s belt. “You made me a horrible person.”

Sevika leans back slightly, her eyes scanning over you like she’s reading every thought you’re too scared to say. “You didn’t seem to mind,” she murmurs, that flirtatious lilt curling around her words. “In fact, if I remember right… you kissed me back.”

You glare harder at the wall in front of you, jaw tight.

Satisfied, Sevika steps back, throwing the towel over her shoulder. “Relax, rookie. You’ll figure out what you want eventually.” She turns, her broad shoulders gleaming under the gym’s harsh lights as she strolls back to the bench press, picking up where she left off like she hadn’t just unraveled you with a few words.

Your heart is pounding so hard you can barely breathe. You slam your headphones on, shoving them into your ears as if they can block her out. With a huff, you crank the treadmill up to a run, the belt whirring faster and faster beneath your feet.

You keep your eyes locked on the numbers climbing on the display, but out of the corner of your vision, you see her watching between sets—cool, calm, like she has all the time in the world to wait you out.

By the time you finish your run and wipe the sweat from your forehead, the station has started to come alive. You head back to the locker room, swap your gym clothes for a fresh uniform, and tie your hair back again—this time neater, tighter. Your body hums with exhaustion, but it’s the kind that feels almost good, grounding.

When you step back into the bay, Jinx is just walking in through the main doors, balancing a latte in one hand and her phone in the other. Her blue braids sway as she glances at her watch.

“Look at you!!” she says with a wide grin. “Early!”

You shrug like it’s no big deal, but the corner of your mouth twitches upward despite yourself.

“If this becomes a habit,” she continues, stepping forward and looping an arm around your shoulders, “I would love to start getting coffee with you in the mornings. You, me, caffeine—dream team.”

You chuckle softly, the tension from earlier easing a little. “We’ll see if I survive today first.”

“Pfft, please. After yesterday? You’re a natural.” Jinx gives your shoulder a friendly squeeze before letting go, sipping her latte.

The two of you chat casually while heading to clock in—little things about the calls yesterday, a joke about how you’re probably already fitter than half the station after your early gym session, even a bit about her dad being weirdly overprotective. For a moment, everything feels almost normal.

But the peace doesn’t last.

The tones drop, loud and urgent, followed by the dispatcher’s voice: “Priority one. Male, late sixties. Chest pain. Responding unit…”

Jinx’s expression sharpens. “That’s us.”

You grab your gear, adrenaline spiking, and follow her into the ambulance. The other EMTs pile into a second rig, leaving the two of you to lead.

As Jinx speeds through traffic, lights flashing and sirens wailing, she tosses you a quick glance. “Chest pain calls are tricky. Could be nothing, could be a heart attack. Just stay calm, do your part, and we’ll handle it.”

You nod, gripping the side rail as the city blurs by.

When you arrive, the scene is tense. An older man, maybe late sixties, sits hunched in a chair by the window, clutching his chest with one hand. His breathing is shallow, his face pale. Standing near him is a woman in her late twenties, pacing, her voice sharp with panic.

“Dad, please, you need to let them take you in—”

“I’m fine!” he barks back, waving her off with his free hand. “I don’t need a damn hospital.”

You and Jinx exchange a quick look as you step inside, the other EMT team right behind you. The daughter’s relief when she sees you is immediate.

“Thank God you’re here,” she says, voice cracking. “He won’t listen to me.”

Jinx crouches slightly, her tone calm and professional. “Sir, I’m Jinx, this is my partner. We’re here to help you, but we need to check you out first.”

The man grumbles something under his breath, still clutching his chest, but doesn’t immediately refuse.

You step forward cautiously, pulling out the blood pressure cuff. “Um, sir, I’m going to check your vitals, okay?” you say gently, trying to keep your voice soothing.

He doesn’t answer, just stares at you with narrowed eyes as you start to wrap the cuff around his arm. The moment you begin pumping it, he jerks violently, swatting your hands away.

“Get your hands off me!” he yells, lurching to his feet.

You stumble back instinctively, heart pounding, as Jinx’s brows furrow. She steps forward, positioning herself between you and the patient. “Sir, please sit down,” she says firmly, holding her hands up in a calming gesture. “We need to check your vitals to help you.”

“Goddamnit, Dad, just let them check you!” the daughter yells, tears spilling over her cheeks.

The man opens his mouth to shout something back, but instead, he staggers, his face twisting in pain. His knees buckle, and before anyone can catch him, he collapses hard to the floor.

“Get the gurney! Now!” Jinx barks to the other team, dropping to her knees.

You’re already moving, adrenaline spiking like fire in your veins. One EMT checks his pulse—nothing. Oxygen monitor flashes low readings.

“Pulse is weak—no, wait—he’s flat,” Jinx says sharply.

You kneel on the other side of him, gloves snapping into place, heart hammering so hard you can barely breathe. Jinx meets your eyes. “CPR. Now.”

You don’t hesitate this time. You line your hands on his sternum and start compressions, counting under your breath. The daughter is crying hysterically, being pulled back by another EMT so she’s not in the way. You block it out, focus only on the rhythm—down, up, down, up.

You push harder, faster, arms burning. You can feel sweat sliding down your temple. Jinx is at the head, bagging him between your compressions, her movements fast and precise. The other team is setting up the gurney, prepping equipment, shouting vitals.

“Come on,” you mutter under your breath. “Come on, come back.”

The man’s chest rises and falls under your hands, but there’s no response. No spark. You push harder, ignoring the pain screaming in your muscles. You did this yesterday. You saved someone yesterday. You can do it again.

But minute after minute drags by, and nothing changes. The monitor stays flat. The man’s body doesn’t respond.

“Switch!” Jinx yells, and another EMT takes over compressions while you stumble back, chest heaving. You watch them work, silently begging for a miracle.

The daughter is sobbing in the corner, clinging to one of the EMTs for support.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the call is made. “Time of death, 08:27.”

The words hit like a physical blow. You stand frozen, your gloves slick with sweat, your chest hollow.

You failed.

You help lift the man’s body onto the gurney, the motions mechanical, your mind spinning. The ride to the hospital is silent except for the hiss of oxygen and the dull beep of equipment that doesn’t matter anymore.

You sit in the back, staring at the man’s still face, your hands trembling in your lap. Jinx glances at you from across the rig, her expression softer than usual, but she doesn’t say anything.

When you roll the gurney through the hospital doors and hand him off, you feel like something inside you stays behind with him.

Dead on arrival.

Your first failed save.

The ambulance backed into the bay just as the morning sun climbed higher, spilling pale light across the concrete floor. The station was awake now, the scent of burnt coffee and the hum of conversation hanging in the air—until you stepped out of the rig.

The second your boots hit the ground, the noise died. Every head turned. Conversations cut short. Firefighters and EMTs alike stared, their expressions a mix of pity, curiosity, and something else you didn’t want to name.

You felt their eyes on you like needles. You bit the inside of your cheek hard, your jaw clenching until it hurt. Without looking at any of them, you adjusted the strap of your crossbody bag and walked straight past, your shoulders stiff.

Nobody said a word. The silence was louder than any siren.

Behind you, Jinx slammed the ambulance door and turned on the crowd, her voice rising like a whip. “Seriously?!” she barked, glaring at the room. “You’re all just gonna stand there and stare? She did everything right! You think gawking is helping? Show some damn respect!”

No one answered. A few looked away, suddenly very interested in their boots.

You didn’t wait to hear more. You pushed through the side door, the cool morning air washing over you as you stepped outside. Your chest felt tight, too tight, like you couldn’t get a proper breath no matter how hard you tried. You kept walking—past the trucks, past the edge of the bay—until the station was a few feet behind you.

Only then did you stop.

With trembling hands, you dug into your pocket and pulled out your vape. You stared at it for a second, ashamed of how badly you needed it, then brought it to your lips. The first inhale burned your throat, but the rush of minty vapor calmed your shaking—if only slightly.

You exhaled hard, your leg kicking out against the gravel like a nervous tic. Another hit. Then another. But the tightness in your chest didn’t ease. It only swelled until your eyes stung.

You tried to blink it away, but the tears came anyway, spilling hot down your cheeks. You sank onto the curb, curling into yourself, your free hand gripping your knee. You pressed the back of your hand to your mouth to muffle the sobs, but it didn’t matter. The sound broke out of you, raw and ugly.

You couldn’t stop seeing his face—ashen and still as you pressed down on his chest again and again. Couldn’t stop hearing the monitor flatline, the daughter’s scream. You’d failed. Even though you’d done everything, even though Jinx said you were perfect, it didn’t matter. He died anyway.

Your shoulders shook as you cried, your vape slipping from your fingers into the gravel. You barely noticed the shadow stretching across you until it was too late.

Boots. Heavy ones.

You looked up through wet lashes and immediately wished you hadn’t.

Sevika.

Of all people, of course it had to be her. The last person you wanted to see you like this.

She stood there with her arms crossed, watching you with that maddeningly unreadable expression. When she finally spoke, her tone was low, laced with that teasing edge you hated. “Vaping, huh?”

Your cheeks burned hotter. You snatched the vape off the ground, shoving it into your pocket as if hiding it could erase the moment. You looked away, ashamed of your puffy, blotchy face.

“I’m not an addict,” you said softly, voice raw from crying. “I just… do it when I need to.”

Sevika didn’t reply right away. You heard the flick of a lighter, the faint crackle as she lit a cigar. The smell of it mingled with the crisp morning air. She took a slow drag, exhaling smoke in a lazy cloud, her eyes never leaving you.

You curled your arms tighter around your knees, voice trembling. “I can still see her face. The daughter. When they said the time of death…”

Your nose crinkled up as another sob tore through you, quieter this time but no less painful. You pressed your forehead against your arms, wishing you could disappear.

For a moment, there was only the faint hiss of her cigar and the distant hum of the station behind you. Then Sevika’s voice came—lower than you’d ever heard it, stripped of its usual bite.

“My first year,” she began, her eyes distant, “we got called to a house fire. Small place, flames were mostly under control by the time we got there. We thought everyone was out.”

You looked up at her, sniffling. She wasn’t looking at you—she was staring past you, like she was back there in that moment.

“Then we heard screaming. Back room.” She took a drag, exhaled slowly. “They wouldn’t let me back in. Said the structure was about to collapse. I fought them, but they held me back. I stood there while the roof caved in.”

Your chest tightened.

“It was a mother,” Sevika said, voice rougher now. “Her kid couldn’t have been older than thirteen.” Her jaw flexed, the memory visibly clawing at her. “I can still hear it sometimes. Smell the smoke. See the flames.”

You wiped at your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. “How do you… deal with that?”

Sevika finally looked down at you, her gaze sharp but softer than usual. “You don’t. Not at first. Hell, maybe not ever. You just… keep going. Because someone else is going to need you. And if you quit, who’s gonna be there for them?”

You nodded slowly, tears still clinging to your lashes.

She took one last drag from her cigar and dropped it to the gravel, crushing it under her boot. “You did good, rookie. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not even yourself.”

You sniffled again, and she started to turn away. But before she walked off completely, she glanced back with the faintest smirk.

“Next time, try crying somewhere less obvious”

Despite everything (only you..), a weak laugh escaped you.

You sat there for another minute, letting Sevika’s words settle into you like embers—burning, but strangely comforting. Eventually, you wiped the last of your tears on the sleeve of your jacket, pulled yourself together, and stood. Your legs still felt heavy, but you forced them to move. You weren’t going to let anyone see you break again.

By the time you walked back into the station, the stares were gone. Jinx caught your eye across the bay, her expression soft but not pitying, and gave you a little nod. You nodded back, shoulders squaring. You weren’t fine, not yet—but you were going to keep going.

You barely had time to breathe before the tones dropped again.

“Priority two. Residential area. Possible overdose, unconscious female, caller is a neighbor.”

Jinx shot you a quick glance as you both rushed to the ambulance. “You good for this one?”

You swallowed hard, but your voice came out steady. “Yeah. I’m good.”

She gave you a quick grin. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You hopped into the rig, gear clattering as you strapped in. The sirens wailed to life, slicing through the morning as Jinx tore out of the bay and into traffic. The city blurred by, the adrenaline rising in your veins like an old friend.

The address was a modest house in a quiet neighborhood. A worried-looking neighbor stood outside, waving frantically as you pulled up. “She’s inside! Bathroom, second door down the hall! I think she took something—she’s not waking up!”

Jinx thanked him briskly and grabbed the kit. You followed, heart pounding, every nerve on edge. Inside, the house smelled faintly of perfume and cleaning supplies.

You found her slumped on the bathroom floor, an empty pill bottle lying nearby. She was in her twenties, pale, lips tinged slightly blue.

“Airway’s clear,” Jinx said, kneeling beside her. “Pulse is slow but present. Breathing shallow.” She glanced at you. “Narcan, rookie.”

Your hands moved on instinct, grabbing the nasal spray from the kit. Kneeling beside the woman, you tilted her head back gently and administered the dose. You watched, holding your breath, as the seconds ticked by.

Jinx kept checking her vitals, her voice calm but firm. “Stay with us, sweetheart. You’re not going anywhere today.”

A faint cough rattled from the woman’s throat, followed by a weak groan. Relief rushed through you as her breathing picked up. She blinked, disoriented, tears welling in her eyes as she muttered something about not meaning to scare anyone.

“Hey,” you said softly, your hand brushing hers as you reassured her. “You’re okay. We’ve got you.”

Jinx glanced at you, a small smile flickering on her face. “Good work.”

Together, you and the other team got her onto a gurney, monitoring her vitals as you rolled her to the rig. The neighbor hovered at the door, wringing his hands, thanking you both repeatedly.

In the back of the ambulance, you sat beside the patient, holding her hand while Jinx drove. She drifted in and out of consciousness, whispering apologies you didn’t fully understand, but you stayed with her the whole way, telling her she was safe, that she wasn’t alone.

When you handed her over to the ER staff, she gave your hand one last squeeze. It was faint, but it was there.

The sun was higher now, warming your skin as you stepped back outside. You took a deep breath, the air tasting fresher than it had all morning.

Jinx leaned against the rig, stretching her arms over her head. “See? Not all calls end bad.”

You gave her a tired but genuine smile. “Yeah. I needed that.”

She bumped your shoulder with hers. “Told you, rookie. You’re built for this.”

As you drove back to the station, the knot in your chest loosened a little. The daughter’s face from the earlier call still haunted you—but now it was joined by the image of the young woman breathing again, holding your hand, alive.

And for the first time that day, you felt like maybe you were going to make it through.

The station was in its usual midday rhythm—people moving around with coffee mugs, boots scuffing against the floor, the smell of oil and smoke clinging to everything. Sevika had just finished signing off on some reports in her office and stepped out into the bay, cigar stub already between her fingers.

As she walked past the rigs, she caught the low murmur of conversation near the supply shelves. Two younger guys—a firefighter she didn’t know well and an EMT still practically fresh out of training—were leaning against the wall, talking just loud enough to be overheard.

“Second day,” the EMT said, voice tinged with something smug. “And she’s already lost a patient? That’s not exactly a promising start.”

The firefighter snorted under his breath. “I heard she froze up. Probably didn’t even know what she was doing.”

Sevika’s brow furrowed instantly, the sharpness in her eyes cutting through the smoke as she took a slow drag of her cigar. She paused, half-hidden behind the truck, listening despite herself.

The EMT continued, his tone careless. “I mean, how do you screw up CPR? The guy was alive when they got him. If Jinx wasn’t covering her ass, maybe—”

“Shut it,” the firefighter muttered nervously, glancing around. “You don’t know the whole story.”

But the EMT just shrugged. “All I’m saying is, some people aren’t cut out for this job. Better to find out now than later.”

Sevika exhaled smoke slowly, the words crawling under her skin. Why did it bother her so much? She didn’t even like rookies—hell, she’d made it clear she couldn’t stand them. But something about hearing them talk about you like that—when she’d seen you push through panic, when she’d seen the look on your face outside the station earlier—made her blood boil.

She shouldn’t care. She told herself that as she flicked the ash from her cigar. She shouldn’t care. And yet, her boots were already carrying her toward them.

The two of them didn’t notice her approach until her shadow fell over them.

Sevika stood there, towering, arms crossed over her chest, her expression carved from stone. The faint curl of smoke from her cigar made her look even more imposing.

The EMT’s voice faltered as he noticed her, the color draining from his face. The firefighter straightened immediately, his posture snapping to attention like he’d just been caught doing something illegal.

Sevika took one last drag before speaking, her voice low and rough, every word deliberate. “You two got something to say about how my EMTs handle themselves?”

The EMT stammered, “No, Chief, we were just—”

“Talking shit.” Sevika’s tone was like a knife, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You think you know what it’s like out there? You think it’s easy to lose someone on a call and keep your head straight?”

They both said nothing, frozen under her glare.

She stepped closer, close enough that they could smell the smoke on her breath. “Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna shut your mouths and go do your vehicle inspections. Now. Or I’ll have you both written up so fast you’ll wish you kept your gossip to yourselves.”

The EMT swallowed hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Chief.”

The firefighter muttered, “Yes, ma’am,” before grabbing the clipboard from the wall.

“Good.” Her tone was final, leaving no room for argument.

They scattered, practically running toward the rigs to avoid her wrath.

Sevika watched them go, exhaling another cloud of smoke, her jaw tight. She shouldn’t feel this angry. She shouldn’t care what they said about you. But as she flicked the end of her cigar into the trash and turned back toward her office.

The call sheet was odd from the start—six-year-old female, fever and nausea, jaundice noted by the caller. But the address was what made Jinx raise an eyebrow as she drove: a psychic shop downtown, the kind of place with neon palm-reading signs and crystals in the window.

You clutched your crossbody bag tightly as you followed Jinx up the narrow steps. The air smelled faintly of incense, thick and sweet. The door creaked open, and you stepped into what looked like someone’s living room converted into a shop—shelves lined with stones, herbs hanging from the ceiling, and a beaded curtain swaying gently in the back.

The parents were waiting—both in their mid-30s. The mother had a long flowy skirt and an armful of bracelets, her expression calm to the point of eerie. The father stood rigid beside her, arms crossed, his glare sharp.

Your attention went straight to the little girl on the couch. She was hunched over, clutching her stomach, her tiny face streaked with tears. Her skin had a sickly yellow tinge, her eyes glassy with fever. Every instinct in you screamed that this wasn’t something crystals could fix.

The EMTs immediately went to work, setting down equipment. You knelt beside the girl, your voice soft as you introduced yourself. “Hi, sweetie. I’m here to help you, okay?”

She whimpered but nodded faintly. You slipped a thermometer under her tongue, checked her pulse, then gently lifted one eyelid to check her eyes. The yellowing was worse there—your brows knitted tight.

Jinx, meanwhile, was questioning the parents, her tone professional but firm. “How long has she been like this? Any vomiting? Has she eaten anything unusual?”

The mother responded in a serene tone, “She’s been off for a few days. She’s just… cleansing. Her body is rejecting toxins.”

You glanced over your shoulder. “Does she have her vaccinations?” you asked, your voice tight as you kept your focus on the child. “It looks like hepatitis.”

Jinx’s eyes snapped to the parents.

“We don’t believe in vaccines,” the mother said, her voice almost proud, like it was a badge of honor.

Your stomach sank.

Jinx straightened, her usual easygoing demeanor gone. “We need to get her to the hospital. Now. This isn’t something you fix with home remedies.”

One of the EMTs wheeled in the gurney, ready to move the child.

But before they could get closer, the father stepped in front of them, blocking the way. His face was red with anger. “You aren’t taking her anywhere!” he barked. “We can heal her. She just needs crystals, her chakras are misaligned.”

Jinx stepped closer, her hand resting on her hip. “Sir, your daughter is very sick. She could be in liver failure. If we don’t take her, she could die.”

“She’s not going to die!” he yelled back. “You’re just trying to scare us so you can pump her full of chemicals.”

The little girl cried harder, clutching at your arm weakly. You stayed kneeling beside her, shielding her slightly with your body as you spoke gently. “Sweetheart, we’re going to take care of you, I promise.”

“Sir.” Jinx’s voice sharpened to a dangerous edge. “You are interfering with medical treatment. If you keep this up, we’ll have to involve law enforcement.”

“You think you can just threaten me in my own home?” he spat, stepping closer.

The tension thickened. The other EMTs exchanged nervous glances but stayed ready, their hands on the gurney.

You looked up, heart hammering. “Please,” you said softly, your voice cracking under the weight of the child trembling against you. “She’s so scared. She’s in pain. She needs help.”

The father’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move.

Jinx pulled out her radio, her expression unyielding. “Dispatch, this is Unit 14. We have a pediatric patient with suspected liver failure. Parents are refusing transport. Requesting immediate police assistance.”

The mother gasped. “You can’t call the police! You have no right!”

“The second your child’s life is in danger, we do,” Jinx shot back coldly.

Within minutes, the distant wail of sirens filled the street outside. The father’s bravado faltered as two officers entered, Chief Vander himself among them. His presence was commanding, calm but firm.

“What’s going on here?” Vander asked, eyes scanning the tense room.

“She’s fine!” the father shouted. “They’re trying to take her against our wishes!”

Vander’s gaze hardened. “Sir, if medical professionals say your child is in danger, you don’t get to argue. Step aside.”

The father looked ready to fight, but one officer moved closer, hand resting near his holster—not threatening, but enough to make the man think twice. His shoulders sagged, his fists clenching.

Jinx nodded to you. “Go.”

You scooped the little girl up gently, cradling her against your chest as you carried her to the gurney. She clung to you, her tiny fingers gripping your shirt. “You’re okay,” you whispered, brushing her damp hair back. “I’ve got you.”

The EMTs secured her quickly, and you climbed into the rig beside her. The parents shouted after you, their protests fading as the doors slammed shut.

Jinx climbed into the driver’s seat, her jaw set. “Hold on, rookie,” she called back as she flipped the sirens on. “We’re not losing this one.”

You sat beside the girl, monitoring her vitals, whispering soothing words as the ambulance tore through the streets. Her small hand stayed clutching yours the whole way to the hospital.

By the time you handed her off to the pediatric team, her fever had stabilized slightly with the oxygen and fluids you’d started. She looked up at you with weak, tearful eyes, and you smiled through the tightness in your chest.

This time, when you stepped back out into the morning sun, you didn’t feel hollow. You felt like you’d made a difference.

And that feeling? You held onto it tightly.

The locker room was empty except for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. You were moving slowly, the weight of the day settling into your bones as you stuffed your things into your crossbody bag. The last shift of the day always hit differently—exhaustion mixed with relief, but also that weird emptiness from knowing you’d be back here soon enough.

You pulled your EMT jacket from its hook, slinging it over your arm, and turned to leave—only to stop short.

Someone was leaning casually in the doorway.

It wasn’t Sevika.

For once, it was someone else—a tall woman with dark blue hair that fell in waves around her shoulders, the color catching in the dim light. She had an EMT jacket zipped up halfway, and she was standing with her hands stuffed into her pockets, watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

You raised an eyebrow, tilting your head slightly. “Hello?”

The woman blinked like she’d been caught staring, her eyes widening. Her cheeks flushed faintly as she straightened. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to stare, I just—” She rubbed the back of her neck awkwardly. “I heard about your patient this morning. I’m so sorry. That must’ve been rough.”

Your chest tightened at the memory, and you bit the inside of your cheek, glancing away. “Yeah,” you muttered, your voice soft. “It was.”

She took a step closer, her posture losing its initial awkwardness. “I’m Caitlyn,” she said, offering her hand.

You hesitated, glancing between her hand and her face. She had a small, nervous smile that didn’t quite hide the warmth in her eyes. You finally reached out, shaking her hand lightly.

“Y/N,” you said quietly.

Her smile widened, showing the faintest gap between her front teeth. “Sucks you’re just getting off,” Caitlyn said with a little laugh. “I clock in in twenty.”

You found yourself fighting a smile, even as you pulled your hand back.

“Hopefully,” she added, her tone softening, “we’ll get a shift together soon.”

There was something in the way she said it—hopeful, maybe even a little flirty. Before you could think too hard about it, Caitlyn gave you a small wave and turned, walking down the hall toward the bay with a confident stride.

You stood there for a moment, watching her go, before sucking in a deep breath and shaking your head.

Internally, your thoughts were spiraling. Why do so many sexy women work here? First Sevika, now her? What is this place?

You exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to your face, then grabbed your bag and headed out.

The sun was just beginning to dip low in the sky, casting everything in a warm orange glow. You stepped out into the evening air with a sigh, your boots scuffing against the pavement. The day had been long, messy, and full of emotions you didn’t quite know what to do with.

Still, as you walked away from the station, there was a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at your lips.

Your apartment was quiet when you got home, the kind of quiet that weighed on you after a long shift. You dropped your bag by the door and kicked off your boots, your body aching from the day’s calls. The smell of something reheated—probably leftovers—hung faintly in the air.

Your boyfriend was sprawled across the couch, eyes glued to his phone, barely glancing up when you walked in.

“Hey,” he said flatly.

“Hey,” you echoed, exhaustion dripping from your voice.

You didn’t expect comfort—you’d learned a long time ago not to. Instead, you went through the motions. A shower to scrub off the day, a change into soft shorts and a t-shirt, brushing your teeth with that same hollow routine. By the time you came out, he was already in the bedroom, phone tossed aside, waiting.

You barely had time to crawl under the sheets before his hands were on you. It wasn’t tender, wasn’t loving—it was just sex. Mechanical, like something he expected. You let him. You let him kiss you, touch you, move against you. Your body responded, but your mind? It was somewhere else entirely.

It was back at the station.

Back in that locker room, Sevika pinning you against the cold metal, her voice low and dangerous as she whispered things that made your knees weak. The way her hand gripped your thigh, the way her mouth claimed yours with heat that set your whole body on fire. You thought of her strength, the smell of smoke on her skin, the roughness of her voice when she called you rookie.

Every thrust from your boyfriend only made the contrast clearer. He wasn’t Sevika. He’d never be Sevika.

You bit your lip, not from pleasure but to keep your thoughts from spilling out, to keep your breathing steady. When he finished, it was quick, almost thoughtless. He rolled off you with a satisfied sigh, already reaching for his phone again.

You stared at the ceiling, your chest tight, the unbearable pit in your stomach growing heavier by the second. Something gnawed at you, something you couldn’t ignore.

When was your last period?

Your brows furrowed as you tried to count back. It should’ve been… last week? Or the week before? No. You were sure it was due a few days ago. Maybe more than a few.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No. No, no, no. There’s no way.

It’s just stress. That’s what you told yourself. Stress from the new job, the long shifts, the emotional calls. That’s all it was. Periods got weird under stress. Right?

But the thought burrowed deeper, making your stomach churn. You turned your head to the side, staring at your boyfriend. He was already half-asleep, breathing slow, oblivious to the storm building in your chest.

You looked back at the ceiling, eyes wide, fingers twisting in the sheets. The room felt smaller, the walls closing in.

A baby. The word echoed in your head, unwanted, terrifying. You pressed your hands to your stomach, as if you could will away the possibility.

No. It’s just stress.

You repeated it over and over, like a mantra, staring at the cracks in the ceiling as if they could give you an answer. But the pit in your stomach didn’t go away. It only grew.

ARRIVAL – SEVIKA x READER TENSION

You step into the villa, sunglasses on, body oiled and glowing. Your entrance is slow, intentional. You know every eye is on you, but only one pair holds your attention, Sevika, lounging on a daybed, cigar between her fingers, one hand slung low over her thick thigh. She sizes you up like she’s already imagining how you taste.

Sevika (voiceover confessional): “She walks in like she owns the place. Might be the only one here who could actually handle me.”

You pair up for the first night challenge: “Strip Flip” a dirty drinking game where clothes come off every time you lose a flip cup round.

By the third round, Sevika’s shirt is gone, and you're in nothing but a thin bikini top and bottoms. She’s behind you, hands guiding yours around the red solo cup, breath hot against your neck.

Sevika (in your ear): “Lose again, and I’ll take something else off for you.”

You "lose" on purpose.

NIGHT ONE – BEDROOMS ASSIGNED

Of course, Sevika picks your bed. She doesn't ask. She just tosses her leather jacket on your sheets and smirks when you raise a brow.

“You always move this fast?”

Sevika: “Only when I see something I need.”

The other islanders are pairing off, subtle moans and whispers echoing in the villa. But you and Sevika? You’re still circling each other. There’s tension, thick as the humidity, as you sit on the edge of the bed, her knee brushing yours.

Her hand slides up your thigh, firm, warm, confident. She cups your jaw, leans in..but stops. Lets you feel her breath on your lips. Lets the need build.

Sevika (low): “Tell me to stop if you want. But if you don’t-” Her fingers trail down to the waistband of your bottoms, teasing. “-you’re not sleeping tonight.”

You don’t stop her. _

HOST CAITLYN (voiceover): “Last night, tensions rose—among other things—when our mystery islander got cozy with Zaun’s baddest bitch. But tonight? It’s about to get messy.”

Cue dramatic slow-mo of Sevika licking salt off your collarbone.

POOL DECK CHALLENGE: BODY SHOTS

You’re lying on a sunbed, half drunk, half drenched, your bikini top barely clinging to your chest. A lineup of alcohol is set across the bar: tequila, whipped cream, lime slices, and of course, Mel's custom golden shot glasses.

Caitlyn’s voice rings out:

“Tonight’s challenge: BODY. SHOTS. One islander will lie down, and their partner has to take the shot... off any part of their body.”

Sevika volunteers first. Her voice low. Her stare locked on you. “C’mere.”

You walk over slowly, everyone watching, especially Vi, whose jaw flexes, and Mel, sipping champagne, eyes full of amusement.

You straddle Sevika on the lounge chair, letting your thighs frame her hips. She’s shirtless again. Covered in sweat and tattoos. She leans back, cocky, inviting, arms behind her head.

“I’m not gonna make it easy,” she says. And she doesn’t.

She places the shot glass between her breasts, adds a line of salt along her neck, and holds a lime wedge between her teeth.

“You want me to do all that?”

Sevika (grinning): “You scared?”

You lean in.

First, your tongue trails along her neck, licking the salt slowly. You feel her chest rise under you, her abs tensing beneath your thighs. Next, you pick up the shot glass with your mouth, tossing it back with no hands. Your lips graze her skin, intentional. Finally, you lean in for the lime, and Sevika catches your lower lip with her teeth when you pull away.

Sevika: “Wanna play games, sweetheart? I got time.”

Ekko (from the bar): “Yo. This is not PG.”

Jinx: “LET THEM FUCK!!”

LATER, SHARED BEDROOMS

That night, the tension snaps.

You and Sevika barely make it to the room before she’s slamming you against the wall, mouth hot on your neck, hands everywhere. The villa’s full of moans and giggles, but all you hear is her.

Her fingers slide beneath your bikini bottoms, dragging them down slow as she pins you to the door. Her lips trail down your throat, between your breasts, her voice vibrating against your skin,

“You’ve been teasing me all fuckin day.”

She sinks to her knees.

She spreads you with firm hands, pushing your thighs apart with a growl. You’re already wet, and she sees it.

Sevika: “Look at this pussy. Fuck. Already dripping for me.”

Her tongue meets you, long, deep, filthy strokes. She eats you like it’s the first real meal she’s had in years. Groaning into you, one hand gripping your thigh, the other teasing just above your clit, not quite touching—just to make you beg.

You: “Sevika-shit..please.”

Sevika (growling): “Say it. You want me to make you come?”

You: “Yes..fuck, yes!”

She wraps her lips around your clit and sucks. Hard. Rhythmic. Rough. Two thick fingers slide inside you at the same time, slow, stretching, perfect, overstimulating.

You come hard, trembling, mouth open in a silent scream, her name a broken cry on your lips.

She doesn’t stop. She keeps licking, keeps sucking, like she’s determined to leave you ruined and shaking.

You collapse back onto the bed, boneless, ruined.

Sevika climbs up, kisses you deep, tongue still tasting like you. and smirks.

Sevika: “Next time, I want you riding my thigh. In front of everyone.” _

Host Caitlyn stands with a champagne flute raised, looking flawless in a shimmering dress that hugs every curve.

CAITLYN: “Well, darlings, we came for love, lust, and drama. and you did not disappoint. Tonight, we celebrate the connections made... and the ones broken.”

She smirks, eyes flashing to Vi and Mel, who shoot daggers at each other.

Around the room:

Vi leans against the bar, nursing a whiskey, watching Sevika and you with a sharp smile that barely hides jealousy.

Mel clinks her glass, eyes glittering with mischief, whispering to Ekko about who’s got the wildest ride in the villa.

Jinx is half running around, handing out party favours that look suspiciously like explosives, cackling.

The other islanders laugh, flirt, some already pairing off for the night.

_

You stand close to Sevika, who’s draped over the arm of the couch, cigarette forgotten in her hand as her eyes darken when they land on you.

Sevika: “Last night on this island was full of noise, but you? You’re the only sound I want in my head,”

You grin, stepping closer until your thigh brushes hers. The space between you crackles electric.

Sevika pulls you down onto her lap, voice low and rough.

“Before we all scatter, before Vi starts eye fucking you with that cop glare, and Mel tries to steal you away...I’m taking what’s mine.”

Her hand slides under your dress, fingers exploring skin, rough and possessive. You bite your lip, heart pounding. Nobody here is paying you two any mind. you’re in your own world.

Her lips crash onto yours deep, demanding, tasting of smoke and tequila. The room blurs as her hands knead your ass, pulling you flush against her.

Vi’s voice, teasing but sharp, “Don’t get too comfortable, Sev. You’re not the only one with plans.”

“Maybe we should make some... plans of our own.” you mumble.

Sevika’s fingers grip your jaw, tilting your face up.

“Come on. Let’s show them why I’m the last one standing.”

They don’t have to know what happens next.

You slip away from the party noise with Sevika, disappearing into the villa’s dark corners. your bodies tangled, whispers turning into growls, clothes discarded like trophies.

The camera pans back to the party, laughter ringing, fireworks lighting the sky, and a final close-up on your intertwined hands, fingers locked tight.

Host Caitlyn (voiceover): “Love, lust, and chaos. Here at Love Island: Arcane Edition, some connections never end. Some flames only burn hotter in the dark.”

↪️ mmh omg, i know this fic is super MESSY!! sorry :( but thank u @sevikasrightboob for this idea, interesting name choice… i like it > love island sevika x reader 🫦🫦

i had to research on love island a little bit for this 😤