#no beta

You smiled and nodded as someone administered medication and it was obvious that you wanted to leave even though you were being as polite as possible. 

“I’ll check it out.” Dana patted Robby’s shoulder and moved towards the room you were in. 

Meanwhile, you were sitting and hoping that someone would come with the good news that you were getting transferred. 

“Hey- I’m Dana.” She entered, closing the door behind her and drawing the curtain. “You got a minute to talk?” 

You smiled and sat up a little, then winced in pain. “Sorry- Just really sore. Am I getting the transfer?” 

“Uh- Not yet.” She looked over her shoulder then pulled a stool to sit next to the bedside. “Is there a reason you don’t wanna be here? At this hospital?” 

“Yeah, I usually go to Westboro or Sacred Heart. I was just near here so they brought me here and I wasn’t very lucid to advocate for myself.” You gave a nervous laugh. 

“And there’s no other reason?” She asked, eyeing you carefully. 

“No, ma’am.” You swallowed but she noticed you stiffening up a little.

“Okay… okay. Is there someone we can call or-” She started but you shook your head.

“No! I mean- I- No. I’m fine. I just wanna get out of your hair-” You said immediately. 

“Okay.” She nodded, watching you fidget with your wedding ring. “You married?” She asked softly. 

“I- Yeah-” You smiled, looking at your hand. “Three years now.” 

“He’s a good guy?” She asked.

“He looks mean but he’s-” You pause then sigh deeply. “Are you here to ask if I’m being abused?”

“Dr Robby saw bruises that weren’t related to the crash. We have to do our duediligence.” She explained with a gentle smile. 

“I’m not- It’s not abuse-” You flushed deeply. “We’re just very passionate and he’s stronger and gets very-” You cleared your throat as you shied away from explaining that your husband was an animal in bed. 

“Robby called for an ortho consu-” Park entered and stared at you, saw Dana, then turned and walked away. 

“That was new.” Dana mumbled then looked at you. You laughed nervously, trying to not show anything. “So, I’m gonna ask again, can I call someone for you?” 

“I- My husband is my emergency contact but I don’t wanna bother him.” You said quietly. 

“Honey, you might have a broken arm and a fractured hip. You’re gonna need to call someone.” She said softly, reaching to hold your hand and give it a squeeze. “Maybe a sibling? Or a parent?” 

You shook your head again. “No. They’d all call him immediately so-” You sighed. “I’m fine… Really.” You gave a small smile. 

A few minutes later, Garcia walked in, confused. “Shark refused the consult.” She whispered to Dana and gave you a smile to start your consultation as Robby came back again. 

Broken radius, and fractured ilium with a lot of bruising on your ribcage. 

You nodded through the diagnosis and then the explanation of how you may need surgery for the arm but everything else can be wrapped and heal on its own. And then once again, someone emphasised that you needed to call someone. 

The room was full of interns, student doctors and Robby, explaining your condition when Park walked back in. He was no longer in scrubs but the same jeans and shirt he’d been wearing when he’d left home in the morning. 

Robby raised a brow as he entered. No one had ever seen him on the floor in casuals.

“We good?” He asked slowly. 

“Good. Continue.” Park nodded and pulled a stool to sit next to your bedside, taking your hand in his. 

It took Robby a good thirty seconds to finally realise why you wanted to be transferred to another hospital. You were saving them from the Shark, not trying to run away. 

“Brendon- I was just-” You looked at Robby worriedly.

“I know.” He nodded, eyes still locked on Robby. 

The room that had been buzzing was now very, very silent. One intern was now focused on the IV pump, another found the curtains very fascinating. The student doctors were transfixed on the floor. 

“Okay.” Robby clapped his hands, “Learning moment’s over. How about everyone go so I can have a moment with our patient and… spouse?” He added carefully and Park nodded once. “Right…” 

Once the room was empty and only the three of you remained, Robby turned to you both again. 

“How bad?” Park asked. His voice was unwavering but he was obviously worried with how hard he was holding your hand. 

Robby silently pulled up the Xrays to show him. Park sighed deeply then looked at you. 

“You should’ve called me.” He spoke gently which made Robby’s brows meet his hairline. 

“I didn’t wanna pull you from your shift.” You whispered back.

“My shift?” Park hissed and Robby cleared his throat. “We’ll talk about this later.” He pouted and turned to Robby, shoulders dropping a little. “Garcia will do the surgery since I can’t.”

Robby nodded in agreement, looking over his shoulder, a small crowd was just walking past, constantly sneaking peeks of Shark and you, and whispering. 

“As soon as we’ve got an OR, we’ll move you up.” Robby explained. “And uh-” He paused. “Dana might wanna talk to you-”

“Dana? Why?” Park’s brows furrowed. 

“The bruises-” You whispered to him and he glares at Robby. 

“I am not explaining how I love my wife.” He was appalled at even the notion. 

“Right! Of course! But you know! Hospital policy.” Robby backed away with a smile and exited the room quickly. 

You turned to Park with a smile. “You really have a reputation, huh?” You laughed softly. “They have no idea how gooey you are at home.”

“Stop… I’m a tough guy.” He smiled a little. 

“The doctor before- The woman. She called you Shark. I never thought they seriously called you that.” You giggled some more and he rolled his eyes, leaning to kiss your forehead. 

“I told you I’m a scary guy at work.” He said softly.

“Sure thing, fish boy.” You mused. 

Outside the room, Robby was explaining the situation to Dana, whilst Whitker and Santos were eavesdropping. 

“What… is happening right now?” Mel asked Dennis as she too stared at the scene unfolding in Trauma 2. 

“Shark might actually be human.” Dennis whispered back. 

“Who would’ve thought.” Trinity nodded in surprise. 

.

.

.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Katara smiles brightly. "We've heard a lot about you from Zuko." 

Zuko startles when he hears his name. He was distracted for a moment by your matching fire nation attire that you likely requested. It made his chest swell. 

"Likewise. Zuko has told me all about your adventures," you tell them, glancing at Zuko with a sly smile. "It is an honor to host the Avatar and a great Waterbending Master of the Southern Water Tribe."

You turn to Aang, holding out your hand to summon the servant. 

"I'm told you enjoy Flaming Fire Flakes. I had several shipments come in specifically for this trip."

When the servant presents Aang with a platter of Flaming Fire Flakes, the Avatar's eyes begin to water before he looks at you. 

"I think you are the best decision Zuko has made in his life."

This makes you laugh, leaning into Zuko's side as you effortlessly wrap an arm around his waist. He eases you into his side and rests an arm over your shoulder. 

"I don't think I can argue with you there," Zuko admits with a small smile, as the three of them watch Aang clean the platter on the spot—struggling through the heat as he moans in satisfaction with each crunch. 

You planned the itinerary for this trip, which Zuko realizes as he takes orders from you to show the couple around the family home while you check on their meal preparation, not realizing the team has already been to the house when they were teenagers. 

"I like her," Katara speaks up with a smile, elbowing Zuko in the side—an act that would terrify anyone on his council. "You sure you can handle her?"

"I'm happy for you, flameo hotman," Aang agrees, throwing an arm around Zuko's neck. "And I'm really excited to spend time together with everyone again."

"Thanks," Zuko answers bashfully. "I didn't think it would actually work out with my schedule, but she works her magic." 

"It's very beautiful here, isn't it?" Your voice calls from the other end of the patio. You're carrying a platter over yourself, this time holding a cup for each of them. 

Zuko says your name softly, taking the platter from your hands and leaving it on a side table. He passes the cups out as he takes your attention. 

"They've actually stayed here before."

"Really? When?" You look between Zuko and the couple, Katara nods and Aang smiles sheepishly. 

"When we were on the run during the war. Zuko taught me firebending on the beach." 

"Oh," you say simply. "Is that how the East Wing-?"

"Yeah," Zuko sighs, hanging his head. 

Aang takes a sip from his cup before spitting the liquid out to the side, making all of you look at him, bewildered. 

"What is this?"

"Oh, it's wine. I'm sorry, I meant to tell you when I handed it out," you say sincerely. "Should I get you something else to drink?"

"The Air nomads usually avoided drinking, but a cup with friends should be fine," Aang assures you with a smile. "I wasn't expecting that taste though." 

"I can water it down for you, if you'd like," you offer, and Zuko reaches around to gently rub your hip. 

"It's just one cup," Zuko agrees, glancing at Katara to gauge her concerns. 

Katara just shrugs. "Yeah, should be okay," she says before taking a swig from her cup. 

- 

It did not turn out okay. 

"Perhaps I should have waited until after the meal," you murmur with a soft giggle into Zuko's neck. You're sharing a short couch with him, curled up in his lap across from the other couple's couch. 

Katara is drunkenly distracted by a snoozing Avatar, flushed pink skin from the wine blending with his blue tattoos. The Water Tribe woman laughs into her hand at the goofy expression Aang makes in his unconscious state. 

"Let's help them to their room," you urge, patting Zuko on his chest, where his shirt exposes his bare skin. Zuko would rather leave the two to sleep here than move you from his lap, but against his wishes, you crawl away from him, taking your warmth with you. 

Zuko lugs Aang over his shoulder as you guide Katara to the room prepared for them. Occassionally, the two of you sway into the wall, causing the both of you to laugh the entire way. 

You and Zuko drop the lightweights into their bed, where they remain motionless. The only indication they're alive is their shallow, steading breathing.

After that, Zuko takes you to your shared room. 

"I'd call that a success," you say triumphantly, holding your fist up once you're situated in the room. 

Zuko doesn't say anything in response. He just takes your hand and pulls you close, laying a gentle kiss on your lips. 

"Yeah, I think they really like you," Zuko tells you while you recover from surprise. 

"Wait. Did they tell you that?"

"Yes," Zuko says impatiently, waiting for a following kiss. 

"What a relief," you sigh. You hum happily against his lips, encouraging Zuko to deepen the kiss and lift your legs up around his waist. "Are you taking me to bed, Fire Lord Zuko?"

The sultry sound of your voice causes excitement to course through Zuko's body as he lays you back carefully. While you're lying there, the flickering torches provide the perfect amount of light to see Zuko pulling his shirt from his arms. 

He props himself up above you, arms flexed and extended on opposite sides of your head. 

"With your permission, my lady," Zuko murmurs as his hair slowly falls over his shoulders. 

"Come here," you demand, holding his neck and pulling him down. Zuko can't help but laugh as he closes the distance, happy to spend another night with your warmth. 

- 

The following morning starts slow. The morning sun is already up by the time Zuko's eyes open. The light bleeds into the massive room, showering the two of you with golden glow. 

Your bare back faces Zuko, and the sheet is pulled close to your chest, even as you sleep. He grazes his knuckle softly up your spine, until the soft skin of your shoulder becomes too enticing. He can't help but plant a soft kiss on that spot, and then begin peppering a multitude of kisses down your arm and all over your back. 

When you begin to twitch, slowly coming into consciousness, Zuko laughs gently. 

"Did I wake you?"

You hum as you turn onto your back, eyelids still fluttering heavy. 

"I had a dream an elephant rat snuck into our bed and searched me for a treat," you murmur, groggily. 

Zuko climbs over you with a large smile, landing more firm kisses all over your face. 

"An elephant rat? I could have you arrested," he playfully remarks. You giggle at his jest, ready to refute him, when another voice strikes panic into you. 

"That is so corny, man. Your sense of humor is definitely not why she's with you." 

You squeal in shock, ducking under the sheets.

"Sokka!" Zuko roars, throwing his pillow at the corner of the room. "Get out of here!"

"My man, I arrived a few hours ago and no one was at the dock to greet me. I've been wandering around looking for you guys. I thought my sister and Aang were here."

"They aren't up yet?" You ask, popping your head out, but Zuko uses his body to shield you from his dear friend. 

"I haven't found them anywhere. They're usually early risers, so I expected to find Aang, at least."

You share a look with Zuko, remembering the events from the night before, then start to laugh at the situation. 

Awkwardly, you clear your throat and give Sokka your name. "I have to put on something more-…something. If you don't mind?"

"I don't mind," Sokka says casually, moving to take a seat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. 

A ball of fire lights up in Zuko's palm. "Sokka. Leave."

"Yeah, gotcha. That makes sense."

a/n: my headcanon is that the fire nation is the party nation on the dl and her citizens are tanks

You pushed yourself out of bed and trudged about the room getting dressed. Moving as fast as you could, without throwing yourself off balance, you threw together a quick lunch and made it out to your car. The eye tenderness was subsiding, as was the intense nausea. The world felt a little more stable.

8:40 am. You made it to work. Having to go through the main office in order to get onto campus. When you finally made it to the classroom, your co-teacher took in your appearance, noting the ashen tone of your skin and the subtle redness in your eyes.

"Everything ok?" He asked, filing away a stack of papers pertaining to one of the kids on your collective caseload. The other set of co-teachers, the two of you shared the room with, came around the partition separating your half of the classroom, "Hey, you-you don't look so good..."

You gave a dry chuckle, "I-uhh-I woke up with a bit of a migraine, but I took some medicine so I should be fine."

They all collectively winced, "Why-You didn't need to show up. I could've handled the kids today." Your co-teacher sighed.

You waved him off, "Nonsense, I'll be ok." You glanced up at the clock, 9:00 am, "If I'm not mistaken there's a class I need to push-in to." You shakily stood up, making your way out once again.

2:15 pm. It was the end of your day, and your co-teacher had told you to go ahead and head home. You relented and made your way home. Upon your arrival, you settled on the couch, cuddling up with your dog.

There was a heavy sensation settling behind your eyes, and not the sleepy kind. A migraine was brewing. The nausea was back, along with blurry vision, and a throb of pain behind your eyes. You had already taken your emergency triptan this morning, and with only two doses allocated per week, you had to settle for ibuprofen. You waited, grabbing another icepack and settling it against the back of your neck.

You reached for your phone and sent a text to your best friend.

4:00 pm. There was no use arguing with your best friend. You looked at the back side of your insurance card and called the number on it. It was a rather pleasant call. You gave the nurse all your symptoms, described everything as you felt it, and how you waited because you were afraid it wouldn't amount to anything, and the last thing you wanted was a doctor dismissing you. The nurse on the other end of the line took down everything you told her. She was clear when she spoke to you, telling you it'd be best if you went to the ER and saw a doctor, as your symptoms were a bit worrisome, especially with the history you had.

Y: Hey, uh. I need your advice.

Bsf: Whats up? You doin' ok?

Y: I may or may not have passed out this morning...

Bsf: What?? R U ok?? I'm coming over.

Y: No, well, yes. I'm ok now, it happened this morning. I have a migraine now and Im a little worried.

Bsf: And you're just now telling me? WHat did Jack say?

Y: I didn't tell him. I don't even think where he works is in-network with my insurance.

Bsf: Ok, check with your insurance, call their on-call nurse line. Let me know what they say.

Y: ...ok... I'll call now.

5:00 pm You told your best friend everything, and she told you to check which ERs were in-network with your insurance, and she'd take you. You checked, and sure enough, it wasn't PTMC. It was Presby.

Bsf: I'm on my way. I'll be there as soon as I can.

Y: ok, don't drive stupid pls.

Your best friend had been in another city for work, so the soonest she'd be there was 7 pm. You had told her to take her time, that her speeding through traffic wouldn't help anyone. When she did get to your place, she looked at the state of you. And you looked like crap.

You got in her car, dressed in the comfiest pair of sweats you owned, and one of Jack's sweatshirts. Hospitals always made you uncomfortable; you were hoping his sweatshirt would ease some of the discomfort.

It was approaching 7:30 pm when you walked into the ER, a water bottle in your bag, along with your wallet and the small list of medications you took. You approached the window to check yourself in, behind the counter, an older nurse who looked absolutely done with everyone.

"What brings you in today?" She sighed, not looking at you.

"I uhh... I fainted this morning, and I have a migraine with aura right now, along with nausea and dizziness." You listed off, embarrassment settling in your chest at the admission of fainting approximately 12 hours earlier.

"I'm sorry, you fainted this morning?" Her eyes finally settled on you.

"Yeah..."

"And you're just coming in now?" The tone in her voice made you feel like this was a mistake.

"Yeah... I uhh- I just started my job like a couple months ago and I thought I was fine to go in..."

She took down the rest of your information, told you to take a seat, and said they would call you shortly. sure.

8:15 pm. Your name was called across the lobby, rousing you from the disorienting haze of your migraine. You made your way over to a seated nurse. He asked you to verify your birthdate, name, address, and symptoms. He took down your weight, another hit to your level of comfort. He took your pulse, blood pressure, and temperature before telling you to head back to your seat and that they would call you when a doctor was ready. You nodded, giving a soft 'ok' before making your way back to your best friend.

She had you lean your head against her shoulder while she rubbed your back. She could see the pain of the migraine on your face. She had the urge to call Jack and tell him where you were, but she knew that probably wouldn't help anyone. After all, you couldn't afford a fatass bill right now, and going to an out-of-network ER would give you just that. Hell, the in-network ER was still gonna slap you with a hefty bill, but at least here your insurance would help you cover it.

9:30 pm. You heard your name echo in the lobby once more. Your best friend helped you stand up, before you motioned for her to stay while you walked over to the open door. They lead you back to an empty room. Once again, verifying your name, date of birth, address, and then asking for your symptoms and reason for the visit, and once again, you explained, "I woke up this morning and I was nauseous, dizzy, lightheaded, and I had a migraine. So I went through my normal migraine routine. I took my emergency medication, ate something, drank some water, had a shot of espresso, and then laid back down. When I laid down it all got worse. I felt like the world was tilting and shaking. And then I had this violent spasm-vibrating sensation in my legs and hands, and my vision got static-y and fuzzy—like an old TV. I passed out and then woke up ... like 25 minutes later, I only know that because I kept checking the time. When I woke up, the nausea was mostly gone, and I wasn't as dizzy. I decided I would go to work so I did. When I got home from work I got another migraine with an aura. I called the on-call nurse through my insurance and she recommended I still come in. So... here I am." You squinted your eyes as the white light of the hospital room practically stabbed at your cornea.

"And have you fainted like this before?" They asked.

"Yes, well. I have fainted before, like 5 or 6 years ago. It was the morning after an intense migraine, I stood up and then fainted. My head hit my windowsill and I was out for... I don't know how long... But after that I was sent to a neurologist and cardiologist and they couldn't figure out what happened." The whole tale spilling out, your level of discomfort rising through the roof, “This was nothing like that though.”

They nodded, finished writing down their notes, jotting down the medications you were taking for anxiety, migraine prevention, and your birth control method. They gave a soft smile before telling you the doctor would be in shortly. You nodded back and waited.

The doctor arrived maybe 15 minutes later. He was older, and he looked slightly annoyed. He asked you, again, what brought you in. And again, you gave him the same detailed explanation you gave the nurse. He nodded, looking unsatisfied. He looked at the notes and asked you the question you were hoping he wouldn't ask, "Are you on your period?"

You looked at him, almost mystified, "I am... But that's not why I fainted." I'm not 12. This isn't my first time getting my period. You added mentally. He looked you over, almost like he didn't believe you.

"Have you been drinking enough water? Staying hydrated?"

"Yes." You lifted up the 24-oz metal bottle from your bag, "I drink like 2 of these a day, and I use hydration packets too."

He hummed, looking at your bottle, then at you, "I think it's just dehydration. Most women your age, when they come in for fainting, it's either because of heavy periods, or they're dehydrated."

And there it was. The dismissive response you were dreading. You felt ignored. Like he didn't want to help. Like your age meant you couldn't tell the difference between good and bad in your body. He rattled off the tests they were going to do: an EKG, draw some blood, and take a urine sample—because maybe you're pregnant.

You just nodded and waited while the doctor left, and then a different nurse walked in. She explained to you that they were going to do an EKG to check your heart. You sat back, this not being your first rodeo. She closed the room's curtain so you could adjust your sweatshirt and bra while she attached the leads. When the EKG finished, she gave you a slip before walking you over to the phlebotomy technician. She took your blood after trying to get a vein in your right arm; she stuck you in your left. She then handed you a cup and told you to use the restroom behind her, and that when you were done, you would give it to the nurse who brought you to her.

Once in the bathroom, you realized you were on your period. You had to give a urine sample. You did not have a spare pad. Looking around the bathroom, you didn't see a dispenser or any signs of feminine products. You sighed in defeat. 'shit... at least it's not heavy today... God, this means I have to use the same pad.'

After you dropped your sample off with your nurse, she led you back to the waiting area and told you they'd call you back with the results.

10:05 pm. You were back in the waiting room, your head still splitting and your vision still blurry. The nausea was worse. Your best friend, the trooper she is, was still waiting for you. When you sat down, you tried hard not to let yourself cry with frustration. You told her about what the doctor said and how you felt. She immediately had this fire in her eyes; she was upset. Here you were in pain, and he had already settled into it, either being a period problem or dehydration.

When the clock on your phone read 1:30 am, you contemplated just going home. At least there you could take some medicine and try to relax. Here you were surrounded by the cries of sick infants, pacing parents, and discarded elderly patients. Someone near you was wearing a heavy perfume, and it did nothing but stoke the nausea in your throat and the pain in your eyes.

2 am. Going home sounded so good. But you wanted to at least see if your test results would provide any answers. When a nurse finally called you back, she had a thick packet of papers in her hand. She led you back to a small room where she sat across from you. She went over your results. EKG, normal. unsurprising. Blood test, nothing notable. Urine test. You're not pregnant. Shocking...

"So dehydration. Try to drink plenty of fluids, and get plenty of rest." She read off from the packet, not looking at you.

You felt your eyes heat up and sting. Tears of frustration bubbling to the surface. Any sense of compliance smothered under your frustration. Your voice had a wavering edge as you scoffed, "Dehydration. That's what we’re going with?" The words felt sour as they left your lips. You weren't normally this bitter-sounding. But it all felt like they just weren't listening.

The nurse finally looked up at you, "Yup." Before she handed the packet to you, she needed a signature. You signed it. You just wanted out. You wanted to go home and smother your face into a pillow. You had to take a couple of deep breaths before approaching the billing window. The clerk at the window asked for your information. Your voice was flat as you gave it. They had you pay your co-pay and let you know you'd see the bill in the mail. You nodded and finally made your way out to your best friend.

"So. What'd they say?" The hope in her voice sparked the frustration once more. A few tears fell from your eyes as you told her the diagnosis they gave you.

"Please just take me home... I can't be here anymore." Your voice wavered again, a sob threatening to spill forward.

She nodded quickly, leading you back outside to her car. The drive back to your place was quiet. You leaned your head against the door. Trying to pull yourself together, crying would only make your migraine worse. You offered her your couch to crash on, but she waved you off, wanting to sleep in her own bed. She said goodbye, telling you she'd let you know when she got home.

Once inside, you locked the door behind you. You threw your packet on the counter. Irritated by just the sight of it. You made your way to your bathroom and opted for a hot shower. When you were done, you snagged your ice pack and your water bottle. You lie down in bed, the bedside clock reading 3:45 am in blurry red pixels. The tears you were holding back finally broke through. A deep sob hit your chest, and you felt silly and invisible all over again. You pulled out your phone, preemptively logging a sick day for the upcoming day. There was no way you would be able to go to work after 4 hours—waiting for nothing—in the ER.

You were already partially awake. The warmth of your dog curled against your side, and the shuffling of papers in the distance. It was morning. The sun was out. And then the bedroom door clicked. The rapid thrum of your dog's tail tells you, Jack's home. He was at your side of the bed before you could fully open your eyes, his hand caressing the side of your face. "Are you ok?"

His voice was heavy with worry. It was almost enough to swallow the tired behind it. You rolled over, your eyes slowly opening. They felt dry and sore. You fell asleep with tears in your eyes, staining your cheeks and lids ashen. There was a slight pulse in your temples, but no nausea. As you lay on your side facing him, a sad smile appeared on your face, "Hey, you." Your voice rasped, " 'Missed you."

"What happened last night?" He asked, his eyes checking you over.

"Huh?" For a second, you had forgotten all about last night's letdown, "Oh... that."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"You wouldn't have been able to do anything... Your ED isn't in-network... I can't afford a bill that big right now."

"I'd handle that." He insisted, his hand cupping your cheek.

"I couldn't ask you to do that..." You mumbled. Shame and embarrassment creeping up your spine. The look in his eyes told you he'd read the packet of information.

You could see it in his eyes when he shelved Jack, your boyfriend, and became Dr. Abbot. His posture straightened a little, and he looked at your eyes and neck, "Tell me what happened."

"I'm assuming you read the packet... You're gonna just tell me I was dehydrated too." You grumbled, pushing yourself into a seated position against the headboard.

"No. I want to hear you explain how you felt. I know you know what dehydration feels like. You wouldn't have gone to Presby for that. Tell me what you felt." The look of determination in his eyes softened your stubborn resolve; you let out a deep sigh. You gave him the full explanation. Your symptoms, the fainting, the recurring migraine and nausea, the world tilting, the vision change, and the spasms. He nodded, looking at you as you spoke. You went on and mentioned what the doctor said after taking your history.

You could see the moment the words processed for him. There was a stern, irritated look that settled on his face, "And they ran your urine, blood, and an EKG." He confirmed, the packet materializing in his hands as he looked over your results. 'Where the hell was he keeping that?' You thought as you looked at the packet, with numbers and abbreviations you didn't fully understand.

I think it's just dehydration.

Most women your age, when they come in for fainting,

It's either because of heavy periods or they're dehydrated.

"Jack I know what dehydration feels like... It wasn't that." New tears formed in your eyes. Desperate tears, you were hoping he was hearing you.

He reached over, his hand wrapping around the back of your head, and pulled you into his chest, "I know, sweetheart." He kissed the top of your head, "I believe you." He held up your packet and gestured to a sheet full of numbers that looked meaningless to you, "Your results don't prove dehydration."

The confirmation from him felt enlightening. But at the back of your head, you felt like he might have just been placating you, the hope in your faltering, "You're just saying that..."

"No, sweetheart. I wouldn't lie to you. Especially not about your medical concerns." He soothed, the honesty poured from his eyes, "Why didn't you tell me this was happening?"

"Well... It's been years since I last fainted... I've always managed. My previous doctors weren't able to find any answers so I figured why bother." You shrugged, "I mean I was doing ok until that happened."

"Clearly you weren't doing ok." He sighed, irritation building up on his face again, "Managing isn't the same as Being. You shouldn't have to just manage a mystery... Let me help you figure this out. I'll set you up with a competent doctor. Not some dismissive asshole." His tone sharpened at the end.

You waited for a moment, not wanting to get your hopes up. Before you nodded, relenting to his offer, "Ok..." You reach over towards your nightstand, pulling out a slip of paper. "Last time I saw my doctor, she recommended I see a Genetic Counselor... finding one has been... impossible." A sense of defeat laced your voice.

" I can definitely help with that." He nodded, "And don't worry about the cost. I'll handle that."

You grumbled, but there was no denying Jack, "Ok-ok... Can I have my boyfriend back now? As much as I love Dr. Abbot, I think Jack, the boyfriend is needed more right now."

He nodded quickly, tossing the packet to the floor as he moved to his side of the bed. He removed his prosthetic before sliding under the covers with you, lifting his arm so you could snuggle up to his side. Your dog still lay in the bed, nestled between both of your legs. Lying against Jack's chest was the comfort you didn't know you needed. The shame, embarrassment, and ignored feelings began to slowly melt away. His thumb rubbed slow circles on your back, nuzzling into your hair, "And don't think I'm not gonna march myself over to Presby and give that doctor a piece of my mind." Jack added, his voice sounding weighted with sleep.

You pressed your face into his chest, heat blooming up your neck, "Oh god, no don't do that."

"No, it's not ok... What he did was dangerous, and it sounds like they didn't offer you anything to take the edge off of your migraine." He grunted.

He was right, they hadn't. You sat in that waiting room for almost 4 hours with your head splitting in half. Again, you relented; he had a point. As you whispered an 'ok'. "And next time, you call me. I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you... something that could've been prevented, no less."

His words buried themselves in your heart, bringing a light buzz to your brain. Maybe you'd get answers with his help.

As you peel yourself from your bed and give it a moment before you attempt to stand, a shimmer of movement catches your eye. Something quick outside your window. You pause, but you chalk it up to your mind seeing things after having just gotten up. That is, until you hear the door to the root cellar outside slam shut with a violent bang. You bolt to the window and note that the wooden trap door looks closed, but broken.

A cold shiver runs along your spine for some reason. Like if you stare too long, it might start to look back at you. You shake off the feeling and stop your teeth from worrying your lip as you’re prone to, then force your eyes away.

You may live alone for the time being, but you don't need to shrink in fear. If some animal has gotten into your food stores, you'd be more than pissed. Your cottage is out of the way, so luckily, you don’t have to worry about looking decent as you grab your dressing robe. After wiping the sleep from your eyes and taking your father's hunting rifle, you march out of your home.

The closer you get to the root cellar, the slower your pace becomes until you’re near enough to be proven right. The door doesn’t just look splintered around the edges, it looks like the thing was ripped clean from the damn hinges. The scene has your brows creasing in confusion, and you scan the ground for any trace of life possible. Your eyes narrow on what looks like dusty footprints in the dried dirt, and suddenly, the situation is worse than you thought.

Your instincts force the gun up at the same time adrenaline begins to surge through your veins. The extent of the damage alongside the signs of a person makes it hard to wrap your head around. You ease yourself to the door’s edge and press an ear to it for signs of somebody inside. The grip on the gun tightens and your stomach lurches when you hear a sharp clatter on the other side of the wood. There’s still a false hope that it’s only an animal inside and not a thief that you have to confront, until you hear a muffled curse.

Putting all of your stock into sounding as formidable as you can, you clear your voice and point the gun at the door. You remember to move back enough so that you won’t get knocked away by a surprise door or punch to the face. 

“You’ve got till the count of ten to drop whatever you’re taking and come out of there. Don’t make me shoot you.”

You hear another string of hushed curses inside alongside someone scrambling about. While counting aloud as clearly as possible, you feel vexed from being ignored until you almost get to the point of no return. With fury fuelling your grimace, you approach the door with vigour and throw it open. You’re taken aback when the entire thing comes loose.

“-NINE.”

You proceed down the first few steps, fully expecting a shoot-out. It’s foolish, but you cling to your gut feeling that if that were going to happen, it would have already. The rifle is out and poised for any quick movement below. It’s deathly silent in here until you can hear a shuffle in the corner of the room. A twinge of panic hits you when you can catch the smell of something singed. You point the gun at the figure that looms in the dark, just barely out of the spot that has become flooded with sunlight.

“Alright! Just-”

It’s a male voice, hoarse and sounding a little shaken as he calls out from the corner. You don’t let your guard down as you move from your spot. Not even as your eyes dart in search of others quickly.

“Don’t shoot! Oh gods, you’re not with ‘em, are you?”

Your eyes settle on the man with suspicion. It looks like he’s been beaten to within an inch of his life, and one eye seems to have completely swollen shut.

“With who? The fuck are you doing here?”

“Bandits! T-Tried to kill me, barely scraped away with my life. Ma’am, don’t let ‘em get me.”

His face contorts in pain as his hands reach above his head in defeat. You spot the state of his clothes, they’re bloody and riddled with holes. The sight of his injuries makes your pulse falter a little with shock. From what you can see, he doesn’t have anything near him or any way of holding any kind of firearm in his shredded clothes. Potentially, he’s telling the truth. It’s difficult not to believe him when he looks as pathetic as he does. It causes a beat of silence before he speaks again, though you don’t lower the rifle.

“ Look , I-I have gold. They wanted it but you can take it! Please, just don’t let ‘em know I’m here!”

As he reaches into a small pocket to retrieve two gold coins, you notice that he’s cowering. It seems like he’s struggling to look in your direction as he actively tries to hide, even as you threaten him with the firearm. A look of concern pulls at your features, and you exhale with some defeat. If he’s telling the truth, it could cause a whole slew of potential crap. But, if nothing else, at least it means he isn’t actively stealing from you. You roll your eyes and reject the surprisingly real-looking gold.

“I don’t need your money. Hush up and stay down here until I say otherwise.”

His eye widens a fraction, though you aren’t certain if it’s the dismissal of his money or your show of kindness. Possibly both. You ignore it as you retreat up the stairs, being sure not to turn away from him. When you reach the top, you give a hushed call down before retrieving the door to slam back where it lines up with the hinges.

“If you’re lucky, you can explain the broken door afterwards!”

In the distance, you think you hear the sound of hooves slamming into the earth. You fling the gun over your back by the strap and run to collect fallen foliage from near your chopping block. You drag as much debris and shrubbery to throw over the trap door as possible. The disguised door blends in remarkably well with the plants growing on top of the root cellar, considering the short time you have to disguise it.

Taking a steadying breath first, you pick up a few pieces of firewood and begin to head back to your cottage. You near your front door at the same time three men on horseback approach you at rapid speed. They look armed to the teeth even from where you are. You put on a look of surprise as they steady their horses to strike up a conversation with you. There isn’t too much notable about them, though their clothing seems to match: a leather and suede duster coat with the same silver-looking broaches pinned somewhere on the front, plus wide-brim hats that make it hard to see their faces. The strongest-looking of the three with a square jaw approaches you on a large, brown horse. 

You don’t see much of the other two as they stay behind, only that Joe looks to be white in comparison to their tan skin. A Southern drawl drips from his thin lips, and you don’t deny that there’s a certain likeable charm about it instantly.

“S’cuse me, miss. You happened to see a sorry-looking fellow ‘round ‘ere?”

You raise a brow at the man, the sight of him on a literal high horse not lost on you. You give a small, but cautious smile. It’s the same polite way you would for most folk approaching your property, except you feign confusion as well. To pretend the kindling is heavy, you shuffle the pieces in your arms to hold it all easier.

“No, sorry, sir. Not been up for long, just collecting some firewood for breakfast.”

His eyes seem to study you for a moment before he adjusts himself to get down from the horse. The other two men exchange a glance and you feel nervous at that. These aren’t frail men by any means, so with you being out here alone, you immediately feel like the worst is about to happen. You drop the firewood and reach for your gun in an instant, keen-eyed and alarmed as you point it at his head.

“Whoa, now! I don’t mean any harm, miss!”

The stranger pauses in his tracks with his hands up. His bold gaze remains on your face and not the gun as he slowly steps forward. Your feet move back by themselves and he smiles a little. Carefully, he reaches down to pick up the firewood that you dropped. He stacks the pieces in his arms and gives a cheery laugh.

“Sorry if I scared you. I thought it looked heavy, is all. Was gonna help you out with all that.”

You feel how tense your shoulders are and they don’t ease up. Despite his airy voice, you just don’t buy it. To return a nicety, you lower your weapon and make a show of covering yourself a little more with your robe. You can feel a faint heat spread across your cheeks at how silly you must look.

“Right…Sorry… My family is still sleeping, and I wasn’t expecting to bump into somebody so early. Should I be concerned about your missing boy?”

You force a small laugh back and tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, inwardly cringing at your attempt to appear coy. He seems to buy it though, clearly distracted by other things. You walk over to him and he hands you the firewood. When your hands brush against each other, you glance down to see his knuckles covered in blood. You blink up to his face, your heart beats a little faster in your chest as you realise the man in your root cellar was telling the truth.

“That’s quite all alright. Man, not boy. A very dangerous man at that.”

Concern slips onto your features at that, and curiosity pulls at your mind.

“Some kind of criminal..? What does he look like? I can let everyone inside know, too.”

“The worst kind. Tell your folks he’s about five feet, five, and white. Short dark hair, tattered clothes, most likely. Looks like he’s seen better days right about now.”

You nod at the description but stress at the lack of information about what your stowaway. What could he have done to get himself beaten to a pulp? While you wonder what would be classed as the ‘worst kind’ of criminal, you also remember the man warned of bandits after him. If that’s true then you need to leave as soon as you can, without suggesting there’s anything worth stealing.

“The worst? I’ll call my Pa straight away to let him know someone like that is out here. PA!”

You step towards your empty home and raise your voice through the open door, though the stranger touches your arm to stop you.

“That won’t be necessary, miss. Just pass the message on. If he does show up, under no circumstances should you let him inside. For all your sakes.”

It’s at this point that one of the other two men on horseback whistles over to their third member and calls out impatiently.

“If he ain’t here, stop flirting with the girl, Joe. Let’s get a move on. Don’t want to deal with her dad as well as a damn parasite.”

A soft laugh escapes the person you assume to be ‘Joe’, and he tips his wide-brimmed hat to you. You walk to your porch as he gets back onto his horse. He clasps the reins and throws you a wink before leading the three in a charge to continue in the direction they were headed. Your eyes don’t move from them until you can’t see them anymore. When they’ve disappeared, you drop the wood onto your porch and run over to your root cellar.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Remmick leans his back against the cool stone of the cellar wall. It doesn’t do an awful lot to soothe the burns inflicted by the sun, but it beats standing outside. The grin that plays on his lips is small as he considers how quickly you were willing to believe him. Although it strikes him as odd that you refused his gold. Perhaps you didn’t need it or, judging by the simple yet clean decor of the room, you just hadn’t believed it was real. What a sweet thing you are for him to find. 

As if on purpose, the thirst burning in his throat rips apart any thoughts of teasing you. His brows pinch at the feeling and his body screams at him to drain you. Both ideas are certainly enticing. After all, he’d be patched up in no time with enough of your blood. As he swallows to try and clear the pain in his throat, he quickly wipes away any drool falling from his mouth to hide his impulses.

━━━━━━━━━━━

After a few minutes, just to be sure, you drag the foliage away and slide off the broken door. The light floods down the stairs and you swear you hear a hiss come from inside. In all fairness, being hit with light out of nowhere isn’t the nicest feeling. With your gun at the ready, you venture down as you call out.

“They're gone. It’s safe to come out.”

The figure is still backed into the corner and currently tucked behind a stack of shelves. You squint at him to see that he’s turned away, like he’s trying to get as far away from you as possible. The top of his head is just about visible from where he crouches on the ground. It makes you nervous that he doesn’t turn to speak to you.

“I…I’m pretty beat, I should rest up here 'fore I keel over.”

Your eyes narrow at his backwards decision. Does he not realise just how injured he was? Your stomach turns as you recall a memory of helping your father patch up a complete idiot who gambled with money that wasn’t his. To nobody’s shock but his own, he lost it all and had the stuffing kicked out of him. When you reach the bottom of the stairs, the hair on the back of your neck stands up. Your eyes remain glued to the stranger, unsure whether you should just walk off or convince him to leave.

“Doesn’t make much sense staying down here when you need medical help. Plus, I think there’s rats in here anyway.”

The light reaches all the way down the stairs and onto the ground. You remain standing in the yellow box of morning light as you look at him. You feel nervous about what the other man said. That this stranger is dangerous, “the worst kind”, and it makes you think twice about waltzing over to his aid. Trusting your instincts, you remain by the stairs even when you hear a call.

“You could patch me up here, right? Come over here.”

Something about the request makes your blood run cold. You don’t trust that request. Even if he’s beaten up and bruised so badly, you remember that the door is barely held together. It doesn’t make sense for someone in his state to do that. Keeping your breathing steady is a task in itself as you watch him stand up to face you. He stumbles and has to lean on whatever shelf he can grab down here to keep upright, by the vague looks of things.

“Don’t gotta leave.”

Chapter 4: Rabbit in the snare

A snare trap. A lightweight, inexpensive cable device used for capturing wild animals by the neck or body, commonly for pest control or survival situations. Cassie defines it as her love. 

The love she's actively watching you become trapped in. A wire snapping over your neck. The stinging as it tears into your soft flesh. Beads of blood dripping down, her tongue sliding up your neck to clean you. She won't remove it. Only sliding a finger under the thread to relieve your pain but only for a moment before letting it smack your raw torn skin once more. Your face pressed to the dirt, wet and tired. Knees are bruising on the branches and rocks. So vulnerable. So exposed to her. No, don't cry. You love her, don't you? Stay there. Be good for her. For once, make someone happy. Make her happy. You're a good girl; endure it. You want it, you love it. You need it. 

                      ***************

"Okay, be honest, are you dating that brunette?” You look up from your notepad, bewildered. It’s 10:21pm; you should've gotten off of your shift twenty minutes ago but sadly had to fix some problem with one of your tables. 

"Cassie? you laugh nervously, which made your coworker, Veronica, raise an eyebrow. “No–no, she's just helping me out till my new tires come in.” You try to explain, but she crosses her arms, seemingly unconvinced. 

"It's been two weeks,” she started. "You get out of here so fast I haven't been able to say hi.” It's true, you had been getting rides from Cassie either in the morning or at night. She would get you a ride for whenever she couldn't do it herself. You had begged her to let you pay for it yourself, but she always laughed you off. 

    It was endearing; you enjoyed the time in the car with her. While she made you feel safer, knowing she was just a call away. She also left a lingering sense of fear that you've become accustomed to ignoring. 

"Come on," you sigh, grabbing your bag and jacket. “You can say hi, but I don't want to hold her up.” Veronica grins, having finally won. You wait a moment, letting her gather her belongings before the two of you head outside. It's late and dark. The air is cool and refreshing. You walk towards the spot Cassie's Subaru is parked, her usual spot. This became a routine so quickly, your lives intertwining in a way that would be so difficult to unravel. You’re not sure you could; that terrifies you. 

The thought of no longer having your late-night talks on the fire escape, Cassie coming to your apartment for dinner when she didn't have Harrison. The nightcaps: a glass of wine for you and a scarily hot tea for Cassie.

That tea, it was a few days ago you learned it was her favorite. Before, Cassie would just sip a piping hot decaf coffee. 

"I still can't believe you like black coffee.” You sit down, taking a sip of your wine from your glass.

"I like the taste,” Cassie shrugs with a smile. “But I also like tea, don't you?” 

"I do, all sorts. Green, chamomile, and herbal mostly." You shift on your couch, leaning back into it. A trashy romcom playing on the TV. Since the first night Cassie came over, these kinds of movies became your go-to. Laughing and criticizing every cheesy line and action. "What's your favorite?”

Cassie leans closer, her shoulder bumping yours. “Orange and cinnamon spice." You lean towards her, your shoulders warming each other. “I’ll grab some next time I'm at the shop." It was a simple gesture that carried an immense amount of weight. You weren't that blind. You saw the glances she threw your way, and you know she saw yours. Each brief touch, every late-night laugh. The night had become a time that belonged to only the two of you. No friends, family, or even work. 

You reach the passenger side, hearing the click of the door unlocking. You open it, leaning down to see Cassie; her hair is falling out of her loose braid, and her scrubs are disheveled. Fuck. You knew she felt sluggish, exhausted even. But seeing her this way always made your heart jump. 

"Hey Cassie, my coworker wanted to meet you.” You set your belongings on the floorboard, which is now clean. 

"Ah, alright.” Cassie unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the door. You straighten your posture, Victoria following you behind the car where you meet Cassie. She towers over your coworker, giving a polite smile. “I'm Cassie, her neighbor," she says simply, obviously very tired. 

"Nice to finally meet you. Miss Quiet over here has been avoiding telling me anything about you besides you being her neighbor.” You had been avoiding telling her anything, afraid if you said too much, you would spill everything. How you're terrified but crave her in an inhumane way, how every time she hugs you goodbye, you smell her and do everything you can to remember how your hands on her back feel. “Are you a nurse?” she asks, noticing Cassie's scrubs. You couldn't help but cringe from Veronica's question; it was innocent enough but felt just wrong. 

She shakes her head. “I'm an ED doctor," tugging at her name tag, which did grab your coworker's attention. You felt some pride from hearing Cassie say she was a doctor. Granted, you didn't help with her becoming one, but you were still allowed to feel proud of her. 

"I'm Veronica, kind of like her work wife.” She laughs at her own comment, her elbow nudging your arm. You shake your head and let out a scoff. 

When you look up to Cassie, your half smile falls completely. No smile, no sarcastic comment. Her jaw is clenched tightly, her eyes squinting. A moment passes before you decide it’s becoming awkward. "Well, Veronica, Cassie and I should get going; it's late.” 

The two of you say your goodbyes. The air has completely shifted as you and Cassie become situated in the car, the heaviness crushing you both. You want to speak, but she beats you to it. “Work wife, huh?” she sounds unamused, looking over her shoulder before pulling out of the parking space. Veronica was already in her car. A shame

   "She was joking," you say too quickly, but you really don't want Cassie thinking anything is going on between the two of you. Actually, it's the last thing in the world you would want her to think. Especially after everything you've done together—which might not seem like a lot to other people, but to you it’s been the highlight of your year. Cassie nods, her eyes practically glaring at the road. “We barely even talk at work—she mostly just tries to pry at my personal life when she does talk to me.”

You bite your tongue, realizing you aren't helping the situation at all as Cassie's grip on the wheel tightens, knuckles turning white. The only sense of normalcy during the drive is the radio, with random rock songs playing the whole way home, the station Cassie always has on. 

You stare out the window, watching cars and street lights pass you by. You want to say something, maybe a joke to lighten the mood. But honestly, you're terrified to do so. You're only asking yourself why Cassie was acting so tense, so scary. It was a joke; you’ve made worse ones where she's fully cackled, hunched over, grabbing her stomach. 

You look down to your hands, picking at them slightly before forcing yourself to stop. You haven't seen Cassie react this way before. And why towards you? It's not like you were the one to say it; she did.

Your nose scrunches; now you're irritated. She was being childish, making a big deal out of nothing. "What's your deal?” you ask, with more bite than you intended. She quickly looks at you with a somewhat shocked expression before focusing on the road again. 

"Excuse me?” Oh, hell with this fake polite bullshit. Always so high and mighty, yeah, maybe that's something you liked about Cassie, but not right now. Not when you're being put in the doghouse for something you didn't even say. Fucking Veronica, it's the last time you ever give in to one of her nagging requests. 

"You heard me, what's your deal?" you huff, leaning slightly forwards to see her face more clearly. “Veronica makes a stupid joke and now you’re acting like she stole your stuffed animal.” Your voice is strained; you feel dramatic—but Cassie was being dramatic. “So say something, dammit." You grit your teeth.

Cassie pulls into the complex parking lot. Slowing down to park. The confidence you had before is completely obliterated the minute she turns off the car and looks at you. She says your name quietly in her rough voice that makes you melt. “What is this to you?” 

"What are you talking about?” Your voice shakes slightly, confusion flooding you. She sighs, opening her car door. You quickly follow her, shutting the door harder than intended. 

"Me and you," she says, simply walking towards you. She closes in, her chest starting to press against you. Your blood is rushing through your ears, head pounding. “What are we to you?” she whispers in your ear. 

"I–I don't know…” You want to say more; you want to say how you feel closer than friends but how the two of you feel too far apart for anything else. She huffs out a breath and laughs. You feel her hands run up your arms to your warm neck. 

"Let's go home." Her lips graze against your ear; you want to give in to her. But you also want to run away. ‘Let's go home.' Your heart is pounding, desperately trying to break free from its calcium cage. “Let me make it so violently clear for you.” You only let out a shaky breath as she grips your shoulder and leads you into the complex. The two of you are half running to 107. You ignore it. The cries in your head telling you to become free from her grip. 

The moment you shut your apartment door, she slams you against it. Her long fingers digging into your neck. "You're so pretty," she whispers before her lips slam into yours. A hunger-filled kiss, the desperation filling you as her tongue slides against yours. Your eyes roll, her grip on your neck tightening, one hand above and one below your small Adam's apple. Her fingertips dig into the sides of your neck; you can almost feel her fingerprints branding into you. The moment she pulls away, you focus on her face. Her messy bangs, her lustful eyes, that wicked grin. 

    She practically drags you to your own bedroom. You catch a glimpse of the photos you have on your hallway wall; you can almost sense the judgment from your family. She cuts on the lamps by your door. “Take it off." She starts to pull off her shirt. You comply. Taking off your pants and then shirt, backing up until you hit your bed. Shame fills you as you see the mess on the floor. Empty bottles of wine and liquor. Disgusting. You are disgusting and so inconsiderate of Cassie; that will have to change now, won't it? 

So easily letting a woman much older than you defile you. How long have you known her? Two months? You barely knew her, only knowing the simplicities of her life. Her sobriety, her son—you've only met him once at the corner store; even that was brief. Well, you also know her apparent likeness for you.

She likes you. She wants you naked. She is in your bedroom after not knowing all too much about you. your dirty secrets, mistakes of your past. Not even why you're so far from your family. Well, she does know, unknowingly. She doesn't know you. right?

You look at Cassie, who's only left in a simple black bra and grey underwear. Your breath gets caught in your throat. She's almost exactly what you imagined. Full chest and thighs. Bush peeking from her underwear, a thick happy trail. 

You scramble to pull down your underwear. Exposing yourself fully to the fox in front of you. You watch as she walks to you, kneeling in front of you, her tired eyes now seeming a lot more energetic. 

"You want this, don't you? You nod frantically. She only frowns. “Say it," she practically growls, which pulls a whine from your throat. 

"Cassie—please, I want you so bad.” You spread your legs wider, lifting your hips towards her mouth. Serving your cunt to her, she dips her tongue into it. Gasping from the coldness, you grab her hair. “Fuck–Cassie!” Her hands find your hips, gripping them till she can feel your bone. She makes you feel so small. So damned defenseless. She uses the flat of her tongue to lick from your perineum to your clit, lapping at you until you can feel your stomach tighten and your legs starting to shake. 

It's not long until your cum is dripping out of you and into her mouth. “Cassie I fini—" You're cut off by a nip to your clit, which makes you yelp. 

"Not done," she growls into you, making you whimper from the vibrations on your sensitive clit. A piece of you breaks and reforms as she laps your wetness off from you. Your thighs press around her head, and you receive a moan from her, the gratification making your back arch. Your legs cross behind her head, pulling her deeper into you. You cry out, reaching your second—no, third—orgasm. 

Untangling your legs, you whine. Using your hand that's tangled in her hair to tug her away, "St–stop." Your whimper is pitched, desperate. You pull yourself farther up the bed, staring at the wet spot you've left on your sheets. 

"Fine." Cassie stands, unclipping her bra and sliding her underwear off. “Be good; bend over, sweetheart." You quickly flip yourself over, exposing yourself to her. Your elbows and knees sinking into your mattress and sheets, you'll definitely have to change them later. "Fuck, you're beautiful.” Cassie mumbles as she presses her cunt against your ass. The heat radiating off of her makes you squirm. She pressed a hand to the small of your back. “Be still.” Her fingers sliding against your dripping cunt—what a tease. 

"Cassie–in me–please," you manage to croak out. Already feeling exhausted from her insatiable appetite. She thrusts one or two fingers in you, curling them down. Each thrust slamming into your g-spot. 

Your arms give out, and you collapse into your pillow, with only the left side of your face exposed. You can feel sweat running down your face and back. So dirty, so tired.

That is until you feel a hard yank on your scalp. “Get up.” Cassie snarls, pulling you up to where your back presses against her full chest. You whine as Cassie's grip on your hair is not lightening as she moves her hand from behind you, sliding it down your stomach to your pulsing clit. 

"Fuck–Cassie, it hurts.” You lean your head back to her shoulder, trying to close the gap. "Please—I'm being good.”

   "Aw, does it, love?” she coos, pity and sarcasm leaking from her fake concern. You know this but nod your head stupidly. You feel Cassie's hand leave your head as she makes circles over your clit with her pointer and middle finger. “How about this, Hm?” she asks as you feel her arm wrap under your jaw, around your neck. tight like a wire. Her bicep flexes against your cheek. You move your hands to her arm, not pulling her away but gripping her tightly, your nails burrowing into her. 

"Fuck–" you gasp. Your eyes glaze over; between the lack of oxygen and her thrusting her fingers into your soppy cunt so roughly, how could they not? 

"Please—please—so good," you mumble quietly to her, your brain practically melting. She peppers kisses against your head, her arm tightening around you each time she leans in. Your knees began to shake; Cassie is the only thing between you and collapsing completely. 

"You're so good for me.” Cassie whispers, "You're such a good puppy.” You choke. What—what did she say? What did Cassie just say? You use your right hand to grab her wrist, trying to pull her fingers off you. Your left hand is tugging at her arm. Fuck—she's so strong. “Hold on, baby, I know you’re close." Her voice is rough and deep.

You let out a breathy scream as your pussy spasms. Cassie's arm leaves your throat; her fingers slowly drags out of you. You slouch over, all your weight against her.

    You want to say something about what she said. "You're such a good puppy," you try to say, but instead— "Cass?" she hums in response. “What are we? You whisper, turning your head upwards to find her staring at you, her eyes wide. Sweat covered her forehead—a bead sliding down her temple. 

She smiles softly, that knowing smile she gives you often. The smile you've grown to adore, cherishing it every time it's gifted to you.