Thea Lunari

You haven’t finished the next chapter of your series. Even your friends online have been asking about it. You’re finally free to write but the loud cries of the young boy make you restless. You pace around the hallway, eyes glued to the screen.

The problem is, your mind gets too focused to see what’s right in front of you.

You bump your head to someone’s chest.

“Ack!” You almost drop your phone, saved only by your quick reflexes. “Sorry...!”

“It’s alright.” The doctor passes by, completely indifferent.

But you are immediately a ‘fan’. Your hand unconsciously takes a photo with your phone as he talks down the hallway. If he fails as a surgeon, he could easily debut as an idol.

“It’s Dr. Zayne’s shift,” a nurse whispers nearby, her voice filled with adoration. “Thank goodness I got assigned here.”

You immediately type his name into the search bar. There he is. Your new target for fanfiction. Idols and fictional characters are nothing compared to him. God is cruel, showing such blatant favoritism. He has the face, the tall physique, and he is brilliant to boot. Head of Cardiac Surgery Department at such a young age. And his demeanor? Well, he’s likely the reason his patients's hearts hammer through their ribs. Too perfect. Where have you been all my life?

Your head is in a trance. You type at an abnormal speed. Your imagination is vivid. His hair, his lips, his chest... his length.

Whispers echo through the hallways. Zayne glances around, and the noise instantly evaporates. Clearly, he’s the subject of the gossip.

“Zayne, you already have a fan in the fanfiction world,” Greyson remarks, patting his back in pity. “There is a dedicated story written about you, and it’s popular. Even Yvonne knows about it.”

“Fanfic?” Zayne fixed his glasses.

“Uh… better if I just show you.” Greyson pulls out his phone, and sends a link. “Just… read it at home, okay? Not now.”

Curious, he clicked the link later that afternoon while standing in a long queue at his favorite pastry shop.

Okay... so this is a story.

He moves forward with the queue, eyes glued to the interesting premise about a doctor named Zayne.

He meets a girl…

He sighs, finding the fuss ridiculous. He almost stops reading to take the carefully packed bag of macarons from the cashier.

Then his eyes catch the next paragraph, and he almost drops the bag.

His lips lower to yours, kissing you slowly. Breaths mingle, teasing and taunting, consuming your gasp as he claims your mouth with absolute dominance…

The stethoscope is a victim in this story. The sterile gloves, too. The worst victim is Zayne himself, even if the author doesn't write it that way.

“What…” his hands tremble. Shocked.

He skips his entire afternoon break to read the rest, leaving the macarons untouched. The flow of the story wasn’t that nice, yet the likes, the shares, the bookmarks are staggering. He clicks the writer’s profile. Only a username and his/her age are visible. Nothing fancy, but every single works are 3xplicit.

Is the writer considered popular? Is this what women like these days? Writing about someone else with great inaccuracy and fantasizing about them?

Frustrated, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Youknowyourname69…” he murmurs.

It is time for your monthly check-up. You sit on the bench, waiting for your turn.

It doesn't take much to notice the tall, striking man passing by. He stops to instruct the nurse at the front desk.

Your eyes are glued to him again. This time your eyes don't need to watch what you type, your thumbs type accurately while your eyes dart between the doctor and the beautiful nurse. Ahh, what a great material~~

And that’s when your eyes meet. You instantly hide your phone. Zayne stares a bit too long, but he walks away when another doctor calls for him.

Your chest heaving, you sigh in relief. You shouldn’t be so obvious in the first place. Thank goodness he didn’t notice. Next time, you’ll be more careful.

He couldn't have recognized you anyway. Wearing an oversized hoodie and a mask, and you are sitting far away.

He didn't... right?

“Greyson.” Zayne opens the door to Greyson’s office.

“Yes?” Greyson looks up briefly then back to typing his patient files. Zayne stands by the door, expressionless. “Can I help you?”

“You had a patient this morning. A woman.”

Greyson’s typing stops.

“Which one? At least a dozen came in this morning.” He search Zayne’s eyes for any sign, but he remains perfectly calm. “Patient files are confidential, unless she is your patient.”

“She’s not. Just someone I’ve been looking for.”

“Sigh… you know what will happen if the board ever finds out?” He taps a few keyboard and clicks. “But since I know you, this is the only time I’d help. It’s in your files.”

“Thank you, Greyson.”

Greyson waves his hand without looking back, returning to his work.

Zayne walks at his usual pace, but the tight grip of his hands tells a different story. It isn’t long before he reach his private office, sits down, and opens his laptop. More than a dozen patient files appear on the screen.

“Which one are you…” Zayne murmurs. This one doesn’t look like you, this one doesn’t resemble you. With only a brief memory of your eyes, he scrolls through the photos on the patient's file. He almost gives up when he clicks on the last file.

AKSO HOSPITAL MEDICAL REPORT

Doctor’s Name : Greyson

Specialization: Cardiologist

Visit Date : XX-XX-20XX

PATIENT INFO

Name: Y/N

Med. Number: A090521XX

Address : #27-08 Apartment, Linkon City

Phone : +X (XXX) XXXX000

Assessment

Ms. Y/N appears in good health, one year post-surgery. Vital signs are within normal ranges.

Diagnosis

After thorough examination indicates a healthy status with no evidence of underlying health issues.

Prescription

No cardiac prescription necessary. However, the patient complained of discomfort regarding her underlying De Quervain's Tenosynovitis. Referred to Dr. Caleb, resident orthopedic physician.

His hand stops scrolling. He expands the attached photo. That exact eyes.

“Found you.”

You sit in a recently viral café during a Thursday lunch break. The desserts are phenomenal, making the long lines worth it. This place might become your new writing nest. But right now, you need to type out the scene burning vividly in your head.

Part 2. Summer. Where things finally get hot. He gets jealous and begins to ravage her body roughly on his office desk.

You imagine Zayne sitting in front of you, sharing a dessert. You’ve done this before with fictional characters, but it doesn't compare to a real, breathing person who feels so…

The café door opens, and the distinct sound of leather shoes echoes on the floor. You are too absorbed in typing to look up until the footsteps stop right beside you.

“I’ll take that one.”

You gasp, almost jumping out of your seat. Your eyes dart up to find the source of the voice and your current writing obsession.

“And that one, too. I’ll take all of them.” Zayne stands by the display case, pointing to the colorful macarons. Maybe he could sense someone is watching, but his eyes immediately locked on yours.

Panic strikes you. But your eyes can’t leave him, especially when a small smile plays on his lips.

Wait. He smiles? At me?

Heat rushes to your face. You still couldn’t process anything when he steps closer, holding a plate of macaron.

“Hello.” There is a faint warmth in his tone.

“Uh, oh, hi…?” It sounds more like a question than a greeting.

“I saw you at the hospital. Are you fine now?”

“Wait—you saw me? I mean, you remember everyone who pass by?”

“Paying attention is a trait a doctor must have.” Zayne gestures to the empty chair to you. “May I sit here? There are no other tables left.”

“Oh, yes, you may!” You almost stand as you gesture for him to sit. It’s painfully obvious that you are fidgeting.

Zayne sits right in front of you, initiating small talks. It feels weird since he was so far, and you’re currently typing stuff about him. If he ever finds out... no, you don't even want to imagine it. But he doesn't know, right?

You press the post button.

“Ah! Yes! She’s finally back!” a girl at a nearby table squeals, giggling at her phone.

“Where, where? Yes, it’s Part 2!”

You suppress a smile knowing someone close by reads yours. You put down your phone, the same time as Zayne’s phone notification blinks in silence.

New Notification: The Surgeon Behind The Door - Part 2.

Zayne smiles, a bit dark but you don't notice. You’re happily stirring sugar into your tea, humming softly as your phone vibrates continuously with reader notifications.

Suddenly, your alarm goes off. “Uh-oh, time to head back to work. Enjoy your macarons, Doctor.”

“Wait.” He catches your wrist, stopping your tracks. “I would like to see you again.”

You freeze, processing what he meant. Your heart almost leaps into your throat. Happiness blooms in your chest, sweet like honey, expanding your lungs. “I-I’d like that!”

Ugh, couldn't you give a more natural response?

Zayne smiles and releases your hand. You trade numbers, and you spend the walk back to your office alone giggling, completely ignoring the stares of passersby.

Going to the hospital feels more like a date these days. Zayne meets you in a quiet corridor, asking about your hand.

“Don’t worry. It’s just minor pain. Too much time on my phone.”

“I prefer you reduce your screen time unless necessary.” He intertwines his fingers with yours, his grip firm. “I do not want to see you in pain.”

Ah… this doctor is just too sweet. What sort of karma did you gather to deserve a lover like him? You remember what you have been doing behind his back, and a wave of guilt washes over you.

“Uh, I can’t completely stop. But I’ll rest if it hurts, I promise.”

Lies. You’re addicted to writing. The surgeon’s fanfic reached chapter 23 now, packed with a bit of personal details since he became your boyfriend. But you don’t put specific details, no. You’re terrified he might discover it.

“The thumb splint I ordered arrived a few days ago,” Zayne says, tracing gentle circles on the back of your hand. “I didn't bring it to the hospital today.”

“Oh, that’s fine. You can bring it to our date this weekend.” You smile cheerfully, unaware of the dark glint in his eyes.

“My shift ends in fifteen minutes anyway. Accompany me to my apartment, and I will fit the splint for you.”

Your eyes immediately lock onto his. The words might be misleading, yet his expression purely concerned.

You nod, yielding to his request. “Okay.”

He smiles. “I will see you in a moment.”

The drive to his apartment feels agonizingly long. Classical music plays softly in the background, completely drowned out by your racing pulse. Your senses are overwhelmed for no reason. Whenever you glance at him, he simply offers a small smile and focuses on the road.

He probably doesn't know that this kind of invitation usually leads to sex, you think to yourself. What an innocent man.

When he unlocks the door to his apartment, the first thing that hits you is how thick his scent that welcomes you. The entire place is immaculate, looking like a luxury showroom. Minimalist, clean, and perfectly suits him.

“You have an office here, too.” You look around the dark office, didn’t even bother to turn on the lights.

“Feel free to look around. I will return shortly.” He kisses your forehead before leaving you alone.

Even his office books and documents are neatly arranged on the bookshelf. His laptop sits closed on the desk. Beside it, a stack of papers catches your eye. You read the first page.

AKSO HOSPITAL MEDICAL REPORT

Doctor’s Name : Greyson

Specialization: Cardiologist

Visit Date : XX-XX-20XX

PATIENT INFO

Name: …

Oh, it’s his work. You’re about to look away, but your own name on the paper stops you. You stare at your medical history and the exact date of your visit.

“Wh-what...?” The printout predates your meeting at the café. Stapled to the back is a printed photo of you from the hospital security feed. Your knees give away on the floor. Your hands try to hold on something, end up knocking the stack of papers off the desk. They scatter across the floor.

Trembling, you drop to your knees to gather them, trying to breathe.

Then, your eyes catch the printed text on the scattered sheets.

Zayne’s lips lower to yours, your breath mingling before his soft lips finally touch yours...

The blood drains from your face. You scan the papers. They are printed chapters of your fanfiction.

“Ah, Zayne…! Please don’t stop…!”

Bile rises in your throat. This is the latest chapter. He knows.

“What is the matter?”

You draw a loud gasp, turning your head. Zayne leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. His silhouette blocks the light from the living room, you can’t see his face.

Your breath hitches, “Zayne, I can expla—“

“You don’t need to. I have read every syllable.” It’s like thunder strikes your body.

Panic paralyzes you. He walks toward you, each footstep sounding like a death sentence. He drops to his knees, levelling his gaze with yours. The moonlight catches his hazel eyes, and it looks cold. Way too cold.

Once you snap from his gaze, You realize you’re trapped. His hands planting on either side of your body, his face leaning closer to yours.

“I-I’m sorry…” your voice is getting smaller, almost a whisper. Zayne’s so close his breath brush your nose. “I’ll delete it all. I promise.”

“What for? Thousands of reader already enjoy each chapter.” He closes his eyes, letting out a dark, mocking scoff. Your whole body trembles now. “Do you know… several comments mentioned how much they enjoy the concept of me, binding my patient with a stethoscope?”

“Z-zayne…”

“Medical equipment is easily damaged under such friction. It is highly inefficient. I had to buy new one for each time I fuck someone.”

“I—I will leave. You won’t ever see me again, please...”

“Leave? Do you know…” Zayne interrupts. He tucks a strand behind your ears, making you wince as his fingertips linger on your skin. “That almost every female colleague at Akso Hospital now whispers behind my back because of your vivid descriptions?”

His hand suddenly drives into the back of your head, gripping your hair firmly. He tilts your head back and bites your neck.

“Ummh…!” You want to jump, but you feel too weak. Your feet kicking at nothing but the paper, uselessly flying. You’re gasping for air, hands pushing his shoulder weakly, he doesn’tt budge.

“This is what you desired, correct?” Zayne whispers against your ear, his other hand splaying flat against your back to pin you to him. “For me to be rough with you?”

“N-no...! It’s just a story—”

“Lies.” He releases your hair and slides his hand down, under your dress, cupping your crotch. His fingers slide deliberately against your underwear, feeling the slick dampness soaking through the fabric. He rubs the moisture between his fingers. “You are incredibly wet.”

You anticipated intimacy tonight, but this is unexpected. You squirm, but he effortlessly lifts you into his arms.

“Z-Zayne...!” The apartment blurs around you. The rooms that looked beautiful minutes ago now feels terrifying.

He gently lays you onto his mattress, pinning your waist down with his knees. That’s when you finally notice. He’s wearing his white doctor's coat and something else that dangles on his neck—a stethoscope.

“We are going to perform a thorough examination. A mandatory check-up.”

He is quoting your own script.

He pulls your dress up, exposing your strapless bra and the damp patch on your panties. You are terrified, your hands shaking, your breathing erratic but you can’t move—or you just don’t want to. A shameful spike of arousal locks you in place. Your mind is debating in chaos, and the part that tells you to stay wins. Your head spins from the intensity of fear and desire, and you wonder if there’s a limit as to how much liquid you could produce down there.

You like this. The realization surprises even yourself.

“You’re terrified, yet your physiological response contradicts your panic.” Zayne’s eyes narrow, then breathes a scoff similar to a laugh. “Give me your hands. We have to reenact the scene, darling.”

“Zayne, please…” the hands that have been supporting your back almost give away.

“Hands.” It’s a command this time. He could easily take them by force, but he doesn’t want it. You have to hand it yourself. Your wrists, in submission. “I'll show you how surgeons tie knots.”

Another line. You swallow hard.

Willingly, you extend your trembling hands. He immediately grabs them, swiftly binding your hands together with the rubber tubing of the stethoscope. He secures not too tight but still firm, looping the ends around the metal bars of his headboard. The sharp clink of the metal feels like you’re locked in a jail of your own making.

“...please...” You’re gasping for air, eyes teary begging for him to… what? Release you? Be gentle? Or just do it? Clearly both your mind and your cunt have been debating now but it’s clear enough—it’s gushing down there.

“Shh, shh... darling…” Zayne coos. He must have seen your eyes darting left and right in hesitation. He tilts your chin up to make you look at him. “Do not lie to me, to yourself.”

He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. “You have been anticipating this, haven't you?”

Oh, you have to hold your bladder for that sentence. The exact sentence you wrote months ago. Hearing it makes your throat dry, your lower body aching for something that no man has ever given to you before.

He kiss lightly behind your ear, sending chills down your spine. A hand swiftly unclasps your bra, tossing the fabric aside. The cool air hits your bare skin, instantly making your nipples harden.

“The nerve endings here are incredibly sensitive to temperature changes.” Zayne murmurs, his eyes tracking your chest, “Let us evaluate your sensory threshold when I use my tongue...”

He recites another line. You want to bury yourself.

His lips trail down to your cleavage. He watches your breath hitching, a small smile blooming on his face. Slowly, deliberately, he drags his tongue from the base of your breast straight over the peak.

You stifle a loud moan.

“Holding your breath like that only heightens the sensitivity.” He presses his fingers against your tight lips, parting them with his thumb. “Stop restraining yourself, let me hear your voice.”

He leans back to fully appreciate what he does to you. His eyes trailing over your body make your skin burn in every spot he looks. Your skin is flushed crimson, your chest heaving, and your nipples are getting so hard it aches.

Zayne’s palm traces down your face, throat, and stops right under your breast, feeling the weight of the plush mound. He glides down to your torso, as if enjoying every curve, fingers tugging into the waistband of your panties to pull them down. He could see how the center of the fabric sticks to your wet folds by the string of your arousal as he pulls it away.

His hands sliding between your thighs to force them wide open. You gasp as he settles his weight between your legs, blocking them from closing.

“Significant fluid production,” his cold voice only fueling your arousal further. He rubs his fingers against your center, coating them in your slickness. “Your body is completely flooding itself for me.”

“Mmh...” You squint your eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming shame of your vulnerability.

“I told you not to close your senses. It only heightens the sensitivity.”

Without warning, his fingers plunge inside your tight walls. You cry as his digits expanding your walls.

“The muscle here is remarkably tight.” He pushes deep to the knuckles. “Tell me...” He slowly retracts his fingers, then thrusts them back in. “Is this your first time?”

“Y-yes...” You nod frantically. “Please be gentle...”

“Gentle?” He pauses, pulling his fingers out completely, leaving you empty and aching. “Did you not portray me as a rough man in bed?”

“No, I mean—yes, but—“

“No excuses. I am going to properly dilate you before I intubate you with myself.”

That wasn’t what you wrote.

“Intu—what—ah!” He plunge his fingers deep into your core, hooking them upward to put pressure directly against your g-spot. You arch your back, completely undone by the sensation. Clearly his finger does miracle compared to your own. His medical knowledge makes his touch devastatingly effective.

"Right here. The clitoral crura stimulating against the anterior vaginal wall.” He thrusts his fingers fast and deep enough to make you almost see stars. Almost. You wonder how he knows where exactly to press your buttons. As if he reads every expression on your face, “You laid out the entire presentation for me in your stories. I merely follow."

“Zayne, I’m—” You grit your teeth, your bound hands pulling uselessly against the stethoscope. Your body tenses, as if welcoming the sensation that’s about to erupt.

Suddenly, he stops. He pulls away right before you can climax. You whimper in desperate frustration. For a moment, only the sound of your ragged breathing fills the silence.

“Do you think you can have it that easy?” His tone is steady, but his dark eyes tell a different story. A dark one. You look down at his glistening fingers, then your gaze shifts to the heavy bulge straining against his trousers. He follows your gaze to his confined(?) length.

“You want this, don't you?” He smiles.

He retreats slightly, undoing his belt and freeing his length while keeping his shirt and doctor's coat on.

You freeze, staring at him, watching the details of his length. Definitely larger than average size—you make sure to research before for your fanfic once). It’s huge, thick, and intimidating. It won’t fit, it will hurt, but you want it entirely. Right now, the only thing that stop you from grabbing his beautiful length is the stethoscope locking your wrists. He’s breathtaking, and the whole doctor setup just riles you even more.

He pulls a small wrapper from his pocket, then rips it with his teeth. You know this scene all too well. You wrote them, after all. He slides the protection from the tip of his length down to the shaft.

“You’re...” You cant form words properly, chest heaving. “Still wearing...”

“Yes. We are reenacting your story. Now,” he press the blunt tip of his length against your soaking entrance, coating the rubber in your liquid. “Scream for me.”

That word agai—

You can barely process the command before he drives his entire length inside you in one heavy thrust. Your mouth opens, but the scream escapes as a breathy gasp. Your nails scrape against the headboard. The intense heat of him filling you until there’s no space left between inside breaks your mind.

“Darling... too tight...”

You look up at his face. His pupils dilating, consuming almost every color in his eyes. His jaw is clenched, his muscles taut as his length throbs deep inside your walls. He’s teetering on the edge, just like you, driven wild just from him entering you.

He must have notice the faint curl of pleasure on your lips, because his pace suddenly turns ruthless, delivering deep thrusts that tear cries from your throat.

“Zayne... Zayne...!” You pull against your restraints, desperate to hold him, but the stethoscope keeps you pinned. He leans down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, matching the frantic rhythm of his hips.

“That’s right,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice dropping into a dark, demanding register. “That is the only name that will escape your lips from now on. No other idol, no other character. Only my name.”

Without a second's warning, he raises the pace brutally, driving into you with relentless force. “Come for me,” he commands, his gaze burning into yours. “I want to see you undone.”

Your body tenses once more, your moan devoured by his lips as you finally, finally climax until you see stars behind your eyes.

He let go of your lips, his arms wrapping around your body, coiling tight to pin you against him. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, letting out a low grunt as he drives deep, bottoming out inside you, pinning you down as he releases into the rubber until the last tremor fades.

The room is silent save for your heavy breathing.

He finally pulls out, leaving your body to sudden cold, but not for long. He leans to you then kisses your forehead, just like he did before you entered his apartment. Then he kisses your closed eyes, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You melt into the touch, savoring the sweetness of his kiss.

Then, reality crashes back into your mind as he untie the knot at your wrists. Your lips freeze, and he immediately detects the sudden shift in your movement. He lets go and retreats a bit, giving you space.

His eyes staring at you, patiently waiting for an answer.

“I’m really sorry,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I wasn’t thinking carefully. I ruined your daily life. I forgot you’re a real person, not an idol or an object to be infatuated with.”

“Darling...”

“I’ll stop.” You finally muster the courage to look him in the eye. “Seriously, I’ll delete all of it. Just please... give me a chance to go back to how we were before… please…”

He cups your cheek. You flinch, completely startled.

“You have to continue writing,” Zayne murmurs. His fingers caress your face, his gaze gentle. “Do not delete anything.”

Then a dark smile touches his lips.

“Since we are going to reenact each one.”

De Quervain's tenosynovitis : a painful condition that affects the tendons on the thumb side of your wrist.

The smut scene in my head was VIVID 🙈 It’s damn messy but I think I did something here. Tell me what you think about it ok 🙈