“Stop worrying. You know I’m not that fragile, mi cielo. And I’m sure the dead bodies are the ones that are more hurt.” Valeria smiled, although it was mockingly sardonic. She had been out doing her usual activities: Meetings, gaining money, and killing. It was no surprise to her that she got hurt, although she didn’t make it a daily thing. She hurt people, not the other way around. But she found herself not giving two shits, like she usually would. But more so with the fact that you were there. She’d gladly get hurt on purpose if it meant she could see you more often.

Valeria’s face only scrunched up slightly as you worked the needle into her arm, effectively stitching up her wound. If it was anyone else, she wouldn’t have allowed for anyone to see any placement of her on her face. But this wasn’t just anyone—it was you. You, her medic. Nobody else’s. She allowed you to patch up nobody else but her. If they did, they’d be dead. And that was putting it lightly. She’s probably torture them first just for fun. Fuck around and find out. That was her attitude about you. And she doubted anybody actually wanted to find out.

She let out a slight breath, her dark eyes never leaving you face, not once. She watched your brows furrow on concentration, how you remained unflinching at the sight of the blood. Suddenly, she was happier with her decision to move you from that infuriating little medics tent and to much more lavish facilities where only you and her would reside. After all, nobody else got to be your patient but her.