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spockiguess · 1 month ago

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(Not necessarily a request, unless you feel inspired haha)

Oh god, the brain rot plot bunnies multiplied, and I wanna share some Dr. Robby ideas you might like:

What do you think it'd take for Dr. Robby to indulge Reader in that glove kink? Given just how...chaotic the Pitt is, compared to John Carter's time in the ER, Robby probably wouldn't be up for doing that at work (...or is he? 🤭), so they'd probably indulge that kink at home? Would he be up for it the moment the Reader mentions it, or would he be like "you really want me to bring my work home?"/"I am too old for this shit" and Reader would have to beg convince him?

...ooooh, what if it's a part of, like, a roleplay for the two: the charismatic Dr. Robinavich and his sweet and innocent patient, Reader? Or, perhaps (age gap) Reader's miserable due to period cramps, and sweet loving Robby just wants to help his darling Reader feel good? Or, or, or...so many ideas 😂

(...God, I think about glove kinks and associated kinks wayyyy too often...🤣)

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch Drabble

Warnings: Smut, Glove Kink, Doctor Kink, Age Gap Relationships, Fluff

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x FEM!Reader

A/N: I hope this is okay! It's mostly a stream of thought, pretty much, lol!! Thank you so much for the request-not-request, haha! I love it!!!!!

Michael Robinavitch would come home early in the evening after having spent the day tirelessly working at The Pitt, his eyes a little duller and weary with exhaustion.

There, he'd smell the fragrant, warm scent of spices from whatever you decided to cook for dinner that day still hanging in the air.

His stomach would rumble, but that can wait, he thinks, because in the twelve hours since he's last seen you, he's craving your attention and presence.

He feels somewhat guilty for it; he's so attached to someone half his senior--shouldn't it be the other way around? Still, he can hear the shower running somewhere in the background, past the quiet chatter of the television playing as he walks past the living room.

So, he'll venture into your shared room and bask in the new smell of your body wash and shampoo--sweet and flowery. Some days, when you're out for groceries or reuniting with friends, he'll lay on your side of the bed and take deep breaths while smushed into the covers. That's how he's able to get the best naps in between shifts, inhaling what is uniquely you.

Now though, the sound of your soft singing floats through the bedroom and leaves him feeling slightly rejuvenated already. Like a siren's call, he thinks lamely.

Opening the door to the bathroom, your singing becomes a little louder, more echo-y as it bounces off of the cutely decorated walls of one of your shared spaces. Ever since you've moved in, you've taken to refurnishing Robby's entire house, making it feel more like a home in the process. Robby doesn't mind at all.

"Hey, sweetheart," Robby would say, throwing his jacket out of the bathroom and watching it fall somewhere on the bed nearby, "I'm home."

Your head would peek out from behind the curtain, eyes wide with excitement, "Hey, babe! I was wondering when you'd get home."

Robby would laugh as he begins to discard his clothes and dispose of them indiscriminately. You'd ask, "Coming in?"

Robby would respond with a question, "Can I?"

You'd chuckle lightly, "Of course, you can! Do you want me to rub your neck once you get in?"

Robby would groan, "Yes, please. I've got this crick in it that isn't going away."

Then, you'd wave him in, not at all stealing a glance once he's fully naked. You still haven't gotten used to that yet, just the sight of Robby's naked form excites you to no end. Robby wouldn't say this yet, but he's already getting riled up at the thought of sharing such an intimate moment with you, too.

Once Robby's in, you'd awkwardly switch places with him so you'd have better access to his neck. Your hands, so soft and inviting, would easily rub out any knots or wound lumps in Robby's neck, forcing him to moan.

Just the comfortable silence, save for a moan here or there, would get both of you in the mood for something more. From this position, you can't see the erection Robby is sporting while you work your magic.

As you're about to stop, a thought you haven't been able to abandon would shove into the front of your mind and beg for your attention. You wouldn't want to bring it up now, but you simply can't help yourself.

"Hey, Robby?"

"Hhm?" Robby would moan out.

Your hands would fall and grasp each other as nervous energy wracked your body.

"Um, can I ask you something?" You'd say in the sweetest, most innocent voice possible.

Robby would then turn around and see the position you've taken up: hands wringing and head tilted downwards.

Robby would goad you to open up, to which you'd respond with what's been bugging you for a couple weeks, at this point. You'd want Robby to be Dr. Robby at home, just for once. To examine your body like one of his thousand patients and help you along to what you're craving most.

Robby would laugh to himself, hand running over his beard as he considered the possibility, "I'm way too old for this."

You'd squeak with embrassement, "Just ignore it! It's nothing, anyway. Just a thought."

But Robby loves you, and he wouldn't be able to lie to himself; he'd like to play around with the idea, too. So, Robby would console you and give in to your desires, despite his age.

This would lead to him getting all dressed up once you're both out of the shower, (just his work clothes and usual stethoscope, along with his ID to seal the deal). Excitement would course through your veins as you watch him glove up from the bed, entirely naked.

Then, he'd approach the side you're laying on, "I'm Dr. Robinavitch, but you can call me Dr. Robby, what seems to be the problem today?"

You'd struggle to stay still, which would entertain Robby, to no end. But you'd inform Robby of your "problem," and he would begin his "work."

His smooth, gloved hands would feel shockingly cold against your still hot skin, and the blue latex would stick to the damp parts of your body as they glided every which way. Then, Robby would begin to feel every curve in the name of medicine, asking if anything hurt or not.

You'd shake your head no when his hands ghosted over your plush hips, but shake your head yes when his hands would make their way up to your breasts.

"They hurt, a little. I think they need a massage," you'd say, your intentions bare for all to see.

"We can certainly try that, Miss," Robby would respond with before giving your breast a firm squeeze. The icy latex would make your nipples rise and pebble instantly, the slightly tacky material only adding to the sensations the gloves brought.

Robby would massage your breasts for a couple of minutes, getting rock hard as he saw you squirm underneath his touch. Gentle moans would leave your velvety lips, and Robby would have to strain not to slide a thumb between them and have you suck.

Then, Robby would ask, "Is this helping? How much has the pain receded?"

"Not much," you'd answer, "I think it's my nipples that are hurting."

"I see," Robby would say, "Maybe we can try something a little different?"

"Like what?" you'd gasp.

"Well, some physicians believe that the mouth can help with pain. Would you like to try that?"

You'd moan out a yes, to which Robby would eagerly bend down and take a firm nipple in his mouth. He'd swirl the skin around his tongue, sometimes edging the pebble with his teeth, making you jump with pleasure.

After awhile of alternating attention between each breast, you'd want something more, so you'd tell Robby about this. Robby would understand your hasty words and begin to trail his gloved hand down the length of your body.

Finally, Robby's hand would reach your mound, a cool presence against the burning heat there.

"Is this okay, ma'am?" Robby would ask. You'd nod a fervent affirmation, to which Robby would sneak his hand even lower and have his gloved fingers meet the sticky, wet heat of your cunt. Even through the gloves, Robby would feel just how much wetness is pooled there.

Then, Robby would gather this wetness and spread it across your cunt before focusing on your clit. There, Robby would apply a firm pressure as he moved his fingers around the bud, causing you to shake from it all.

You'd thrash with pleasure, which would force Robby to say, "We need you to lie still, ma'am."

But you wouldn't be able to help it, not when the tacky latex of his fingers swam through your folds and penetrated your cunt's entrance. Especially not when they sheathed themselves inside of you and curled inwards.

Eventually, you'd be reduced to a blubbering mess, choking on your own tears as Robby pulled orgasm after orgasm from you.

You'd think to yourself, "We have to start playing doctor more often."

#dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt #the pitt hbo #the pitt fanfiction #drabble #dr michael robinavitch #dr michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavitch

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spockiguess · 1 month ago

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Request Update 2:35pm 3/19/25

I am about to begin writing out y'alls requests, but be warned, i'm going from oldest to newest, so more recent requests will take longer!

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spockiguess · 1 month ago

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Hello! Just wondering, do you have themes you won't write? I looked on your blog and I couldn't find anything, but just want to be sure before I request anything!

Y'know, that is totally something I should have, so thank you for bringing my attention to it!

I write pretty much anything, so nothing is really off the table, especially concerning smut. Usually, I just use my discretion for if I get a weird request or not

But my non-negotiables are:

TW FOR DISCUSSION OF SA AND UNDERAGE STUFF

- No rape (as in, rape can't be the spicy part of the fanfic, if you catch my drift. If someone requests that Reader has gone through something like that and another character comforts them through it, that's totally fine and is an exception.)

- No weird stuff involving children/minors. I love a good age gap, but anything under 18 is a strict no-no. (Again, if someone requests that Reader has gone through something as a child and is now dealing with it as a legal adult, that's different and I'm totally willing to write that. I just won't go in to heavy detail.)

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spockiguess · 2 months ago

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Hi again, same anon haha let's pretend that I'm not horrible about responding in a timely manner 😅

Hoo boy, that was SPICY! WHEW, Reader and John got to enjoy two kinks at once 🔥😂 Loved it!!!

I'm so glad you loved it!!! It was so fun to make!!! I love the requests you've been sending! (might get to work on some of those ideas tomorrow 😈)

To anyone reading, send me John Carter/Dr Robby requests too!

#dr robby #dr robby x reader #the pitt fanfiction #the pitt hbo #dr john carter x reader #dr john carter #john truman carter iii #john carter x reader #john carter #nbc er #er fanfic #er 1994 fanfic #er nbc #er 1994

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spockiguess · 2 months ago

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Same anon as before, with the fic idea

This feels like a younger doctor thing (so John Carter) to me, but it could work for Robby too

Rubber gloves. The rubber gloves that medical staff put on before touching patients? Those. John/Robby just teasing/fingering you over and over again while wearing those

Thoughts?

The Gloved Beast

Summary: While helping a patient, you and John get into some workplace flirting. You don't exactly realize just how much your seemingly innocent comments would set the new doctor off.

Pairing: Dr. John Carter x FEM!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Overstimulation, Mentions of Injuries/Gore

A/N: So, literally like fifteen minutes after I received this request, I got to work on this fic. I wrote the first 1,500~ words last night, got too tired to continue, then wrote the other 1,300~ words this morning. This request was so effing good, it got me so effing excited, I was like, "Holy shit!!!!! I need to do this right effing meow!!" Thank you so much Anon for this request, and please, if anyone else has a request for any Noah Wyle characters, send it!!!!! I'm so excited!!!! Also, sorry for the stupid title, I'm going back to my roots.

It–your current situation, that is–started with a simple, clean conversation. Nothing more. The conversation would have originally been classified as wholesome, even. What happened, though, was that Dr. John Carter, your boyfriend of about a month, had sustained a gratefully shallow cut while helping an overwhelmed father who found himself pushed through a window’s toy display just a week out from Christmas. The father was desperately searching for the season’s newest Super Soaker, a bright neon orange and chartreuse, just as the rest of Chicago was that evening. Apparently, no one had thought to check the store’s displays until the father snuck past a disgruntled worker and set off a whole tragic event that actually landed a couple of other parents in Cook County General Hospital, as well.

What happened then, to credit the father’s recollection, is blurry. All he can remember from then on is ending up on an ambulance’s gurney with a thousand or so pieces of glass sticking out of his puckered skin, give or take. Once he arrived at Cook County, it was your job as one of the hospital’s essential nurses to painstakingly pick out every little shard. Dr. Carter had come in and out of Exam Room One through the entire process, checking in on your progress, and not so subtly trying to spend as much time with you as he could. Since your relationship was so new and shiny, you acted like lovestruck teenagers around each other.

Eventually, it was time to stitch up the dedicated father, him and his thousand cuts. Luckily for you, Dr. Carter had just finished up with a hectic shootout in Trauma One and Two, so he was able to graciously extend his hand, literally, and patch the parent up. Carter had gone so far as to lay said hands over-top yours, in an equally unsubtle attempt to coach you through the procedure. You were somewhat ashamed to admit that the maneuver actually worked on you, forcing an embarrassing giggle out of you.

John asked what got you so giggly, rich coming from him in the awkward position John took up just to be near you, but even then, you quietly admitted, “Well, you’ve got nice hands, John.”

The confession took the newfound doctor off guard, which earned you a slightly higher-pitched, “Well, thank you,” before he continued with a choked-off cough, “Is that–is that a thing?”

You snorted, handling the needle with ease despite John’s stubbornness to keep his hands on yours, “What do you mean ‘is that a thing?’”

John shrugged, “I’ve heard it from the other nurses. That women like hands, or something.” Then, John muttered out a lame excuse for a teaching moment with the particular stitch you just pulled.

“Ah, the cat’s out of the bag, I guess,” donning a vaguely wizard-like voice, you continued, “Our greatest secret revealed! Curses!”

Carter snorted, too, before his voice suddenly deepened and he leaned in closer, his lips just a few inches away from your ear, “So, you like my hands?” Just to be a problem, Carter flexed the muscles in his hands, showing off the various veins through the thin layer of his crisp, latex gloves. This is when the conversation veered off of the nearest cliff into the dangerous waters of workplace flirting.

Trying to retain an air of neutrality, you confirmed John’s suspicions, “Oh, sure. They’re strong, and quite large, too.”

John huffed out a haughty ‘heh,’ your answer only further fueling his undoubtedly enormous ego, but you didn’t mind. No, you were stuck in this fast sinking car, so why not plunge yourself deeper into unprofessionalism?

“The gloves only make them look better, too.” John’s breath caught in his throat, momentarily causing him to choke as his head struggled to reel from your brazen teasing.

Unfortunately, your poor bedside manner was now too much for the poor father you were attempting to help. He groaned, palming his face with a free hand, “I get that you’re kids, but shuddup, for the love of God.” That all but ended the conversation in its tracks, the car now being towed out of the ocean and back onto unforgiving land.

The father’s plea didn’t necessarily end your situation, though. No, it was only the beginning of a cruel test of fate set upon you by the higher beings of this world, because once John Carter found himself struck with a stupid idea, he was determined to see it through.

So, that’s how you ended up locked in a storage closet with one Dr. John Carter, who was eager to find out more about this secret, shared female obsession.

With your back against an entire case of medical supplies, John’s closeness nearly suffocated you in the tight space, but the way he was holding the back of your head while you shared a steamy kiss made you care a little less. His mouth was slow, but aggressive, like you had all the time in the world. The kiss was full of passion and drew your breath from you even more, while Carter’s hands on your hips forced your plain, white panties to be just that more soaked from the sweet friction they provided to your balmy skin. It made you hot, unbearably so.

You had to take a short moment to separate–to gather your breath and yank your similarly plain, baby pink tee over your head while Carter’s hands devoured your body further, a single bead of saliva still keeping the two of your mouths connected. Once his hands made contact with the soft lace of your matching, white bra, your mouths met again.

This time, you allowed yourself to moan into the kiss, now past the point of caring for whoever might hear you outside of these tight walls. Carter met you in tandem, moaning too when your tongue pressed against his. The shared moment was wet and heavy, making the air feel like weighted lead in your chest whenever you dared to steal another breath. It was perfect, this little evening rendezvous, you didn’t think it could get much better.

But then, Carter parted from you and this wicked smile dawned on his face, wholly unlike the usually adorable demeanor he had on most days. You had seen this smile before, though, it only crossed his complexion when he wanted to get into trouble. A very wicked smile, indeed.

“Do you want me to put some gloves on?” John asked with nothing but a whisper. You stalled, undeniably shocked at his words.

Still, the idea excited you greatly, “Really? You’d do that?”

John nodded, already teetering forward to attack a box of gloves just behind your head, ripping the contents out onto the shelf and floor. While John grabbed a pair, you laughed, now aware of the sound you two were producing.

You shushed your boyfriend, trying to urge him to be a little quieter, but he was solely focused on getting the pair of rubbery gloves on his perspiring hands, which proved to be a difficult feat. Carter ripped the first glove attempting to yank the garment on, and he lost the other due to pure excitement coursing through his veins.

It took an extended period of time for him to finally win the battle against another pair of slippery, combative gloves, but it didn’t dull your shared anticipation as you finally got to gawk at his covered hands. The rubber shone under the bright, fluorescent bulb that hung above your heads, and you took the opportunity to grasp one of Carter’s hands in yours, your fingers exploring the material in a new light.

Again, John flexed his hands, obviously preening under the close attention. You didn't mind one bit, you were happy to finally indulge this fantasy with a guy you were totally head over heels for. And John seemed happy to indulge, too, with public sex being a not-so-secret fantasy of his. This was the perfect combination of time and place, something you hadn't seen quite yet with the doctor.

Most of these meetings hadn't even gone past some heavy petting in empty exam rooms, but the deciding forces that be turned your fate to a destination most unknown. It made you a little giddy, to say the least.

Especially when Carter brought his hands to your breasts, again, feeling the mounds of plush flesh through another, added layer. The cold latex stuck against your chest every time his hands moved from one spot to the other, forcing a shiver to run down the base of your spine. Goosebumps prickled on your skin from the touch, which John bravely tamped down with warm kisses, in reality only reigniting the bumps further.

Soon, Dr. Carter worked his way downwards, stoking a great fire with every kiss he planted on your skin. When he found himself kneeling before you, he anchored his fingers in the belt loops of your pants and tugged. Your simple, cerulean blue jeans came down easily, as you decided against a belt that morning. John smacked kisses against the expanse of skin just below your navel while he helped you out of your pants, his hands immediately flying to the swell of your ass when they finally came off.

There, he groped and squeezed, the off-white material of the gloves still cool to the touch and awakening embarrassing reactions out of you. You moaned as John moved his hands from your ass to the front of your midsection, ghosting his palms along the peaks and valleys of your body. Now, you were getting hotter by the minute, and Carter’s reluctance to help quench that flame only stoked the heat more. It was when Carter hooked a finger on either side of your underwear that you became antsy.

You whined when John didn’t move even a single inch from those spots, just keeping his fingers firmly in place while he continued to kiss all over the front of your body. “C’mon, John, we don’t have much time,” you said, out of breath.

Carter removed his face from the enveloping heat of your upper thighs to say, “I’m just trying to commit all of this to memory. You can’t fault me for wanting that.”

When John got in a teasing mood, you knew you’d stay on the precipice of pure pleasure for a long time, your nerves building and building until they couldn’t hold out much longer. “But what if someone tries coming in? This’ll be over before anything actually happens.”

Carter looked up at you, his big, brown eyes reflecting the white light from above while he sports a sly smile, “Are you saying that nothing is happening right now?”

You huff, threading your hands through John’s hair and itching his scalp, a sure-fire way to get the young doctor riled up, “No, of course not, I just…”

“‘You just’ what? Tell me what you need,’ Carter breathed against your lower stomach, massaging your thighs.

Your stomach flip-flopped with arousal, you were too far gone to worry about being honest or not, “I need you, John. I need you to touch me more.”

John continued to press white-hot kisses to your skin, “Where exactly do you need me to touch you? Gotta use your words.”

Again, you whined, the sound high and reedy in your throat, “Aw, John, don’t do that to me.”

“I’m not doing anything, just asking you to be clear with what you want.” John could be a real cocky shit sometimes, but it always got you worked up. Maybe that’s why Carter only acted like this when he was with you in these intimate moments, he knows how much it affects you.

You couldn’t work up the nerve to say what you really wanted, but you could show John. So, you grabbed John’s hands and led them to your clothed cunt, bucking your hips when you finally felt the cool rubber situate itself there. Carter gazed up at you again, awestruck, before finally leaning in and touching along the fabric of your panties.

Carter’s thumb swept along the curves of your cunt, right along the middle of your folds, before pressing against the bud your clit, hidden beneath the fabric. Your hips bucked again, entirely of their own volition, and you tried to keep any wanton noises from escaping you in this particularly vulnerable moment.

John kept this up for a couple of minutes, just teasing you through the layers of fabric and latex, the sensation wholly new to you. Unfortunately, you couldn’t keep the noises down for long when a loud, shrill whine escaped the confines of your throat. John only laughed, now hooking his free hand back under the waistband of your panties while his thumb continued to alternate between pressing against your clit and sweeping along your folds.

You didn’t know if John could feel how wet you were through the gloves, or if he just hadn’t mentioned it yet, but you were beginning to sport a puddle in the gusset of your underwear and you were begging God for John to do something about it.

God had seemingly heard your prayers because Carter began to inch off your panties, carefully sliding them down past the curve of your hips and thighs. Once your panties were fully off, you shuddered at the feel of Carter’s gloved hands swiping at your pubic mound, just above where you needed them to be.

The icy latex stuck to your skin, making a clacking noise every time Carter moved his hands everywhere but where they should be most. You didn’t have to see Carter’s smug smile to know that it was there while your body bucked wildly at his movements. You even began to beg Carter to do more, to help release the growing tension that was building at the base of your gut.

“John, please. I need more. I need you,” you said, your voice a couple octaves higher than where it usually sat in your vocal register.

“Since you asked so nicely, I guess I’ll help you out,” John said, his own voice low and full of want, which utterly betrayed the cool persona he was trying to wear now.

Finally, John gathered a heap of wetness from your core and circled your clit with his gloved fingers, the fevered way he touched you now crumbling your willpower and reducing you to nothing.

You keened, your hips moving in line with John’s ministrations as he applied full pressure to your clit, his other hand snaking its way up your thigh. Once his other hand found your core, two fingers began to prod at your seeping entrance, your cunt wet enough to take them both at once. John still kept up with his movements at your clit, having forgone the teasing for now.

After a couple of moments, Carter finally pushed his two fingers into your cunt, curling them inwards as his thumb sped up at your clit. The material of the gloves was cold and smooth against the warm, spongy walls of your core, providing a contrast that made your toes curl in the confines of your Converse. You could see from this angle that John had a determined look in his eyes that would rival many of the other residents at Cook County.

You nearly screamed with pleasure, the coil in your core winding tighter and tighter with the continued movements from your boyfriend below. Your release was so close now, especially as Carter kept moving his fingers and thumb in tandem.

Eventually, your release came in the form of a rush of wetness from your cunt and a barely hidden scream behind your hand. John was fully satisfied with himself, but he didn’t let up with his movements.

No, John kept fingering you, even well past your release. The sensations began to creep into overstimulating territory, almost painful now. Still, the pleasure you felt was unparalleled, and you bucked into John’s hand again and again.

Tearing away from his work, John looked up at your heaving form with self-satisfied eyes, “You’ve got another one for me, don’t you?”

You nodded yes, feeling another orgasm quickly approaching as Carter pushed past your feelings of overstimulation, the pain finally subsiding.

After a couple of moments of Carter’s gloved hands working your cunt, another orgasm barreled through you, taking you completely by surprise and nearly alerting everyone in the near vicinity to what exactly you and your boyfriend were getting up to.

Another rush of wetness escaped you and completely coated John’s hands, surges of electricity shocking your entire being like you were a live wire. John didn’t seem to mind though, he was thoroughly entranced by your orgasm and couldn’t find it within himself to look away.

Even as you were coming down from this second release, John cocked his head to the side and asked, “You got another one in you?” You didn’t realize earlier just how much your comments would set John off, so you were really in for it.

#er nbc #er 1994 #dr john carter #john carter #dr john carter x reader #john carter x reader #er fanfic #nbc er #er 1994 fanfic #noah wyle

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spockiguess · 2 months ago

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Hey I got a quick question: Are your requests open? If so, I got a John Carter (or Robby, dealer's choice) x Reader idea you might like...

If not, feel free to ignore this haha

Requests are totally open (but fair warning, i'm not great at fulfilling them, haha!) I'd love to hear what you got cooked up for me, though!

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spockiguess · 2 months ago

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I Start My Mornings With Folgers and Hot, Steamy Sex

Summary: Dr. Robby doesn't get to share many mornings with you, so when the day comes that he's finally able to spend just a little bit more time in your embrace, he doesn't pass on the opportunity to make it memorable.

Pairing: Michael "Dr. Robby" Robinavitch x FEM!Reader

Warnings: SOMNOPHILIA, Smut

A/N: HEYWASSUPYOUGUYSYES, I am back from my nearly year long hiatus with something from a fandom I have never posted about before, but that's okay! I'm a dirty liar and a cheat, so I'm sorry for not updating the Laszlo Kreizler series I had in the works. I'm bad at continuity. Anyway, I hope you guys like this one! Yay!

Mornings spent with Michael Robinavitch have always been painfully short, fleeting moments that spill from the gaps between your grasping fingers like rushing sand, so you treasure the times when everything seems to stop for just an hour or two and you can hold each other while the sun begins to rise. This morning is one of those intensely special times.

It’s around four in the morning–only now the sun is still slumbering soundly just beneath the shimmering horizon millions of miles away–when Robby snakes his arms further around your middle and squeezes ever so slightly. You unconsciously moan in response, the deep recesses of your brain faintly aware of the comforting action as you melt deeper into his velvet touch. His nose is pressed against the back of your neck, inhaling your vanilla-sweet scent with every easy breath, while his large, sculptural hands cup the heavy mounds of your breasts, gently kneading.

The emergency room attending could stay in this protective bubble forever, completely blocking out the frenetic, ever-speeding pace of the world outside as he keeps one of the people he truly cares about anymore locked in his embrace forevermore. The glimmering lights of lampposts and stretching skyscrapers would wipe across his vision in great streaks, like the measured strokes of a master’s paintbrush across a twilight canvas. Robby is content to have that be his future; these rare instances being wholly untainted by the horrors of the known universe and only meant for your shared enjoyment. Then, he could finally find peace.

Unfortunately, that's not quite in the cards for him just yet. Life has its hands wrapped firmly around the deck, dispersing fate indiscriminately. Dr. Robby has this, though. He has just a few hours with you before he’s inevitably pulled into his grueling work and forced to clear its waters for the next twelve hours. Because of this, Michael Robinavitch is eagerly determined to make the best of the time he has with you. Robby figures he'll start this day off on a good, memorable note.

With that, Robby commences with his plan. As an attending who's participated in countless, intense surgeries, he's startlingly deft with his hands. His grip around your breasts tighten, causing the skin to spill over his palms before Robby lightens up and allows the tip of his calloused finger to graze the pebbled surface of your nipple. Robby’s touch is feather-light, for now, he doesn't want to rush through this like a crazed bull released from its pen.

Ever so slowly, he circles your nipple with his forefinger, tentatively forcing the skin to contract and become a stiff, little peak beneath his hand. Now, Robby’s able to delicately grip the peak with his forefinger and thumb and roll it between the two, slightly squeezing with every other turn. The effects of his work are already taking place as you moan again, unknowingly bucking your plush hips into his, awakening Robby’s cock to full attention. Robby forces back a pleased groan of his own as he feels the soft mounds of your ass tenderly grip his aching dick in a warm hug. You're too tempting, most of the time.

Robby isn't distracted from his goal, however. No, he just shifts his attention on your breasts to the other hand while another travels down the curved planes of your body, rustling your sleep shirt and shorts. Your stomach is smooth under Robby’s hand, radiating a soothing heat that he could get lost in for hours. On some days, he comes back from work and immediately draws you into bed just so he can rest his weathered face against your tummy. There, he’ll press light kisses and reminisce on how lucky he is to have a partner like you. At this moment, though, Robby is only using your stomach as a roadmap to somewhere far more important.

Robby’s searching hand stops just above the puckered hem of your elastic, light blue sleep-shorts, curious as ever. As if it had a mind of its own, Robby’s hand begins to toy with the top of your satin shorts, mindlessly playing with the band while his other hand continues to work one of your stiffening nipples. Finally, your brain switches gears and your toasty body moves of its own accord, rocking into Robby’s firm silhouette.

Robby unashamedly moans, now, his rough throat giving way to breathy gasps as your ass cradles his hard dick in a near-perfect way. He can already feel sticky, hot precum leaking from his tip, no doubt staining the front of his boxer-briefs with a damp puddle. Every sense is electrified, begging for Robby to amp up the sensations tenfold, but he can't let that happen just yet, this is still about you.

So, Robby’s hand continues its adventure north, down the front of your shorts, and lightly skimming the silky lace of your panties as it reaches the apex of your pubic mound. Robby can feel the intense heat emanating from your core, nearly burning up his hand with its fire. The emergency room doctor can feel his head go dizzy as he fantasizes about how hot you'll be wrapped around his weeping cock. Still, he presses onward.

With Robby’s hand now firmly seated above your sex, the man whose whole body surrounds you presses warm, wet kisses to your neck as his middle finger inches forward to grab the edge of your panties and pull them off to the side. Now, your sticky cunt lays exposed to the cold air around it, and even in your sleep, you shudder from the chill. Slowly, Robby’s middle and ring finger search through your folds, grabbing the glossy slick that's there, before finding the rosy bud at the top of your cunt.

Covered in your wetness, Robby uses his fingers to rub slow, tight circles around your now-buzzing clit, delighting in the sounds you're making as his forearm muscles strain from the awkward position. You shift, opening your legs further as your sleepy brain struggles to process the new sensation probing at its walls.

Even though Robby’s pace is sluggish, he can still hear the quiet, squishy slap of his fingers against your throbbing cunt loud and clear. Robby knows how wet you can get–what exactly can happen if all of your delicate buttons are pushed in the correct way and order, and tonight, he hopes to have you writhing beneath his touch while your sex unleashes tidal waves of arousal on his dick. In the times Robby has managed such a feat in the past, his ego would skyrocket to preposterous levels, allowing him to walk with a certain bravado he isn't keen to most days. Robby figures that he’ll like to start today off like that, even if it'll draw attention from others.

As the good doctor fantasizes about making you squirt, his rugged hand absentmindedly speeds up its pace, pushing against your clit just that much harder. It's not a painful amount of pressure, but just enough to make your entire body buck with pleasure, nearly pulling you out of your unconscious state.

Too soon, Dr. Robby thinks. With this, he slows to a screeching halt as he can practically feel the electric currents of arousal flowing from your body to his, exciting his cock further. Robby guesses it would be fine to move on from this phase of his plan, even if every molecule buzzing around in his body is telling him otherwise. All of his barbaric senses are screaming for him to make you cum right then and there, to force multiple orgasms from you before you're even awake, but Robby wants this to be a somewhat relaxed morning, all things considered.

So, Dr. Robby stops his ministrations. Instead, he brings his hand to the edge of his mouth and takes in your heady flavor. When Robby is in a situation like this, something nestled deep within him, a primal urge, takes over his mind and he becomes something wholly unlike his usual self. He can't quite explain it, but you're the only person who's ever brought this side of him out, before. Robby isn't necessarily complaining, either. No, he just moans around his fingers before eagerly unearthing himself from the nest he’s built around his body, you included, trying carefully to not wake you just yet.

As he finally finds himself free, Robby climbs down the length of your now-prone figure and sheaths himself between your silky legs, adjusting once more to allow his arms to come around the bottoms of your thighs so his hands can rest just below your navel. Once there, Robby slides your sleep shorts and underwear to the side, breathing in your sticky scent, all the while. With your cunt now fully exposed to the outside air, Robby can see it glisten in the low light of your shared room, still drooling from before.

Robby waits a beat, stilling as he watches your resting form rise and fall with each breath that leaves you, and he finds himself utterly in love with the person caught beneath his eager body. Dr. Robby is incredibly lucky to have someone like you.

It’s with that thought that Robby finally delves into your weeping folds with a parted mouth, his tongue zeroing in on your clit the moment he makes contact with your cunt. You and Robby share a wanton moan as you wake up from your sleepy reverie, your hips moving of their own accord while Robby desperately tries to pin them down once again.

With a hazy fog still trapped in your throat, you call out to the man nestled firmly between your legs, “Mhm, Michael, what are you–what are you doing?”

Robby hums before pulling away from your sex, slick dripping from his bearded chin, “Starting the day off strong, don’t you think?” Robby’s voice is deep and rich, now, his vocal chords inactive until recently.

You laugh before choking back a strained moan when Robby reassumes his work, “If this is how we’re starting the day, I can’t wait to see how it ends.”

Dr. Robby laughs, too, the vibrations ricocheting against your clit and sending shockwaves directly to the base of your spine. You thread your hands into Robby’s thinning hair, pulling ever so slightly when he sucks your clit into his lips and licks. You don’t know it yet, but your orgasm is closer than you can register, especially considering what happened before Robby positioned himself beneath your quivering sex. Your mind is too caught up processing how enthusiastically he’s eating you out, as well as the way Robby’s hips seem to hitch against the mattress with every swirl of his tongue. You don’t even catch when one of his hands slips from the resting point above your pubic bone to travel beneath your legs and station itself just to the side of your parted lips.

When your mind finally does catch up is exactly the moment Robby begins to ease a finger into your cunt and carefully curl inwards, in a sort of beckoning motion. You groan loudly, impatiently welcoming the intrusion with a strong clench of your legs while Robby presses his free hand into the base of your stomach.

His tongue, his finger, and his other hand all create this perfect symphony of pleasure that has you shaking beneath Robby’s touch. If you were in your right mind, you might have possibly felt Robby’s smirk against your cunt, but you’re currently preoccupied.

Still, when Robby introduces another finger, deliciously stretching your wanton hole to a comfortable degree, you can’t help the thrashing your body does, completely overwhelmed with sensations. Before you know it, your orgasm is at the door and knocking to be let in, which you gladly allow.

A burst of electricity simmers beneath the surface of your skin as your cunt spasms, your hold on Robby’s hair tightening that much more as he continues to lap at you like a starved man. Liquid gushes from your core, absolutely coating the lower-half of Robby’s face, the beginnings of his neck, and his hand while wild slurping noises can be heard just below your shaking body.

He’s barely letting up, so it’s not long until you’re buzzing from overstimulation and begging your partner to ease off of you. Dr. Robby relents, struggling to hold himself back from tasting even more of you as your orgasm washes past your senses.

Once the rush of sound filters through your ears, you tug on Robby’s sleep shirt to bring him to eye-level with you. Robby crawls back up your body, arms supporting his weight on either side of your head.

“So, how was that?” Robby asks, a wide smile painting his features.

You giggle, leaning in for a kiss and only slightly grimacing at the feel of your juices on Robby’s face.

“Is amazing an okay descriptor?” You answer his question with a question of your own, to which Robby chokes back a laugh.

“That’s great. Don’t change it,” he says, leaning down to peck your cheeks and neck.

The morning isn’t quite over, yet, as you feel the hard length of Robby’s dick pressing against your most sensitive spot. As Robby spares a kiss to your cheek, you take a minute to worm your hand down your bodies so you can firmly grasp his cock and squeeze.

Robby moans, quickly getting the hint as he’s reminded of his own pressing matters that need to be attended to soon. Your partner pushes himself off of your body so he can lean back on his haunches and yank his pajama pants down, just enough to free his glorious dick.

The sun is starting to peek through the curtains, now, so you’re able to see the faint outline of his cock, long and thick, proudly shoot out from the base of his pelvic bone. Robby takes it in his hand and cautions a gentle swipe over the leaking head, moaning again as you attempt to take your shorts off, as well.

Robby snaps out of his daydreaming and helps the offending garment off of your legs, your lower half perfectly bare for him. You open your legs further, to which Robby eagerly positions himself between them before resting his dick against your stomach. You’ll never get used to his size, you think, with his dick being much bigger than anyone you’ve been with previously.

Robby smiles, his question heavy in the air, “Are you ready?”

You nod, eventually voicing an affirmative when he doesn’t continue. Satisfied, Robby takes his cock in his hands once more and leans back to line it up with your entrance. What a way to start the morning.

#dr robby x reader #michael robinavitch x reader #the pitt fanfiction #dr robby x you #the pitt #dr robby #the pitt hbo #michael robinavitch

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spockiguess · 3 months ago

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so I got into grad school today with my shitty 2.8 gpa and the moral of the story is reblog those good luck posts for the love of god

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spockiguess · 4 months ago

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The Alienist Fic Suggestion

Hey, guys! Sorry for dropping off of the face of the earth again, I fear I'm plagued with the "Fanfic Writer Curse" which sends its victims into horrible circumstances for no true reason. I will be resuming The Evangelical Counsels/Laszlo Kreizler fic, but how would you guys feel about a oneshot similar to that one? Wherein the reader is still a nun working at an orphanage, but...LAZSLO IS A VAMPIRE!!!?

I watched Nosferatu (2024) and Bram Stoker's Dracula (1992) in quick succession, and I want something as painfully erotic as the ladder with Lazslo Kreizler being the star. Let me know your thoughts!

#laszlo kreizler #the alienist #daniel brühl #laszlo kreizler x reader #the alienist fanfic #daniel brühl x reader

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spockiguess · 10 months ago

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(Had to reblog to fit all info)

Important Note: Most of the clothing listed below is handmade, usually with higher quality fabrics, which will bring up the cost. Despite still shopping for clothes from H&M and Target when necessary, I'm trying to make the switch to more sustainable clothing, which is sadly a luxury these days. (I do thrift, but most shops in my podunk area do not cater to plus-sizes).

I've been wanting to order from Hissy Fit Clothing for a while now, they're based in the UK and are super committed to sustainability by using deadstock fabrics (which makes most of their clothing limited runs). They have sizes that go up to ~5X (yay from a plus-size person like myself), but the sizing can depend on the amount of fabric remaining in the warehouse. Prices are pretty set around $55.00 for dresses, $30.00 for tops and bottoms.

Sixth Dimension is more grungy, but they still offer quite a few really cute, pastel pieces and very feminine dresses. On top of that, they work with artists to create unique designs. Prices are similar to that of Hissy Fit, but they're based in the US, which might cut down on shipping costs. The Stardust Skirt, Plum Open Back Dress, and Angel Crop Top give a more alternative Sabrina Carpenter.

327 Clothing is a small, handmade boutique that has very reasonable pricing. Their clothing is a more wearable version of Sabrina Carpenter, IMO. Their prices range from below $20.00 for a top and $56.00 for an entire set. Sizes go up to a 2X, and the shop is based in the US.

Elsie and Fred has a price range a little higher than Hissy Fit, and I'd categorize their clothing as being more beachside-island-sexy-fun. The Corsica Slinky Slink Top is a very close vibe perfect for summer. The Scorpios Dress is a personal fave. I'm pretty sure they're based in Australia.

Cool Is A Construct has similar pricing to Elsie and Fred, however they're based in the US. They produce handmade pieces with deadstock fabrics, similar to Hissy Fit, and have sizes going up to 4XL. This brand is probably the best shop, besides 327 Clothing, for a Ms. Carpenter-inspired wardrobe.

So I have recently discovered that I am a light summer (color theory is huge in my country), which came at the perfect time because I have been wanting to give a new spin to my wardrobe forever. I love, love colours, and I am trying to fight the progressive loss of colour in fashion (at least, affordable fashion), so I am set on finding clothes that fit my palette, that are also fun and fresh. We are talking pinks, light blues, and violets. My inspo is Sabrina Carpenter's outfits (as she is also a light summer), and I really like her style. I know that I'm gonna have to go on a massive thrift haul, however, I was wondering if anyone happened to know any shops that have this kind of vibe (and that are not too expensive if possible)?

Thank you so much lovelies!

#sabrina carpenter #sustainable fashion #indie brand #clothing #fashion

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spockiguess · 11 months ago

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The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 2 - Another Meeting

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 1

Summary: The reader returns to Kreizler's Institute, but the meeting does not go as planned.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Mentions of Religious Grooming, Arguments, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Laszlo is depicted as an asshole in this because, well, he is one! I love him a lot, but he needs to work on some things...

The days that followed after your confounding encounter with the blunt Dr. Kreizler were slow and uneventful, which you came to realize over the years was a small blessing in your line of duty. Excitement in an orphanage wasn’t always positive, and it was better for the children if they were able to predict–and follow–a safe routine. It provided much-needed structure in their lives.

Nevertheless, you found your mind wandering in the few moments of solace throughout the day. Cleaning dishes was paired with meditations on the complex interactions you and the Good Doctor had shared, whereas changing sheets brought on vivid memories of his piercing eyes and scathing words. The wires within you became more fraught with each passing second you spent in your cramped bed. In those twilight hours, you would focus on one of the candles that dotted your equally diminutive room, absently watching the ember flame dance in the breeze that flowed from your open window. The fire provided the serenity your head needed to think about how the time you spent with Dr. Kreizler had forced you to question everything you knew while inspiring a searing heat to spark in the depths of your core.

This warmth that spread deeper and farther than any hearth might cause was wholly new to you. Not once had you experienced something like this, but due to the newfound sensitivity between your legs, you knew that it was something to vehemently detest. Mother Superior Ida had been encouraged on many occasions by St. Vincent’s Abess to violently discipline your peers if need be, with you only escaping by mere hairs. Watching the older nuns of the convent be flogged for “inappropriate behavior” around the men of the Church who happened to visit from time to time kept you dutiful on your path of pureness. You never touched yourself, let your thoughts stray, or even looked at your most private areas unless absolutely necessary. After that day, though, your discipline waned.

Dr. Kreizler was challenging, utterly unafraid of your position, and according to the stories you heard, cold towards most. The man countered your faith at every turn, intent on proving you wrong. He wasn’t the type of man you thought you would find yourself attracted to, if you could even act on those desires. No, Dr. Kreizler was difficult. He had a tendency to provoke people, much like he did to you that day, and ignore one’s feelings. And yet, Kreizler regarded children with a familiarity that was uncommon for men of his status. In the few hours you spent at his Institute, the alienist’s care for the wellbeing of his patients was made plain. Dr. Kreizler, at his heart, was a gentle man, and that is perhaps what drew you to him so much in the first place–his defiance of your expectations.

This all culminated in a flurry of emotion that pushed you to leave St. Vincent’s Orphanage on one of your off-days and make the trek to the Kreizler Institute once again. Without the fear that urged you to take this path originally, you were able to mull over your actions, causing you to stumble into strangers on the sidewalk and nearly pass the Institute altogether. Once you righted yourself faced the creme-colored steps of his facility, a wave of hot shame flooded your senses: what were you doing? To allow any sort of attraction in the first place was already an ample mistake, but to seek the object of your attraction out like this was deplorable. You were already wed to Him, any other being should pale in comparison. Despite this, you still had questions that needed to be answered.

Just as you began to make your way up the steps, one of the enormous wooden doors to the Institute swung open, a tiny woman appearing just behind it.

“Oh! You must be Nunny!” she proclaimed in a mousy English accent.

Pausing, your brows knit together in a tight line as you stammered, “I’m sorry, you’re one of the staff here, correct?”

The woman was wearing the garb you found common amongst the staff who worked behind those doors, and she swung her head down to look at the uniform, too, “Yes. I apologize, Sister. Dr. Kreizler said that’s a nickname the children often refer to you as.”

Another type of embarrassment painted your features, and you huffed indignantly as you drew your scapular up again, “It’s alright, the children find it easier to remember.” You weren’t sure if Kreizler using the name to describe you was supposed to be demeaning, or if he genuinely didn’t remember your name, but it stung, nonetheless.

The woman who stood behind the entrance pushed the heavy door further, waving a hand to welcome you in, “Would you prefer I call you something else?”

Now indifferent to the title, you relented, “No, Nunny is fine,” and continued into the building.

Unlike the previous time, there weren’t any children to be found playing inside, nor did you see any staff surveying the space. It felt oddly empty, and you shuddered at the silence.

“Where are the children?” you asked hesitantly.

The woman who was currently leading you down one of the main paths to Dr. Kreizler’s office pointed down a branching hall you passed, “Everyone’s gone outside to play, Sister. They’re happily enjoying their weekend activities.” You sighed a breath of relief before resuming your route.

Eventually, you were met with Dr. Kreizler’s office door, the opulent gold plaque freshly lacquered since your last visit. The woman knocked twice before twisting the similarly gold handle, leaving you to confer with the alienist who waited inside.

Kreizler sat at his desk, furiously scribbling in one of the many notebooks that cluttered the surface, “Is something the matter, Lottie?”

Unsure of how to respond, you waited until Dr. Kreizler glanced upwards, taking pause at your unexpected presence.

“Have you just arrived?” Dr. Kreizler queried.

Nervously running one hand over the other, you explained, “Yes. I was already at the entrance when one of your staff greeted me.”

The man squinted his eyes, something you now figured a tic, “How convenient. I had just sent Lottie to retrieve you.”

You swallowed, stepping back a pace, “I’m assuming Mona requested a visit?”

“Indeed. She’s in the courtyard with the rest of her peers,” Dr. Kreizler waited a breath, “You came here for a different reason?” The air in the room began to still, and part of you wished to leave in that very instance.

“I apologize. I know you’ve only allowed my presence for visits with Mona, or if I need help with another child,” you paused as well, this time for different reasons, “I’m not here to preach gospel, Doctor.”

This only further intrigued Kreizler, his diligent fingers pensively stroking his beard as he pressed for more information, “Then I must ask the same question as I did before: what is the purpose of your visit?”

You were cornered, literally and figuratively. The lining of your throat dried uncomfortably while you struggled to form a coherent response, “I’m not sure how to classify this visit, Dr. Kreizler.”

Kreizler beckoned you to sit with a single hand, “Indulge me, Sister.”

That single sentence reignited the flame you had been feeling ever since you left the Institute before, and without much thought, your feet carried you to one of the velvet chairs opposite his desk.

Carefully sitting down, you adjusted your tunic to retain as much modesty as possible, despite the vulnerability you felt in this moment. All the while, Dr. Kreizler raptly studied you like one of his patients, the very act feeling immodest itself.

“So, why did you seek me out, if not for Mona?” The question came from him easily, as if there wasn’t a double meaning to his words.

You didn’t dare meet his gaze, instead picking at the skin that surrounded your nails, “I do not know where else to go,” Dr. Kreizler waited as you collected your thoughts, “You have inspired questions that I do not know how to answer, which has only brought about more questions.”

Kreizler’s voice was an octave lower as he leaned back in his chair, resting a hand on one of the armrests, “You can’t consult your superiors?”

“They would punish me, Doctor,” you admitted shamefully.

A deep hum resonated from Dr. Kreisler's chest, “That must be the reason behind your change in demeanor today. I remember a quite brazen young woman from our last visit.”

A tense silence permeated the room, suffocating you under its weight. Dr. Kreizler was right, which added to the immense guilt you burdened yourself with. You've come all this way from St. Vincent’s to satisfy a foolish infatuation and seek guidance over something he despised with his entire being. How could a self-proclaimed atheist possibly help you reconfigure your relationship with God?

“I should have waited for Lottie,” you said to yourself, voice trembling.

Kreizler clicked his tongue in annoyance and stood without warning, quickly making way to the door behind you, signaling for you to leave, “Then you are wasting my time, Sister. If you have nothing of note to share with me, please wait with one of the staff for Ms. Walker.”

You were confused, how could he turn from addressing you with some modicum of kindness to treating you like a disturbance. Overwhelmed, salty teardrops began to fall into the open palms of your hands. Feeling lost again and in desperate need of understanding, you looked up and out of the shimmering window that sat behind the doctor’s desk as you questioned, “Did I really choose this life for myself?”

Another pregnant silence followed before you heard the door abruptly close. Soon, Dr. Kreizler was behind his desk and waiting for your next confession like the men of the cloth you had run to previously. Perhaps Kreizler’s unique disposition might be what you need in this moment, rather than the absolution the men on the other side of the confessional booth urged you to seek.

“You were right. I had never questioned His teachings. I hadn't thought that possible. But when you exposed such a blindspot in my beliefs, it led me to doing that very thing,” you avoided Dr. Kreizler’s stare, too raw to face it now.

“Now, I am unsure if my choice to take the vows was entirely my own, or just a symptom of being raised by the very women I have become.” A weight lifted from your shoulders and the bind suffocating your heart eased with the admittance. Even voicing your doubts to someone who wouldn't punish you for doing so was relieving.

Ever serious, Dr. Kreizler spoke evenly, “You must not have had many choices, Sister.”

The title of Sister was blistering now, and you recoiled at the sound, “When I began my teachings, it was with the motivation that once I was of age, my health and safety would be guaranteed. I had no other skills to depend on.” The rosary that laid beneath your tunic began to burn your skin, the cloth which covered you only intensified the feeling.

“You acted out of survival, then? Not out of an innate devotion to God?” Kreizler asked.

Tears blinded your vision, “I think so.”

“What would you have done if your needs were satisfied?”

You stayed silent, only speaking when you were certain enough you wouldn't burst into pathetic sobs, “I would have liked to work in an orphanage, just as I am now. I've always loved children.”

Dr. Kreizler tilted his head slightly, his eyes regarding you with the utmost pity, “And to think your life wouldn't have been so different had you picked a different path.”

Swallowing a hard lump, you blinked the remaining tears away and swiped the evidence of your pain from your hands, “Perhaps, but there is nothing I can do about it now. As much as anyone else, I am still burdened with the duties of my service, and it would be selfish of me to abandon them.”

The alienist leaned forward, almost conspiratorially, “Would you leave your convent, had you the opportunity?”

Color drained from your face and you clenched at your stomach, praying for the visceral sickness that boiled there to go away. You would be shunned by your Sisters, the only family you’ve ever known. You wouldn’t be able to continue your work at St. Vincent’s, where so many children are in desperate need of your help. The Lord would rebuke you as His wife and cast you to Hell once your life creeped towards the inevitable.

Startled, you fought back, a distinct sadness plaguing your voice, “I can’t do that.”

Kreizler, a man not ashamed of his ability to inflame, pestered, “”You can’t, or you won’t?”

“My Lord would abandon me, just as I would do to him if I entertained that prospect. I’d be a disgrace to the people I serve,” you argued, clinging to what you’ve been taught over the years.

“The only thing that restricts you from living the life you want is shame? You criticized others for using religion to justify their own despicable behavior, now you are doing the same!” Kreizler’s voice began to rise, the conversation flipping on a dime as his own frustration became evident.

“How am I the same, Doctor?” You asked indignantly, offended at the accusation.

Dr. Kreizler stood up, perching a hand on his desk to loom over you, “You are living a life of shame for a God you don’t even love–that is pathetic! You are no different from a starved animal clawing to survive.” His words dripped with bitter venom, and it stung against your flesh.

“I did what I had to do! I help people, Doctor! That is my freedom!” You stood, too, stepping closer to the edge of Kreizler’s finely carved desk.

“And what freedom is that, Sister? I help people, as well, do I not?” Kreizler’s accent thickened with menace.

You snarled, closing the gap between you and the Good Doctor even more, “You have always had the means to do such a thing! No matter what, you have been afforded protections that people like me are forced to live without–how we choose to live our lives is none of your business!”

Kreizler ignored your rebuttal, “These are fickle excuses and you are smart enough to know it, Sister. Do you want to live this life?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you said in an instant.

“I will ask again, do you want to live this life?”

“Of course not!” You yelled, inches away from Kreizler’s face.

An eerie silence followed before you found the confidence to speak again, voice broken, “I have given up so much, Doctor. I have lost the future I always dreamed about–and while I would help people in any lifetime–I want a family. That is the life I want to live.”

Kreizler, still maintaining the short distance between you, spoke gently, “Then why not go after it?”

Backing away somewhat, you issued a deep sigh, “I do not know how I would do that, and I am too much of a coward to face the wrath of my superiors, should I make a mistake.”

“So you will do nothing?” His words were foreboding, like thunderclouds reigning above crashing waves, eager to swallow you whole.

You didn’t allow yourself to speak on the subject anymore, having already said far too much, “I’m going to wait for Mona, Doctor. Thank you for your time.” In a second, you were out of the office and retracing your steps to the hall Lottie pointed down earlier, your smile bittersweet once the courtyard came into sight.

Soon, you were reunited with Mona, who was thrilled to see you. Already, she looked livelier than before, the hollows of her cheeks beginning to round out. The two of you spent most of your visit playing all of Mona’s newly-favorite games, most of which included some theming around horses, and you couldn’t have been luckier. Keeping your attention on the girl brought you back to your usual, joyful self, and you were able to momentarily ignore the humiliating spat you shared with the Institute’s resident alienist.

Eventually, Mona led you back to the dormitory she now inhabited, her bed occupied by a certain furry friend while her chest brimmed with clothes and toys. She urged you to sit on the edge of the mattress while she went through each toy she’s received, finally making way to the plush rabbit that rested against her pillow.

“And this is Nunny. She’s my favorite one,” Mona said through a big grin, holding the rabbit out to you.

Your heart clenched and you took the stuffed animal in your hands, brushing its floppy ears from its face, “You named it after me?”

Mona bobbed her head, holding her hands behind her back in the cutest way possible, “She’s a bunny, and bunny rhymes with Nunny.”

Gobsmacked, you sat the bunny to the side and brought the girl up to place on your bouncing leg, “It rhymes? You must have learned a lot since being here, sweet girl.”

Mona giggled, “Uh huh, he’s been teaching me himself!” In the farthest reaches of your hearing, you picked up on the sound of a doorknob twisting ever so delicately, followed by a soft creak. You reckoned it was a door just outside of the room, ignoring it for now.

With a knowing hum, you questioned the girl, “Dr. Kreizler?” Mona nodded again, situating herself closer to lay on your chest.

“That doesn’t surprise me. He’s a very caring individual–I knew he would look after you,” you didn’t entirely know why you were speaking the man’s praises, but you couldn’t help it, even with what transgressed earlier today.

Dr. Kreizler might be hard on you and most others, but he had a painfully obvious soft-spot for children, no matter the guise he might put on.

“He even plays with me. A lot of my friends say he doesn’t do that often,” Mona’s voice began to get quieter, and sneaking a glance downwards, you could see her eyelids become droopy, no doubt a warning your visit was coming to an end.

“Well, you’ll have to thank him for me, Mona. I’m extremely lucky to have gone to him when I had the chance.” Mona didn’t respond, and you could only guess she had fallen fast asleep.

Leaving her there for a moment, you glanced around the room, intently studying the crude drawings that lined the walls. When your gaze fell on the door, you noticed it was left ajar, and you faintly wondered if you had forgotten to close it before you came in.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #female reader #daniel brühl

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spockiguess · 11 months ago

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The Evangelical Counsels || Laszlo Kreizler x Fem!Reader || Chapter 1 - Introduction

Divider Credit: @cafekitsune / Chapter 2

Summary: After turning away another child from the orphanage her convent runs, the reader finds help in the one person considered irredeemable by the Church, Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.

Warnings: Descriptions of Abuse Regarding Minors, Mentions of Poverty, Homelessness, and Starvation Regarding Minors, Mentions of Violence Against Homeless People (including children), Period-Typical Depictions of Homelessness, Criticisms of Organized Religion, Romance Involving Nuns, Age Gap (~20s/~40s), Eventual Smut

Pairing: Fem!Nun!Reader x Laszlo Kreizler

A/N: Hello everybody! Sorry for disappearing for over a year, but as per usual, life gets in the way of very necessary fanfic-writing. Anyway, I hope to post more often, especially with this story, which I have already prepared this chapter and another chapter for. Warning: the tags stated in the warnings are an explanation for things that happen in the plot, they are not a "factor" in the romance between the reader and Kreizler.

New York City has always seemed to exist within a perpetual dichotomy of exuberant wealth that can flood the streets with ornate marble statues at a whim, whereas walking a few blocks in any direction might lead you to slums teeming with sickness and desperation. The rich that infest the country’s epicenter for culture and progress never notice this disturbing contrast, even when the hand of a small child reaches out, begging for help. This shameless apathy has always disturbed you, and that distinct, gnawing feeling of injustice only grows more unruly inside of the pits of your gut as you see the affluent dregs of society continue to live in purposeful ignorance.

Luckily, you're not completely powerless to the rich that practically rule the city. Being a devoted Sister at St. Vincent’s Orphanage has allowed you to help ease the struggle the children here suffer on a daily basis, albeit, it's not exactly to your standards. The convent you're aligned with is small, and St. Vincent’s Orphanage is even smaller. At this point, you've lost count of how many children you've had to cruelly turn away, the cramped space you serve already brimming at max capacity. Every time you have to look a child in the eyes and tell them that they can't get the help they truly deserve because of reasons out of your control, your resolve crumbles.

Almost always, a voice in the back of your mind tells you to wipe the child’s tears and take them home, give them the life they deserve–take them away from this overwhelming helplessness. But the vows you swore to years ago keep you as a bride of God, serving Him–and only Him–with the idea of rearing children on your own absolutely unacceptable. Your sole duty is to help these children survive until they ultimately find a suitable home.

And that's where you struggle to reconcile the issues of your faith. If you're to protect the children of this city at any cost and show them the unending kindness of the Lord, why are you having to carry a starved child on your hip while you march through the streets in search of the only place that can take them in–the one place your Sisters dare not go?

To ruminate on such a question, especially at this time, is a waste of precious energy. The young child you carry needs your attention, so you push aside your own deep-seated frustration and attempt to temporarily relieve them of their worries.

“The Kreizler Institute is an excellent place, Mona. Although they act in the absence of the Lord, their facility is magnificent, according to Mother Superior Ida,” you consoled, brushing locks of tangled hair from the child's face while deftly weaving past the crowds that surrounded you on all sides.

The child, whose name you found on the note she carried with her at St. Vincent’s doorstep, solemnly nodded against your shoulder, teardrops beginning to wet through the thick fabric of your veil. Once again, your resolve crumbled.

Having to bite your tongue due to the innate frustration of the situation, you hugged Mona tighter, believing that if she were close enough, you could imbue her with the strength and bravery to take on this unfamiliar place alone.

At the same time, you whispered to the girl in an attempt to empathize with her, “Oh, Mona. I know. I can't imagine how scared you are right now.”

That statement alone was too much for Mona, causing her to burst into blistering wails while her small hands balled into tight fists, grabbing at your garb as if she were bound to be taken from you at any moment. And that wasn't necessarily wrong. As of now, you were the only person she could fully trust, and in just one more block, you'd be disposing of her at another doorstep. All you could do was pray, and pray you did. Your hands shielded Mona, holding her close to your heart and soul while a litany of prayers flowed from your mouth like rushing rivers, perhaps drowning out the fears you both shared.

Mona only cried more, beginning to plead with you as your pace quickened, “Please don't leave me! Take me home with you! Please!”

It was all becoming far too much, and having ultimately arrived at the front steps of the Kreizler Institute, you fell to your knees and enveloped the girl’s body in yours. You didn't care how you might look to the cacophonous onslaught of strangers that filled the city’s sidewalks, the only thought in your mind was about Mona’s wellbeing. You barely knew this child, but your peers and superiors always chastised you for having too big a heart.

“I’m so sorry, my love, but you must be strong for me. They'll take good care of you here. You'll have whatever you could possibly need.” The sentiment was mostly to calm yourself as Mona’s arms just barely wrapped around your neck, but even then you could feel her hands clawing at the back of your veil, a desolate attempt to stave off the inevitable.

Your entire being ached; you had no idea how to soothe the girl, much less promise her safety. Just then did the idea enter your mind: you could lie to Mona. The situation showed no signs of getting better and you were at an absolute loss. Any other option you had would directly conflict with your faith, your future. Immediately, you fought off the preposterous notion of such a thing. Lying was a wicked sin, and most importantly, how could you betray a helpless child’s trust if this institute were to harm her in any way?

The only thing you could tell Mona was fickle in nature. It held no real promise and there was no way for you to tell if it would be true. Despite that, you were at your wits end. You couldn't let Mona back onto the streets of this city, not when she was so young–so frail.

You cautioned a deep breath and spoke as steadily as you could muster, “When more beds open at St. Vincent’s, I can come back for you. This doesn't have to be forever.”

There was no telling if and when more beds would free up, moreover, the rules regarding switching such care between temporary housing were complicated and strict. Mona could only be brought back to St. Vincent’s if serious evidence of wrongdoing were to be found at the Kreizler Institute, and to open such an investigation, especially if it were to be found pointless, would draw endless ridicule for not only the orphanage, but for your convent. In any case, your statement wasn't a complete falsehood. In the event of possible abuse, which you loathed to even consider, St. Vincent’s would seem much more appealing as an option for relocation. Much of the governing power in New York City still identified with any given denomination of the Christian faith. That being said, you prayed that Mona wouldn't have to experience such terror.

In spite of your worries, your reassurance seemed to calm Mona down, and her broken sobs ebbed into quiet sniffles. Carefully, the girl reared her head back just enough to look at you, her beautiful brown eyes shiny with tears.

“Do you mean it?” Mona asked, her voice raspy and barely a whisper. Dread sunk through your chest like a lead weight, but you forced a plaintive smile to further reassure the girl.

“As much as one can.” The words sounded bitter coming out of your mouth, and for good reason.

Mona’s head bowed before you brought her to your chest once more. Grimly, you swaddled the child and walked up the impressive steps of the Kreizler Institute for Wayward & Abandoned Children.

Once inside, your fears were somewhat quelled when faced with the sight of playing children racing around the elaborate halls of the Institute. A child’s laughter was one of the sure-fire ways to lighten your mood, and on such a day as this one, you needed the resolve to ensure Mona’s safety.

At first, your steps were careful and measured, the short heels of your boots clacking against the expensive marble flooring beneath you. In a couple more steps, you began to walk with a renewed confidence, especially once Mona’s head lifted from the safety of your veil to survey the interior. Eventually, you began to sport a slight smile when some of the children recognized you, ushering you over to their game of hopscotch, the bounds of the squares made up of colored string.

“Hey, it’s the nun from St. Vincent’s!” one of the children called. After that, the rest of the children recognized you as well and offered cheerful greetings, your presence a familiar sight from the dozens of soup kitchens New York City was home to.

“Nunny!” called one of the girls. She looked to be a year or two older than Mona, and after a pause, you finally placed where you’ve seen her before.

If your memory serves, the girl’s name is Alice, and she was just about the kindest person you had ever met. On multiple occasions when you had been volunteering your services at the kitchen closest to St. Vincent’s, she selflessly gave her food to people who had already been served, therefore barring them from officially receiving more that day. Alice had a particular knack for spotting those who needed it most, and was always eager to be of service. You recalled having to restrain yourself from encouraging Alice to join St. Vincent’s convent once she reached an appropriate age. You were firm on the choice that women had when it came to reciting the vows or not, and you wouldn’t use your position of authority to dictate otherwise.

A wide grin spread across your face as you began to rock Mona on your hip, earning a rewarding laugh from the girl, “Good morning, Alice. It’s a pleasure to see you again after all this time.”

Alice giggled, inching closer to you, “It’s nice to see you, too, Nunny.” Nunny was the lighthearted title the children you worked with decided on, explaining it was easier to remember than your true name.

Her mere presence made you feel better about the Institute–she wouldn’t be so giddy if the staff here weren’t fulfilling their duties.

“I was beginning to worry after not noticing your presence at the kitchen anymore,” you playfully remarked, chuckling at Alice’s nonchalant shrug.

“Sorry, Nunny. My friends told me about here and I sorta forgot to say anything,” Alice paused, quickly interjecting her own sentence, “but I would’ve sent you a letter if I knew your address!”

Barely able to contain your smile, you added, “Well, luckily St. Vincent’s will do. Do let me know if you’re allowed to send letters here so I can make sure to give you the proper address.”

Suddenly, you felt a menacing presence materialize behind you as Alice waved at the intrusion, “Hello, Mr. Kreizler!”

Turning to face the person Alice greeted, you were met with a stern-looking man dressed in exquisite textiles, no doubt imported from some far off land.

“It’s Dr. Kreizler, Alice. It’s best not to forget a person’s proper titles,” the man, presumably Dr. Kreizler, kindly instructed. Despite his intimidating appearance, he was gentle with the girl.

You were about to speak when Dr. Kreizler requested the children leave before returning to the daunting demeanor befitting a man of his stature, “I believe it’s well-known that servants of the Church aren’t allowed within these walls. Your kind has a habit of imposing nonsensical beliefs on the children.”

A feeling of hot shame washed over you, warmth tinging your cheeks, “I’ve been warned, Dr. Kreizler, but I’m not here to spread His word.”

Dr. Kreizler stiffened further, his mouth straightening into a thin line, “Then what is the purpose of your visit, Sister?”

Just as Dr. Kreizler cautioned, the Institute had a reputation for vehemently prohibiting the presence of any religious figures to prevent conflict amongst himself and the children. The wealthy alienist was unafraid of the feathers his atheism might ruffle, and he made sure to shield the children from what he called “propagandist doctrine.” Regardless of his blatant vitriol for religion, you hesitantly agreed with him on that particular stance. In your mind, religion was a choice for most people, nothing more. Even though you have devoted your life to His teachings, you hardly expected anyone else to do the same.

Slightly shaken, you pressed Mona closer to you, foolishly hiding her face from the man who might offer her asylum as you voiced your plea, “St. Vincent’s has been full for quite some time now, and I can’t turn away another child in need, Doctor. My superiors have spoken highly of your institute and I have no other options for her.” You motioned to the girl you still held, gently rubbing her back.

Dr. Kreizler softened at this, taking notice of the small girl you cradled. Prudently, he stepped closer, tilting his head to get a better look at Mona.

You continued, speaking more to Mona than to him, “I would personally care for her if I could. I don’t trust anywhere else in the city.”

Nodding, Dr. Kreizler spoke in a hushed tone, his focus entirely on Mona, “I understand,” the man paused before resuming, “it’s fortunate you see only the severity of the situation; I can’t recall a time when someone of your faith entered my facility with good intentions.”

Willing yourself to lighten the situation, if not for your sake, then Mona’s, you quipped, “A certain saying involving good intentions comes to mind, Doctor.”

The alienist smiled, the line narrow and somewhat forced, “Your humility is appreciated, Sister.”

“One can only have humility in a situation like this. I just hope that Mona will be able to stay here for the time being, at least until a bed at St. Vincent’s opens.” Your voice was light, hopefully soothing to the girl you aimed to protect.

At this, Dr. Kreizler attempted a joke himself, his accent making it decidedly sharper than yours, “Ah, I assume my institute still isn’t to your standards, then?”

“I don’t want to be here. I want to be with you,” Mona harshly stated, snuggling further under your veil. Dr. Kreizler stiffened, caught off guard by the confident proclamation.

You sighed somewhat, speaking to Mona first, “I know, my love, but Dr. Kreizler is a good man. He knows how to help,” then, turning to Kreizler, you whispered, “You can help her, Doctor?”

It was obvious to you that Dr. Kreizler had a weakness for children, if his facility dedicated to their health and safety wasn’t proof enough.

“I can help,” he said mostly to Mona before addressing you, “However, it seems the child has an attachment to you. It might prove helpful if you offered your assistance while I go over the necessary paperwork.” The last part was strained, almost as if he abhorred the idea of someone of the cloth helping him in any way.

After your tentative agreement, Kreizler swiftly led you to his office to begin Mona’s processing. Once inside, you took note of how the space was simultaneously tidy and luxurious, the walls and any available surface decorated with artifacts and hefty textbooks that featured gold lettering on the spines. The chairs you and Mona sat in were similarly fine, made with plush velvet and hand-carved mahogany that was the bulk of their appearance. Now that Mona had separated from your hip with much resistance, she allowed herself to be swept up in the opulence of the Institute. You couldn’t deny the finery of such a place, either. St. Vincent’s was noticeably barren, only housing the absolute necessities that fell in line with the ordinance of your faith and what orphanages require. It had been some time since you visited a place like this, and you weren’t sure whether to include Dr. Kreizler in the group of New York moguls that flaunted their wealth so readily, or if this was a sign that he took pride in the conditions the children here lived in.

The latter seemed to be the obvious choice given Dr. Kreizler’s treatment of the children so far, and his mission with the facility in general. The ostentatious socialites you encountered wouldn’t deign to entertain such a venture, especially if it involved the downtrodden youth of the city.

Dr. Kreizler’s voice startled you out of your stupor, “Did any adults accompany Ms. Walker when you found her outside of St. Vincent’s Orphanage?”

“No. Mona was alone,” you quickly supplied. Dr. Kreizler scribbled the information on a sheet of paper, the sound of his fountain pen filling the nearly silent room.

“Other than a last name, does Ms. Walker know any other identifying details about her parents?” Kreizler asked.

You faced Mona, watching her run the pad of her pointer finger against the raised engravings of the chair’s arm, “I’m afraid not, Doctor. The only information I have regarding her parents is vague. She says they were never around much, to begin with.” Dr. Kreizler gave a curt nod and returned to his form while you reached out and smoothed Mona’s hair.

After a brief moment, Kreizler returned his attention to you, “You’re sure that Ms. Walker hasn’t run away?”

Mona’s head snapped up and you clarified before any upset could be caused, “The only thing Mona had with her was a short note from her mother. It says that neither her mother, nor her father, can afford to take care of her anymore, hence her appearance at St. Vincent’s.”

“And this isn’t a note Ms. Walker crafted herself?” You knew the reasoning behind Dr. Kreizler’s questions, but couldn’t help but feel offense on Mona’s behalf at the coldness of his tone. You had to reassure yourself he was only ruling out any possibility of Mona’s parents returning and claiming her.

Drawing the note from a pocket hidden on the underside of your apron, you reached across the expanse separating you from the doctor, “I’ve saved it–just in case.”

Dr. Kreizler took the piece of dirtied paper from your hand before sitting back in his chair, carefully unfolding the note and analyzing the contents.

As he did this, you allowed yourself to express your thoughts on the matter, “The handwriting is too legible to be from a child this young, especially from one whose had no formal education so far,” suddenly feeling another wave of sorrow take control of your heart, you continued, “I’m not sure Mona can even write.”

Kreizler clicked his tongue before folding the note and placing it into a fresh file he had procured at the beginning of this meeting, “I would have to agree with you.”

Some time passed as you helped Dr. Kreizler finish the paperwork that would allow Mona to stay at the Institute, and before long, the young girl would drift off to sleep in the chair beside you. You figured this was the first time in a while that she had been able to fall asleep easily, and a spring of hope flourished within you at the thought of Mona having a warm bed from now on.

Finally, Dr. Kreizler realized Mona’s lack of response and watched her sleeping form contemplatively, carefully setting his pen down and rising from his seat. The action caused you to rise, too, stepping closer to Mona’s chair and gently patting the top of her head.

Allowing yourself to smile at the sight, you began to speak before matching Dr. Kreizler’s gaze, “Might I help bring Mona to a bed?”

Kreizler smiled, too, this time being more genuine and warm than before, no doubt a symptom of Mona’s peaceful slumber, “I think Ms. Walker would greatly appreciate that.”

With great care, you brought Mona into your arms once again and rested her head on your shoulder, happily listening to the sound of her snoring.

Looking back at Dr. Kreizler, you nodded once, smiling as you spoke, “Thank you for your help, Doctor. I hope you can forgive me for my sudden appearance today, I’ll make sure to keep a great distance between myself and here when possible.” Kreizler softly laughed at your humorous comment, closing the distance between you and him.

“I give you permission to access these premises if another situation like this occurs in the future,” Kreizler paused, his smile widening, “Do take note that that only applies to you.”

Suppressing a laugh, you shook your head in understanding, “Of course, Doctor. Although, I don’t think my Sisters would care to come here. Some admit to being afraid of your kind.” You mirrored the doctor’s earlier comment, teasing him slightly.

For a moment, Dr. Kreizler stared into your eyes, squinting as if he were searching for something within them, before questioning you with a mischievous tone, “My kind?”

An even brighter smile spread across your features, a playful twinge in your words, “Atheists.”

At last, the serious man in front of you laughed without restraint, and you felt a foreign heat rise in your chest, “I should’ve known. A being worse than the criminals that populate this city.”

Shrugging, you teased again, “Their apprehension is unfortunate. If they’d take the time to know someone like you, they’d realize how good natured you all can be, sans religious obligation.”

Dr. Kreizler hummed in agreement and took a longing glance at you before making his way to the entrance of the office, “The threat of eternal damnation has never been a driving factor in my operations, Sister. I believe more people are like that than some would care to admit.”

Thoughtfully, you considered his statement while walking to the door, softly rocking the girl in your arms, “It is a grievous assumption of the human condition, one I hope isn’t true.” Kreizler met your gaze as he absently opened the door, his dark eyes stoking the flames you felt stir within you.

Not sure how to continue, and thoroughly scared of the strange feelings that were beginning to take root in your being, you bowed your head and walked through the door, Dr. Kreizler not far behind.

The journey to one of the many dormitories that the Kreizler Institute housed was long, but not without interest. Children and staff alike were all around you, contributing to the comfortable nature of the space with their rambunctious chatter and lively games. While Mona comfortably rested against the surface of your coif, you surveyed the massive paintings that lined the intricate halls, all pieces of fine art that could easily belong in a museum. The pictures mainly depicted positive scenes, like meditative studies of lush landscapes, or vibrant portraits of greatly important figures.

Kreizler noticed your intrigue and began to comment on the decorations that marked your path, “It’s important that the children here are given just as much access to the arts as anyone else might have. Multiple studies have shown that exposure to art and music drastically improve the quality of life for people of all ages, especially those suffering from mental or physical ailments.”

You hummed, pleased by the new information, “Which is your specialty–the minds of children?”

“That would be correct, Sister. I dedicate my time to helping those who society deems unworthy of such kindness,” Dr. Kreizler informed, curtly waving to the swaths of youth who soared past with beaming grins and loud hellos.

“Then a noble man, you are, Dr. Kreizler. I don’t know many people–rich or poor–who would carry out the necessary work you do on a daily basis,” you bleakly commented. You were all too familiar with the spiteful indifference the country suffered from nowadays.

Kreizler turned to face you, not losing a step in the process, “Not even members of the faith?”

A gnarled guilt churned in your stomach; Dr. Kreizler wasn’t wrong. In fact, most people who proclaimed their allegiance to any branch of Christianity had not only become attached to the pervasive apathy that threatened to consume all, but were, in most instances, the reasons behind it. Many of the folk who attended church regularly looked down on the work you did, citing that it was unbecoming for a woman of your calling to share a space with the sinful and uncleanly. To them, the “beggars” of the city didn’t deserve charity, no matter how helpless.

“Unfortunately, no,” drawing a tentative breath, you explained, “A startling number of them are of the mindset that the impoverished somehow deserve the dismal circumstances they’re often forced under. No matter how hard I, or my Sisters, might try to teach them otherwise, they’d rather have some claim at superiority than help their fellow man.”

Dr. Kreizler questioned further, “And why do you think that is?”

Readjusting the girl on your side, memories of the mistreatment children like Mona face from such a lot consumed your thinking. Supposed Christians would go out of their way to abuse the young and homeless, either through stealing their clothes, food, or makeshift homes, or by pelting them with stones picked up off the streets. Seeing the reactions they could garner, it would only spur them to escalate, for no other reason than abject cruelty. Their only defense was that it was their duty as followers of Christ to punish those who didn’t seek to cleanse themselves of sin. It was a strong enough argument as not many people, Christian or otherwise, would find the bravery to speak out against these actions disguised as a shared religious responsibility.

Finally, you came to an answer, and it wasn’t one you were proud of, “Because it is easier to hide behind an all-powerful God than it is to do what is objectively right, even if the Lord urges His followers to sacrifice for others at all costs. They think that because they attend church and give donations to the congregation that they are guaranteed a spot in Heaven.” The anger was palpable in your voice, and your cheeks burned at the realization.

Quickly, you supplied an apology, “Forgive me, Doctor. I forget myself.”

“Don’t apologize, Sister. Your honesty is refreshing. I haven’t met a nun so critical of her own faith before,” Dr. Kreizler remarked.

Appalled, you defended yourself as the three of you rounded a corner, “I am simply critical of the people who claim to share my faith. I do not renounce His word.”

Kreizler led you to a door marked with a golden plaque that read: Girl’s Dormitory 1. The alienist ushered you and Mona through, a vexing grin on his face.

“You do not find yourself questioning His teachings, Sister?” Kreizler asked, his amusement plain.

Entering the dormitory, you found two rows of beds situated on opposite sides of the room with hefty chests at the foot of each one. Drawings made up most of the decorations in the room, besides the toys that had been left out on each girls’ bed. Beside each cot sat a nightstand with an oil lamp adorning the wooden surfaces, giving the room a warm glow. On the chests were small name cards, written by the owner of the bed. Quickly, you picked one without a name and walked ahead of the doctor, cheeks heating once again.

Dr. Kreizler pushed further, following you in stride, “Your silence is quite the answer.”

Deciding to avoid the question for now, you proposed another instead, “I presume this would be Mona’s?” The Good Doctor nodded and you sunk down to lay Mona on the comfortable mattress that engulfed the girl’s slight frame.

Heaving a hearty sigh, you knelt beside her, pushing hair from her delicate, auburn face. Quietly, you spoke to the alienist while keeping your focus on Mona, “May I say goodbye to her, Dr. Kreizler?”

Deciding to ignore your deflection of the previous subject, Dr. Kreizler responded, “That would be best.”

You whispered a faint thank-you before rousing Mona. The girl’s eyes struggled to open at first and there was no doubt this has been the longest stretch of sleep she’s been able to secure.

Mona took in her new surroundings as she reached for your hand, “Do I get to stay?”

Smiling, you affirmed her question, “Yes, my love,” you paused, remembering another critical piece of information that came during the walk to the dormitory, “Dr. Kreizler also gave you permission to come back to St. Vincent’s whenever there’s space.”

Mona’s face brimmed with unadulterated joy, “Really?”

Dr. Kreizler chimed in to quell any of Mona’s doubts, relaying that she would be able to request visits with you whenever she pleased.

“Well, what if I want to stay here and only visit with Nunny?” Mona had picked up the silly nickname during your brief exchange with Alice, who you hoped would look after her in your absence.

The alienist laughed, “That works just as fine, Ms. Walker.” Only then did you sneak a glance at Dr. Kreizler, just in this instance beginning to appreciate his handsome features now that you were able to see more of his good nature.

Kreizler noticed your staring, however the grin that surfaced while interacting with Mona hadn’t ceased, instead only growing in intensity. The tips of your ears began to grow balmy, forcing you to tear away from his knowing stare in order to rebalance yourself.

“Just make sure to give Dr. Kreizler ample time to prepare for my visits, Mona. You’ll have weekly meetings where this can be negotiated,” you instructed. Mona giggled, nodding earnestly before leaping up to wrap her hands around your neck again.

You leaned forward and rubbed soothing patterns into her back, grateful that her care was finally secured.

The embrace lasted sometime, causing Kreizler to point out Mona’s silence, “It seems Ms. Walker has fallen asleep again. We should allow her time to rest.”

Taking your cue, you rose and followed Dr. Kreizler as he left the dormitory, both of you stopping just in front of the now closed entryway.

Even after sharing a sweet moment, Kreizler didn’t allow you to escape his interrogating so easily, and scratched the scruff of his thick beard while pressing you for answers once again, “If I recall correctly, you hadn’t answered my last question.”

The space between you and Dr. Kreizler had become dangerously small, and in such close quarters, you could smell the heady scent of his expensive cologne. Your brain fogged, an overwhelming combination of feelings still unknown plaguing your body and mind.

“That is because I have never thought to question His teachings before, Doctor,” as you resumed the subject, words tumbled from your mouth without much control, creating quite the mess.

Your eyes widened when you heard the statement slip from you so easily, drawing a deep laughter from the man in front of you. If not caught up in the whirlwind of what you had just implied, you would have noticed how the honeyed sound made your heart squeeze deliciously.

Dr. Kreizler’s already overpowering confidence increased tenfold, and you could hear it in his voice as he remarked, “That’s right. One of the few things they don’t cover during your novitiate. It’s quite interesting.”

Too many emotions were beginning to flood your mind, and that was as much a danger as what Dr. Kreizler was proposing in the first place. You needed to leave immediately and right yourself before something inexcusable happened.

Bowing your head in submission, you eked out an apology that came out faster than what you were apologizing for, “Forgive me, Doctor, but I must leave. I am forever indebted to you.”

You left before Kreizler could answer, unwilling–or more accurately, unable–to handle whatever else could come out of that sly mouth of his.

#laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler #the alienist #female reader

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spockiguess · 11 months ago

Text

PATTERN BANNERS | tufted 02.

ahhhhhh, the colours on my first set of galaxy dividers is one of my faves. thought it’d look great with this pattern as well. lemme know what you think ! 🤍

colours : 001 / 002 / 003 / 004

please like, reblog, and credit if you use :)

support me through ko-fi | more dividers →

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spockiguess · 1 year ago

Photo

Griffin Dunne as Jack Goodman AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON (1981) dir. John Landis

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spockiguess · 2 years ago

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Hey are u still active?

I'm still here! I've just been in a major writer's block and am currently trying to work my way through it. I'm sorry for not having put out any new content, but I try to hold my fics to a certain standard to keep the quality as good as possible, but nothing I've written so far has held up to that standard. I have so many ideas for fics and really want to put some out, so hopefully within the next month or two, you all will be seeing something from me.

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spockiguess · 2 years ago

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Breeding Jealousy Part 1 || Peter Quill x Fem!Reader

A/N: This took me way too long to finish, but here’s the first part of a two (maybe three, no promises) part series. Thank you so much to Sav for helping me edit and leaving very silly comments on my Doc. I know my Quill fics are so incredibly out of left field, but my track record shows that this should actually be expected! So hah! Anyway, I had a lot of fun writing this even if it took me a couple of days. I’m thinking of writing a Peter x Male/GN reader, so let me know if y’all would want to see that.

Warnings: Smut, Use of Terms like Cunt and Pussy

Pairing: Peter Quill/Female Reader

Sure, you loved being a Guardian, but it definitely came with its hang ups. Be it the death-defying dance you had to walk every time you encountered another fuckhead with god-like abilities or the sickening injuries sustained from those perilous fights, being a part of Peter Quill’s infamous group of heroic outlaws took a heavy toll most days.

Lately, you’ve been finding yourself exhausted beyond comprehension and in dire need of release. So, after much pushing from Mantis and even Nebula, you decided to have a night where you let all inhibitions loose and finally got dicked down in the way you most deserved.

And that came in the form of you putting on your tightest, blackest, latex dress that just barely covered your ass and smearing on the sultriest makeup you could think up all to visit one of Knowhere’s many clubs. Being a planet made up of mostly outlaws, the people knew how to fucking party.

Excitement coursed through your veins, and you exited your tiny bathroom ready to conquer the world.

Futuristic black heels clacked against the metal floors of your shared housing with a resounding confidence as you traversed multiple floors and staircases, purse in hand.

You felt alive for the first time in eight months, and when you entered the common area, you acknowledged Peter–your captain and longtime crush–with a nonchalant wave, barely even bothered by the way he looked you up and down multiple times.

“Where’re you going?” Peter asked incredulously.

“Out,” You answered back excitedly, a wide grin plastered across your face.

With a shocked expression, Peter muttered to himself doubtfully, “Out. Yeah, right. Out,” before he spoke up again, “So where is this out?”

Pausing just before the door, you turned back to Peter, unwavering, “Korthax.” Peter spluttered, knocking over his drink and immediately rose from his seat.

“You’re going to Korthax looking like that? Why?” Peter crossed his arms and you sighed knowing your fun would have to wait until Peter’s little interrogation was over.

Deciding not to answer his question for now, you teased Peter, “Looking like what, exactly?” Peter just scoffed and motioned to your body, as if that explained everything.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you shrugged, “I’m just going out to have fun and hopefully sleep in a bed that isn’t mine tonight. Does that bother you?”

Peter scoffed again, completely unwilling to believe what he was seeing, “Yes, actually, it does bother me.”

This time, you were the one to scoff, “Okay, why? I’m an adult, aren’t I? I get to choose how I spend my free time.”

Peter wasn’t having any of it and crossed the room in a few long strides, getting right in your face, “Not when those choices could put you in a ton of danger.” Peter gave his best serious face but rejoiced internally, totally satisfied with his response. His argument had practically no holes, he thought.

“Right, because when we face off against literal gods, that’s fine. But when I want to go out, then it’s a problem. Thanks, I get it now.” You were being a little rude and extremely sarcastic, but at this point, you were fed up with Peter’s sudden interest in your personal life and how you conducted it.

Peter short circuited, his brain literally could not think of one smart response to that. With what you were insinuating, you were right. Peter himself constantly puts you in danger, so why is now any different?

Still, Peter wasn’t a man known for backing down against good logic, so he doubled down and got even closer, “Do you know how dangerous some of these people are? At least with the people we fight, you know what they’re capable of. Here, you’re at a disadvantage– you feel too safe.”

You were also extremely hard-headed, so you got closer as well, your faces just mere inches away from each other, “These are your people, are they not? You banter with them, you literally call them family. And now they’re suddenly big scary monsters just waiting to take advantage of me? What a crock of shit.”

Peter blew a big puff of air out of his flaring nose, obviously annoyed with your indignation at his abrupt prodding. Peter was backed into a corner, you were much smarter than people gave you credit for. Speaking harshly, Peter began, “Fine. You want the truth?”

You cocked your head to the side, your face sprouting a vicious smile as you rested your hands on your hips, “Yes, Peter, I’d love the truth.”

A minute passed before Peter finally began to swallow all of his anxiety and fears regarding his feelings about you, he reasoned it was about time to let the truth flow anyway. “I like you. I mean, I really like you.”

Peter spoke lowly, his voice a resentful whisper, “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since the first day I saw you. So imagine being me, seeing you, wearing that, and you’re talking about spending your night with some cheap lowlife when I’m right here. Now that is a crock of shit.”

Oh. Well, that certainly puts a dent in your plan. Well, fuck it, you thought. Taking Peter’s face in your hands, you pressed your soft, rouged lips against his and pressed your body against him, trying to communicate the utter want you’ve felt for him ever since you joined his ragtag band of misfits.

Peter groaned wantonly, his calloused hands flying to the seat of your ass and squeezing greedily as he deepened the passionate kiss. Fireworks went off in your head. It was all finally happening.

Peter’s tongue swiped against your lips and you opened them in hazy approval, letting him dominate your very being with not one complaint.

Soon, you had to break away to catch your breath. A single strand of saliva kept the two of you connected before it broke off and landed on your chins. A fog of lust clouded your minds and the only thing you could think about was getting in the other’s pants.

Peter was one step ahead of the curve though, and before you knew it, you were being hauled up and over Peter’s shoulder. With a yelp, you dropped your purse and your already short dress rode up even farther, leaving you shivering at the feeling of the cool air hitting your thinly clothed pussy.

Peter noticed this immediately (you swore his brain was wired to scope out anything even slightly appealing within a ten mile radius), and slapped your bare ass, commenting, “Seriously, a thong? How desperate were you?”

You slapped his ass in return, “Oh, fuck you.”

“You’re certainly about to,” Peter grinned wickedly.

Eventually, you made it to Peter’s cramped bedroom and he carefully laid you on his raggedy bed, admiring you for a long moment. Having abandoned your heels on the trek there, you teasingly ran one of your feet against Peter’s tented pants, beckoning him closer.

Peter hastily obliged and dove in, kissing you wildly as he bunched your dress above your hips and situated himself between your spread legs. His large hands traversed your mostly naked skin before his fingers hooked under the waistband of your thong and yanked them down.

You gasped and Peter took this opportunity to capture you in another heated kiss while his thumb slid through your slick folds and honed in on your throbbing clit. Moaning, you kissed Peter back feverishly, your hand coming down to grip his wrist as he rubbed your clit in slow circles.

Breaking apart once again, Peter kissed along the length of your neck before biting your collarbone, then soothing the mark with his tongue. Your other hand flew to Peter’s hair which you grabbed a tuft of and tugged. Peter groaned, pressing against your clit harder, causing you to moan in return.

Sliding down your body, Peter’s face aligned with your weeping cunt before he gave you a cocky look (one eyebrow arched, smile devilishly lopsided) and licked a hot stripe along your pussy, his mouth locking around your clit.

You bucked into Peter’s face and pulled at his hair even more, jerking at the vibrations his breathless moans sent straight into your aching core. Everything felt hot: your body, your soul, the very air in the room, you couldn’t focus on a single thing.

All you knew in that moment was Peter’s eager mouth licking and sucking at your most sensitive spot with a hunger unparalleled. The action sent a blindingly hot energy rippling through you, like an electric current traveling through a copper wire, making you gasp in pleasure.

Your fingers wound tighter into Peter’s luscious hair as you felt this energy ball up in the depths of your core and send radiating shockwaves that caused you to yell Peter’s name like it was a divine prayer capable of saving you from this sinful hedonism.

Wetness dripped from Peter’s chin as your body spasmed and that energy finally released in a seemingly cosmic explosion that sent stars reeling across the universe. Still experiencing the aftershocks, Peter came back up and kissed you long and hard, his hand coming to hold the back of your neck.

Feeling somewhat devious, you gathered up the gumption to lock your legs around Peter’s waist and force him onto his back with a blanket-muffled thump. Not wasting a second, you rearranged yourself so that you were now sitting between Peter’s muscular legs.

The outlaw was still wearing his faded jeans, so you made quick work of them by popping the button, pulling the zipper, and tugging both his pants and underwear down in one swift motion.

Peter smiled widely, chuckling, “Eager, aren’t we?” You grinned, watching as his dick sprang to life and slapped against his toned belly. It was big, in both length and width, and you wondered if you’d even be able to take half of it in your mouth.

You were a trooper, though, so you took his thick cock in your hand and retorted, “Oh, I can be bored, if you want,” mirroring his actions from earlier, you licked a wet stripe from Peter’s base to his tip, locking eyes with him before continuing, “That is totally do-able.”

Peter rolled his eyes, about to make a comeback when you hoped for the best and swallowed as much of Peter��s dick as you could in one fell swoop.

“Fuck!” Peter cursed, his hand flying to the back of your head and grabbing a bunch of hair.

Peter’s immediate reaction only fueled your intense desire to please and you took more of his length into your mouth, trying to stop your gag reflex the moment his cock hit the back of your throat. Curly brown hairs tickled your nose once you reached the hilt, and you soothingly rubbed the sides of Peter’s thighs before resting your hands on his, pushing down to signal that you would really like to be face-fucked.

Peter got the memo and swore again before bracing himself against the bed. Not a moment passed before your mouth was being used like some sort of personal masturbator and tears quickly filled your eyes as Peter’s dick ravaged your throat.

What kept you going was hearing Peter’s utterly indecent moans and achy whines as he got himself off, desperately chasing his own nearing climax.

“Fuck, baby, you feel so good,” Peter whined, head falling back against his pillow.

Soon, Peter’s breath began to hitch and his hips pistoned into your mouth with such speed that it almost made you dizzy. Only a few minutes later did Peter finally still and pump hot cum down your throat as his fingers dug further into your hair, keeping you right in place.

Peter cooed, “That’s right, baby, take it all,” before he finally let go of your head. Catching your breath, you wiped some of the remnants marking your lips and made a show of licking it off your fingers. Peter was already getting hard again, but seeing that made all the blood rush from his head to his cock.

“That good?” you teased, climbing back up Peter’s body. Peter only nodded before kissing you deeply, you could taste each other’s essences on your tongues.

Feeling beat, you plopped down next to Peter’s still-heaving body after wrangling yourself out of your clothes and snuggled closely, burrowing your face into the crook of his neck. Peter decided to ignore his dick for the moment and wormed his arms around your waist, bringing you even closer. The sun began to rise outside of his window, but it didn’t matter as the both of you fell asleep within moments.

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