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the-infamous-coat-of-baron-zemo · 3 years

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Fall Into You | Laszlo Kreizler x Reader

Alright my friends. Here is my latest piece of insanity.

It is completely raw and unedited. So, if there are a ton of mistakes, I apologize in advance.

What a whirlwind thing this was. I literally only planned to write the last little bit at the end, that was the entire premise and then 7000 more words came along with it.

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This is a partial crossover fic.

TFATWS | The Alienist | Dr. Strange | Loki | universe all mushed together in bits and pieces.

But mostly The Alienist.

Hopefully the characterizations feel okay. Dr. Kreizler and John Moore can be a bit tricky to write and I've never written them before. So, please bear with me on this.

Buckle up. It's going to be a doozy. Kinda.

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Word Count: 6,900 - ish

What happens when you wind up 124 years into the past and meet a relative of Baron Helmut Zemo's?

A lot.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It was early evening and you were perched on one of Dr. Kreizler's fine couches, in front of the fireplace, reading a book.

You were waiting for Stevie to drop by and drag you to some musical street performance not terribly far from Dr. Kreizler's residence. Normally, you would have stayed hidden indoors, but you took a liking to the kid when you first met him, and decided you couldn't let him down.

Hopefully Stevie wouldn't drag you out too long, otherwise Dr. Kreizler would start to worry. Although, he would never outright admit to it, but it was the subtle things he did that indicated his concern. Or perhaps it was annoyance. That wouldn't surprise you either. You were loud and very talkative. He'd probably grateful to have to leave his house; so he can finally get some peace and quiet.

Dr. Kreizler always kept to himself and rarely made a display of his feelings to anyone, but you were a good friend of his in the short time you had come to know him. So, you got little peeks into what lay hidden away.

He was gracious enough to allow you stay in his home until you could figure out a way to get back to your own time. One minute you were talking to Wong inside Dr. Strange's sanctum in New York, and the next a portal opened up underneath you and you were falling.

After travelling through an empty void that seemed to go on forever, you finally exited through the other side, which landed you in front of a police precinct. You had looked around after picking yourself up and realized you were in quite the pickle. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this was not your New York.

People were starting to stare at as you took in your surroundings. You initially thought it was because you had randomly fallen out of the sky, but realization had dawned on you; it was because of your clothing.

Ah, yes. You suppose compared to what all the other women were wearing, you were a sight to behold. Jeans, a forest green blouse, and short brown leather jacket, would draw some attention, when all the other women were dressed so conservatively in dresses. You laughed nervously backing away from the small crowd on the sidewalk. You calmly but quickly darted over to a newsie holding up a paper for sale.

You paid the kid a dollar and snatched the paper out of his hand. Not paying attention in the least to his shouts of joy on making so much off of one measly paper, but you were too focused on finding out what time period you were in.

You caught the date at the top of the newspaper: April 1st, 1897.

April Fool's Day.

Typical, something like this would happen to you. Joke's on them, as someone is going to have a hell of time trying to figure out where you went. You're quite sure Wong was trying to sort through what happened and had already calling Strange.

Well, you hope he had.

You put down the paper and tried to think of what to do, but a small crowd of people were still stopped and whispering to each other, pointing in your general direction.

One man was gesturing in your direction and started shouting, but not at you.

"Hey Kreizler, this one looks like a crazy. Should probably haul her off to Bellevue!"

You raised your eyebrow at the man, but didn't say anything, instead choosing to turn and see who he was yelling at.

A very well dressed man wearing a bowler hat was walking down the steps of the police precinct in a rushed sort of manner. He had a cane with him, and it appeared his right arm was tucked against his body as if protecting it. A few steps behind him there was another man darting to catch up with him, also well dressed and carrying what seemed to be a sketchbook.

The guy on the street had yelled at the gentleman in the bowler hat again, which you had assumed at this point was Dr. Kreizler. As the two men reached the bottom of the steps and were about to step into their carriage, the incessant yelling had managed to grab Kreizler's attention. At least it seemed so, because the man with the cane had paused and turned his attention towards the direction of the yelling.

You could see from his body language he wasn't all that interested, but when his eye-line landed on you, he backed away from getting inside.

The other gentleman that was accompanying him, the one with the sketchbook, said something to him, but Dr. Kreizler just waved him off as he started to walk over to you.

Great.

You look over to the rude gentleman that had now drawn even more attention to you and gave him an unappreciative stare.

You steeled yourself, ready for whatever this stranger was going to say to you, but your guard had dropped slightly upon getting a better look at his face.

No way.

This was not possible.

The man that had come over to you was the spitting image of one genius, criminal mastermind and general pain in your ass, you knew all too well. One who's currently locked up in The Raft.

If it wasn't for the beard, you'd swear you were looking at Baron Helmut Zemo.

As Dr. Kreizler stopped a few feet from you, he tilted his head to the side and eyed you warily, but not unkindly.

That head tilt, a family trait for sure. Zemo had to be some distant relative of this man in some way, there's no chance they aren't with how closely the two resemble each other. She'd have to make a trip to The Raft and ask him about it sometime, if she ever got back home.

"My dear, you seem out of sorts. Are you alright?" the man inquired, gazing at the small gathering of people and then back to you.

"I kinda stick out like a sore thumb, yeah?" You laughed as you answer his question, peering down at your outfit.

"Quite," he replied.

You saw while he may be cautious around you, you've seem to grab his interest with the scrutiny and intensity of his gaze.

"If I may introduce myself, my name is Doctor Laszlo Kreizler," the gentleman stated.

Ah, so this was indeed the man who was being called out from the street. You noticed he didn't extend his hand in greeting, but then again perhaps it wasn't a pertinent gesture for the time period either. So, you didn't take offense to it.

Your eyeline moved behind Dr. Kreizler and could see his friend at the carriage watching with interest, but also growing impatience.

You gave a kind smile as you introduced yourself and added, "Thank you for humoring the nosy man over there, but I'm not in need of a doctor. I'm terribly sorry for interrupting your day."

"Not in the least. And I may be a doctor, but I am an alienist more specifically," Kreizler explained.

Your eyebrows shot into your forehead and then contemplated his title. An alienist? Where had you heard that before? If you remembered correctly, an alienist was someone who assessed individuals for competence?

Oh.

The shouty man had mentioned Bellevue. Okay, now you understood.

"An alienist! That term is...." you paused trying to think of a better way to phrase you response. "The term is outdated where I'm from. Instead we simply acknowledge your specific doctorate profession as psychologists, since the very definition of what you do is to study the mind and behavior of individuals," you answered, satisfied with your explanation.

"Outdated. How intriguing. Perhaps we could continue this conversation away from prying eyes and gossipy busy-bodies?" Kreizler asked.

You wouldn't be able to read it on his face, but you can tell you've piqued his interest even more so now with his body language. And his eyes had this sparkle in them as you spoke of his profession so specifically.

Though you felt you could trust this man, you couldn't take the chance that he might, in fact, lure you into his carriage and ship you off to the nearest mental institution, such as Bellevue Hospital.

You'd be lying if you weren't equally intrigued by this enigma of a man standing before you. The resemblance to Baron Zemo was uncanny, and that alone made you want to find out more about him; however, Zemo was not to be trusted as far as you could throw him. Though he did have his moments. You'd give him some credit. Doesn't mean distrustful behavior runs in the family, but it also could. It was a difficult decision.

Your eyes narrowed assessing Dr. Kreizler as you came to decision.

"Shouldn't you give me a mental health assessment test before asking a complete stranger to travel off to who knows where with you? Why shouldn't I be suspicious you aren't going to drop me off at the nearest institute? No offense," you replied warily.

"Thank you!" the man with the sketchbook at the carriage shouted at both you and Dr. Kreizler, clearly in agreement with your answer.

You snickered at his sarcastic reply, but attempted to cover your ever growing smile by coughing.

The corner of Dr. Kreizler's mouth ticked up in a smile as well.

"No my dear, if anything you've just proven you're at least slightly more sane than my counterpart, Mr. John Moore," Dr. Kreizler shook his head and jutted his thumb behind him.

"Heard that Laszlo!" Moore responded with indignation.

"That was the point John," Dr. Kreizler answered back with dry wit.

Yeah, she liked him already.

"Shall we?" Kreizler turned slightly to gesture to his carriage.

You sighed internally. Why the hell not? You had nothing better to do and no idea what your next move should be trying to get home. Dr. Kreizler would no doubt be curious about your attire and that alone with most likely bring up a slew of never ending questions. You'd have to be careful how to explain your situation and make sure what you revealed was limited, but truthful. You wanted to tell him the truth about where you were from, but you needed to word it in a way that doesn't make you out to be a crazy person, but present the information with facts and evidence that Dr. Kreizler could not refute. Luckily you had some tech with you that could prove your point rather efficiently should the need arise you convince him of what time period you come from in the future. 124 years it a length period of time. It would be difficult for anyone to accept your explanation, but Dr. Kreizler seemed to be different. Let's hope you aren't wrong about him.

"I accept your offer Dr. Kreizler, thank you," you spoke kindly.

You were formally introduced to Mr. Moore and to Stevie before getting in the carriage. Mr. Moore seemed uneasy, but went along with Dr. Kreizler's acceptance of you. He was a trusting friend of his, you could tell right away. And something told you, Dr. Kreizler was a tough nut to crack and didn't seem to be the type of person who might have very many. Only a close few.

"What made you decide to take Dr. Kreizler up on his offer so quickly," Moore asked standing outside the carriage as Stevie was getting the horses ready.

Dr. Kreizler had held the door open for you and waited patiently.

You looked at Dr. Kreizler before turning back to Mr. Moore, "You mean besides his sparkling personality?" you winked and got in the carriage.

John leaned into Kreizler before adjusting his hold on his sketchbook and climbing into the carriage himself.

"Oh, well I like her already Laszlo," he grinned incessantly and gave Kreizler a clap on the back.

You saw Dr. Kreizler bend his head down in amused exasperation as a small huff of laughter sounded with the movement. He sighed somewhat dramatically before getting in the carriage and closing the door.

"You know, I've never actually ridden in one of these before," you say slightly awed.

Both Moore and Kreizler gave you confusing looks before Dr. Kreizler used his cane to tap on the rear enclosure signaling Stevie to head home.

Home. Well, this should be interesting indeed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

You closed your book with a snap and slumped into the couch you were perched on. It had been six months, since that day. Six months, you've been trapped in this pocket of 1897.

You had reflected back on how well John and Dr. Kreizler had taken the explanation you were from the future. As you told your story, your only requirement was that they wait until the very end before asking any questions. That gave you the chance to be very methodical about how you explained the future and how it was you ended up in 1897, which to be fair, you don't know exactly how that portal opened still, but magic was involved to say the very least.

It was oddly reminiscent of when Loki used the space stone, which gave her pause. All the infinity stones had been destroyed, and yet you knew that there was an errant 2012 Loki running around the universe with one. It is plausible, he could factor into this, but how or why you, you have no idea.

After you had explained your fanatical circumstance, to help prove you weren't absolutely off your rocker and have Dr. Kreizler change his mind about you, you showed them your phone.

Yes, there may not be any service available, but you could still access all your photos and videos and holographic imagery, etc. That was what allowed John and Dr. Kreizler to accept your story; paired with your unique clothes; they had a surprisingly open mind. John had gaped like a fish for a good 10 minutes before Dr. Kreizler told him to get over it already. John was somewhat outraged that he wasn't more shocked by your existence. But like all things, Dr. Kreizler took everything in stride, which was quite a relief to you. He was incredibly understanding and offered a room in his home to you until you were able to get back to your own time. You made a promise to Dr. Kreizler that you would never lie to him, about anything. It was the least you could do since he opened up his home and essentially part of his life to you.

You understood why he was an expert in his field. His patience and intellect allowed him to be open-minded and grasp concepts others word merely scoff at. However, there was another side to that coin; he was also closed off, and could at times, be calculating and manipulative. Though, none of these traits were used in any nefarious manners, they were there all the same.

He reminded you of Zemo to be sure in this regard. Some personality traits apparently do get passed down through the generations. In some ways, after meeting Dr. Kreizler, you felt you knew Helmut Zemo a bit better. And somehow, you missed him. Not that you were ever particularly close to him, but the time you spent with him in Latvia with Sam and Bucky forever altered your opinion of him.

So while you've been living at Dr. Kreizler's residence, in your spare time, you had been working different avenues of how to achieve ways to get home. You couldn't just solely rely on your friends to get you out of this mess. So, while Dr. Kreizler was at work, you enlisted the help of Stevie to run down leads of potential scientist and gathering of general information of the time period to help you put together some sort of road map. None had turned out to be very promising.

You had, over time, gotten more acclimated to living in 1897, though you mostly refused to wear the clothing of the time period. John Moore would always comment about how you would draw attention in the public eye, should you dare to go out. But you refused to give in most of the time, saying that 1897 would just have to catch up to your fashion sense, and you weren't about to apologize for it. If you were going to be stuck here, you were going to be stuck here, comfortably. You fondly remember Dr. Kreizler's reaction. He seemed pleased, possibly proud of you in that moment. Probably because you had refused to conform to the times, and set your own rules to live by. Not giving in to anyone.

The question lingered, how exactly did you get away with living in this time without having to dress in the clothing of the period? Well, a friend of yours, Scott Lang, had gifted you a device that allowed you to chose one object to shrink and return to it's normal size. So, of course, since you traveled so often with the Sam, Bucky and the other Avengers, you chose your wardrobe. You were just thankful you had it on you already when you got dumped into that portal. So, essentially you had all your clothes with you, making things a bit easier.

Life was not fast paced here, which made things a bit difficult for you. You were used to always being on the go, another crisis to fight through, another area of the world that needed help. But here, here everything was, for the most part, quiet.

It drove you nuts sometimes. Made you antsy. You managed to weasel your way into helping John, Sara and Dr. Kreizler on one of their serial killer cases recently to pass the time. Dr. Kreizler was unhappy at first. You were able to prove your usefulness though with advanced techniques and theories on how to potentially catch the killer in question. Be that as it may, Dr. Kreizler still seemed grumpy, if that were the correct word to use, about you working on the case. You confronted him about it one evening, but he glossed over the whole thing. He was holding back, but what that was, you weren't sure. Maybe he still didn't fully trust you yet. It was a fair assumption, but he was always so hard to read. Though you've managed to get a few good laughs out of him from time to time. Those were the days that really made you smile. Seeing him happy, as most of the time he was always so guarded. It made you feel like you and Dr. Kreizler shared this little secret when no one else was around.

Dr. Kreizler let himself relax ever so slightly around you, but it was far and fleeting. On rare occasions. You savored all those memories and tucked them away. Everyone was so refined and conservative in their mannerisms. You missed just wanting to hug someone. You craved some sort of physical affection, and it was hard, realizing just how different the times were from the future. They weren't terrible by any means, but the social norms of the times had been trying on you, to say the very least. Dr. Kreizler, ever astute, had picked up on this.

He had been gracious enough to offer himself if you ever needed to hug someone. This had been roughly 4 months into your stay at Dr. Kreizler's. You both had gotten more comfortable around the other, and even had a routine of sorts. You had thanked him for his offer, and told him you would not abuse the privilege he had bestowed on you.

Something told her there was more to it, but you hadn't dwelled on it, you were simply appreciative of his friendship.

However more recently, it was more than just friendship you felt. You kept squashing your feelings down, telling yourself this was the worst possible time to develop feelings for someone. Especially someone like Dr. Kreizler. There would never be a happy ending. At some point, you would return home, and that would be that. But there was that nagging sensation in the back of your mind, reminding you, you might not ever get back home. You tried to reason to yourself that you were possibly transferring some of your fondness of Zemo to Dr. Kreizler because of how he reminds you of him. But then you were just lying to yourself. Dr. Kreizler was a person all on his own and one of a kind. You knew better, you were just fighting yourself tooth and nail to live in denial a bit longer.

Footsteps from the kitchen were headed in your direction knocking you out of your musings.

You twisted on the couch to see Dr. Kreizler had returned home from his institute.

"Dr. Kreizler! Good evening," you voiced into the low lit parlor room.

"Good evening to you as well, I trust your day was fruitful?" Dr. Kreizler inquired, coming to rest on the opposite end of the couch.

"It was, thank you. I was somewhat restless earlier, so I took it upon myself to work on the cryptogram the killer left his last victim, with the hopes of figuring out his next location before he strikes," you sheepishly stated.

Dr. Kreizler ruefully smiled at you and shook his head. At one time, he might have gotten upset, but he had been taking your antics more in stride, and you managed to be helpful providing much needed information. So, he'd act unhappy, but silently was thrilled.

"And did you uncover anything useful?" Kreizler queried, he got up from his seat and walked over to the chalk board.

"Not completely, I believe I've broken the code word and the book that the killer has been using to write his cryptograms, but I have yet to comb through all the evidence to gather the page numbers, line and word number to crack the full message. I planned on working on it when I got back with Stevie later this evening," you happily expressed while fidgeting with the watch on your wrist.

"Impressive work. And what book has our killer been using?" Kreizler asked, eyes still going over the work on the board.

"Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. You'd think we could have figured that one out sooner given our killer's eclectic methods of murdering people," you answered sarcastically.

Dr. Kreizler bent his knees in utter annoyance, "Of course it is. Of course. How ridiculous to have missed such an obvious choice."

You smiled knowingly. He was irritated he hadn't figured it out sooner.

A companionable silence continued for a few minutes after his outburst.

Dr. Kreizler was still staring at the board with mild interest when he spoke next, "May I ask you a personal question?"

You had just reached over to place the book on the coffee table next to you when he asked his question and you froze mid motion.

Dr. Kreizler generally didn't push too much into your personal life, so this was somewhat out of left field for him. Never-the-less, you recovered after a beat and placed the book on the table.

"Of-of course Dr. Kreizler. I told you I would always be truthful with you regarding anything. Please, go ahead," you answered, motioning for him to continue.

"Why do you always regard me as Dr. Kreizler and not by my first name?" he questioned softly, almost hesitantly.

This was not the question you thought he would ask. There were a million questions he could have chose, but it was this one he went with.

This really was personal.

You glanced down at your hands sitting in your lap as you pondered how to answer his questions. You could lie about it, and he'd be none the wiser, but it's not who you are. And you promised.

Dr. Kreizler went on to further express his inquiry with a bit more confidence, "You call John Moore by his first name and the same with Ms. Howard, including our other friends we work with, but not me. Why?"

You opened your mouth to answer him when the front door slammed open and Stevie came barging in.

"You ready?" he exclaimed loudly. Stevie was clearly excited at the prospect of showing off his musical talent. "Oh, excuse me Dr. Kreizler, I didn't realize you'd gotten home yet. Thought you were working late," Stevie took off his hat and looked sheepish as he apologized for the disruption in his home.

You sighed. This was your saving grace. You could probably make an excuse and make a run for it with Stevie. You mulled over what to do, battling with the decision.

"Hey Stevie. Nice to see you too! Go on outside, I'll be right there. I just need to put my coat on," you laugh at his enthusiasm.

He nodded at you and dashed back down the hallway and out the door. You could hear one last shout as he exited, "Okay, but don't be too long, we're going to be late!"

Dr. Kreizler gave a look of displeasure at Stevie's unrefined outburst, but didn't say anything as he knows his antics all too well from over the years.

You stood up grabbing Dr. Kreizler's attention.

"Walk me to the door?" you ask, jutting your head in the direction of where your coat hangs.

"Do you plan on providing me with an answer?" he kindly jabbed as he nodded his agreement to follow you out.

You outwardly sighed, trying to figure out how to best answer his question. As you both walked to the front door, you start to answer him.

"Okay, so I address you as Dr. Kreizler 33% of the time, because you deserve the respect that comes with that title. You went to school for many years, and you earned it. So, it's only fair to address you as such," you tell him confidently.

A completely reasonable and partial explanation, you thought.

You both reached the front door, and you grabbed your jacket. Dr. Kreizler, the gentleman that he is, assisted you in putting your coat on. You gave yourself a once over in the mirror, making sure you looked okay before heading out.

You caught Dr. Kreizler staring at you in the mirror as you adjusted a stray hair that had fallen onto your face.

"You look lovely," he quietly voiced.

You turned to face him as he had opened the door for you and stepped outside.

"Thank you," you said, a bit bashful by his sudden compliment.

His expression had gotten softer and his eyes were glowing in the evening lit night.

Your resolve was crumbling even more so now.

"And the other 67%?" Kreizler softly spoke, head cocked to the side.

"Hey - Miss! We need to be going!" Stevie cried.

You turned to Stevie and hollered, "One mo, Stevie! Don't lose your head!"

"I'm sorry I have to go otherwise Stevie is going to have a coronary," you apologized to Dr. Kreizler.

You walked down a few steps, but stopped. You couldn't not answer him.

You go up a step but not completely back to where you where standing in front of Dr. Kreizler. You inhaled a deep breath and exhaled before continuing, looking up to see Dr. Kreizler eyeing you with slight confusion and anticipation with your hesitance to answer his question in full.

"And the other 67% of the time, I call you Dr. Kreizler because..because," you drifted off closing your eyes. You open them again with quiet resolve shining through, finding your confidence. You take another step up to now stand just a foot away from where Dr. Kreizler was.

"Because, I love you Laszlo. And I use your professional title as a barrier, to - to remind myself I have boundaries. It's just easier to separate you this way or well, to keep myself living in denial," you quietly and defeatedly said, laying it all out for him.

You wanted to open your mouth to say something else to him, to let him know it was okay he didn't feel the same way, but you could never quite form the words that needed to come out.

The shock was written clearly on his face. You had completely gob-smacked this man. His eyes had widened considerably and his jaw had gone slack from your answer.

But he never said anything back. You weren't expecting him to.

So instead, you did what you did best. Ran.

"You've got your answer. I-I really have to go now, I'll see you later," you stuttered out, suddenly drained from your revelation.

You took one last glance at Dr. Kreizler before making a mad dash for it with Stevie.

You were gone before Dr. Kreizler recovered from what just happened. And you never got to see the expression on his face after.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

#the alienist #laszlo kreizler #laszlo kreizler x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tfatws #helmut zemo #mcu fic #crossover #my writing

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prurientpuddlejumper · 3 years

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Spit-Roast Psychiatrist [Part 5, Male Reader][18+]

<- Part 4 | Part 6 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader x Bryan Kneef

For @thatesqcrush‘s Summer Bingo: anal square

With apologies to all medical professionals in the audience. I am absolutely sure this violates hospital policy :)

Warnings: NSFW. Hospital sex. Threesome. Anal sex. Blowjob with bedridden burn patient. Improper sterility procedures for removal of a foley catheter. Basically sounding. Not exactly piss kink (despite the debauched suggestions on Discord, no one drinks from Chilton’s catheter like a sippy-straw) but there is a bit of pee I mean not much but look it just kind of happens, OK?

5,500 words

Bryan Kneef shifted uncomfortably.

In another room, a heart monitor beeped quietly but incessantly, and if it continued much longer, he might go insane. The dry air filling the sterile white walls was slightly too cold for someone dressed in cool linen, prepared for a southern summer. Outside, bees and flowers filled the hazy orange world, but it was always winter inside the Chesapeake Hospital burn ward. His eyes darted around for the offending AC vent. Searching for anything to fixate on besides the man in front of him.

Frederick Chilton was laid out on a hospital bed like a corpse. Inflamed skin wrinkled with scars wrapped too tightly around his bones, as if there were no muscle in between, and white teeth grinned from his skull like a mummy. He hadn’t moved from that bed in months.

Bryan wasn’t one to cower from difficult situations, but this? He didn’t know how to behave around the sick.

“Well, you look like shit,” he at last blurted.

Frederick Chilton rolled his eyes, scowling as much as his face was able without the assistance of lips.

In the bedroom, Frederick reveled in being humiliated, the ego of his outside persona stripped away and torn down. He deserved it, and fuck, he loved getting what he deserved. And the praise for being a good little slut made him melt.

Outside was an entirely different matter. That carefully constructed persona—the esteemed psychiatrist who demanded respect—could not be threatened. Not by a vulgar, unpredictable man like Bryan who knew his filthy secrets.

So why did he call?

“I assure you, it looks better than it feels,” Chilton grunted. His speech was slow and deliberate. Daily sessions with a speech therapist were helping his cheeks and tongue learn to produce shapes and sounds his lips once handled, but it would never be quite the same.

Bryan took a step toward the bed. He puffed his chest out and pretended not to be bothered by the skeletal figure that seemed barely clinging to life.

“I’m not your dick-for-rent you can use whenever you want,” he said, cutting to the chase.

Chilton coughed—a weak, wheezing sound, accompanied by involuntary spittle. “Yet here you are, running when I call.”

Why did he come?

“Any chance to fuck our boy,” Bryan smirked. In other words: I’m not here foryou.

The flash of pain in Frederick’s eyes made him instantly regret saying it. It wasn’t the cute sort of jealousy when he had Fred on his knees, desperate to come—it was the kind that made his eyes drop to the floor.

A few hard lines on Bryan’s face softened. His lips went slack in their bearded nest. He would never admit that he had been worried sick, or the tears he’d shed when he heard the news. Baltimore Psychiatrist Mutilated by Red Dragon. He was pissed that he had to read it in a newspaper first, but your voice was so trembling and weak when you finally called—when you told him the doctors all said Frederick wasn’t going to make it. You were too distraught to think. He had to remind you to eat something. You asked if he wanted to come to the hospital to say goodbye, and he pretended he was too busy with a case.

But Frederick didn’t die.

A stillness came over the room, both men so lost in their thoughts they hardly noticed the other had also fallen silent.

“As you can see, I am in no condition to provide… sexual release.”

“Shame. You used to give great head.”

Affronted by Bryan’s piercing gaze, Frederick turned his head away as far as he could. It wasn’t far enough to hide his tattered mouth.

“I suppose I could return the favor,” Bryan mused, daring to lean closer over the bed, dropping his voice.

Blood rushed to Frederick’s cheeks and between his thighs. He had sucked Bryan off many times, but never had Bryan in a submissive position. The image of him between his legs, piercing eyes gazing up at him with a mouth stuffed full of his cock sent a shiver up his spine.

“No,” he stammered. “I asked you here for one reason.”

He was too skittish for such a thing now—too accustomed to Bryan’s roughness to trust him with his fragile body. Besides, he had not missed the shock on Bryan’s face when he entered the room, or how he almost turned around at the door. What would he say if he saw his grafted cock? Mere weeks ago, the poor organ had been flayed—flaps of skin peeled around the bloody shaft, stretched, split, pinned back down in place, and stitched together again under the head.

It was better now. The surgeries corrected uneven scarring that would have made erections painful, and it had time to heal. But it still felt… tender. Sore in a way that was not physical. It looked like a medical experiment.

No. He was not ready yet. But he wanted to see you happy. Bryan could give you pleasure his bedridden, broken shell could not.

***

You were surprised to find Bryan Kneef sitting in the visitor’s chair in the corner of the hospital room. He was flipping through an issue of The Wall Street Journal with a bored expression, one leg crossed over the other, but smiled and stood when you walked in.

“Bryan? What are you doing here?”

He paused long enough before answering to suggest the question stung—as if you were implying he shouldn’t have been there, which was not what you intended at all. In fact, it explained a few things.

“Shh. He’s sleeping,” he whispered.

A glance at the bed showed that Frederick was dozing peacefully—a rarity these days. You nodded your understanding. It would be a shame to wake him.

With a quiet sigh, you rushed into Bryan’s arms, burying your face against his solid form. Thick arms closed around your waist, warm and comforting, and his beard rubbed the back of your neck as he rested his chin over your shoulder.

“It’s good to see you,” you sniffed, and just like that, hot tears were rolling over the brim of your eyelids, soaking into the collar of Bryan’s white linen jacket.

“You too.”

He held you tighter, surprised at the lurch in his heart. His eyes hung on the broken figure sleeping on the bed and imagined what it had been like for you all these months. This gaunt thing was Frederick recovering. You were all alone when he was unconscious, his body an open wound, machines keeping him alive. Alone because Bryan was too selfish and cowardly to be near that kind of sickness. But he was here now, and the way your body clung to him, he knew it had been a long time since you had someone to comfort you.

***

“Right here in the hospital?” You quirked an eyebrow. Frederick had a private room in the burn ward, since his care was so intensive, but there was a constant stream of nurses in and out.

“Yes, here,” Frederick replied. “I want to see you.” A hungry spark entered his eye, and he sucked a quick breath to prevent his salivation from escaping.

Now that his plan was so close to fruition, excitement roiled in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in a long time. At first, calling Bryan was only meant as a gift for you. But suddenly, a familiar heat flared up in his belly, and he wanted to see—wanted to watch your eyes roll back as Bryan split you open.

“Don’t worry, we bribed the nurse supervisor not to disturb us,” Bryan added, hand on your lower back.

“Did you do as I instructed?”

The pressure in your ass seemed to increase as your mind was drawn back to it. “Yes,” you swallowed heavily. “I was wondering about that.” A plug kept your tight hole stretched and prepared, worn under your clothes, just as he had asked.

“Good.”

“So… you want to watch Bryan fuck me?” you purred, starting to get into the mood. You put your hands on the side of the bed and smirked down at Frederick, sticking your ass out for Bryan.

Before Frederick could answer, Bryan interrupted: “No.”

Frederick opened his mouth. You gave an equally confused look.

“I’m his dick-for-rent today,” Bryan chuckled, low and sultry. “Isn’t that right, Dr. Chilton? I’m going to fuck you for the doctor, since he can’t do it himself. Whatever way he wants.” He ran his palms over your shoulders and down your arms as if he were presenting you to Frederick as a gift.

Frederick nodded, not missing a beat as he pretended that was his plan all along, and not an unexpected act of charity from a man who seemed anything but charitable. When he woke to find the two of you conversing in hushed voices like a couple of dear old friends, he felt a sting of fear that Bryan was stealing you away.

So Bryan was going to let him be in charge? He liked the sound of that. After three months of bondage within his own skin, he liked the sound of that a lot.

***

“Pull it out slowly,” Chilton instructed.

Your ass spasmed around the flare of the plug as Bryan gradually removed it, and, under Chilton’s guidance, drizzled more lubricant over it.

“Push it in again. Fuck him with it a little.”

“Yes, doctor,” obeyed Bryan.

A guttural moan escaped your chest as he plunged it back inside, twisting it, fucking the lube back into your tight entrance. Your fingers clenched on the metal guardrail at the edge of the mattress.

“That’s right,” Chilton mumbled. “Good.” He raptly watched you bent above him, arousal building by the second.

He had never been more pleased with Bryan, following his instructions perfectly as he worked you open, first with the plug, then with his thick fingers.

“He’s dripping for you already,” Bryan said, drawing a finger through a bead of precum

He held the slick digit out to Chilton, and he extended his tongue to lick your essence off Bryan’s calloused pad. A familiar taste flooded his mouth.

“I missed the way you taste,” he moaned.

It had been too long since he sampled your arousal, and it pooled like heat in his stomach. Bryan’s breath shuddered at the sensation, or perhaps the monstrous sight of a tongue probing forth from bared teeth.

Finally, the thick, round head of Bryan’s cock was notched against your prepared opening. Fisting the base of his cock, he circled it lightly over your puckered ring, listening to the breathy whimpers it elicited.

“Take a deep breath, my love,” Chilton said. He held your eyes, steadying you with his gaze. “And let it out slowly.”

He nodded to Bryan, who rocked his pelvis forward little by little, stretching you open around his impossible girth. You gritted your teeth and tried to relax under the invasion, but it was no longer Chilton using Bryan to fuck you—Bryan was so much bigger than Frederick ever was, the illusion was shattered in that moment. No plug could prepare you for this. You wanted to squeeze Frederick’s fragile hand, but with the intense burn you were feeling, it might have shattered like glass.

“Shh. There you are. Good boy,” Frederick whispered, and even though you weren’t touching, it was like he was helping you. That soothing, soft, carefully-spoken voice caressed your ears. You felt your lower body relax, the muscles opening up for Bryan, allowing him to penetrate deeper, deeper. “You are doing so well for me.”

Your body surrendered with a heave of breath, allowing Bryan to slide in all the way until his balls were pressed against your ass. You were so full, it frightened you to move. Frederick saw how wide and wild your eyes were, the tremble in your limbs as you gripped the rail, and told Bryan not to move.

“Let him get used to you.” He added regretfully, “It has been a long time for both of us.”

“I’m never in a rush,” Bryan said. A powerful hand gently stroked the side of your face as he waited, stock-still with his cock buried inside you.

Slowly, you experimented with moving your hips. Grinding against him just slightly, you felt the way he filled your walls, stretched your entrance as he slid in the lubricant. It was so hot, so impossibly hard, but it made blood rush between your legs, your cock throbbing to be touched.

“F-Frederick… please, make him touch me,” you whimpered.

There was a flash of jealousy in his good eye for a fraction of a second. He wondered why you didn’t beg him to touch you, even though he knew he couldn’t. You might be able to ride his hand and let his fingers haphazardly twitch over your flesh, but he could never reach your cock from here.

At Chilton’s command, Bryan began stroking your heat, and soon your moans filled the sterile hospital room, drowning out the background hum of medical equipment. He guided Bryan in exactly how you liked to be touched, sharing the secrets of your body. Your lower half was on fire, screaming out for more until you were impaling yourself on Bryan’s length, hips bucking, indifferent to the pain.

Then Bryan began thrusting.

Chilton’s breath was heavy as he watched your chest heaving above him—bent over the edge of the bed so you were hovering above his face, giving him the perfect view as you were fucked brainless. Each swing of Bryan’s hips rocked you forward, your jaw slack, skin misted with a sheen of sweat.

His arms were too weak to reach up and touch you or to stroke his own cock, but he whispered words of encouragement that made your skin flush. “Good boy. You take his cock so well. That’s it… A touch faster,” he ordered, and the slap of Bryan’s skin against your ass quickened. You gurgled out a strangled moan as his cock hit a deeper spot.

“Good. Give him more. He can take it. Do you want more, dear?”

You closed your eyes as you nodded, throat too tight to form more than a strangled growl. It was almost too much—almost. But you wanted to take more for him. You wanted him to see you at your limit with Bryan rutting into you like a beast. Bryan stopped stroking your cock and fixed both hands to your hips like a vice, fingers bruising your flesh as he fucked you harder, drawing a cry with each brutal thrust.

Chilton’s cock stirred between his narrow thighs, envious of the pleasure just out of his reach.

“Kiss me,” he rasped.

You leaned over the railing and kissed his neck first, sloppy and unfocused, lavishing affection all over his skin. Down the side of his neck, over part of his shoulder exposed by the loose-fitting hospital gown, then up his jaw, your panting lips and tongue left a trail of saliva wherever they traveled.

Finally, he gasped softly as you found his toothy, exposed mouth. Your lips became its protection, replacing what was lost. He thought he would be scared—that insecurity and disturbing memories would surge to the surface—but for a beautiful moment in time, he was whole again. He had lips, and they were warm, and soft, and everything he missed. Then your tongue was exploring the smooth surface of his teeth, and his hungry tongue licked up to consume your muffled cries, inviting your sweetness deeper inside.

“Harder,” he groaned.

Your hand snaked around the back of his scorched-bald head and pulled him deeper against your mouth. Bryan obeyed the command, too, pounding you against the side of the bed until its locked wheels dragged scuff marks into the floor, and you were so breathless you almost collapsed on top of his fragile body.

Frederick’s mouth captured your wailing moans as Bryan’s massive cock nudged against a place impossibly far inside you. And suddenly, you were breaking—ropes of cum ruining the sheets, your ass spasming around Bryan’s cock. It hit you so fast, you were practically drooling into Frederick’s mouth, melting as he kissed you through your release. When you parted, a string of saliva connected your tongues. Bryan’s cock was still buried deep in your ass, but he paused to let the two of you catch your breath.

“Keep going,” Frederick nodded to him, and he thrust again.

An inhuman noise choked out of your lungs, your body exploding with overstimulation. Stuffed to its limit, and you wanted more. Frederick wanted more, too. He wanted to be more than a spectator, trapped inside a broken body.

Your searching hand groped low on the blanket until it found a satisfyingly hard bulge buried between Frederick’s legs. You lightly squeezed around it, and he gasped out.

“I want to suck your cock,” you moaned, voice thick with need.

He froze, both eyes wide, the green seemingly as blind as the pale blue one in its scarred socket. You were already throwing back the thin blanket. A tent strained in the center of his hospital gown.

“Please let me suck it?”

“I… There is a…” he hesitated. He wanted it so badly, but fear held him back. Mortification merged with lust in his face, the inflamed pink scar tissue nearly beet red.

You shifted to the foot of the bed and gently grasped his ankles, spreading his legs wide enough for you to crawl onto your belly between them. Bryan followed with you, slipping his cock back inside you, his legs pressed up against the edge of the bed, nested between yours. He smirked down at Frederick, giving a few lazy thrusts.

Frederick glanced between you and Bryan, then back to you, your lips so close to his touch-starved erection. Watching you get fucked turned him on, and he was desperate to feel your mouth, but he did not want Bryan to see it… what was beneath the gown.

You had been by his side since he was admitted, witnessing every embarassing medical treatment he endured. But how would Bryan react?

The nervous stammering Frederick gave as you lay between his thighs wasn’t a no, and you had a safeword if he needed to stop, but it wasn’t an enthusiastic yes, either. Considering the circumstances, you didn’t proceed any further, just rested there, searching his eyes with a gentle expression as Bryan smoothly rolled his hips in a holding pattern.

Somehow your willingness to wait made him feel safer. He was in control, Frederick reminded himself. Bryan was just his puppet today. What did it matter if he was disgusted?

“Suck it, then.” His voice was sure. Aloof, even. But it trembled with emotion churning just below the surface.

You pulled the medical gown up over his hips.

And there was his cock, standing partly erect, with all its rosy mesh texture. In a few months or years, the graft texture was supposed to fade into smooth skin, indistinguishable from the original, but right now, it looked like a fishing net of flesh had been pulled over it and sewn with a zig-zagging seam down the underside.

From the center of its tip snaked a long yellow catheter, the other end feeding into a urine collection bag strapped to his thigh like a gun holster.

You circled the meeting of the tube and his cock with your finger. He hissed, and it twitched. You pulled away and glanced up to his face. His jaw was hanging open, but with no lips or eyebrows, it was difficult to assess whether it was slack with lust or open in a silent scream.

“Did that hurt?”

“N-no. Oh god,” he groaned. His fingers dug into the sheets. They could not grip tightly, but his body shuddered with the attempt.

Frederick instructed you on how to take the catheter out. You had seen it inserted and vaguely understood the process, but fortunately, he had a medical degree and academic knowledge of the procedure (if not as much practice as a nurse).

“That syringe there will do,” he gestured with his chin and signaled when you found the right one.

Bryan pulled out and patiently assisted the scavenger hunt, though he was averting his eyes from the reconstructed thing between Frederick’s legs. It did not make Frederick feel appealing, but at least it was better than a sarcastic remark. Even a half-joking “you look like shit” comment would have made him crumble, and perhaps Bryan was skilled enough at exploiting vulnerabilities to recognize that.

“And bring the kidney dish. Yes, that one.”

After disposing of the half-full plastic bladder of warm yellow liquid, you brought the supplies over to the bed and sprawled back out between his legs. Bryan stood nervously behind you, kneading your ass cheeks in his large palms.

“There is a small inflated balloon holding the catheter inside my bladder, so it cannot slip out. You will need to deflate it first.”

“A balloon?” You tilted your head curiously. “How does it feel?”

Taking the end of the yellow rubber tube in your fingers, you gently pulled until you felt resistance, the tiny inflated ball pressed against the wall of his bladder at the entrance of the urethra. You twisted it slowly, rubbing the ball against the internal opening.

Frederick’s back wanted to arch, but he was helplessly immobile in his body, completely at the mercy of whatever you chose to do. He realized in that moment how vulnerable he truly was—that you could do anything, and he couldn’t escape or resist. He gasped out, but not in pain.

“You like that?”

His breath stuttered, but he couldn’t quite form a response. He didn’t know if he liked it. It felt strange. Not unpleasant. He felt full. On the threshold of torture, but something was thrilling about it—electricity sparked and built deep inside as you kept moving it.

You were barely touching the catheter anymore, only holding the end as you searched for the balloon port, but each tiny vibration made him whine softly.

“The orange cap. Use the… s-syringe… to… drain the…”

By the time you drained a few milliliters of water into the syringe, he was moaning loudly, incoherent.

Now when you pulled, there was no resistance to the tube sliding out. As you started to remove it, the deflated balloon passed over his prostate. You recognized it by the familiar whimper—the same stuttery, breathy cry he gave when you fingered him and found just the right spot. You stopped pulling and let it slide back in a little.

He choked, panting and begging, “P-please… please!” but wouldn’t tell you please what? Stop? Faster? More? Don’t?

In truth, he did not know. It burned, but it felt like stroking the shaft of his cock from the inside. It was humiliating—urine dripped from the end of the tube. He had no control over it. He felt so alive. So wanted for the first time in months of lying in that bed. The way your eyes lit up, your lips quirking at his every trembling breath. The way you whispered, “Easy. You’ve got this. Almost there.”

He was on the verge of coming when you pulled it the rest of the way out and set it aside in the tray. You gripped his cock firmly but gently, tilting it up to show Frederick the tip.

“Look at that. Your cock is gaping open like your asshole when Bryan fucks you,” you smirked. A bit of that rough, teasing quality entered your voice—an echo of the way you and Bryan used to use Frederick like your personal sex toy.

But you were going to be gentle today.

Extending your tongue, you laved over the head of his cock, soothing the stretched hole. Then all at once, your warm, wet mouth sank over his entire length, and he let out a shattered wail that was heard through the hospital wing.

Frederick went absolutely brain dead at that moment. His entire existence floated in a shimmering void with no up or down, no gravity. There was nothing but dizzying pleasure consuming his senses. Going without sex—and until recently, without touch—for so long made every sensation more intense than seemed possible. Your head bobbed up and down in his lap, lips wrapped around his cock, and waves of volcanic heat exploded up his vertebrae with each stroke. He still could not arch his back, jerk his hips into your mouth, or writhe beneath you. All of that frustrated kinetic energy came out in uncontrolled vocalizations. The nurses must have been bribed well to not come running at the hoarse, fevered cries.

His cock felt like a cock again, not some pathetic thing discarded after surgery. He couldn’t wait to come down your throat.

He almost didn’t notice Bryan was still standing there watching, obediently waiting.

“Fuck him,” Frederick managed to hiss.

A small pink smile flashed across Bryan’s lips as he nodded and leaned over you.

Your throaty groan vibrated around Frederick’s cock as Bryan pushed forward, gripping your ass to hold you still as he split you open again. He didn’t wait for you to adjust this time, doing just what Frederick had asked—he fucked you. Skin slapping skin echoed through the small room as you choked on Frederick’s cock, powerful thrusts pushing you forward and down.

Bryan sharpened your focus. You had started with your tongue languidly exploring the underside of his cock, flicking over the sensitive area beneath the crest of its head. Warm wetness traced along scars where stitches had been removed and the flesh was still raised, making his skin erupt in tingles. Now, you hollowed your cheeks and held on for the ride.

Continuous moans tore from Frederick’s throat, louder as you drove him toward his climax. He wanted to really fuck your mouth, control your pace, but he couldn’t even lift his arms.

As if reading his mind, Bryan’s large, veined hand ran down the length of your spine and settled possessively on the back of your neck. His eyes met Frederick’s, bushy grey brows raised in question.

The corner of Chilton’s mouth quirked—a tug of his cheek—and he nodded. “Yes… faster. Make him go faster.”

Bryan’s fingers snarled into your hair and pushed you down onto Frederick’s cock, then dragged you back up and shoved you down again. Frederick sighed in relief as you gagged on the head striking the back of your throat. He pretended it was his hand controlling you—savored the tears streaming from your eyes, the drool smearing your lips and pooling around the base of his cock. Most of all, he relished how willingly you took him—let him abuse your mouth for his pleasure. You were so eager.

Sensing that Frederick’s mind was gone on that last, desperate stretch toward release, Bryan took charge, setting a punishing pace as he fucked you harder and faster in time with the rhythm he was pumping your head. Bryan was a bit skeptical at first, but listening to you gag, he wished he could have a turn sucking Frederick off. But it was almost as good using your mouth like a masturbation sleeve to jerk him off.

“Take his cock like a good boy. Nice and sloppy,” Bryan growled. “Make him come, and don’t spill a drop. You swallow it all.”

Frederick moaned again. He was so close. Heat coiled in his lower body; his balls felt so heavy and tight, ready to burst.

Each time Bryan pulled you back, your tongue did this perfect little swirl, sometimes over the tip or under the crown of his cock. A sinful flourish before his heavy hand impaled your throat on Frederick’s throbbing length. He wouldn’t last much longer at this rate. Looking down at the both of you—Bryan’s face drawn in effort, sweating, and you beneath him, cheeks hollowed as your nose met Frederick’s scarred-bare pubic mound—he couldn’t help think he didn’t deserve you. Either of you. So devoted to him in his time of need. A maddening heat rose under his abdomen. He was going to… going to—

“C-come inside him. Come in his ass,” Frederick choked out. Saliva ran down his chin wantonly without lips to collect it. His eyes were barely open and rolling back in his head.

Bryan’s breathing grew erratic and turned to audible grunts as he chased his pleasure in your tight little hole. There was no restraint now—he mercilessly abused your ass and your mouth, creating a symphony of Chilton’s cries and your choked gagging. He wasn’t sure if you could take it—usually, it was Chilton he treated this way—but your walls were gripping around him, eagerly pleasuring his cock while your hips pushed back into his thrusts. You were just as needy a cockslut as your boyfriend.

The antiseptic air seemed to still for a moment, like the perfect silence that precedes a thunderclap. Bryan’s rutting hips hitched, then came crashing back down, sheathed to the hilt inside you as he sheathed your throat around Frederick, and in an instant, you were filled with hot cum from both ends. Frederick gave the small whimpering cries of a dying animal as his bitter release coated your tongue, salty, coppery, and thick. Bryan’s roar was that of an apex predator, your inner walls flooding with his seed.

A euphoric feeling settled over you. The feeling of being claimed, totally and completely, surrounded by two men you loved and trusted, knowing you brought them satisfaction.

You sucked Frederick through each twitching aftershock until there was nothing left to be milked from him, and his cries turned to uncomfortable sobs. Only then did your lips release him, shiny and red, and already softening.

Bryan, on the other hand, was hard as steel when he pulled out of you, and knowing his quick recovery time, ready to go again if need be. But that wouldn’t be advisable, considering the hospital staff would only look the other way for so long.

You quickly pulled your underwear back on, cringing at the squishy feeling of Bryan’s dripping cum being pressed into your skin. After returning Frederick’s legs to their usual closed position, you carefully crawled onto the edge of the mattress, avoiding the paths of tubes and wires attached to him, and gently cradled his prone body.

His breath was steadying, and his eyes were watery with emotion, coming down hard from his high. You surreptitiously brushed a tear away with your thumb. He wouldn’t want you to notice he was crying, but it would be worse if Bryan saw. So you held him, whispering soothing praises, and helped him calm down while Bryan cleaned himself up and made sure there were no stray fluids on the floor.

Then Bryan stood, once again unsure.

Where did he fit, with the bed too narrow for two people to cuddle on, much less three? Did he even want to join? Hospitals reminded him of death, and Frederick’s cadaverous figure made it worse. Fucking you with him was fun, but it felt like a last request—a favor for a dying man. Though as he understood it, Frederick had already beaten the odds and was going to survive, barring complications. But it still made him shudder.

He watched you smiling at him, gently whispering comfort with your arm so carefully draped around him, and watched his mutilated mouth try to smile back. Your eyes were transfixed on each other. Another pang throbbed through Bryan’s heart. He wanted to be part of that.

He took a step forward.

What if Frederick didn’t want him to be part of his lovey-dovey snuggle? It was stupid. Bryan was only here to fuck, anyway. It was what he was good at. Bryan Kneef didn’t do clingy emotional bullshit, and this was way too fucking Hallmark right now.

He took a step toward the door. It was roughly in the same direction. The last thing Bryan Kneef wanted was to appear indecisive.

But before he could pass the foot of the bed and lock his trajectory toward leaving, Frederick’s eyes shot open and froze him. He repressed another shudder, still freaked out by his ghostly blue eye.

“Thank you,” he said. His face was unreadable (there were not enough features left to read), but his voice had a hopeful edge.

“My pleasure.” A surprisingly uncomplicated reply. It didn’t seem the time for tacky vulgarity.

You looked up at him, too, and the combined forces of your puppy-dog gazes broke his resolve. He pivoted away from the door and pulled up a chair beside the bed so he could lean close, resting his head against your warm shoulder and gently stroking Frederick’s withered arm.

Frederick hummed contentedly at the contact, and he let out a long breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags: @beccabarba / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @isvvc-pvscvl / @shroomiehomie / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq / @madpanda75 / @alwaysachorusgirl / @bananas-pajamas / @leanor-min / @mad-girl-without-a-box / @katierpblogg / @worldofvixen / @sassyada / @detectivebarba

#Frederick Chilton x reader #bryan kneef x reader #Frederick Chilton x Bryan Kneef x Reader #male reader #thatesqcrushsummerbingo #my writing

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melodiouswhite · 5 years

Text

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde rewritten - Ch. 24

24. A rendezvous with a mad scientist

Jekyll could have danced all the way home.

Which was stupid, but he couldn't help himself.

After days of consideration, inner struggle and Hyde yelling at him to “JUST POP THE QUESTION ALREADY!!!”, he had finally worked up the courage to ask Utterson on a date. Just a trip to the theatre, nothing special, then dinner maybe.

And the lawyer had said yes!!!

Oh, the Doctor felt like he was walking on air!

Of course dancing in the middle of the street in broad daylight was ungentlemanly and he had a reputation to uphold. But he was just way too happy to keep it all in.

A flower girl profited from his good mood, when he bought all of her flowers.

He laughed at the way she gaped at the ten Pounds in her hand, as if they were the most magnificent thing she had seen in her entire life. Although, they probably were.

“For yer wife, Sir?”, the girl asked curiously, after a few seconds.

Jekyll smiled and shook his head. “No, I'm not married. These are to beautify my home.”

The flower girl grinned toothily. Her teeth were quite yellow, but there was life in her grin. That was the grin of someone who lived in misery, but still had hopes and dreams.

“Oh, but yer in love, right? I can tell!”, she laughed.

He chuckled and gave in. “Well, women have an eye for these things, don't they?”

The doctor took the flowers he had just purchased and cradled them in his arms.

“But don't tell anyone, young lady”, he added good-humouredly, “It's unbecoming for a gentleman at my age to-”

“One is never too old for love!”, the flower girl laughed merrily, “God bless you, Sir! And lots of luck to you!”

“Good luck to you too”, Jekyll replied and continued his way home.

“I can't believe you spent ten Pounds on an armful of roses!”, Hyde complained as soon as Jekyll was in his private rooms. “Ten Pounds! And look at these things! They're all together worth a few Shillings at best!”

Jekyll's mouth twitched upward. “My dear Edward, if I remember correctly, a certain mishap on your part cost me a hundred Pounds. So don't complain, if I use my money for something good. Besides, my home could use some decoration, don't you agree?”

Hyde groaned: “Are you rubbing this in my face again? I thought we agreed to never speak of this again!”

“And I thought we agreed to never speak of my personal spendings, Edward Hyde. You're in no position to complain to me about it, young man, you live on my wealth”, Jekyll retorted and sat behind his desk. There was work to do.

Hyde grumbled something under his breath.

Jekyll looked up to the mirror next to him. “Now, there is no need for that kind of language.”

“Yes, there is”, the brunette in the mirror grumbled, “It makes me feel better.”

“What's agitating you anyways? And don't tell me it's the flowers and the money I spent on them, you've been like this all week.”

“Well, if you have to know!”, Hyde cried in frustration and exited the mirror to sit on his creator's desk. “First I was frustrated at how fucking long it took you to ask him out! Secondly, I really hate your lovey-dovey behaviour! I mean look at you! Swooning over your lawyer like a fifteen-year-old girl! If you have to be in love, can't you be a little less corny?!”

The blond put his pen down and frowned at the younger man. “As a matter of fact, no. Hyde, what is your real problem? My love for Gabriel never bothered you before.”

Hyde just huffed and looked away.

But it wasn't quick enough for Jekyll not to notice the look in his eyes.

The blond knew his alter ego – just like Hyde knew him – and he would have recognised that expression anywhere.

“What's so funny?”, Hyde snapped, when Jekyll chuckled quietly.

The doctor smiled at him. “I just find it amusing how you pretend not to give a damn, despite how obvious your jealousy is. You're such a brat.”

He put as much fondness in his words as possible, to get his point across.

When Hyde turned back to him, his bilious green eyes full of mirth, it was clear that he had.

“And you're a hypocritical, sentimental, old fool”, the young man retorted.

Jekyll laughed merrily: “Yes, I can't deny that I am.”

Utterson was nervous.

He had arrived at their meeting point early and the longer he was waiting, the more antsy he became. It was still another two minutes and the lawyer prayed desperately, that Jekyll wouldn't be late. The blond wasn't the type of man to be late, but Lanyon had told him about all the times Jekyll had been late to their dates or forgot them entirely. Mostly because he had been experimenting.

Oh my god, what if Henry forgot that we were supposed to-?

Before he could end that thought, the subject of his concerns came around the corner.

Oh thank God!

Jekyll looked around, saw him and approached him with hurried steps.

“Hello, Utterson”, he greeted him breathlessly, “I'm sorry for being late, I-”

“You're not late”, Utterson informed him, “You're on time. And hello to you too, Jekyll. Looking dashing, old chap.”

How he hated saying 'old chap', but they were in public and had to keep up appearances.

The Doctor was wearing a black tailor-fit fur coat with a blueish hue, a purple silk scarf, black leather gloves, his best top hat and winter boots.

Jekyll blushed lightly. “You think so? I didn't even know I still had that coat and scarf. But I found them again and since this is a special occasion I thought I might as well try them on again. You're looking quite dashing yourself, if I may say so.”

The lawyer laughed. “You're jesting!”

“No, I'm serious!”

The black-haired man was wearing a black wool coat and top hat. To that a lavender scarf and white velvet gloves.

“You look handsome”, Jekyll whispered, before saying more loudly: “Let's go. They're performing Shakespeare's 'The Tempest' tonight and I remember that this is one of your favourites! I reserved us one of the boxes, so we will have a bit of privacy, while having a good view at the same time.”

Utterson beamed at the other.

The performance was perfect.

The actors did an amazing job, the atmosphere was splendid and the effects were stunning.

And of course it helped that they had an entire box for themselves.

Jekyll couldn't help but tear his attention away from the play from time to time. Watching Utterson watch the play was almost equally interesting.

The usually aloof lawyer got completely caught up in the atmosphere. He laughed during the funny scenes, discreetly expressed his antipathy towards the villainous characters and on occasion told Jekyll what would happen next.

Which wasn't necessary.

But the Doctor suspected, that this was just how it was, when someone liked a story very much. He took it with a fond smile and pretended that he didn't already know the play as well as his love did.

Utterson was so enraptured by the performance, that Jekyll didn't bother to try to begin a conversation (which was why he had reserved a box for them in the first place).

But it was okay. At least he could look (stare) at the black-haired man without anyone noticing.

He's too handsome for his own good …

“Seriously?”, Hyde's voice piped up, “There is nothing physically remarkable about him! Well, except for his eyes, when he smiles – maybe.”

Oh shut up, Jekyll scoffed mentally, I distinctly remember, that his eyes captivated you enough that you decided, that their colour is your favourite one.

“Just do me a favour and watch the play!”, Hyde grumbled, “I can't assume my shadowy form here, so I need to see through your eyes! And because you're staring at him all the time, I'm currently bored as hell!”

Jekyll grinned, but complied. After all, Hyde had never been to the theatre in his existence and he had behaved nicely as of late. Well, nicely by Hyde's standards.

In the darkness of the theatre, Utterson hadn't been able to make out, what Jekyll was wearing under his coat. But here in the restaurant, it was light enough for him to see that he was wearing an adorned, indigo waistcoat over a white shirt and-

“Don't. Say. A word”, Jekyll warned, when he noticed the lawyer smirking at his bow tie. It was the purple one Lanyon had given him for Christmas.

But Utterson couldn't help but remark: “Lanyon will be so delighted.”

“Not if he doesn't find out”, the blond grumbled, making the black-haired man laugh.

Oh, I will definitely tell him!, he thought gleefully.

He himself was wearing a lavender waistcoat and tie to a white shirt and blushed, when the blond complimented his attire again.

The restaurant was fancy, but not too much, which Utterson was grateful for. Jekyll had chosen well, here he didn't feel as underdressed as in the clubs where Jekyll liked to dine.

The Doctor was much richer than he himself was, as was Lanyon. Not to mention how insanely wealthy Lady Summers was. Sometimes the lawyer couldn't help but feel like he was the odd one out. Like a lowly commoner among bourgeoisie and aristocracy. It was a good thing that the three weren't as arrogant as most people of their class.

“Gabriel.”

Utterson blinked. “Yes?”

Jekyll was frowning at him. “You're moping again. Thinking about how you're so inferior to me, Lanyon and Lady Summers, because we're much richer, aren't you?”

The lawyer blushed awkwardly.

“I take that as a yes. Well, stop it. It's not true and you know it. I resent that classist thinking and I wish you wouldn't feel that way. You have no idea just how much of a gift you are.”

He blushed harder. “Oh hush, Henry.”

“Nay.”

Jekyll looked around to see if anyone could hear them.

Then he continued, more quietly: “Do you think I would love you, if I looked down on you? I'm pretty certain I wouldn't. Because in that case I would be blind to what a wonderful person you really are.”

“Sh-shut up!”, Utterson begged. If the other went on, he would die from embarrassment!

The Doctor chuckled. “Don't worry, I've said my say now. I won't embarrass you any further. I just meant to make a point.”

Utterson smiled weakly.

Now that they knew each other's secrets and feelings, Jekyll was smothering him with affection. It was almost too much to handle for the reserved lawyer. And it made him concerned. The Doctor was intensive and careless in the way he loved.

So how would Hyde – Jekyll's flaws and desires incarnate – act, if he grew attracted to him? His backhanded compliments and underhand remarks were creepy enough already. Utterson really didn't want to imagine, what that madman's definition of courting would be.

Enough, the lawyer admonished himself. Today is for Jekyll. I can continue to worry about Hyde tomorrow.

They finished their dinner, paid and left the restaurant.

Utterson accompanied Jekyll back home, much to the latter's delight.

Jekyll chose to enter his house from the backyard, where Hyde usually came and went. He was hoping that Utterson would come inside with him. But he was disappointed quickly, when the lawyer refused.

“It was a wonderful day and the offer is tempting. But I'm tired, Harry”, the black-haired man told him quietly. And he did look exhausted.

For a second, Jekyll considered offering him to stay the night.

But then he remembered, what Lady Summers had said about pushing things to the next level already. He needed to give the lawyer more time.

And so he just smiled and relented. “Of course. Good night, my dear fellow. I hope you will sleep well.”

“Likewise”, Utterson replied.

The clouds drifted away and the moonlight fell into the backyard. It illuminated Utterson's face, making it look like snow in contrast to his black hair.

He looked so gorgeous.

Oh, how badly he wanted to kiss him!

“Then do it!”, Hyde piped up, “Stop with that disgusting pining and just kiss him already, you old fool! You've wanted it for decades, so why don't you?! What holds you back? It's late and dark in here, no one will see it!”

Maybe, but has it ever occurred to you, that perhaps I have a modicum of respect for him?, Jekyll thought sarcastically.

“Sure!”, Hyde snorted, “That's why I'm such a respectful person! Because you have so much of it!”

Edward Hyde, I warn you-

“Arguing with yourself again?”, Utterson spoke up.

Jekyll blushed, caught red-handed.

“I can tell by now”, the lawyer explained, “For someone who always keeps his face in public, you have the worst poker-face. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“No, but I'm definitely going to work on it”, Jekyll muttered.

Utterson frowned. “Fine, if you insist. But not to me, Henry.”

He took his hand, making his face flush deeper. “I want you to be honest and open to me. No more secrets. Promise?”

Jekyll smiled and kissed the other's hand.

“I promise”, he said sweetly and added: “I love you. So much.”

Utterson's face flushed just as hard as his own (much to his satisfaction).

“I-I know”, he stuttered. “A-and thank you. F-for the day, I mean. It was wonderful.”

Then he squeezed the blond's hand once more, whispered good night and ran off.

Jekyll looked after him, before breaking into a huge grin and went inside.

This had been the most wonderful day and not even Hyde's frustrated nagging could ruin it now.

Utterson practically flew all the way back home, still flushed with embarrassment.

As soon as he was there, he threw himself onto his bed, grinned and sighed blessedly.

For a brief moment he wondered, if that was how youngsters felt, if the object of their affection requited their love.

Either way, the black-haired man couldn't recall, if he had ever been happier than he was now. Happiness wasn't even the word. Bliss was closer to it.

Whether his feelings were a sin or not, he thanked the Lord anyway.

What a magical day …

#The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde #Dr. Jekyll #henry jekyll #Mr. Hyde #edward hyde #Mr Utterson #Gabriel John Utterson #utterson #jekyllxutterson #shameless fluff #sorry not sorry

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eternityunicorn · 5 years

Text

The Doppelgänger: Part Three +18

Author: eternityunicorn

Genre: Romance/AU

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x OC x Joel Goran

Warnings: Beginnings of Smut (*Smut chapters marked +18)

Summary: An unexpected and rather unusual patient arrives at Hope Zion; a woman with white hair and sapphire eyes that were aged much older than one who looked so young. Everyone is fascinated by this strange person, but none more so that Dr. Joel Goran. The woman looks at Joel as if she knows him, but he knows he doesn’t. Just who is she and why does she look at him like that? And who is Elijah?

NOTE: OC is from my up and coming novel series!

SPECIAL AUTHOR’S NOTE: So, I was going to make this a threeshot, but it has been extended to a fourshot because the document would have been way too long otherwise. Therefore, there is one more part coming and that will be the final one. I swear it! Happy reading!

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“I am a vampire.”

Before Joel could react to what Elijah told him, the waiter came over to take the table’s order. The apparent vampire ordered for the three of them, choosing a pasta platter for everyone to share. Once that was done, he turned to the surgeon nonchalantly, as if he hadn’t dropped a bombshell, and Joel found he could only stare back with his jaw practically hitting the floor.

“Are you messing with me, mate?” The surgeon murmured, leaning over the table slightly to say more quietly, “A vampire? You are serious?”

“I am quite serious, Dr. Goran,” Elijah replied, not bothering to look at the disbelieving doctor as he elegantly busied himself with placing his napkin in his lap. “Though I am a special kind of vampire, an Original. I’m over a thousand years old, making me one of the oldest creatures on Earth.” Finally, he looked at Joel with a slight smugness.

The doctor couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He looked over at Eternity, suddenly curious about her. “And what about you? Are you a vampire too?” He asked her without accusation, just bewilderment.

Eternity and Elijah shared a smile, before the white-haired beauty looked at him and replied, “No, I am not a vampire, but what I truly am is a well kept secret that I wish to remain as such. You are a mortal man, Dr. Goran. Because of that fact, knowing of my very existence is in violation to the rules, but I have chosen to make an exception this once.

“Why do you think I erased the memories of those patients that night? Because of the rules I abide by, most of the time. The reason why your memories remains intact? Because you are a unique case. However, I’m afraid that knowing what little you do about me will be all you get.” She looked at him pointedly.

Joel was equally intrigued to know her secrets and disappointed that he wouldn’t be getting more information about the mysterious woman, whom he had found consumed his thoughts. He was even a bit offended that she didn’t find him worthy of knowing whatever secrets she kept close to the chest. Yet, he understood perfectly that there was nothing he could do to change her mind, so he had to accept her decision.

“So, vampires are real,” he said, turning his attention back on the amused doppelgänger. “My whole life I never believed in anything that was deemed a fable, a myth, an impossibility. I have always been a skeptic. Yet, here I am having dinner with a vampire doppelgänger and his magical girlfriend. When did my life become so strange?”

“Well, you are a doppelgänger,” Eternity answered him. “There is magic in you, sir, because of that. Perhaps, it was simply a matter of time for the strangeness to seep into your life.”

The waiter once again disturbed the conversation as he brought over a large platter with many small bowls upon it that had a different kind of pasta in each. The trio put their talk on pause while they ate, making lighter conversation instead, that was not related to the previous one. In fact, Elijah told Joel all about the history of pasta, having lived through it’s evolution for a thousand years.

Joel found the vampire’s knowledge mind blowing as much as he found it fascinating, even if the topic was pasta. To have seen the evolution of mankind for a millennia, to have been a part of history, an influence upon it, he couldn’t even imagine what that must have been like. Elijah had seen a lot in his time, the surgeon was sure. It was almost like hearing old tales from his grandparents of a time long past that they had lived through.

Soon the meal wound down. It wasn’t long before the three of them had cleared their plates and therefore, had full bellies. It was interesting to find that Elijah could eat like a normal person, despite being a vampire and needing human blood to sustain himself. Joel made a comment about it that had the Original explaining that as long as he had a steady flow if blood, his body acted as normally as a human’s. That revelation was certainly not expected by the surgeon, as none of the books or movies he had seen ever touched the subject.

As they all sat there digesting, the conversation once again took a turn. This time, it was in a direction that Joel hadn’t quite expected as of yet, but was definitely ready for.

“My love, do you think we should discuss the ulterior motive now to our guest?” Eternity asked Elijah openly, while grinning mischievously at the surgeon.

The vampire smirked a little as he sideways glanced at his playful lady before agreeing, “Yes, I think we should.” He turned his attention fully to Joel, who waited with anticipation for whatever was going on. “Dr. Goran,” Elijah began, “my lovely Eternity here brought up a most interesting proposal, when she was telling me all about the doppelgänger surgeon she had found in Toronto, Canada, of all places. I agreed to it on the condition that she made certain that you were...infatuated with her. I’ve certainly observed that this seems to be the case, just sitting here with you.” He looked at Joel knowingly.

The doctor shifted in his chair a bit uncomfortably, looking away as he did.

“I do not blame you,” the vampire carried on, catching Joel’s attention as Elijah smiled lustfully at Eternity, briefly taking her hand and kissing the palm sensually. “My lady is quite exquisite. Any man would feel blessed to have her for his own. For you, it’s unique, however, because we are connected to each other through whatever mystery magic created a doppelgänger. Therefore, your connection with this lovely creature is very much tied to mine and I love her with everything I am. It makes sense that such affection would pass through to you, Dr. Goran.”

Joel watched with great interest as the elegant vampire leaned over to the stunning woman and quickly kissed her lips, while she beamed at him. They had a very loving relationship, this dark creature and his lady of light.

When Elijah pulled back he was smiling with such devotion that his envy of the couple was nearly palpable. Though, he couldn’t decide if it was because the other man had Eternity’s love or if it was because he simply didn’t have such a devoted love in his own life.

“So, what is this proposal exactly?” The surgeon asked.

“Ah yes,” Elijah pulled his attention away from Eternity again and looked at Joel. “My lady proposed that I invite you to spend a night of passion with us.”

Joel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You’re inviting me to a threesome,” he said with slight disbelief.

Normally, he would have thought such a proposal as insane and he would have awkwardly declined the invitation. However, this whole situation was not normal. There had been talk of vampires, doppelgängers, and magic. No, nothing was normal here. This was a once in a lifetime moment, one only a rare mortal had ever experienced. Despite that fact, however, he still hesitated.

“Why?” Joel asked.

“Why not?” Eternity answered before Elijah could. “It is only for a bit of fun really. We of the long life tend to be a little bit more adventurous than others, but especially so when we encounter the rare doppelgänger of our lovers” She grinned suggestively at Joel and winked at him. “I am sure my Elijah would jump at the chance to have two of me, even if only once.” She looked at the vampire, who smirked wickedly at her in return.

Joel found himself greatly intrigued by the proposal set before him. The question was did he have the gall to accept it? Was he capable of such adventurousness? Threesomes weren’t something he normally participated in, but as they say, there is a first time for everything.

“Alright, I’m game,” he finally agreed, not one to back down from a challenge.

“Excellent,” Elijah nodded with a small grin flashed in his direction.

Eternity seemed excited by his acceptance. Her sapphire eyes seemed to twinkle and her rose pink lips widened considerably in a beaming smile. She still held her vampire’s hand and she reached her other hand out to him as she asked Joel, “Well then, let us travel down this rabbit hole together, shall we?”

The doctor gazed at her outstretched hand briefly, before smiling charmingly at the white-haired beauty and taking it without further hesitation.

With a smirk, Eternity practically dragged both Elijah and him out of their chairs. The vampire had just enough time to put down more than enough money to cover the food and tip before she did, leaving both men to chuckle after her impatience as she lead them from the restaurant. All other eyes were curiously upon them as they went, but Joel barely paid any attention to it. He was too caught up in the arrangement he had just made with these two otherworldly creatures.

Eternity released them once they made it to the curb. “Who’s car and to where?” She asked them.

“Mine and our hotel, Sweetheart,” Elijah answered her, before he requested the awaiting valet to bring his car around.

They only had to wait a few moments before the expensive black Bentley rolled up. Joel was awed by the classy vehicle, though he couldn’t say he was surprised to see it in Elijah’s possession. He seemed to be a rather high class sort of man. It made sense that he would have the best of everything, including cars - and women.

Elijah opened the back passenger side door of the car, prompting Eternity practically pushed Joel into backseat with her following close behind. The surgeon barely saw the approving smirk on the vampire’s identical face before he was shut inside. He also hardly noticed when Elijah climbed into the driver’s seat or that he had begun driving them to their hotel, as the white-haired beauty had quickly latched her mouth onto his in a devouring kiss. Her tongue dove into his mouth, tasting him hungrily, which lit every nerve ending in the doctor’s body and left him quite breathless.

Joel’s desire ignited instantly and he didn’t waste another moment in returning her attentions. His tongue swiftly pushed hers out of his mouth and swept inside the wet cavern of her own, plundering her mouth with abandon. His hand cupped the side of her neck as they kissed, while the other hand trailed down her back, feeling the lace of the little black mini dress she wore. It wasn’t long before she was climbing into his lap, to rock against him while their mouths danced. He felt his cock hardened at the sensation, his desire rapidly making him hazy.

“Easy, Sweetheart,” chuckled Elijah from the front suddenly.

Eternity tore her mouth from Joel’s with a smirk on her swallowed lips as she twisted around to look at the vampire. This allowed the surgeon to see that the vampire was watching then through the rear view mirror. His dark eyes had grown darker with his own hunger and his hands were gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

“Don’t worry, Elijah,” quipped the woman straddling Joel’s lap. “You’ll get yours.”

Then, as their driver growled in an animalistic way, she turned back toward Joel to carry on kissing him senselessly, while continuing to rock into him wantonly. The surgeon thought he was going to go mad, if they didn’t get to their destination soon. This woman was just so intense and it called to his baser self like no other woman had before in his life. He wanted her so fucking badly, he was almost tempted to take her right then and there.

However, he managed to refrain. Instead, he contented himself with the continual make out session with her until just before they arrived when Eternity abruptly pulled away from him completely. Joel groaned in disappointment as she moved to sit in the seat next him, casually pretending that they hadn’t just been all over each other.

Finally after what seemed forever, Elijah pulled into the hotel parking garage and parked the car near the elevator that would take them to the lobby. Joel watched closely as the vampire climbed out of the vehicle and flashed over to Eternity’s side of the car, opening the door and pulling her from it roughly by the arm. She giggled the whole time, squealing Elijah’s name, as he did.

The surgeon took that as his cue to climb out as well. He was just in time to see the identical man pull the woman against him bodily with his hand fisted in her hair at the back of her head and his mouth devouring hers greedily.

The sight of it felt like an out of the body experience or a dream for Joel since Elijah was quite literally his mirror image. It was strange as it was intriguing and incredibly hot.

“Elijah,” Eternity breathed as they pulled apart, with the vampire rested his forehead against hers lovingly.

The doctor swallowed thickly with emotions that he chose not to examine at all and looked away from the loving scene. He felt a bit awkward while they shared a moment. However, it was brief as he felt the ethereal beauty draw near to him. Immediately his gaze fell to her. She stared at him with unadulterated lust in her gorgeous sapphire eyes. She licked her lower lip seductively, just before she stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Eternity’s mouth quickly captured his in a dominating kiss. Her tongue invaded his mouth, when he gasped in surprise by the suddenness of her actions. She tasted him throughly, moaning into his mouth fervidly as she did. He quickly recovered from his surprise and engaged her, his eyes shutting as he let himself feel her kiss, giving into the ever rising desire in him.

Then a second presence came closer and Joel cracked an eye open to see Elijah step in behind Eternity. The doppelgänger took a hand and elegantly moved her long hair away from the side of her neck before he latched onto the column with his mouth, trailing open mouthed kisses there.

This caused Eternity to moan louder into Joel’s mouth, her kisses becoming more enthusiastic as a result of Elijah’s attentions unto her. Her chest heaved and she clung to the doctor even tighter. It was as if she couldn’t get close enough. Her own desire for both men climbing higher.

Elijah was the one to pull away first. He gently took Eternity with him; though she groaned in disappointment when he pulled her away from Joel. “Come on, Sweetheart,” he murmured to her softly. “Let us go inside where we can continue this in privacy.”

She nodded almost reluctantly, before she grabbed both their hands and dragged them away hurriedly toward the elevator. Both men chuckled the whole way at her playful neediness. Then as if they were in sync with each other, the doppelgängers simultaneously removed their hands from her grasp and gave her a gentlemanly arm each as they reached the lift.

Fortunately, once inside the transport, the trio found they were alone in the shiny metal box and so they wouldn’t be disturbed on their way up. A good thing, in the surgeon’s eyes since he was rather wound up and didn’t like the idea of having to share an elevator with anyone else, but his two companions.

While they rode up to the lobby, Elijah grinned at Joel and quietly asked, “Do you wish to see something phenomenally sexy, Dr. Goran?”

“Of course,” the surgeon readily replied, curious to know what his doppelgänger had in mind.

The vampire’s grin widened as he moved over to Eternity, whom had been leaning against the side of the elevator with her eyes fixed on the two of them. “Come here, Sweetheart,” he commanded gently, as he reached out a hand to her.

She went to him without hesitation, taking his hand and letting him turn her away.

“Hair up,” Elijah softly ordered, as he turned her.

This was a moment of disbelief and wonder for Joel, whom watched with innocent fascination as Eternity’s long whisky hair magically moved on it’s own into a messy bun near the top of her head. It was a simple trick, he was sure, and not of any great significance compared to the other wonders he had witnessed her perform. Yet, it was still mesmerizing to him, all the same.

Once that was done, Elijah glanced back at Joel, before he turned back to his lady and proceeded to take the flimsy black lace that encased her body into his two hands and tore the fabric in two cleanly, revealing to the surgeon that she wore nothing underneath!

Oh, dear god! Yes, that was phenomenally sexy!

Eternity turned back around to face the two identical men. Joel swallowed thickly again at the sight of her. She was flawless, perfect in every way, like the goddess that she was. His eyes trailed her body lustfully, following her little hands as they moved over her skin with slow sensuality.

The doctor felt his heart race in his chest and his hands flexed at his sides as they itched to touch her. He glanced at Elijah and found him in a similar state, though he was more subtle. For example, Joel couldn’t see the other man’s hands as they were shoved into his pants pockets. However, he could see the vampire’s jaw tighten and his dark eyes burn with lust as he also took in the sight of Eternity before them.

Neither man moved toward her, they simply appreciated the work of art standing before them.

Then just before they reached the main floor of the hotel, Elijah took off his outer wool coat and put it around the lady’s shoulders. She quickly put her arms through the sleeves and held it closed to hide her form from the outside world as they finally reached the lobby.

“Ready to go down the rabbit hole, Dr. Goran?” Eternity murmured to Joel, just before the doors of the elevator opened.

“Yes, yes, I am,” he breathed, gazing at her with a burning desire he swore he would possess for nobody else for the rest of his life.

To Be Continued....

#elijah mikaelson #joel goran #daniel gillies #original character #saving hope x the originals crossover #saving hope x vampire diaries crossover #elijah x eternity x joel #the originals #the vampire diaries #saving hope #the threeshot has become a fourshot #alternate universe #alternative universe #romance

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salaciouscrumpet · 6 years

Text

I’ve been bingeing Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on Netflix lately. I watched it 20+ years ago (dear god) when I was a geeky little 15-year-old with a massive crush on Dr. Bashir (Alexander Siddig has only gotten hotter with age; my crush remains unabated, although now I’m old enough to find Bashir a little bit annoying, especially in the first few seasons). I’m one of those people who doesn’t feel the need to choose between Star Wars and Star Trek; I get a lot out of both and think they both bring a lot to the table with regards to entertainment value, social commentary and escapism.

As I apparently ramble a lot about this, more below the cut. Oh, and spoilers for a 25-year-old show, I guess.

Two things, though.

One, which holds standard to pretty much any drama I’ve binged: Watching a bunch of episodes back-to-back makes you realize just how much friggin’ trauma the characters go through. Like, just using my space-BF Bashir as an example, the man is constantly threatened with torture or death, is frequently assaulted (often as a result of one of Quark’s plans falling through), is forced to kill people he knows (or at least Mirror Universe versions of people he knows), is made to perform dangerous/invasive/unethical procedures (on people he cares about, no less, but given his professionalism and high moral standards that’s only slightly relevant), is kidnapped or held captive on multiple occasions (including spending, like, a month in an internment camp where he spends time in solitary -- and don’t even get me fucking started on how his friends respond to him when he returns and they realize they’d been interacting with his Changeling doppelganger the whole time he was missing!), and then has his worst secret revealed, which threatens his military career, his medical license and his personal autonomy. One or two of these things, alone, would be traumatic enough, but throughout the seven seasons of the show he undergoes enough horrific misadventures that he should, by all rights, have gone completely insane. (And people say I’m mean to my characters. I mean, I am, but still, now I know where I get it from!) This is just one character.

Two, taken from my currently viewing the Mirror Universe episode of “Through the Looking Glass”: we get to meet Mirror!Bashir, who is one of the leaders (or hotheads, it’s hard to tell at this point) of the Terran Rebellion. But ... um ... why? How? If, in this universe, humans are slaves and have been for ... kind of a while ... (like, since shortly after Kirk visited in the universe in the original series), how would Bashir’s parents have had the wherewithal to have their son genetically enhanced? Shouldn’t he be -- by Julian’s own account in “Doctor Bashir, I Presume?” -- severely developmentally, physically and intellectually delayed, with the approximate development of a 6-year-old? (And therefore most likely dead, since this universe doesn’t exactly seem like a supportive environment.) Or was Mirror!Bashir born without these disadvantages? Or did his parents somehow, magically, have the means to have their son enhanced? I know that the decision to have Bashir genetically enhanced (yes, like Khan) was a last-minute one (literally: Siddig got the script, with the big reveal, about two days before they were about to film; he had known nothing about this character “development” the entire time [this was a fifth-season episode, by the way!] he’d been playing Dr. Bashir), but man, does this ever highlight that.

Okay, another thing: the first-season episode “The Forsaken” was cringe-worthy. Watching Commander Benjamin Sisko -- an amazingly well-written, compassionate and brilliant man -- write off Constable Odo’s concerns regarding Ambassador Lwaxana Troi’s sexual harassment as a joke was horrifying. “Haha, Odo, maybe you should just let yourself be caught, you might like it. Don’t cause any troubles, Odo, she’s an ambassador, we don’t want to have to deal with it. So sorry her rampant sexual interest in you makes you uncomfortable, Odo, but I can’t and won’t help you.” The fact that Troi and Odo do eventually get along quite well (and that she proves to be a supportive friend) doesn’t make up for how awful it was to see Odo’s very obvious discomfort and unhappiness dismissed, and it was made worse (for me) because it was Sisko, a character I deeply respect, who did the dismissing.

I’m honestly tempted to do a thorough analysis of all the trauma Bashir experiences throughout the seven seasons. (I could do it for all the characters, but damn, that’s a lot of work.) And I know other shows, movies, novels, comics, etc. put their characters through an equal amount of hell and it’s just made obvious for me right now because I’m watching a bunch of episodes back-to-back, but damn.

And, uh, I didn’t really have a point to this except that I’m enjoying re-watching a series I loved as a teenager. The acting was phenomenal (not just Siddig and Brooks, who are fucking treasures, but everyone; there is no one on this show where I don’t have a moment of “Fuck, that was amazing” at least once or twice). The morality was complicated and complex. The heroes didn’t always win, the bad guys didn’t always lose, and sometimes people did the wrong thing for the right reasons and it still didn’t work out in the end. Fuck, I loved this show.

#crumpet rambles #star trek deep space nine #long

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essenceanddescent · 7 years

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Your "Beautiful" Character Sucks

Or … Why I Avoid Fics with overly "Beautiful" OCs

Or ... What Makes a Mary Sue, Part 2

Pre-rant: I don’t normally write about what people shouldn’t do. I don’t like guidelines. I don’t like standards. I don’t like best practices. I don’t like any rules that are placed on highly subjective and creative art forms. So the point of this isn’t to tell you what you shouldn’t do, because you should write whatever the hell you want to. The point of this mini-rant is to point out something that, I … as a reader of fiction … make it a point to avoid reading and why.

For the most part, I’m going to put "beautiful" in quotes, because “beauty” is supposedly subjective, although that is not, in fact, true. For the purposes of this ramble, I’m going to be referring to the socially accepted standards of “beauty”. I am not talking about the people who are so intriguing that they are attractive in ways that are not conventional. I’m talking about the person that 98% of the people in any given room would agree is “beautiful” without ever speaking to them.

So … Those Kinds of Fics. Yeah, you know the ones.

We’ve all read that fic. The one that starts highly promising. It's got all the right tags: Romance, True Love, the right pairing. It’s even well written, the spacing is perfect, the author’s note and summary before the story actually starts is clever and almost pleasant. It shows INCREDIBLE promise.

We are immediately intrigued and very optimistic. Those little butterflies flutter in our stomachs as we start to read and take in all the glorious words, hoping deep down inside that this is going to be the fic that we’ve been waiting for. This is it. Someone has done it and it that will introduce or fix something that is missing in our broken little fandom hearts and then we get to the line (or one very much like it).

He/She steps into full view and [everyone or anyone] gasps as their jaws drops at his/her jaw-droppingly beautiful eyes, and jaw-droppingly beautiful skin, and jaw-droppingly beautiful hair and jaw-droppingly beautiful body and … and … and … and … beautiful … beautiful … beautiful*. Maybe you don’t understand: BEAUTIFUL.

YES, I know this is a blatant exaggeration, but you get my point. It's love at first site because they were just so goddamn beautiful. They haven’t spoken yet. They haven’t shown they have a single thought behind their beautiful eyes … but it doesn’t matter, does it? She’s beautiful, and that means she’s a good person. And that means we have to love her immediately, because Beauty Equals Goodness in our fucked up superficial society.

No romance, no growth, no nothing. Everyone on the cast wants to fuck your OC because they are simply irresistible. I sniffle because … sadly … this fic is not the one. Rarely reading even another single word, I close the tab and begin my search anew, feeling suckered into reading the beginning of it at all.

Look, I get it. I really do. A lot of fic is wish-fulfillment and a lot of us wish that we were that beautiful, but there’s a cost to that kind of power that authors never take into account when developing their characters into something that could make me care about them.

Beauty really IS a Real World Superpower

Before you write blindly about "beauty", do you really understand it and its effect on those around it? I’m not a “beautiful” person, but I’m not ugly either; I’m like the majority of women out there, stuck in some kind of terrible nebulous middle ground: Unbeautiful Purgatory.

As women, we are taught from birth that our worth, regardless of how intelligent we are, regardless of how talented we are, regardless of any other trait, is placed solely on our appearance and ability to be desirable. Franky, anyone who tells you otherwise is full of shit. "In my household." BAH. It's not just our own families that uphold this stereotype, it’s the media and society itself. It even comes directly from us (even in the fics we write) and our friends. We enable and continue to drive and reinforce these superficial ideals on a daily basis.

But, being a highly intelligent woman, stuck in this strange tortuous middle ground, you get a fascinating view of how real world people react to "beautiful" women. When an incredible “beauty” enters a room, she has a powerful effect on all of those around her, men and women alike. This isn’t a myth or an unfounded stereotype, this is a well documented cognitive bias known as the Halo Effect.

TL;DR: The halo effect works in both positive and negative directions (the horns effect): If the observer likes one aspect of something, they will have a positive predisposition toward everything about it. If the observer dislikes one aspect of something, they will have a negative predisposition toward everything about it.

If you’ve watched 30 Rock, then you might have seen the episode, The Bubble, (see Handsome Bubble for the trope of this) with Jon Hamm that touches on this point quite laughably. Hamm plays an overly attractive doctor who doesn’t even know the heimlich maneuver; he’s a tennis coach who doesn’t even know how to play tennis. While this is obviously an exaggeration for comedic effect, it doesn’t make this phenomena any less true. "Beautiful" people experience life quite differently from the rest of us, whether it be for the better or not. And … “Beautiful” people are BORING.

The Halo Effect … First Hand

This is a personal story, and you can skip it if you wish.

I’ve witnessed this effect first hand and found it actually terrifying. Being internalized and introverted, I tend to observe in social environments more than interact. At a social event, a few years ago, I found myself in a room full of highly intelligent men and women engineers who got flustered immediately when a "beautiful" woman entered the room.

Just a quick note here: I am not talking about just some pretty face. This particular woman’s "beauty" was talked about at the water cooler daily. She could easily have been a model instead of an engineer.

So, I watched, in awe of the situation unfold, as this said person committed various atrocious acts of social crimes: forgetting people’s names, touching people inappropriately, talking over people, not listening to what people were actually saying before replying. She was entirely unable to follow the technical aspects of the conversations currently in play and as such the dialogue was immediately dumbed down to allow her to participate. She immediately became the ultimate center of attention and … everyone loved it. It was like a show was being put on and you were supposed to be enamoured by her, regardless of what she was actually contributing. It was her mere presence that was the drug to them.

Now, I should have been just as enamoured with her and I do not think that I am immune to the Halo Effect, but I was immune to her effect, specifically, because I had been her officemate for over a year a few years prior to this strange social interaction. We shared cubes in the same office for over a year passing each other every day and exchanging nice pleasantries.

I had learned, over several months, that she was entirely incapable of doing her own work and was … in fact … lacking any kind of significant personality. Over the year of sharing the space with her, she progressively became less and less attractive until I found myself standing uniquely outside of her realm of influence. Don’t get me wrong, it is an extremely powerful effect as it took months and months of constant stimulation for me to build up a tolerance to it and see through the thin veil of just her exterior.

So when someone introduced us at this social event, I started to laugh, because … duh, we already know each other and she put her hand out to shake mine because she had no idea who I was. Sure, it’d been a few years and I’d grown up, lost weight, and changed my hair color but …

Wait. What? Are … you … kidding me???

When I spoke to a friend about this, they actually dismissed me. "It's not a big deal. She didn’t mean to be rude. She’s actually a really nice person. You shouldn’t be so sensitive." I really didn’t look that different, but I was confused why this was suddenly socially acceptable. I have a hard enough time dealing with socializing as it was and the entire experience was a big turn off for me going forward putting in effort to socialize with this group of people.

Socializing and interacting is a pretty tricky game as it is, especially for someone who is hyper observant. Extroverts have a one-up on introverts here. Sure. But the game is entirely stacked the other way around when you are playing with an obvious handicap or … in her case … a Game Genie.

I also want to make it clear that this story wasn’t to put down one unlikeable "beautiful" person. No, the purpose of this story was not to point out her as an abnormality or even to call her out as the standard of “beautiful” people. The point was to appreciate the reactions by everyone around her. These were people whom I’d know for years. People who I considered were highly intelligent. People who had earned my friendship over years of interacting. How did a group of people that I had so much respect for fall prey to groupthink so very easily? It’s simple, we’re wired that way.

I learned a lesson that day: Beauty Completely Disrupts Normal Behavior

But "Beautiful" and disruptive means it’s a Mary Sue. Doesn’t it?

You knew I was going to tie this back to Mary Sue-ism, right? Hehehe, of course I was.

I see a lot of talk about a character being so "beautiful" that she overwhelms the characters and plot and therefore, she is a Mary Sue. This definition, as the previous definition of a Mary Sue, is a bad one.

So, here is the thing with "Extreme Beauty". If you read about the Halo Effect and the physical attractiveness stereotype, then when an insanely attractive person walks into a room, most (it does not have to be all) of your other characters (original or canon) will most likely be enamoured by them and will automagically treat them much differently than other people.

But, you say, the argument that a character is a Mary Sue because they change the characters and plot and story to fit around them is somewhat invalid at this point, isn’t it? Some part of a Mary Sue is all about causing characters to act OOC or act unbelievably. If most people are, in fact, affected by The Halo Effect then it is absolutely IC (In Character) for them to be enamoured with her at first glance and treat her quite a bit differently than they would treat anyone else.

I would even go as far as to say that if you have described your character as infallibly "beautiful" and most of the characters are NOT in the least bit flustered with her beyond reason, that might be OOC (Out of Character). “Most” is an important distinction in that previous statement, as I do think that there are people/characters who are, in fact, immune to the Halo Effect. (This is an extremely important trait for me to find in a hero, btw)

Great! If she’s not a Sue, then I can disrupt with her all I want!!!

Sure. Yes. Yes, you can and yes, in my eyes, she would be a valid character in that sense because absolute "beauty" has a tendency to disrupt absolutely, but why do that? Is it a satire? I might read that then. If not, is that really interesting? Will there be any growth behind her trials or her affect on the characters? Will she provide a lesson learned or just serve as a porn star in the fic to be used and discarded?

Who really wants to read that? Probably some people? I don’t and I won’t. If I’m reading fic about a canon character, chances are I like that canon character and I feel like that canon character deserves my extra attention, so why would I want to read about them and an obvious sex toy with them? I know, I know … that is what smut is, right? No. Smut can be written with real people. Show me real attraction, don’t just tell me about fleeting infatuation driven by the physical features of a vapid bombshell that is supposed to be a husk for reader to assume control of in their minds.

I’m so very tired of being bombarded by the media that makes me feel inadequate as it is. From the issues introduced by problematic tropes to recent Hollywood shenanigans, I actually turn to fanfic specifically to read about realistic characters with which, I always hope on some small level, to be able to relate to and when I find that it's the same regurgitation, I get turned off immediately.

But My Character really is ULTRA UBER Special! LOVE HER!

You: No, no, no. You don’t understand. My ultra "beautiful" character is different. She’s nice, kind, sweet, and she’d never let her beauty get to her head. She’s incredibly smart and playful and lovable and absolutely empathetic and charismatic … She’s JUST SUPER SPECIAL!

Me: ಠ_ಠ

Ok. Here’s the deal …

If you’ve grown up with this "effect" on you for your entire life, there will be parts of your character and personality that are inevitably stunted or just flat out fundamentally different compared to those who didn’t grow up with such … advantages or … (I shudder to use this word) privilege. It’s easy to understand: if you’ve never really used muscles before, then people who have will have stronger ones. Get me? “Beautiful” people are usually gonna be socially stunted and inevitably very, very, very boring.

You: But that’s just the rule. There are exceptions! Extenuating circumstances!

Me: ¯＼(ツ)/¯ Uh … sure? I guess? You just better be goddamn good at SHOWING and SELLING me on it, instead of just TELLING me.

So, the above characters can exist and they can actually be written very well. Absolutely. Who I just described above is … Captain America, handsome Steve Rogers himself. Yup, he is all of those things, but do you know what makes him nearly believable for me? He didn’t grow up like that. He experienced a transformation. He was given this super power after being the complete OPPOSITE of what is considered "beautiful" for a man. He grew up battered and beaten down, learning what it really meant to be empathic and understanding. They SHOWED us that, on so many levels. I related to him. He was introverted and he stood alone in the corner at parties. He went on double dates and was the third wheel that the girls ditched in favor of his best friend. Because of his appearance, he was the outcast.

But, be careful using the Beautiful All Along trope though. Unless you can provide some interesting backstory for said "transformation", then it can be hard to buy. Some people go for the She Is All Grown Up, which isn’t much better IMHO.

All I ask is that you put a little bit of effort into making your character attractive in ways other than physically “beautiful”. It’s tiresome and, honestly, it only perpetuates the problem further.

#it's just a big long hateful ugly rant #rant #fanfiction #fanfic #mary sue #what makes a mary sue #beauty #lazy character development #I'm sorry #if all i cared about was beautiful women i would stick to hollywood and not read fanfic

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collecting-stories · 7 years

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Out-patient - Jonathan Crane

Request: no need to say twice ;) Can I ask for a Dr .Crane imagine? it sets before the first film, YN was his former patient , who he realized wasnt crazy and the only one who believed on him. they fell in love and get married

Out-patient - Jonathan Crane || Nolan-verse Batman: series

Your room was small, white floors with white walls padded for your protection. The door was steel and only let in light twice a day at breakfast and dinner. You saw only the orderly who delivered your meals. No visitors came to see you.

Four months back you had been found guilty for the murder of your husband. You were innocent, framed by the men that your husband owed money to, yet you were still arrested. The judge thought your hysterical breakdown in court was a sign of insanity rather than a sign of innocence and so you were remanded to Arkham. Twenty years in this cell was what was decided. It had only been four months and already you felt yourself falling further into insanity.

Time was unknown to you, days muddled into nights. You slept almost always, it was the only escape from this hell. It was some time after you woke up when the door to your room opened. The orderly came in first followed two nurses, one wheeling in a chair.

"Dr. Crane wants to see you," one of the nurses said, motioning for you to get in the chair.

"No." You shook your head vigorously, pushing yourself further back in your bed, pressing your back against the padded wall. You had never seen the doctor before. In the four months that you were here Dr. Crane had never made any attempt to meet you.

The orderly and the other nurse advanced toward you, grabbing your arms and legs and dragging you to the chair. They pushed you down and strapped you in while you jerked around, trying in vain to break free. The longer you were here the more afraid of the outside world you became. Still they persisted, wheeling you down the hall to Crane's office. Once inside the polished, modern office they left you parked in front of a lavish, empty desk.

You were still tightly strapped to the chair when the door opened and the man you assumed was Dr. Crane came in. He walked toward you, crouching down to unstrap your legs from the chair. "I'm sorry about that, my nurses are too cautious for their own good."

You didn’t reply, simply moved your hands close to your body and rubbed your wrists.

"I'm Doctor Jonathan Crane," he introduced himself as he walked around his desk and took a seat, "now, I've been reading over your file. I'm sorry to say I didn’t get to it sooner, we have quite the overflow problem here at Arkham."

Still you gave him no answer.

"Let's see, it says here that you killed your husband in a psychotic rage? You don’t seem psychotic to me."

"You've only known me a few minutes." You finally replied, meeting his eyes.

"That may be true but it's my job as a doctor to be able to read my patients and I must say, your file is vastly different from the person I see sitting before me." He said, leaning forward a bit in his chair.

"I didn't kill my husband." You replied.

“You were filing for divorce?” He asked, running through your file over again, checking to make sure he had read everything the court provided him.

“Yes but…I already told the judge, I didn't kill my husband, I was set up.”

"And I believe you." He replied.

"You... you do?" You asked.

It was after that first meeting that things at Arkham began to change for you. Everyday at lunch the orderly would come to collect you for Dr. Crane. He told you that it was a time meant for counseling but it became clear that it was just lunch. You talked to him about your life before Arkham and your husband's death. But the death of your husband and any life you had with him seemed to become a footnote in your talks with Dr. Crane. Soon you found yourself sharing things with him you hadn't told other people, things about your childhood, your desires and interests, things you had done that you now regretted. And he shared with you equally.

"I think it's a little suspicious, Jonathan, that you keep inviting me for lunch every day."

"I think it's presumptuous of you to be using my first name, considering I am your doctor." He replied, though the smallest of smirks was evident on his face.

The two orderlies who had brought you into the office left, closing the door behind them and giving you and Jonathan complete privacy.

"Only for another week." You replied, fiddling with the pens on the desk. Your case had finally been reheard by a new judge, who decided that you had indeed been framed by the Falcone family. You were to be released in just a week.

"I'm well aware," Crane said. He came around the front of the desk and leaned against the ledge, steadying himself with one hand. With the other he reached out and touched your hand, stopping you from playing with the pens.

You looked up to meet his eyes. He had taken his glasses off and laid them on the desk behind him. In the time you and Crane had spent together your relationship had progressed from patient and doctor to a rather flirtatious friendship. There was never any true crossing of a line, a few touches here and there but nothing that could be viewed as inappropriate. Even now, he leaned in close but not too close, his thumb running back and forth over the back of your hand.

There was a long silence, just you and he staring at each other, taking in minute details about the other person. You thought maybe this would be your last lunch session with him and he knew he didn’t want it to be. From the moment you'd come into his office he had been intrigued by you. And reassured to know that you were not a murderer.

"Since no one is here but us," you asked, leaning in close to Crane, "could I call you Jonathan?"

"As head of Arkham I feel it's rather inappropriate to have my patient call me by my first name." He replied. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and you felt like you could come apart under his gaze.

"I suppose that's true, I'm just your patient after all." You removed your hand from his and stepped away from him. You watched his jaw tense and knew he was bothered.

"I wouldn’t say that."

"What would you say then Jonathan?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at him questioningly.

There was only a small space between you and Crane but still you felt that he moved to you so quickly you almost missed it. In an instant he was pushing off the desk and then he'd grabbed your face, catching your lips in a kiss. It was the first time he had kissed you, or shown any sign of true affection. Everything until now was mildly veiled flirting with only a hint that more existed beneath the surface. Your hands clutched his shirt, wrinkling the soft fabric in desperation.

You had been married for quite some time before your husband was murdered and maybe, in the beginning, you had loved him. At the end you certainly had not. When he died you couldn’t even muster up the ability to be sad. It had been a long time since you had felt any love for him and even then you had never felt about anyone the way you felt about Jonathan. He was smart and full of wit. When he looked at you it made you feel like a school girl with butterflies in her stomach.

When he pulled away you took a deep breath, trying to make up for the air that had left your lungs at the surprise of being kissed by him. You had always for it but never thought it would happen.

"Jonathan." You were sure your voice sounded needy as you rested your forehead against his and closed your eyes. His hands moved from your face to your neck and collar, smoothing your shirt over your shoulders. As his hands moved down your body yours moved up. You released his shirt from your grasp and moved your hands up to cup his face, your thumbs running along the soft skin of his cheeks. You gave him a small kiss, quick and light.

A knock on the door pulled Crane away from you. He straightened his shirt and replaced his glasses before walking over to answer the door. You fixed your own shirt and turned to see who had stopped by to visit the doctor in the middle of your lunch session.

"Detective Gordon, is there something I could do for you? I'm with a patient at the moment." Crane stated, glancing back to you.

Jim Gordon, who had investigated your own husband's murder, stepped into the office and nodded to you politely, "I'm sorry to interrupt Doctor Crane, I had some questions about a patient."

"Very well." He walked back to his desk and hit the call button on his phone, paging one of his nurses to come collect you from the office.

"How've you been miss?" Gordon asked. He had always maintained that you were innocent.

"Good, thank you."

"She'll be home in a week." Crane supplied.

The nurse came to the door and you made your way over, saying goodbye first to Gordon and then to Crane, "Have a lovely evening Doctor Crane."

"You as well, I'll see you tomorrow to discuss out-patient meetings." He said, the same smirk from earlier. An undertone of something more waiting to be explored.

This is my first time ever writing Batman...which was a much bigger undertaking than I initially thought it would be. To the anon that requested this, I hope this first part of a short series is to your liking!

#jonathan crane imagine #batman imagine #batman (nolan-verse) imagine #collecting stories imagine

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