#Private Care Nursing Jobs

[caring-247]

We offer Private care services in Melbourne. We also provide private care nursing jobs in Melbourne. You can find nursing jobs in Melbourne

[caringnursingagency]

Aged Care Solutions from 24/7 Care Nursing Agency At 24/7 Care Nursing Agency, we understand the unique challenges faced by seniors and their families. Our aged care services are designed to provide comprehensive support for elderly individuals, helping them live comfortably and safely in their homes. Our trained nurses offer assistance with daily activities, medication management, and specialized care for conditions like dementia and palliative needs. We prioritize dignity and respect, ensuring that our clients receive the highest standard of care tailored to their individual preferences.

[babygorewhore]

I’m in control

Cooper Adams x fem reader

Working at an arena definitely had its benefits. Getting free concert tickets and discounts for family members. Your employers prepare you for the arrival of the famous serial killer the Butcher but you have no idea how close he actually is.

Warnings! Light thigh riding! Fingering! Finger sucking! Age gap! Reader is mid twenties and he’s in his mid forties! Requested by anon! W.C 1.3k

Yall I saw this movie and I’m obsessed with him. Sorry not sorry. Be gentle this is my first fic with him and I think maybe the first one with this character.

“Don’t forget I won’t be able to take you home until everyone is gone and everything is cleaned up!” You call after your younger sister. Her recent graduation of high school rewarded her a up close and personal experience at this concert. She waves off your reminder as you roll your eyes and stand around the VIP area.

You didn’t mention to her that today was supposed to be the arrest of the serial killer The Butcher. It gave you shivers to hear about his crimes during your staff meetings. Preparation for any sort of confrontation brought tension to your shoulders all day as you worked. This job supported you in nursing school and gave you access to concerts. It was a win win.

You sighed and watched people walk by. Every male was to be stopped and questioned by the police. It was dull if you were being honest. It was going to be a while before you were able to leave so you decided to kill some time in a private room.

You blinked in surprise when you opened the door to see a man already in there. He was tall, really tall and muscular. Wearing a sweater, yellow jacket and jeans. You had seen him briefly earlier with a teenage girl, assuming it was his daughter. He was roughly in his forties you guessed. Handsome. Very handsome. Enough to give you awkward pause before you cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, sir. This is for employees only. Can I help you with something?” You tried to keep your voice steady as he loosened a huff of laughter.

“Ah, I’m sorry I know I’m not allowed to be back here. But I have to be honest. The police are making me nervous. My daughter she was really looking forward to this concert and I’m just worried for her safety.”

His tone seemed genuine but there was a darkness in his brown eyes that made you feel alert. You nodded slowly as he took a step forward with a gentle smile. “So…have they caught him yet?”

Your pulse quickens and you part your lips to answer but the stranger chuckles again.

“Don’t tell me you don’t know what’s going on, sugar. I know they’ve given every employee the rundown of the big scary Butcher. And I can tell you’re just…aching to tell someone what you know.” When he said the word, “aching.” He glanced down at your legs.

“Sir, I-i really don’t-“ He clicked his tongue, resting both hands on either side of your head, you could smell his cologne from his close proximity as he pressed you against the door.

“No need for formalities, sweetheart. I just want you to answer one question.”

You were afraid and…aroused as he leaned down and whispered in your ear. “How can I avoid the police?”

Your body trembled when he brushed his lips against the shell of your ear. What the fuck was happening? You gasped as the stranger’s large hand moved down and cupped your waist.

“I-I don’t know-you can’t avoid them-“ You stutter as he shakes his head, nudging his thick thigh in between your legs. His size was massive as he was holding you up.

“I don’t think that’s true. The tension in your body tells me you’re lying. I’m good at spotting liars, baby.” You whimper as he encourages you to rub your covered cunt on his knee.

“Really, sir I don’t know. I’m not a manager or anything. I’m just a normal worker and we were told to just be careful and use the code word.” You pleaded as he sets both hands on your hips, guiding them to move harder and higher on his thigh. “No, no, there’s nothing normal about you. You know something. You’re smart and you’re going to tell me.” His voice indicated no room for argument and you were too distracted by the coiling in your stomach to argue.

“You’d have to be with the singer. She has to-“You moaned as he finally slipped his hand inside your pants, pushing aside your underwear with a nod. His fingers grazed your clit and you whined as he gave your pussy a smack.

“She has to what? Use your words, baby doll. I know you can do it.”

All common sense left your brain as he worked in two fingers inside you, curling them deep as you panted and leaned your head back. You had no idea what was happening, who this guy was or why he wanted to know. But you lost yourself and whined.

“She has to tell them you’re with her. She has her own security so-you’ll be clear-oh god.” You squealed as he gripped your chin, continuing to fuck you with his fingers as he forced you to look him in the eye.

“Very good. I’ve had…a long day. And I just can’t waste any more time with the fucking police.” He whispered, hovering over your mouth.

Your climax was nearing as he shoved his fingers impossibly deeper, almost painfully but he balanced it by massaging your clit with his thumb. Your eyes watered as he wrapped the hand holding your chin around your throat.

That sent you over the edge as you came all over his fingers. Your entire body heated as you moaned and dug into his shoulders as he fingered you through it.

Slowly, you came down from your high and breathed heavily as he slowly pulled out his hand. The stranger brought his soaked fingers to your mouth, shoving them in as he forced you to suck them clean. Your eyes were wide and teary as you stared at his dark smile.

“Thank you so much for your help. It’s nice to see employees taking their job seriously.” He smoothed his hair back as you shook. He removed his fingers and gently side stepped you.

He opened the door and you inhaled while blinking away any left over shock. “Wait! You didn’t even tell me your name!”

The man stopped and turned around. Horror chilled your blood as he gave you a wink and started walking away. You knew in that moment exactly who you just helped.

The Butcher.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Tagging @xxbimbobunnyxx @redhead1180 @nemesyaaa @oceandriveab @gothcsz @sararuno @horrorpiggy @lovalova444

[she-is-ovarit]

Elders, seniors, "old people"... they are going through:

Witnessing their classmates, best friends, significant others, loved ones die at an unsettling pace.

Being isolated.

Experiencing frightening and invasive health issues.

Being reminded repeatedly in their daily lives that they are closer to dying than most people.

Wondering if they'll be abused in nursing homes.

Wondering if some day they'll get cancer or Alzheimers.

Their children and the younger generation treating them with impatience and as if they are stupid despite them living through generations of history.

Being completely disregarded and devalued by broader society.

Psychologically trying to work towards acceptance of age and deteriorating health.

Wondering if they'll end up in a nursing home with no visits from loved ones.

Ending up in a nursing home, often uprooted from where they've lived for years.

Being unable to live independently.

Becoming severely disabled

Being abused in private.

Being completely ignored by those they depend on for care.

Having to navigate wills for the first time and choosing what to give to whom, minding family member needs and dynamics in addition to legalese.

Being taken advantage of and scammed through technology and processes that confuse them.

Experiencing memory lapses and confusion, often alone.

Struggling to communicate.

Being treated and percieved as "outdated".

Having to quit jobs they've loved.

Sometimes coming to the realization that they're not able to take care of their pet.

Experiencing losing their bladders and the embarrassment and shame that comes with it.

Having no mentors anymore.

The least we can do is listen, be patient, and not cast them aside. They have less time than most of us on this earth and they are choosing to spend some of it with us.

[another-lost-mc]

When MC Needs Surgery

Featuring: The Demon Brothers, the Dateables (most briefly/vaguely mentioned) + gn!Reader

Content/Warnings: Mentions of unspecified health problems, surgical procedures and medical devices. Relationships with the cast are intended to be platonic but may be interpreted as romantic in nature (friendship was the focus here rather than romance). Word count: 3.2k.

A/N: This is dedicated to surgery!anon who requested something for their upcoming surgery. Based on the vague details mentioned to me, I assumed there might be some overlap with my own experiences which is what this is loosely based on. I guess I wrote what I would've liked to have read before my own procedures. I hope this provides some comfort to you as well.

PRE-OP

Some of the demons might wonder why they can't just find some spell to fix what's wrong with you, because how tricky can human anatomy really be? But after Satan does some research and helps you explain to the others (in easy to understand terms while being sensitive of the private details you might not want to share), they realize that perhaps your medical care is best left to the professionals after all.

Lucifer, Diavolo and Barbatos handle the logistics of your care before and after your surgery. Details from your appointments with your medical team help them get a better idea of how long your recovery will be and where you should stay once you leave the human world hospital.

There is some disagreement about whether you should stay at the House of Lamentation or the Demon Lord's Castle. There are pros and cons about staying at the House of Lamentation.

Pros: all of the demon brothers are there to help you when you need assistance.

Cons: all of the demon brothers are there.

One of the concerns – and it's a reasonable one, if you ask anyone but the brothers themselves – is that they might be too demanding of your company in your condition or inconsiderate of your privacy, and possibly neglectful of your need to rest comfortably and quietly.

As the other alternative available to you, the Demon Lord's Castle has spacious rooms so that you'll be able to have everything you need. Your friends are welcome to come and go within reason, but their visitations will be limited to prevent you from being overwhelmed. Ultimately, the choice is left to you.

When you start attending your pre-op appointments, Lucifer goes with you if you don't ask one of the others to go in his place. He's one of the best choices despite his unfamiliarity with the medical ordeal you're about to go through. He quickly picks up on the details of your procedure and the types of support you'll need during your hospital stay and once you're discharged. He helps you prepare a list of questions and concerns for each appointment; the doctors and nurses can't brush your questions aside easily, not when Lucifer is there to ensure that the answers you're given meet his satisfaction.

Later on, Lucifer provides updates to his siblings and your other friends who are keeping tabs on these developments. It's best that they're all aware of what to expect and so that they can help you prepare for what's to come.

In the days leading up to your surgery, everyone does their best to ease your nerves but do a poor job of hiding their own anxieties. It doesn't really register as a real thing that's about to happen until you get notification that your surgery is only a couple days away, and suddenly it feels very, very real.

Lucifer prepares for your long-term absence from RAD and makes sure that any of your obligations – your clubs or student council duties or your part-time job – are dealt with. He buys anything and everything the doctors recommended for your recovery once you return home. If any modifications are required for your bedroom or private bathroom, he plans to have those completed during your hospital stay. (He's grateful your room is already on the first floor of the house, although he would've built one for you if he needed to.)

Mammon and Levi spend as much time with you as they can when they're not busy with other things they try to keep secret: Mammon's new job so he has extra money to buy you get-well presents (bigger and better than all his brothers) and the games and movies Levi has been ordering since he anticipates your recovery will be boring. What better way than to pass the time (hopefully with him?). Satan wanted to go to your appointments with you but he kept grumbling things like, if someone cuts you open, I'm going to cut them open. He's been focusing his efforts on researching which sorts of potions, elixirs or spells might help you recover faster and obtaining the materials he needs for them.

Asmo took you shopping (more than once) to pick up the items on your pre-op checklist of things to bring with you to the hospital: comfortable loose-fitting clothing, slippers, basic toiletries like your toothbrush. Everything he picked for you wouldn't fit in three overnight bags, let alone the single duffel bag you planned to take with you. He just put everything in your dresser and closet and insisted they'd be useful once you were discharged and allowed to come back home.

Beel was curious about your diet recommendations when you come home and he realized that the spicy Devildom foods you like are probably going to be too difficult for you to eat for the foreseeable future . He spoke to Lucifer and Barbatos about his concerns, and they plan to stock the fridge and pantry with all the recommended foods that would ease your recovery and reduce the risk of complications later. Beel took you out for dinner one evening, as a sort of last hurrah. He felt guilty that he didn't realize how serious this was and he admires you for being so brave about something he can't imagine going through himself. He offered to follow your post-surgery diet with you as a show of support because he doesn't want to be insensitive and eat all the delicious foods you won't be able to.

Belphie gets a bit irritated that his brothers take up so much of your time leading up to your surgery date. If you've been feeling tired or unwell leading up to your surgery, you put on a brave face for their sakes but he knows better. He can't take away your pain or discomfort, and he certainly can't fix you the way these human world doctors claim they can, but he can help you relax after a long day of appointments and preparations and pretending you're not as nervous as they all are. He can sense your anxiety rising as the date of your surgery draws near: you're not sleeping as well as you used to, tossing and turning into the late hours of the night and showing up to breakfast looking worse than you did the morning before. Fortunately, that's something he can help you with. He leads you to the attic to sleep and tries not dwell on how long it'll be before after your surgery when you'll be able to climb those steps again. He lulls you into a comfortable, dreamless sleep so that you can as much rest as possible leading up to the big day.

The evening before your surgery, the brothers are practically vibrating from nervousness. Everyone seems on edge and distracted. Asmo ruins his eye makeup from getting teary-eyed and he's especially clingy. Dinner is awkward when the brothers remember that you can't eat your regular diet anymore. You're limited to bland fluids in addition to the jug of prep you need to drink. You drink the powder mixed with ice-cold water and gulp it down – after the first pouch, you disappear into your bedroom. Eventually you come back and rinse and repeat, drinking and refilling that jug until its as empty as you are. (Beel was curious and drank a bit of it despite your warning that he probably shouldn't – his stomach made the strangest sounds the rest of the evening.)

When it's time for bed, you expect to collapse onto your mattress and toss and turn until your early-morning alarm goes off. What you don't expect is for Lucifer and his brothers to lead to you his room with the giant bed that happens to be big enough for all of them. The mood feels somber and you can tell they're as nervous as you are – even Cerberus spends the night in Lucifer's room, lifting his heads up once in a while to check on you while he keeps guard at the foot of the bed. It's the Devildom's most awkward cuddle pile, but eventually you fall asleep surrounded by seven very worried demons who can't manage to sleep themselves.

THE HOSPITAL

Your alarm goes off early that morning – far too early for your liking, but you're eager to get this entire thing over with. Most of the brothers are already awake and finalizing preparations to accompany you to the hospital. You have time for a quick shower and toss on a comfortable shirt, sweatpants and slip-on shoes – you don't need to look good where you're going, and you won't be wearing these clothes for very long.

The others arrive so Barbatos can summon a portal for everyone to take. Despite your many reminders, everyone insists they want to come and support you, including your friends from Purgatory Hall and Diavolo himself.

(What you suspect but don't know for certain is that Diavolo arranged for your care in the human world hospital you'll be staying at. There were concerns about visitor limits and securing the largest and best private room for your recovery, but a generous donation from the Hotel Corvo corporation helped ease some of those administrative hurdles.)

You're only allowed one support person to accompany you to the surgical unit, so the others grab coffee and pre-packaged muffins and slowly make their way down to the waiting area. Lucifer – or whoever you asked to accompany you instead – sits with you while you wait for your name to be called.

Time passes in a blur. You put on a starchy hospital gown and housecoat while you tuck your belongings into a plastic bag and carry it with you. The nurses direct you to a chair and go over the standard medical questions you've answered a million times before. You look away when the IV goes in, and on the other side of you, warm fingers squeeze your hand.

You're tired and nervous and there are too many thoughts racing through your mind, but you sit in silence while the clock ticks down. You shuffle awkwardly down a sterile hall with too-bright lights when it's finally time, and you hope the smile you shoot over your shoulder at your companion is convincing. (It's as unsteady as you both feel when you disappear with the nurse who leads you to the operating room.)

Maybe it's the exhaustion or the empty, upset stomach distracting you while you sit on a table and ignore the cool fingers and pinching sensation in your back while they prepare the epidural because you barely feel it. You lay on a narrow table with a blood pressure cuff on one arm and your IV in another, and when the medications quickly pull you into a dreamless sleep, you feel a last-minute sense of comfort knowing that your friends are waiting close by and they won't let anything bad happen to you.

While you're in the OR, your friends make themselves comfortable in the visitor's lounge and they wait for news. Four hours, six hours, eight hours later – none of them want to leave until they can see you're alive and well with their own eyes. You warned them all it would be a long and boring day and they insisted they wanted to come no matter what.

Some of them fidget in their seats and pace when their nerves get the best of them. Levi's handheld beeps and the buttons click noisily as he plays his game, and Satan tries to focus on a paperback he picked up in the gift shop. Mammon spends way too much money buying Nevada tickets from a vendor in the hospital lobby (“It's for charity, ain't it?!”) and rubs it in Lucifer's face when he actually wins something. Asmo frets with embarrassment when he sees the SCENT-RESTRICTED FACILITY poster on the wall and covers the scent of his expensive fragrance with a dampening charm to avoid upsetting the staff (and makes note to skip the heavily-scented body products for future visits). Belphie accompanies Beel to sample the cafeteria's food, multiple times.

Throughout the day, small groups take turns leaving the waiting room to grab fresh cups of coffee or sandwiches to snack on. Diavolo and Barbatos confirm with the hospital staff that your private room is ready with the special amenities they requested for you, including a cot that an overnight guest can sleep on. You chose your preferred companion in advance, and none of the others dared voice their petty disappointment that they weren't chosen instead. What matters most is that one of them is with you at all times to assist you in your weakened state (they called it protecting you, but you tried to reassure them without success that they were being too dramatic). The others are free to visit as much as they like, as long as you're comfortable with it of course.

It feels like eternity before news reaches your friends as your surgery ends, and then another update a couple hours later when you're moved from PACU to your hospital room. The nurses have already gotten you settled into your accommodations by the time the first visitors hesitantly step inside to see you. Despite the preparations and expectations and warnings, they're still not prepared for the machine humming and beeping at your side as it pumps various medications through your IV. There's a remote looped around the bed by your arm that lets you administer more pain medication through your epidural.

It's gotten late and the surgical ward is quiet except for the ambient sounds of nurses chatting quietly at their station or other machines beeping in nearby rooms. Against the standard-issue hospital linens and the thin gown you wear, you look more vulnerable than they've ever seen you, their perfectly imperfect human who’s gone through so much in such a short amount of time. Perhaps it's a good thing that you're overcome with exhaustion and only have fleeting memories of your friends' worried faces when they each came to see you before bidding you goodnight with a promise to come back in the morning. Some struggle to contain their emotions more than others, and there's a collective understanding between all of them that perhaps they've taken you for granted because they never want to see you like this again – not if they can prevent it.

Your nighttime companion sits at your bedside most of the night and watches over you in case you show signs of discomfort or pain. They pull the cord to alert the nurses when you wake up queasy and you request something for your upset stomach with your scratchy voice and dry throat. You can't eat or drink yet, but the nurse leaves a small plastic cup of ice chips at your bedside – it's enough to remove the cottony feeling from your tongue and throat, and you can sleep once more.

Your demon friends aren't familiar with modern medicine and none of them know what the bags of fluids hanging next to your bed are. RINGERS scrolls across the screen of the IV pump but it’s anyone’s guess what it means. All they know is that it seems to be important as it’s one of the last medications you stop taking before your IV is eventually removed. Tonight and throughout the days that will soon follow, the machine beeps loudly – and often – when the bag runs dry. They remember which button to hit to turn off the awful alarm so that the disturbance doesn't wake you while they wait for a nurse to come with a replacement.

RECOVERY

The first few days are some of the most challenging, but all of your friends are there to support you as much as they can. At least one of them is present when the surgeon and his residents make their early morning rounds. You can't bear to look at the staples and incisions hidden under the thick dressings that cover a large part of your lower belly, but the surgeon and nurses all claim that things look fantastic. You can't help but snort at the odd feedback, and Asmo reminds you that there's plenty of creams that can help with minimizing those scars later, if you want them. (He prefers you exactly the way you are, scars and all, but he keeps his opinion on that subject to himself.)

Your post-surgery diet is severely restricted until you're able to tolerate basic fluids again, and solid foods are introduced slowly too. Beel reads over your daily menu selection and glares at the abysmal tray of hospital food that is delivered to your room. He tastes some of the dishes and wonders how they can make something as simple as broth or cream of wheat so unappealing. Barbatos sips the lukewarm mug of tea on your tray that you ignore with each meal; you warn him that it's not good, and the pain in your stomach is worth it when you shake with laughter at the offended grimace that sours his expression. He promises to bring you drinkable tea from now on, and he and Beel both bring acceptable alternatives to your hospital fare in accordance with your current meal plan.

One of the most challenging things you didn't expect – and it catches your friends off-guard too – is how difficult it is to get up and walking again. After a few days in bed with the epidural numbing you to the worst of the pain and being mostly stationary aside from some breathing exercises, it's time to get up and take the literal first step towards your journey home.

Your friends scoff at the idea of a physiotherapist coming to help you, until they hear the first cry of pain when you sit up on the edge of the bed and breathe heavily like it's the most ardious feat you've ever accomplished. It's another reminder that this was a tremendous thing for your delicate human body to go through, and even though they can't just take away your pain or fix things magically (no matter how much some of them might want to), they'll do what they can to help.

They don't tease you when they slip your shoes onto your feet, and they don't stare or ask about the various bags of fluids hanging from the IV pole you lean on for support while you shuffle your way around the ward one lap at a time. They match your pace and are ready in a moment's notice to support you if you lose your balance, and as soon as they sense you're pushing yourself just a little too hard, they help you back into bed where you fall asleep not long after.

Things carry on that way until the surgeon announces tentative plans for your release. By now, you're bored out of your mind and eager to be anywhere but in that bloody hospital room. Your friends are eager to have you home again, and the air is charged with excitement for the first time since your surgery. Everything you need for your recovery at the House of Lamentation – medications and supplies and your diet plan and anything else you could possibly need – are ready for you.

On the day you're finally discharged, they help scan your room to make sure all of your personal items have been packed away for the trip home. One of them carries your duffel bag for you while a couple others carry boxes filled with the numerous gifts, cards, and vases of flowers that filled nearly every available space of your room. (The human world flowers have started to wilt, but the arrangements from the Devildom and the Celestial Realm, including the bouquet you received one day with a note signed only with “M”, are still blooming flawlessly as ever.)

[millyhelp]

Jason having his girlfriend who happens to be a doctor, so he simply has a personal nurse for whenever he gets hurt (and I'm sure he always thanks her with a few kisses and... more)

WOW WOW!! I just love it! Doc reader is just amazing! I think that I will do more of it (It's my dream job, by the way)

warnings: cuts, swearing, injured Jason, doctor reader, cute moments, fluff.

Jason was hurt and tired. He knows he should let you rest because you would have to take a 14-hour shift at the hospital in the morning. But, you woke up to Jason's noise in the living room.

"Fuck." Jason hissed in pain as he cleaned the large gash on his left arm.

"Jace?..." your sleepy voice caught his attention and he turned to look at you.

"Princess? Oh shit, did I wake you up?" He speaks with a worried voice, but you approach him. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Jace. What happend to you?" You looked around and saw several blood-stained cotton balls on the floor, on the living room coffee table and on the sofa. "You know, you should have woken me up"

"I would never. You have to work in the morning." He sighed, still in pain.

"You have a bad cut there, you need stitches." You picked up the needle and stitch thread. "I already told you to wake me up to take care of you. We'll talk about it later, let me take care of you now."

Jason shut up and just watched you do everything. He loves it when you take care of him, he feels loved like that. When the needle came into contact with his skin, Jason cursed under his breath.

"Holy fuck-" A shaky sigh left his lips.

"Do you want me to stop? I can try to get local anesthesia for there" you said affectionately and Jason felt his heart melt.

Every time you ask the same question, but the reality is that Jason is already used to the pain after broken bones and horrible cuts and finally death.

"No, angel. I'm fine, keep going" he smiled at you and looked at your sweet, focused face.

While you were sewing, Jason let out sighs but never stopped looking at your face. He felt lucky. Dating a doctor, intelligent and very sweet and beautiful. He didn't deserve you.

"I love you." He said when you finished.

You looked at him and smiled.

"I love you too." You said in a sweet tone. Jason gently pulled you to him by your waist. He placed kisses on your stomach and sat you on his lap.

"I'm happy to know that I have a private doctor." he joked. "I should pay you for that, right?"

"I do charity work too, I don't need to be paid." You giggle and Jason steals a kiss from your lips. "But if you want too..."

"Oh. I want too." Jason smiles and kiss you again. "But now, you gotta sleep. When you return from duty tomorrow, I will reward you"

"hmmm promise?" Jason picked you up and lifted you up bridal style.

"I promise." You snuggled into his chest and he carried you to the bed.

Jason felt like the luckiest man in the world when he looked at you. He really was.

JASON IS SO CUTE AAAAH

[coryosmin]

nurse!reader and peacekeeper!coryo in district 12… coryo keeps making up injuries to see her and finally she just gives in to him 🤭

nsfw | mdni

being a nurse for the peacekeepers was never an easy job. especially when a certain peacekeeper kept coming in with fake injuries. as you walked back into the hospital wing after your break, you saw that blond buzz cut peacekeeper, coriolanus snow, sitting on the hospital bench, looking at his nails. but as soon as he noticed you, he gripped his left arm as though it were hurting.

you rolled your eyes, walking over to him. “what is it now, private snow?” you asked, gripping a clipboard with a medical form on it.

the blond looked at you, taking in your beautiful appearance. your hair was done in a bun, your skin looked soft and warm, your eyes were just so pretty. he stopped himself from smiling, keeping his face neutral. “i think i hurt my arm,” he murmured, looking down at his left arm.

“let me have a look at it,” you sigh, placing your clipboard down and taking a seat in front of the hospital bench. you gently grabbed coriolanus’s arm, lifting up his sleeve and taking a look at the skin. “how do you think you hurt it?” you asked, glancing at his face.

“uh-“ he said, unsure of what to say. “overuse, maybe?” coriolanus bit his lip as you looked at his arm.

you examined it, moving it around a bit. “there seems to be nothing wrong. perhaps you just pulled a muscle.” you exclaimed, putting his arm back down. “it’ll likely go away within a few days.”

coriolanus nodded his head, licking his lips. “you know…i have another problem too.” his voice was thick as he spoke.

you quirked an eyebrow. “and what might that be, private snow?”

“please, call me coryo,” he said, grabbing your hand. “i have a problem…here.” coriolanus brought your hand to his crotch, making you feel his hard on.

you frowned, taking your hand away quickly. “that’s hardly appropriate, private snow,” you chastised though your voice certainly lacked a heat to it.

coriolanus couldn’t help smirking. “maybe not,” he said. “but it won’t go away,” he fake pouted. “can you help?”

you couldn’t deny that private snow was quite attractive. he clearly had been faking injuries just to see you. so really, was there any harm in helping him out? he had a problem and truthfully, as his nurse, you’re required to help him. you bit your lip, nodding your head. “fine, i can help you,” you said, taking a deep breath. “unzip and you must be quiet.” you spoke, licking your lips.

coriolanus nodded his head, doing as he was told. he didn’t say anything as he unzipped his pants, taking his cock out. you couldn’t help the small gasp that left your lips at the sight of coriolanus’s cock. it was much bigger than what you’re certainly used to. coriolanus smirked at your reaction. “everything okay?” he asked.

you nodded your head, moving to your sit on your knees in front of coriolanus. “just shut up and be quiet,” you murmured before leaning your head down to lick the tip. coriolanus let out a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your hair. you began easing your mouth onto his cock, making it about halfway before gagging from the size. coriolanus couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped his mouth from the feeling, bringing his other hand to his mouth to muffle his moans.

you bobbed your head up and down slowly, getting used to his length. you looked up at him through your lashes, seeing the flushed look on his face and the way he was breathing heavily. you brought your hand to cup the base of his cock, jerking off what you couldn’t fit into your mouth as you moved your head faster.

coriolanus hissed in response, bucking his hips in pleasure. he bit back his moans, throwing his head back. you tongued the tip of his cock, causing coriolanus to shutter. he gripped your hair with his fingers, messing up the perfectly done bun. but you couldn’t find yourself to care much. you adored the way you were making coriolanus snow feel. you felt his cock stiffen in his mouth, signaling his release was coming soon.

you quickened your pace, using your other hand to cup his balls, massaging them gently. and within seconds, coriolanus was cumming down your throat with a low groan. you swallowed his cum, relishing in the taste. you took his cock out of your mouth, wiping your lips with the back of your hand. you stood up, licking your lips.

you cleared your throat. “if you have any more issues, private snow, please visit me in my personal quarters.” and with that, you smirked, walking away from coriolanus, who was sitting on the hospital bench, breathing heavily from the mind blowing orgasm he had just had.

[r0-boat]

Who do you think are the whb characters most crazy about mc in a little nurse costume?

Oh my gosh Yes!!

WHB various react to: gn!MC in a nurse costume.

NSFW& suggestive themes

Lucifer

He is staring.... He is staring intensely. His hands folded over his mouth sitting in his chair as you stand there, too scared for any sudden movement. He finally moves making you jump he leans back into his chair and just pats his leg.

An anti-climactic reaction, you thought, as this is what normally Lucifer would want you to do. You obeyed him, sitting in his lap. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. You feel something hard against your butt. His hands immediately dipped underneath the dress, desperately trying to touch you. "My my, has my nurse finally shown up to take care of the pain between my legs?" He smirks.

Leraye

Hehe, pretty human in pretty costume. Go brr.

If you keep going like this he's going to start calling you Mommy/daddy and hump against your leg, begging for your attention.

Will you take care of him? Please? Will you nurse him back to health when he is sick and give him head pats and give him kisses?

Marbas

He takes his job very seriously. But it's hard to work on your being so damn distracting. He tries not to look at you, and every time he does, he tears his eyes away to try to focus on his patients. And it's even harder to focus when you insist on trying to get his attention.

He tries to ignore his annoyance when all devil's eyes are on you. You huff in frustration, not getting the results you want from a serious devil such as Marbas, so you focus on another devil. That was the last straw. He asks you to talk in private, and as soon as you meet up with him in an empty hospital room, You notice he is without our equipment. Before you can say anything else, He grabs you by the neck and bends you over. Without his equipment, all Marbas is wearing is a robe; you can feel him hard and throbbing. "Is the little nurse whore this desperate for dick?"

Dantalian

He did it again... Going on a practically suicide mission, coming back half-dead with a smile on his face. Bonus points? He gets to see you in a cute little nurse outfit while still feeling his sexual high with the stinging of his wounds.

No matter how much You yell at him, He still thinks it's worth it. A little sad that you're not going to fuck him while he's in this state.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

When private equity destroys your hospital

I'm on tour with my new novel The Bezzle! Catch me TOMORROW in PHOENIX (Changing Hands, Feb 29) then Tucson (Mar 9-10), San Francisco (Mar 13), and more!

As someone who writes a lot of fiction about corporate crime, I naturally end up spending a lot of time being angry about corporate crime. It's pretty goddamned enraging. But the fiction writer in me is especially upset at how cartoonishly evil the perps are – routinely doing things that I couldn't ever get away with putting in a novel.

Beyond a doubt, the most cartoonishly evil characters are the private equity looters. And the most cartoonishly evil private equity looters are the ones who get involved in health care.

(Buckle up.)

Writing for The American Prospect, Maureen Tcacik details a national scandal: the collapse of PE-backed hospital chain Steward Health, a company that bought and looted hospitals up and down the country, starving them of everything from heart valves to prescription paper, ripping off suppliers, doctors and nurses, and callously exposing patients to deadly risk:

https://prospect.org/health/2024-02-27-scenes-from-bat-cave-steward-health-florida/

Steward occupies a very special place in the private equity looting cycle. Private equity companies arrange themselves on a continuum of indiscriminate depravity. At the start of the continuum are PE funds that buy productive and useful firms (everything from hospitals to car-washes) using "leveraged buyouts." That means that they borrow money to buy the company and use the company itself as collateral: it's like you getting a bank-loan to buy your neighbor's mortgage out from under them, and using your neighbor's house as collateral for that loan.

Once the buyout is done, the PE fund pays itself a "special dividend" (stealing money the business needs to survive) and then starts charging the business a "management fee" for the PE fund's expertise. To pay for all this, the PE bosses start to hack away at the company. Quality declines. So do wages. Prices go up. The company changes suppliers, opting for cheaper alternatives, often stiffing the old company. There are mass layoffs. The remaining employees end up doing three peoples' jobs, for lower wages, with fewer materials of lower quality.

Eventually, that top-feeding PE company finds a more desperate, more ham-fisted PE company to unload the business onto. That middle-feeding company also does a leveraged buyout, pays itself another special dividend, cuts wages, staffing and quality even further. They switch to even worse suppliers and stiff the last batch. Prices go up even higher.

Then – you guessed it – the middle-feeding PE company finds an even more awful PE bottom-feeder to unload the company onto. That bottom feeder does it all again, without even pretending to leave the business in condition to do its job. The company is a shambling zombie at this point, often producing literal garbage in place of the products that made its reputation. Employees' paychecks bounce, or don't show up at all. The company stops bothering to pay the lawyers that have been fending off its creditors. Those lawyers sue the company, too.

That's the kind of PE company Steward Health was, and, as the name suggests, Steward Health is in the business of stripping away the very last residue of value from community hospitals. As you might imagine, this gets pretty fucking ugly.

Steward owns 32 hospitals up and down the country, though its holdings are dwindling as the company walks away from its debt-burdened holdings, after years of neglect that have rendered them unfit for use as health facilities – or for any other purpose. Tcacik's piece offers a snapshot of one such hospital: Florida's Rockledge Regional Medical Center, just eight miles from Cape Canaveral.

Rockledge is a disaster. The fifth floor was, at one point, home to 5,000 bats.

Five.

Thousand.

Bats.

(Rockledge stiffed the exterminators.)

The bats were just the beginning. One of the internal sewage pipes ruptured. Whole sections of the hospital were literally full of shit, oozing out of the walls and ceiling, slopping over medical equipment.

That's an urgent situation for any hospital, but for Rockledge, it's catastrophic, because Rockledge is a hospital without any hospital supplies. Steward has stiffed the companies that supply "heart valves, urology lasers, Impella catheters, cardiac catheterization balloons, slings for lifting heavier patients, blood and urine test reagents, and most recently, prescription paper." Key medical equipment has been repossessed. So have the Pepsi machines. The hospital cafeteria had its supply of cold cuts repossessed:

https://www.reddit.com/r/massachusetts/comments/1agc1j4/comment/kolicqo/

It's not just Steward's nonpayments that reek of impending doom. Its payments also bear the hallmarks of a scam artist on the brink of blowing off the con. The company recently paid off a vendor with five separate checks for $1m, each drawn on "a random hospital in Utah" (Steward recently walked away from its Utah hospitals; its partners there are suing it for stealing $18m on their way out the door).

This company – which owns 32 hospitals! – has resorted to gambits like sending photos of fake checks to doctors it hasn't paid in months as "proof" that the money was coming (the checks arrived 22 days later).

Steward owes so much money to its employees – $1.66m to just one doctors' group. But the medical staff keep doing their jobs, and are reluctant to speak on the record, thanks to Steward's reputation for vicious retaliation. Those health workers keep showing up to take care of patients, even as the hospital crumbles around them. One clinician told Tcacik: "I watched a bed collapse underneath a [patient] who had just undergone hip surgery."

Rockledge has nine elevators, but only five of them work – the other four have been broken for a year. The hospital's fourth floor has been converted to "a graveyard of broken beds." The sinks are clogged, or filled with foul gunk. There's black mold. Nurses have noted on the maintenance tags that the repair service refuses to attend the hospital until their overdue bills are paid. The fifteen-person on-site maintenance team was cut to just two workers.

Steward is just the latest looting owner of Rockledge. After the Great Financial Crisis, private equity consultants helped sell it to Health Management Associates. The hospital's CEO took home a $10m bonus for that sale and exited; Health Management Associates then quickly became embroiled in a Medicare fraud and kickback scandal. Soon after, Rockledge was passed on to Community Health Systems, who then sold it on to Rockledge.

Steward, meanwhile, was at that time owned by an even bigger private equity giant, Cerberus, which then sold Steward off. That deal was performatively complex and hid all kinds of mischief. Prior to Cerberus's sell-off of Steward, they sold off Steward's real-estate. The buyer was Medical Properties Trust, who gave Cerberus $1.25b for the real-estate: three hospitals in Florida and three more in Ohio. Steward then contracted to operate these hospitals on MPT's behalf, and pay MPT rent for the real-estate.

This complex arrangement was key to siphoning value out of the hospital and to keeping angry creditors at bay – if you can't figure out who owes you money, it's a lot harder to collect on the debt. The scheme was masterminded by Steward founder/CEO Ralph de la Torre. De la Torre is notorious for taking a massive dividend out of the company while it owed $1.4b to its creditors. He bought a $40m yacht with the money.

De la Torre was once feted as a business genius who would "disrupt" healthcare. But as Steward's private jet hops around "Corfu, Santorini, St. Maarten and Antigua" as its hospitals literally crumble, he's becoming less popular. In Massachusetts, politicians have railed against Steward and de la Torre (Governor Healey wants the company to leave the state "as soon as possible").

Florida, by contrast, is much more friendly to Steward. The state Health and Human Services Committee chair Randy Fine is an ardent admirer of hospital privatization and is currently campaigning to sell off the last community hospital in Brevard County. The state inspectors are likewise remarkably tolerant of Steward's little peccadillos. The quasi-governmental agency that inspects hospitals has awarded this shit-and-bat-filled, elevator-free, understaffed rotting hulk "A" grades for quality.

These inspectors jointly represent a mismatched assortment of private and public agencies, dominated by a nonprofit called Leapfrog, the brainchild of Harvard public-health prof Lucian Leape, who founded it in 2000. Leapfrog likes to tout its "transparent" assessment criteria, and Steward are experts at hitting those criteria, spending the exact minimum to tick every box that Leapfrog inspectors use as proxies for overall quality and safety.

This is a pretty great example of Goodhart's Law: "every measurement eventually becomes a target, whereupon it ceases to be a good measurement":

https://xkcd.com/2899/

But despite Steward's increasingly furious creditors and its decaying facilities, the company remains bullish on its ability to continue operations. Medical Properties Trust – the real estate investment trust that is nominally a separate company from Steward – recently hosted a conference call to reassure Wall Street investors that it would be a going concern. When a Bank of America analyst asked MPT's CFO how this could possibly be, given the facility's dire condition and Steward's degraded state, the CFO blithely assured him that the company would get bailouts: "We own hospitals no one wants to see closed."

That's the thing about PE and health-care. The looters who buy out every health-care facility in a region understand that this makes them too big to fail: no matter how dangerous the companies they drain become, local governments will continue to prop them up. Look at dialysis, a market that's been cornered by private equity rollups. Today, if you need this lifesaving therapy, there's a good chance that every accessible facility is owned by a private equity fund that has fired all its qualified staff and ceased sterilizing its needles. Otherwise healthy people who visit these clinics sometimes die due to operator error. But they chug along, because no dialysis clinics is worse that "dialysis clinics where unqualified sadists sometimes kill you with dirty needles":

https://www.thebignewsletter.com/p/the-dirty-business-of-clean-blood

The bad news is that private equity has thoroughly colonized the entire medical system. They took hospitals, fired the doctors, then took over the doctors' groups that provided outsource staff to the hospital:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/04/a-mind-forever-voyaging/#prop-bets

It's illegal for private equity companies to own doctors' practices (doctors have to own these), but they obfuscated the crime with a paper-thin pretext that they got away with despite its obvious bullshittery:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/21/profitable-butchers/#looted

The financier who decides whether you live or die depends on an algorithm that literally sets a tolerable level of preventable deaths for the patients trapped in the practice:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/05/any-metric-becomes-a-target/#hca

Private equity also took over emergency rooms and boobytrapped them with "surprise billing" – junk fees that ran to thousands of dollars that you had to pay even if the hospital was in network with your insurer. They made billions from this, and spent a many millions from that booty keeping the scam alive with scare ads:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/04/21/all-in-it-together/#doctor-patient-unity

The whole health stack is colonized by private equity-backed monopolies. Even your hospital bed!

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/05/hillrom/#baxter-international

Then there's residential care. Private equity cornered many regional markets on nursing homes and turned them into slaughterhouses, places where you go to die, not live:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/23/acceptable-losses/#disposable-olds

The palliative care sector is also captured by private equity. PE bosses hire vast teams of fast-talking salespeople who con vulnerable older people into entering an end-of-life system before they are ready to die. Thanks to loose regulation, the nation is filled with fake hospices that can rake in millions from Medicare while denying all care to their patients (hospice patients don't get life-extending medication or procedures, by definition):

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/26/death-panels/#what-the-heck-is-going-on-with-CMS

If you survive this long enough, Medicare eventually tells the hospice that you're clearly not dying and you get kicked off their rolls. Now you have to go through the lengthy bureaucratic nightmare of convincing the system – which was previously informed that you were at death's door – that you are actually viable and need to start getting care again (good luck with that).

If that kills you, guess what? Private equity has rolled up funeral homes up and down the country, and they will scam your survivors just as hard as the medical system that killed you did:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/09/high-cost-of-dying/#memento-mori

The PE sector spent more than a trillion dollars over the past decade buying up healthcare companies, and it has trillions more in "dry powder" allocated for further medical acquisitions. Why not? As the CFO of Medical Properties Trust told that Bank of America analyst last week, when you "own hospitals no one wants to see closed." you literally can't fail, no matter how many people you murder.

The PE sector is a reminder that the crimes people commit for money far outstrip the crimes they commit for ideology. Even the most ideological killers are horrified by the murders their profit-motivated colleagues commit.

Last year, Tkacic wrote about the history of IG Farben, the German company that built Monowitz, a private slave-labor camp up the road from Auschwitz to make the materiel it was gouging Hitler's Wehrmacht on:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/06/02/plunderers/#farben

Farben bought the cheapest possible slaves from Auschwitz, preferentially sourcing women and children. These slaves were worked to death at a rate that put Auschwitz's wholesale murder in the shade. Farben's slaves died an average of just three months after starting work at Monowitz. The situation was so abominable, so unconscionable, that the SS officers who provided outsource guard-labor to Monowitz actually wrote to Berlin to complain about the cruelty.

The Nuremberg trials are famous for the Nazi officers who insisted that they were "just following order" but were nonetheless executed for their crimes. 24 Farben executives were also tried at Nuremberg, where they offered a very different defense: "We had a fiduciary duty to our shareholders to maximize our profits." 19 of the 24 were acquitted on that basis.

PE is committed to an ideology that is far worse than any form of racial animus or other bias. As a sector, it is committed to profit above all other values. As a result, its brutality knows no bounds, no decency, no compassion. Even the worst crimes we commit for hate are nothing compared to the crimes we commit for greed.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/28/5000-bats/retaliation#charnel-house

[evangelinesbible]

YOUR 4H AND YOUR FUTURE SPOUSES CAREER(S)

Derivative astrology timeee

7H = Spouse/ Marriage

10H = Career

10 houses away from the 7H is the 4H

SUN/LEO

Your FS will probably be someone who is quite popular or even famous in their career field. They’re probably a very creative person as well. They might potentially be any type of entertainer so, singer, actor, comedian or dancer. They might also have a job that involves children’s entertainment.

MOON/CANCER

Your FS might be a realtor or someone who builds/ flips homes for a living. They might have their own brand/ business that sells self care products. They might also be very creative and artistic so a painter, poet, or singer is very possible as well. They also might be some sort of nurse, teacher, or social worker for children.

MERCURY/ VIRGO/ GEMINI

Your FS might be a writer, journalist, public speaker or teacher. Their career field involves education and/or the mind. Your FS might also be some sort of influencer or their career involves social media. (Specifically for Gemini) Your FS might be some sort of vet, doctor farmer, trainer or life coach. (Specifically for Virgo)

VENUS/ TAURUS/ LIBRA

Your FS might be someone who is very invested in the fashion, art and music world. Specifically for Taurus they might be a singer, interior designer, chef, model, or someone who works with nature. Specifically for Libra they might also be a model, politician, lawyer, couples therapist, or a party/ event planner.

MARS/ARIES

Your FS might be into the athletic field. They themselves might be an athlete or coach a team. They might also be a personal trainer. They might have an independent brand, label or business. They’ll most likely have a job that involves leadership so directing or being a CEO.

JUPITER/SAGITTARIUS

Your FS might be someone who could do any career and they’d be successful at it. Specifically, they might be the most successful in a career that involves traveling and exploring the world. They might be a professional traveler, tour guide, flight attendant, pilot, or professor who teaches abroad

SATURN/ CAPRICORN

Your FS might be into business and marketing. They are most likely into the more corporate side of business and heavily invested in investments and stocks. They might also be some sort of doctor. They also might be apart of a management company or they manage a bunch of people themselves.

URANUS/ AQUARIUS

Your FS might be into all things science and electricity, they might also be a social media influencer as well. They might be some sort of scientist, engineer, electrician, or neurologist. They might have some sort of online business or their career in loves being online. So maybe a YouTuber or Streamer.

NEPTUNE/ PISCES

Your FS might have a career that involves glamor and spirituality. They might va more flexible and laid back job. They might be an actor, musican, producer or singer. They might be into tarot, reading palms, astrology, and they might teach all of these things as well. They might also be into film and photography.

PLUTO/ SCORPIO

Your FS may have a career that is secretive, private or invades their privacy. They might be in a career field that involves research, physiology, investigation, or witchcraft. They might be in a position of power as well so some sort of CEO or business person who is really good at investing. They also might be into the police force, military, or banking.

What’s yours? Mines Scorpio 4H with Pluto/ Moon Sagittarius. 4H ruler being 4H Sagittarius Pluto/ 9H Taurus Mars.💋

-⚜️💫⚜️

[caringnursingagency]

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[sebbianas]

nurse regulus black after years of overwork and being underpaid finally decided to leave the hospital he has been working for and reached out to his brother to help him look for a work that will help him pay for his student loans. said brother is then offering him a job as a private nurse to a well known family, one of the most influential family in the country, the potters.

the task? to take care of a 70 year old effie potter with Alzheimer’s, easy for regulus. whats hard is trying not to fall in love with her charming son.

[andshesaidwhat]

Cherry - Clay Beresford

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six |

Summary: Clay Beresford was one of Manhattan’s most notorious playboys. His name, and the money that came with it, garnered him a big reputation. Bored of the spotlight and in need of a distraction, Clay ventures to a hole-in-the-wall strip club in the Lower East Side. When he sees you walk out on that stage, he knows at once that you could be the one to rewrite his story.

Warnings: stripper!reader, playboy!Clay, reader works at a strip club and a lot of the story takes place there, descriptions of sex work, reader has a tragic backstory, mentions of abuse, mentions of homelessness, alcohol consumption, Clay doesn’t have heart problems, eventual smut, pining, angst, Clay has a savior complex, reader doesn’t know how to have non-transactional relationships.

Playlist / Masterlist

Clay Beresford nursed a glass of whiskey as he tried to tune out the droning of yet another young entrepreneur giving him a business pitch.

He went through the motions — nodding and humming, asking the occasional question, taking the knock-off business card — in hopes that they would be satisfied and leave him to his night.

All he wanted was to have a drink and relax, but everywhere he went he was bombarded by people who saw him as an opportunity instead of a person.

He supposed it came with the territory of carrying the Beresford name. He’d inherited an empire from his father, vile as he was, and essentially walked around with dollar signs flashing above his head.

He wasn’t ungrateful for his life, nor did he stray away from the benefits it gave him, he was just…frustrated. He never knew if the people in his life were there because they wanted to know him or because they wanted to know his money. More often than not, it was the latter.

He needed a distraction — something that made him feel a sense of normalcy for once. He finished the last of his whiskey, setting the empty glass down on the marble bar top. He offered a polite goodbye to the bartender and the scrambling businessman before grabbing his coat and walking out of the building.

His driver was already waiting for him outside and he climbed into the backseat of the black SUV, mumbling vague directions as he rubbed at his temples. The driver gave him an odd look in the rear view mirror, but didn’t question it as he drove off toward the Lower East Side.

Clay didn’t venture to this area of Manhattan often — hardly ever, actually — but, when he did, nobody ever noticed him. They had their own lives to deal with and didn’t need to be obsessed with his.

Maybe that was what was drawing him here this time. He wanted to be able to slink into the shadows, just for a little while.

As they drove, Clay watched the city pass from the car window. He cocked his head in interest as they passed a joint with a bright red sign flashing above it.

The Silk Rose.

A gentleman’s club. He snorted, doubting there were any gentlemen in there at all. Still, his interest was piqued. Maybe a night in a sleazy club watching girls dance around in lingerie was exactly what he needed.

He told his driver to park up the street a bit, careful not to draw too much attention to himself. With his hands in his pockets, he kept his head down as he made his way over to the entrance.

The windows and doors were blacked out, preventing any prying eyes from peeking in.

Perfect, he thought. This was just the kind of privacy he was looking for.

He grabbed the door handle, glancing up at the tagline written above his head.

Come on in and see Sal’s Dancing Girls!

The night had been slower for you than usual.

There were the regulars, sitting in their normal spots, but you’d barely broken $250 and hadn’t gotten a single private room booking. Granted, private dances certainly weren’t your favorite part of the job, but they were what made the big bucks. You could handle a creep or two if it meant your bills were paid.

You sat in the dressing room backstage, touching up your makeup and rubbing at your feet that were from the tall heels you wore as you waited for your next set. The area was bustling with the other dancers, all in different states of undress and disarray.

You didn’t mind what you did. You liked dancing — although you’d thought you’d be pursuing dance in a different direction than where you’d ended up. You weren’t forced into this life, like some of the others. You were here by choice. It just maybe wasn’t your first choice.

You were confident in it, though. You knew how to work a room. You knew how to manipulate sleazy men into emptying their wallets. You were always in control.

You certainly didn’t need anyone to save you.

You heard the last song of the previous dancer’s set end and took one more look in the mirror. You removed your robe and adjusted the skimpy costume before taking a deep breath and walking toward the back of the stage.

Showtime.

Clay sat at the bar, prying his glass up from the sticky table and taking a sip as one of the dancers exited the stage. He watched as the workers swept up the money that had been thrown, gathering it into a bag before bringing it to the back.

She’d been fine. Her set was pretty par for the course as far as Clay could expect. He’d still found himself zoning out or focusing more on his drink than her dancing.

After the stage was fully cleared off, the lights dimmed to a deep red as a new song started. It was like the energy in the room shifted. Suddenly, everyone was waiting with bated breath as the next dancer took the stage.

Clay sat up straighter in his seat, setting his glass down as the spotlight hit the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you. He was captivated, mesmerized. Even the way you walked was enticing. He leaned forward, hanging on to every move you made.

He wasn’t the only one, either. You had the entire room wrapped around your finger.

Clay watched as you worked the stage, feeling the energy from the crowd. Then, you began to dance.

He felt breathless. His heart was pounding beneath his chest. The way you moved was like a song in and of itself. You were the music. Your movements told a story and he was very, very curious to unravel it.

You fell into the rhythmic routine, working the stage like you owned it — and, in that moment, you did. The lights warmed your skin as you moved your body to the sensual beat of the music, putting on a tantalizing show of removing bits of your costume until you were left in lingerie.

You scanned the audience, as you normally did, looking for anyone who seemed easy to reel in. People would be surprised at how many extra tips you get when the lonely people in the crowd think you’ve noticed them. However, this time, your eyes landed on one man in particular.

You hadn’t seen him at this club before, but he looked vaguely familiar — and devilishly handsome. He seemed to be transfixed on you, so you let your eyes stay locked with his.

The crystalline blue pulled you in, but there was something else about the way he was looking at you. You were used to stares of lust, envy, even ownership — but he was gazing at you with pure interest. The kind of interest that went beyond physical attraction. He wasn’t just watching you take your clothes off. He was watching you dance.

As the music of your last song faded out you gave the crowd a grin and a wave, winking at the handsome stranger before exiting the stage.

You walked back to your vanity, plopping down in the chair with a tired huff. One of the staff members brought you the bag with your tips and you sorted through it, counting the bills. It wasn’t bad, but it could’ve been better.

You groaned, tired of the slow night, and glanced at the clock. There was only a little over an hour left in your shift.

“What’s wrong, babycakes?”

You turned your head to face the dancer whose vanity was next to yours. She had her chin propped on her hand as she looked at you, her bright pink hair pinned to the top of her head.

Frenchie was the name she went by. She was the only dancer that ever had actual conversations with you. She was nice, if a bit eccentric, and you were grateful for the friendly face.

“Just a slow night, French,” you sighed, shrugging your shoulders.

She scoffed, taking a drag of a cigarette as she said, “Shit, doll. If it’s a slow night for you then it’s a wasteland for the rest of us.”

Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion as you asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, please,” Frenchie sigh, playfully rolling her eyes. “You’re the fan favorite, babes. Everyone here knows it. That’s why I’m the only one who talks to you.”

You swatted your hand at her with a laugh, shaking your head as you smiled. You spotted your boss, Sal, walking up behind you in your mirror and you tilted your head back to look at him.

“Someone’s requesting you,” he said, gruff as always.

“See?” Frenchie said, sticking her tongue out at you.

You stuck your tongue out back at her before turning back to Sal. “Who is it?”

“Does it matter? He’s paying,” he grunted, shrugging as he rolled his eyes. “It’s room four.”

Sal walked out of the dressing room as you touched up your hair and makeup, glancing over at Frenchie as she prepared to go do her set on stage.

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” she said, smacking your ass as she walked past you.

“Knock ‘em dead, French,” you called out after her, laughing softly.

You took a deep, steadying breath as you walked down the long hallway, readying yourself to face whatever greaseball would be waiting for you. This was where you made the most money, it just also happened to be the part you hated the most.

You stopped outside of the door labeled with the big number 4 and gave a silent plea to whatever was out there that this would go by smoothly.

To your delight, you didn’t see any of the sleazy regulars when you opened the door. Instead, you saw the handsome stranger who had been watching you so intently during your set.

A sultry smile pulled at your lips as you locked eyes with him. You weren’t supposed to enjoy these sessions — this was work, after all, and you were doing a job — but it didn’t hurt when the clients looked this pretty.

“I was hoping it was you that requested me,” you said, walking into the room with a sway of your hips.

It was true, but you would’ve said it regardless. That was the job. Make them feel seen and important so that they handed over more money.

The handsome stranger’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled at you, seeming to relax into the moment.

“I’m happy not to let you down, then,” he said, his voice low and husky. “Please, join me.”

He gestured over to a bottle of champagne resting in a bucket of ice by the plush leather couch. His gaze lingered on you as you walked into the room, his eyes drinking in the sight of you. He felt a sense of excitement building within him — an anticipation that he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Your eyes almost widened. Champagne? You were lucky to get so much as a polite introduction when you worked these rooms. You hadn’t ever had a customer provide refreshments. By the looks of the bottle, it wasn’t the cheap kind either.

Who was this man and why did he feel so familiar?

“So, tell me,” he said, pouring some of the champagne into a glass and offering it to you, “what’s your name?”

You kept up your performance facade, taking the glass from him and batting your lashes.

“It’s in poor form to ask personal details of the dancers,” you tutted, a teasing smile adorning your lips. “You can call me Cherry.”

All of the dancers had names that you went by. Yours just so happened to be Cherry. The name held a certain significance to you and you were grateful for the protection of identity — in more ways than one.

“Ah, Cherry,” he smiled, the name sitting nicely on his tongue. “I like that. I’m Clay.”

He paused for a moment, studying you as if he was waiting for some kind of reaction. When he didn’t get one, he nodded with a small smile and relaxed into the couch.

“I hope you enjoy the champagne,” he said, bringing his own glass to his lips. “I thought it might make you more comfortable while we…talk.”

You raised your eyebrows at him, taking a sip of the delicious bubbles. People who rented these rooms didn’t usually want to talk. They wanted you to dance and wanted to see how far they could bend the rules.

There were certain rules that you and the customers had to follow. Neither the dancers nor the customers could be fully nude, the customers and the dancers could not touch each other, and under no circumstances could the dancers maintain personal or intimate relationships with the customers.

Clay seemed…different. He was tempting in all of the wrong ways. You knew you had to tread carefully.

“So, Cherry,” Clay began, throwing an arm across the back of the couch, “what do you like to do for fun?”

A playful smirk pulled at your lips as you asked, “Is this not fun?”

Clay’s eyes lit up at your question and he laughed — a deep, rich sound.

“Oh, it’s definitely fun,” he said, smiling, “but I was thinking more along the lines of getting to know you. I’d love to learn more about you.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “If you’re willing to share, of course.”

Getting to know you? This guy books a stripper to get to know her?

“Respectable,” you nodded. “Most people just book me to see how close they can get to touching me. You can’t, by the way. Touch me, that is. It’s strictly against the rules.”

You set your champagne glass down on the table and walked over to the stereo to turn on some slow, sensual music.

“You paid for an hour long dance, so I’d be doing a poor job if I didn’t comply,” you said, sauntering back over to him.

You should’ve just started dancing and stuck to your job, but his pretty eyes were so intrigued that you couldn’t say no to him.

“How about this,” you offered, “you ask questions while I dance. Deal?”

Clay’s eyes gleamed with delight as he nodded, clearly pleased with himself.

“Deal,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Oh, and Cherry?”

He set his glass down before leaning back into the couch with a grin.

“I have to warn you, I’m not very good at following rules.”

You placed your hands on the cushion behind his head, leaning over him as you swayed your hips.

“If you want to keep the session going, you’d better be,” you whispered, warning in your tone. “Otherwise, the fun would be over. So keep your hands by your sides, pretty boy.”

His eyes flashed with amusement as he raised an eyebrow, but he obediently placed his hands at his sides.

“Oh, I’ll be good,” he promised. “I wouldn’t want the fun to stop.”

He trailed his gaze over your figure, watching as you danced.

“Back to my original question, Cherry,” he said, flicking his eyes back up to yours. “What do you like to do when you aren’t…dancing?”

You stood up again, seductively twirling and swaying to the beat as you thought about the question.

You weren’t sure how much you wanted to reveal to him. He was still just a pretty face — a very tempting pretty face. He wasn’t the first person to come in here with delusions of grandeur. You didn’t want him to reel you in.

“I like to read,” you said, rolling your hips. “I like to watch cheesy romance movies, and I’m a damn good cook.”

His eyes sparkled with interest as you answered, his gaze never leaving yours.

“A woman of many talents,” he murmured, a soft smile on his face. He leaned forward slightly as he asked, “What kind of romance movies do you like to watch?”

“The ones with every cliche in the book,” you grinned, swirling around to the music. “I want the sappy love confessions, the angsty miscommunication, and the big fight that leads to the romantic kiss in the rain.”

You leaned over him again, rotating your hips as you bent down to whisper in his ear, “and it’s gotta have a good sex scene.”

Clay’s gaze darkened at your words, his breathing quickening. He felt a surge of desire course through his veins and he had to force himself to remain still, to not reach out and touch you.

He paused for a moment, then asked, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

You laughed softly in his ear, leaning back up as you continued dancing.

“That kind of thing only exists in fiction, pretty boy,” you said, trying not to sound bitter.

He smiled, cocking his head to the side with a small laugh.

“Maybe,” he replied, his voice dripping with skepticism, “but I think there’s something to be said for the idea that two people can just click, you know?”

He leaned toward, his eyes locked onto yours as he said, “I think maybe we click, Cherry.”

You scoffed, an amused smile etched into your features as you rolled your eyes.

“Do you know how many people come here and claim they fell in love with me? People pay me to give them a show, and I deliver. It’s all transactional. I’m in the business of temporarily filling the vacant holes in people’s lives.”

Clay’s eyes never left yours, his expression tense with something that bordered understanding.

“Yes, I do,” he said, his voice serious. “I’m not naive enough to think that we’re anything more than what we are here tonight…but sometimes, Cherry, I think people need a little bit of fantasy. Just for tonight, let’s forget about life and reality outside of these walls. Let’s just enjoy each other’s company, okay?”

A pretty face that spoke pretty words.

Damn him.

“Fine,” you obliged, smiling despite yourself. “Still, no touching, but you can carry on with your questions.”

“Excellent,” he said, his eyes sparkling with triumph as his mouth curled into a satisfied grin. “What’s the most memorable performance you’ve ever given?”

You smiled, playfully, and responded, “Seventh grade ballet recital, hands down. Not a dry eye in the house.”

“Seventh grade, huh?” Clay chuckled. “I never would’ve guessed. What made it so memorable?”

A fond smile graced your lips as you let your mind reminisce on a memory you didn’t usually let yourself wander to.

“I used to have really terrible stage fright. I’d get under the lights and I’d just freeze. I had been working really hard all year on this solo and I got selected to perform in the recital. Right as I went on stage, I forgot every piece of choreography. I was so panicked, I wanted to run off the stage and hide. Then, I heard the music start and I just…danced. I let the music move me. To this day, it’s still the freest I’ve ever felt.”

You shook your head, instantly regretting the vulnerability.

“Never mind that, though,” you laughed. “You think everything is world changing when you’re that age.”

Clay’s eyes softened, his expression becoming more contemplative. “I think that’s beautiful,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “The fact that you were able to find freedom in that moment, despite your fears and doubts…it’s truly inspiring.” He paused, his gaze lingering on yours. “I think that’s what makes human connection so powerful. We can be ourselves, without apology, and find freedom in that vulnerability.” The skin by his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “Speaking of which, Cherry…do you believe everyone has a story worth telling?”

“I think there are stories to be found everywhere, if you look hard enough,” you shrugged, refilling his champagne glass.

“Ah, a philosopher, too,” he smirked, his voice ripe with amusement. “I think you might be the most fascinating person I’ve met in a very long time.”

He thought for a moment as he took the champagne glass, then said, “Would you like to hear a story, Cherry?”

“A dance for a story,” you pondered. “I think that’s a fair transaction.”

Clay’s eyes lit up with excitement as he sipped his drink. “Excellent,” he grinned, settling back into the couch. “I’ve always loved the story of Romeo and Juliet. The passion, the tragedy, the love that consumed them both. Imagine if Romeo and Juliet lived in modern times, Cherry. Would they still fall in love? Would they still meet the same fate?”

“I think Romeo and Juliet were two horny teenagers, too naive for their own good,” you smirked, swaying to the music.

Your movements absentmindedly transitioned from sensual to holding the essence of his storytelling as he spoke.

“Ah, but that’s what makes their story so tragic,” he countered, shaking his head. “Their naivety is what drives them to take such reckless risks, to chase after a love that seems impossible. Yet, despite the danger, despite the obstacles, despite the fact that they come from different worlds…they still manage to find each other, to connect on a deeper level. Don’t you think that’s what makes love so intoxicating?”

He paused, his gaze searching yours before he laughed softly and said, “Or am I just a hopeless romantic?”

“You’re hopeless, alright,” you joked, despite the fact that his words managed to pang your heart.

You did not fall in love. You didn’t even think about love. One stranger’s pretty words weren’t going to change that. This was transactional.

His stories were so compelling, though…

You leaned over him again, bringing your face as close to his as you could without making contact.

“You know what I think?” You whispered, glancing down at his lips. “I think our time is up.”

The clock rang, signaling that the hour was over. You straightened up and stepped back, giving him one last wink.

“Thanks for the story, pretty boy.”

Clay’s face seemed to fall with disappointment as you pulled away from him, but his voice remained smooth and charming.

“Until next time, Cherry.”

As you left the room and returned to your vanity, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed. His words lingered with you, throwing you off balance.

You gathered your things and changed into your regular clothing, clocking out at the back door. As you were about to leave, Sal stopped you and handed you a wad of cash.

“Here,” he said, “for the private room.”

You’d been so caught up in the moment with Clay that you hadn’t even stopped to think about the fact that you didn’t get a single dollar from him.

You thumbed through the cash, expecting to see the usual earnings of maybe $50 or so. Your eyes widened as you counted out $1,000.

He’d tipped you that much? What kind of man was he?

Normally, you didn’t any of the customers a second thought once you were away from work, but this one wouldn’t worm his way out of your head.

Damn these men and their pretty words and ideas of love and fate. That was a life you had left behind.

Once you’d returned home to your apartment, you showered the day off of your skin and changed into more comfortable clothing. You made yourself a quick dinner before settling into your couch and flicking the television on.

The screen lit up in the middle of some story on a celebrity gossip channel. You were only half listening as you ate your food, your mind still reeling from the events that had occurred with the handsome stranger. You couldn’t shake that something still felt so familiar about him.

Your ears perked up at the sound of a name that struck a chord deep within you. Your jaw dropped as you glanced up at the screen, seeing those dazzling blue eyes and his crinkled smile.

The reporters voice rang out about the youngest CEO Manhattan had ever seen as your heart sank to your feet.

Holy shit.

The handsome stranger was Clay fucking Beresford.

[mrsshabana]

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨 𝐚𝐭 𝐚 𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐞

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Gyutaro visits an adult theater for some alone time. He rents out one of the private rooms, but he wasn't expecting a cute girl to rent the one beside him. Let alone make his visit more exciting. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, 18+ MDNI, blow job, glory hole, mentions of porn, public sex ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.3k words. Randomly got the idea for this and decided to write it today. Hope you enjoy it! ♡

Gyutaro was feeling especially horny but he didn't want to take care of it at home because his sister was there. So he decided to go somewhere where he knew he could be alone and not be interrupted.

The local adult theater.

They mainly sold porn and sex toys there, but in the back of the building they have rooms that you could rent out. It only costs a few bucks to get a room for half an hour. This is where Gyutaro would usually go when he wanted some alone time without the risk of Ume walking in on him.

Still having some coins left over from his last visit, he slips them into the slot attached to the door handle. He quickly locks the door behind him and takes a seat in the room. The room is small and has dim colored lights and a large tv with a wide selection of porn to choose from.

He sighs, picking up the remote and lazily looking through the selection.

"Hot stepmom?" he mumbles to himself, "No thanks," and keeps scrolling.

It doesn't look like they added anything new so he searches for his go-to, nurse roleplay.

But before he can press play he hears someone enter the room beside his. He's never had that happen before... It makes him a little nervous.

He looks over at the crotch-level hole in the wall and sees someone moving around in the other room. And he swears he hears a female voice mumbling. The thought that a pretty girl is behind that wall fills his mind with unsavory thoughts.

As the blood leaves his brain and goes elsewhere he begins to think that maybe sticking his dick in that hole is a good idea. But he quickly snaps out of it. "That'd be weird... I can't just do somethin' like that..." he thinks to himself.

He tries his best to shake those thoughts away and just focus on himself for now.

You hear someone unbuckling their belt in the room beside you. You get curious and take a peek through the glory hole. You aren't able to see much, but it's enough to cause butterflies to swarm in your stomach.

You see a muscular looking guy wearing a black hoodie, and you watch as he unbuttons his pants and pulls out a hefty cock. Thick and long, his tip slick with precum.

The sight causes you to bite your bottom lip as you get an idea.

"Hey," you whisper seductively, "C'mere."

Gyutaro almost jumps out of his seat when he hears your angelic voice call out to him. "M-me?" he mumbles nervously.

"Yeah you," you get on your knees in front of the glory hole, "Wanna have some fun?"

His eyes widen as he sees a pair of lips waiting in front of the glory hole, coated with sparkly lip gloss.

He feels like he's about to hyperventilate. How could he get so lucky? Even though he feels like he's on the verge of passing out, he's not going to pass up this opportunity.

He gulps nervously as he walks up to the hole, "S-sure."

Grabbing the base of his cock, he hesitantly pushes it into the hole. Your eyes widen as you get to see it up close.

You're surprised to see the large black birthmarks that cover his shaft, but it doesn't take away from how delicious he looks. Definitely looking bigger so up close.

Wrapping a manicured hand around his shaft, you begin to slowly stroke up and down his length.

"Fuck..." he gasps. Feeling your small warm hand wrap around him feels like heaven.

You smirk as you hear him cursing behind the wall, and you've just barely gotten started. Leaning forward, you give him a few experimental licks. Tasting his salty precum. He twitches in your hand with every touch of your tongue.

Next, you slowly wrap your lips around him. He feels your warm, wet mouth close around him. Slowly taking more of him down your throat.

"Ah~ Oh god," he whimpers. His legs begin to shake as you suck him off. Taking him as deep as you can, until his tip hits the back of your throat. Then going back up to his tip, circling your tongue around it before moving your head down his length again. Repeating the process, sending waves of pleasure through his body with every motion.

You hear strained moans and shaky breaths come from the other side of the wall. Gyutaro's never felt anything like this before, and he quickly becomes overwhelmed by it all.

He digs his nails into his shaky thighs, clenching his teeth as his eyes roll back. Trying desperately not to cum.

But your mouth just feels too good.

His cock twitches violently in your mouth, and you can tell he's getting close. So you pick up the pace, fervently sucking like you're trying to milk him. Like you want to taste his seed more than anything.

"F-fuck!" he moans, "I ah-ahhh ngh g-gonna~ cum!"

He tilts his head back in ecstasy as he feels his orgasm hit him. Moaning uncontrollably and gasping for air as he fills up your warm mouth.

You whimper, tears filling your eyes as you take him as deep as you can. Allowing him to shoot hot ropes down your throat as his cock twitches against your tongue.

You slowly slide him out of your mouth, a sticky trail of his seed spreading across your tongue. Leaving a salty taste in your mouth.

You slowly stroke him to help him ride out his high. Catching any drops of cum that drip from his milked cock on your tongue.

Licking your lips, you let go. Allowing him to pull back into his room. But it takes him a moment to regain his composure enough to do so. As he slides his dick back through the glory hole, he sees his veiny shaft covered in a mixture of your saliva and sparkly lip gloss.

Post nut clarity finally hits him and he begins to feel a bit awkward. But a part of him also wishes he could do it again.

"Th-thanks," he says awkwardly, voice trembling as he suddenly feels nervous around you.

"You're welcome," you pant, "It was fun."

It takes Gyutaro a few minutes to compose himself. And by the time he exits the room, you're already gone.

⊹˚˖ ︶꒷꒦︶︶꒦︶꒷ ♡ ︶꒦꒷︶꒦︶꒷︶ ˖˚⊹

You visit the adult theater again a few weeks later. Not for the glory hole this time, just to browse their selection of toys and lingerie.

And out of the corner of your eye, you see a man that seems oddly familiar. He's wearing a black hoodie and has long wavy hair. He's leisurely browsing the toy section too.

You turn your head to get a better look at him, and that's when you see it. His pale skin covered in black splotchy birthmarks. They look just like the ones on that guy's dick from a few weeks ago.

A blush quickly spreads across your cheeks as you recall the events that took place. You'd be lying if you said you hadn't been thinking about him. And he's definitely been thinking of you. Every night since he stroked his dick to the thought of your lips wrapped around him.

You take a deep breath, mustering up your courage as you walk up to him and tap him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," you say shyly.

As soon as he hears your voice his face turns red. He remembers that sweet voice. And when he turns around to see your face, his eyes widen. You're the girl of his dreams.

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Since the post about gusion babysitting I've been thinking, do you think the nobles that raised the kings miss have a kid about? Like imagine Mc is playing with some of the remaining demon kids and we accidentally give the nobles baby fever (especially gusion, I feel like he'd secretly have a big soft spot for kids)

Whb nobles getting baby-fever

Paimon loved taking care of Satan when he was just a little boy and not the king of Gehenna. He kind of misses the feeling of raising a child, and the war prevents him from adopting. He spends a lot of time in the orphanage playing with the kids, but there's only so much you can do when there's a war outside. He would take you to the orphanage with him. Even though the children are too young to remember Solomon, they still have heard about the great sorcerer so they'll be very happy to meet his child. When you start getting along with the younglings, Paimon can't help but daydream of a future where the two of you run after a little devil of your own.

Even though Buer moved from his previous region, he still has fond memories of taking care of Mammon, even if he was a sickly child. Paradise Lost doesn't have children native to it, the closest thing being Gamigin, but he's too old to be considered a child in the traditional sense. In his case, you would be playing with some new born puppies and helping Buer nurse them. He appreciates your caring nature and the patience you show towards the little creatures... it even makes him think about possibly having a child with you. Once the war ends and the demand for healers lessens, he'll make sure to ask you if you're willing to co-parent alongside him a new generation of healers.

Since Bael knows the type of country he rules over, he tries to stay vigilent and make sure that the children of Abysos don't overdose on something fishy. They already have a population problem, the last thing they need is for the few children left to die from his own ignorance. When he sees you playing with some of the younger devils, his heart can't help but melt. He was blessed to meet you and he'll try his hardest to show you that in the limited amount of time he can spend with you. Bael will hug you from behind and put his head on your sholder before whispering softly in your ear. "I can't wait for the two of us to have a kid as well. You'd make for such a great parent."

Phenix is constantly in the baby making mood. His proximity to Asmodeus for all these years have insured that all rationality leaves his brain and he can only thing of sex and violence. But that's kind of the norm in Abaddon, and Phenix is loyal to his king so gets to babysit the newest prince of hell - Dantalian. Even though Dantalian is an adult now, he's still young in the eyes of many. If Phenix were to see you acting motherly to the prince, he'd cum on the spot. He's come closer to you and hump your thigh while blabbering about how good of a parent you'd be and how he wants to breed you. Maybe Dantalian will be nice enough to teleport you to a private room, maybe he'll just take this oportunity to sneak off to Heaven, maybe he'll join in. The point is, you're not leaving until you're fucked silly by Phenix.

Gusion is still a teacher as a part time job. He kills angels, he does the paperwork that Belphegor's supposed to be doing and he teaches the multiplication table to toddlers. The quickest way to give this man a boner is to be a teacher. He likes to think of himself as rational, so clearly he's not having 'baby fever' he's just found the perfect mate. You're beautiful, have great genetics, are good with children and you're smart enough to understand a subject and than teach it to someone else. He's going to send you a very long letter that boils down to "let me smash, babygirl". At least that's what Bathin told you it was, Gusion's handwriting is shit so you need a translator most of the time.

[mediumgayitalian]

“After you.”

“Nerd.”

Nico tugs on a curl as he walks by Will’s bowed head, scoffing when Will winks at him. His hand lingers, though, waiting for Will to kick the door shut, trailing past his ear and down his neck and twisting down his arm, sliding down to his palm. His fingers are cold, as they always are, and Will brings them up to his mouth and kisses them, gently, and Nico rolls his eyes then, too, but the smile pushes out onto his face anyway.

“You can’t be doing all this in public,” he scolds.

“You started it,” Will points out, even though he’d be doing this anyway. Cursed be the day Will has Nico next to him and keeps his distance. He can’t imagine it. When he is around him he often feels like the desperately spinning needle in an old compass. Whirling around to find his source, his true North.

“Stop saying mushy shit in your head.”

“Out loud it is, then.” He clears his throat. “Oh, Nico, shimmering stars in my skies —”

They’re loud, far too loud, for this time in the morning, and even Nico’s slapping hands and laughing shushes do nothing to keep the infirmary quiet, but Will can’t bring himself to care. Partially because each one of the fuckers kept him busy for hours yesterday, straight through lunch, but mostly because the freshly risen sun beams almost directly onto Nico’s face, melting his eyes into pools of amber, and he smiles in that quiet, private way of his, close-lipped and crooked. There is breath in Will’s lungs, he knows it, but his body forgets, and all he can see hear think feel is the shape of Nico’s smile, and the slope of his nose, and the feel of his cool roughened hands on Will’s face.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, and the words are muffled by his palms but the sincerity is not. The sincerity is punched out of him like the air hisses out of the gills of a hooked fish.

Nico huffs. “You’re buttering me up.” But he is preening; shoulders shuddering and eyelashes fluttering at the praise. At the wideness of Will’s eyes, the brazen, blatant awe.

He doesn’t let Will look long, because he rarely does, but he pulls away with a smile, softens his distance with three quick squeezes to Will’s fingers, with a brush of his hair. He stalks over to the nurse’s station, humming, plucking the clipboard from the wall and inspecting it, pulling his own crumpled paper from his pocket and smoothing it out side by side. Will trails by after him, plucking his coat from the bench and shrugging it on.

“Where are you today?”

“Arena, mostly. Kiddie classes today. You in here all day?”

Will looks over at the sleeping Hermes kids — all nineteen of them — and sighs. “Yep.”

“Won’t see you much, then.”

“Ugh.”

“However will you survive.”

“Maybe I have a nervous breakdown and get reassigned. You think I’d thrive in California? Maybe Pennhurst —”

“Oh my gods.”

There’s no one quite as effective as shutting Will the fuck up as Nico. Something about him just makes him pensive, makes him reflective. Makes him realise that time is limited and silence holds weight, that moments of quiet tranquility are infinitely more valuable than one realises outside of them.

Also tonsil hockey. That works pretty well, Will has to admit. Lou Ellen has disgustingly described it as ‘Will’s off button being located in the back of his throat’, which, fair, but she shouldn’t have said it.

“Have a good day at work,” Nico murmurs, pecking Will’s pout. “Try not to commit medical malpractice. Or negligence.”

“…I might do negligence.”

“Oh, shut up. You love your job.”

“I love you,” Will grumbles, his own smile twitching behind pressed-closed lips. “My job drains me and violates several labour laws.”

Conveniently ignoring the second half of his complaint, because he loves to watch Will suffer, apparently, Nico murmurs “Love you too, drama queen, I’ll bring you lunch,” kisses him again, and then jogs off, headed for the Arena.

Will sighs, turning to his clipboard, and starts running through a list of every god he knows, thanking them for Nico.

He’s pretty lucky.