#dr. footsteps' pocket doctor

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It's Bede's birthday tomorrow.

[obsessivelyloved]

This was requested on one of my nsfw blogs but I went insane and made it 3,000 words long. So I can post most of it here lol. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky. The ending is abrupt here bc the rest of it/the ending is nsfw. I was up til 5am writing this and I'm not writing a sfw ending for this blog until after i get more sleep.

Anon asks: I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor. Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down. BIG MISTAKE

___________________________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

[xxdark-obsessionxx]

I’m a big sucker for Psych Au fics. Reader is a cis female doctor who treats Tord with kindness. He becomes obsessed with her. Refuses to talk to any other doctor.

Tord is always on his best behavior for her which leads her to let her guard down.

BIG MISTAKE

I was supposed to be asleep five hours ago but I couldn’t until I finished this. Just know that in my heart, this takes place in Arkham. Also I'm super rusty so I apologize if anything feels off/wonky.

CW: Noncon

Dark themes ahead, please read at your own discretion and keep yourself safe. This is a work of fiction and I do not condone or support scenarios like this in real life

_____________________________________________

“You dropped this.” 

The man stares at you wide eyed as you hand him his lighter. He stands, rigid. You give him a gentle smile and press it into his palm, your other hand curling around the back of his hand. 

“I know there’s no fluid in it, so you don’t have to worry about me taking it,” you say to him. You pat his hand and step away.

The man turns fully towards you and you’re able to read the name sewed onto his shirt. 

“I-” the man- Tord- swallows hard. He quickly pockets the lighter. “Thank you.” 

You give him another smile and walk past him. He had seemed to be going the same way as you but he never caught up. Nor did you hear footsteps behind you. Once you reach the director’s office, he leaves your thoughts. You were absolutely determined to make a good first impression on your first day of the job. 

The man you met earlier had turned out to be your first patient. And oh boy, what a patient he was. Like you had promised yourself you weren’t going to judge any of these people but god damn. His file was thick. At least twenty papers were inside the manilla folder you had received from the head director’s office. Maybe even more. 

You’d never know if you kept standing outside the director’s office gawking at it. You take a deep breath. Going through it sitting down was probably a good idea. As you make your way to the breakroom, your grip on the folder is tight, trying your best to make sure you don’t drop it and reveal your patient's file. 

Thankfully, it doesn’t take you long to get to the breakroom. A few people were there but they paid you no mind. They sit, hunched over lunch or their own files. You sit and start to read. 

Løvik Tord

3 7 2 5 9

DOB: 1995

Age: 28

Hair: Dark brown with lighter brown roots

Eye: Silver

You end up skimming through this until you get to the bottom of the page. It wasn’t… pretty. 

CASE INFORMATION: 

Tord is a violent man. He is aggressive, manipulative, and has a short temper. Many doctors have tried working with him to no avail. He does not respond kindly to Dr.Casey (see page 5), Dr.Bonnie (see page 8), Dr.Roxy (see page 12), or Dr.Harley (see page 15). 

He is extremely aggressive towards Dr. Bruce (see page 20). 

You stop reading there, your chest feeling tight. You flip to page twenty. It’s not the last page like you had hoped. There were still…. Quite a bit in the file. 

Dr.Bruce has tried everything he can to help Tord. He has tried finding common ground with the patient. Has tried being lax and strict with Tord’s schedule. Has tried working with Tord and letting him sit outside. Tord had found every loophole and burned every bridge until Dr.Bruce stopped lenient treatments. Tord stabbed Dr.Bruce fifteen times before guards made their way into the room. 

It is unknown how and where he had gotten his hands on a sharp long blade. Tord was seen licking the blood of-

“Don’t worry if you can’t fix him. At this point, Doctor Markman hands his case off to fresh blood to showcase this place. No one expects you to be able to tame him.” 

You startle at the voice, goosebumps raised on your arms. “I’m sorry?” you ask with a polite smile. Anger clouded your fear. What the hell was this person talking about?

The doctor, Alice, her name tag reads, smiles at you. 

“Nearly everyone has tried working with him at this point,” she continues. “No one expects him to ever get better. He's here for murder, after all.” 

You give her a tight smile in return. “I’ll just have to see for myself.” 

Before she can keep going, you straighten up the papers and close the folder. 

“I appreciate the advice, but I must be going now,” you lie through your teeth. What bullshit! What kind of doctors run this place? 

You actually hadn’t needed to be anywhere for another thirty minutes but if this conversation continued you wouldn’t be able to hold your tongue. Everyone can be saved. With compassion and kindness and help, no one was beyond redemption. Or too far gone for help. 

You storm out of the breakroom and wander. 

“I was hoping I’d see you again.” 

Tord grins at you as he’s escorted in. His hands are cuffed and before he can sit down, the guard pats him down. 

It makes your stomach churn but you keep your face kind. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” you greet. You watch cautiously as he sits down in the plush chair. The guard leaves the room. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

It’s silent enough to hear the clock as the two of you study each other. He seems to drink you in, eyes wandering up and down, seeming to take in everything. You’d do the same if you weren’t a professional. 

“You used to dye your hair?” 

Tord raises an eyebrow. He tilts his head a little, eyes focused solely on you. It unnerves you almost as much as his file had. No patient of yours had ever stared at you so intensely in the past….

After a moment, he answers. “Yes. I fancied black quite a bit.” He gestures towards his roots. “It’s been a while since Bruce got me more dye. No one else will.” 

“I could look into it,” you clasp your hands, jumping into this opportunity. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to Doctor Marksman.” 

“And what do you want from me in return?”

“I’m sorry?” 

His gaze hardens. “What. do. You. want.” He grinds out, his body rigid in the chair. His hands were clenched.

Without thinking, puzzlement falls across your face. What did he mean? What did you want? For him to get better, obviously. 

“I want you to be at ease with your mental health,” you answer, still looking puzzled. “I don’t want anything else from this job but that. I’m not dangling hair dye in front of you in exchange. I want you to feel comfortable in your skin and at home here, Mr.Løvik.” 

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

“Is that really what you want?” Tord asks, an emotion you can’t quite place in his voice. “To help me get better?” 

Whatever it may be, you smile at him. 

“Of course. I want nothing but to see you succeed and be happy here.” 

Things were easier after that first session. You always started off kindly, asking Tord how his day was going. If his favorite show or movie had aired on the television today.If his favorite food had been served that morning or afternoon. If he slept fine through the dreadful storm. 

(“I know I wasn’t,” you had laughed. “I tossed and turned, jumping at each sound all night.”

“I’m sure your boyfriend was quite displeased.”

“Oh,” you chuckle. “Well, no. I have a cat but no boyfriend. I was too busy getting my decree to ever really mingle like that. Though, my poor little man was also distraught at all the thunder last night. He yowled at my door until I let him into my room and he curled up on my bed. I’ll bring pictures next time.”) 

Too well for you and only you. Tord refused to talk to anyone but you. He would sit in silence or insult other doctors during his sessions. In one instance, he broke a new doctor’s nose. The poor guy had quit on the spot, cussing Tord and the whole place out as he was escorted to the medical section. 

You were tense the next few sessions but that violent man was nowhere to be found. He kept his cuffed hands right in front where you can see them at all times. He never lunged from you. In fact, barely ever moved in his chair. 

Tord was easygoing. Polite, charming, even. He took any medications he needed obediently and put up no fuss when you’d have him describe in later sessions how he was feeling and if he was feeling any negative side effects. 

He asked about your cat. About how your favorite show was going. If the movie you were looking forward to has come out yet. If your favorite restaurant down the street from your apartment was still closed for renovations. 

Eventually, enough time had passed that you relaxed. You stopped keeping your eyes trained on his hands. You stopped worrying yourself sick about his body language. You focused on his treatments and his mental health. 

If he was going to hurt me he would have done so by now, you thought to yourself after your latest session with Tord. He was doing so much better than he had been doing six months ago. It seemed as if you were really making a difference, helping him improve. 

It had been three months since he last fought another patient. Two months since he assaulted another doctor. And five months since he refused treatment of any kind. 

You step outside the building and take a deep breath. A dopey smile sticks to your face as you walk to your car. Becoming a doctor was the best choice you’ve ever made. Nothing was more rewarding than helping people. Not even this cloudy weather could bring you down. 

In fact, nothing tried to drag your mood down. There was no traffic on the way home. Some asshole hadn’t parked in your assigned parking spot again in the parking lot of your apartment. And your sweet cat hadn’t knocked his little box over again. 

You happily reheat your leftovers and watch tv for a while before you get ready for bed. Unfortunately, your mood does come crashing down. 

In the middle of the night, thunder wakes you. You jolt up, scrambling for your phone. Your hands come up empty. Shit, you think. I left it charging in the kitchen. Ugh. Oh well, you don’t need to look at your phone to see it is late and storming. 

Another loud sound booms through your apartment. Only this time, it sounds like a crash. 

“It’s just thunder,” you tell yourself. “Nothing to be afraid of.” You lay back down. Your eyes shut and you’re just about drifting to sleep when your door creeks open. 

You bolt up, knowing damn well that your cat can’t open doors and you freeze. 

Your heart races as your mind tries to process just who was in front of you. 

“Tord?” you whimper, hands shaking. But that can’t be. That was impossible. He was supposed to be sleeping soundly in his room with the soundproof headphones you got him. He didn’t like storms. The thunder reminded him too much of gunshots and made him restless. 

Useless information floods your brain. 

“I’m home, sweetheart,” he rasps. His grin is soft in the moonlight. He reaches over to flick on your bedroom light. 

He’s gentle he’s kind he’s sweet he’s-

He’s covered in blood.

Tord steps forward and you’re frozen in bed. His eyes are wild as they drink you in. There’s blood on his hands. In his hair. Splatters on his face. 

“Oh honey how I’ve dreamed of this,” he croons at the foot of your bed. “Your apartment is just as cute as you described.” 

He grabs the edge of your blanket and pulls it off. His smile grows sappy. “You did go for the red pants like I suggested.” He giggles, staring between your legs. “I wonder if there’s a match beneath them.”

That snaps you out of your shocked stupor. You scramble off your bed, slamming your head hard against your nightstand as you try to avoid Tord’s lunging grasp. 

You lay fetal on the floor, tears in your eyes as you clutch your head. “Fuck,” you hiss.

Tord clicks his tongue. He slowly climbs off your bed, crouching next to you. “My poor clumsy sweetheart.” 

You feel his hands in your hair. 

“What do you want?” you gasp. Fear and pain mix as you start to cry into your carpet. 

His hands stroke your hair. 

“You.” 

With that, you’re powerless to stop him as he scoops you up into his arms. You thrash as he dumps you back onto your bed, pinning you down. 

“I know you're scared but it’s ok. I’ll be gentle, my love. So gentle.”

Your mind can’t wrap your head around what’s happening. Tord isn’t supposed to be tying your wrists to your headboard. He isn’t supposed to be kissing your neck and grinding his hard arousal between your legs. He isn’t supposed to be in your home. 

“Such a good girl, staying still for me,” Tord says softly as he pulls back. He slides your pants down. Disappoint clouds his eyes when he sees your panties aren’t red but it’s deepened when he pulls those down and you’re barely wet.

“It’s ok sweets. I’ll figure out what gets you going. There’s nothing to be ashamed of in needing help.” 

Anger wells in your chest as Tord fishes for something in one of his pockets. How dare he. How dare he parrot your own advice back at you. As if this was a simple therapy session. As if you were the patient and he was the doctor wanting to help. 

“Get off me!” you snarl. “You know this isn’t right Tord. Y-you’re sick! You need help!” 

Tord stops what he’s doing to stare dead eyed at you. He plucks a clean rag off your nightstand and stuffs it into your mouth. 

“Enough of that,” he scolds. “You need this as much as I do. In fact, doctors orders.” 

He grins at his own twisted joke. He fishes through his pockets again and pulls out a small bottle of lube. “Yes, just what my love needs. A good thorough fuck.” 

You desperately try to spit the rag out but your mouth is too dry. You twist and tug your wrists but to no avail. This was happening. Your gentle, sweet patient was going to take your virginity. 

Tord carefully squirts lube onto his fingers, rubbing them together. He parts your folds, humming appreciatively as he rubs your clit. 

“That’s it, my good girl. Get nice and wet for me.” 

You feel sick. Against your will, his crooning and his touches stir up arousal inside you. You close your eyes as he gently fingers you as if he was searching for something. 

A minute later, your eyes fly open as he jabs something horrible. Your pussy grows slick from it, pleasure building in your lower stomach. 

“There it is.”

You shake your head violently. Not there, you try to plead with your eyes. Anywhere but there! 

But Tord merely smiles at you and ruthlessly abuses that spot. Over and over his fingers jab and curl,  rubbing it. You squeeze your eyes tight, small moans making their way out of your throat as pleasure jolts through you.. His thumb strokes your clit and you cum embarrassedly fast. You stare at the ceiling and wish you hadn’t wanted to cum at all. 

“Good girl,” Tord praises. He pulls his fingers out, eying them appreciatively. He sticks them in his mouth and sucks, moaning. “So sweet. But I’m too impatient to try it from the source. You’ll have to forgive me, my love.” 

Panic jolts up your spine as you feel his tip pressing against your entrance. You try to climb up your bed rest but you only achieve getting a little higher up on your pillows. Tord sighs and presses forward. 

“It’ll hurt for a moment but I promise this will feel good,” Tord tries to soothe. He picks up the lube and squeezes more into his palm and strokes himself. 

You hate him. You hate him with all your heart. 

He pushed forward and once again, you squeezed your eyes tight. His hand roughly grabs your throat. 

“Eyes on me,” he snaps. “I want to see how good I make you feel.” 

The fear overturns the pain and you quickly open your eyes. He pushes further in, reaching down to run your clit. 

Tord rocks his hips a little, eyes starstruck as he stares down at you. “You’re getting wetter,” he mumbles to himself. A grin spreads across his face. 

His hips snap forward, setting a firm pace. He stops rubbing your clit to grab under your thighs. He lifts them up and pushes until they’re almost touching your breasts. 

He thrusts harder and- 

You squeal, bucking your hips as he hits that horrible spot. You can’t stop bucking your hips, jolts of pleasure stabbing your stomach and stars in your eyes. 

Tord pressed closer to you, caging you in. He holds your gaze intensely, panting a little. His eyes dart between your face and your bouncing tits. 

Like earlier, you cum fast. This one hits you harder. And Tord doesn’t stop. 

You cum again and he pulls out. “Move and I’ll beat your ass with a belt,” he growls. He pulls out a switchblade and cuts the rope off your headboard. He’s quick to tie your wrists together. 

You find yourself on your stomach, ass up. Tord firmly holds your hips. He enters again, pressing down against you. Caging you against the mattress as he pounds into your pussy hard. By the time you’re cumming again, he finally cums with you. 

You’re crying by this point. Overstimulation has you cringing, your pussy tingling as he pulls out. Once again, you start to panic. Tord had come inside you. You thrash underneath him. 

“Stop that,” he hisses, slapping your ass hard. You cry harder as he does it another three times. And another, until you finally go still. 

You hear Tord sigh harshly. “I need to be patient with you,” he mumbles to himself. He gets off of you and you hear him leave the room. 

He’s back within minutes, holding a wet hand towel. You’re gently turned over onto your back and he softly cleans you up. You can’t look at him. 

“Mrrow.” 

Your heart jolts. Your cat jumps onto the bed, purring as Tord pets him with his clean hand. Traitor. 

“You rest while I pack,” Tord says softly. He leans down to press a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll grab everything you need and love for our new home.” 

He climbs off the bed and leaves the room again. He comes back with duffel bags. Your cat paddles up to you and curls up next to you. He purrs hard as you sob your eyes out.

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 12

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

Word Count: 5,700 Tags/Warnings: Violence and peril, angst central, a touch of PTSD, and a surprise ending… 

Part 12: All Your Wicked Ways

Something was wrong. 

It was a gut instinct, but yours was far too often right. 

Ben had been sleeping for a long time. After he’d fallen asleep yesterday, you did shortly after from the combination of fatigue, pain from your broken ribs, and the painkillers in your system. 

But even after your keepers had woken you with a tray of food, Ben still hadn’t woken up.

“Ben?” you tried calling to him, but he didn’t rouse from where he laid in his cot, one arm pillowed behind his head and the other across his stomach.

You got up, your pain making you slow as you made sounds of struggle. 

You went to the large window and supported yourself with your hands on the glass. You called his name again, louder.

His face scrunched a little, but your voice couldn’t penetrate the Novichok haze—the poison being pumped into his cell to dull his senses and keep him too drowsy to function.

You paused as you heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. It turned out to be several, in fact, as a team of Vought security guards came to your cell. 

“What’s going on?” you asked. No one answered you as they grabbed and handcuffed you with your arms in front of you. You struggled, but you didn’t have the strength or energy to give much of a fight. 

They wheeled in what looked like a large metal casket. You had only seen one of these in pictures, but it had to be a cryochamber. 

A doctor in her mid-fifties accompanied them, giving directions on how to safely enter Ben’s cell. Your eyes widened.

“What the hell are you doing?” you shouted. Panic trilled down your spine as the guards fitted themselves with special suits and gas masks. The doctor turned toward you as the guards led you out of your cell and into the hall.

“You’re being transported,” she informed you. 

“Where?”

“To a lab with better security.”

“Why? Where’s my father? I know that bastard’s still alive,” you demanded, but it seemed you weren’t interesting enough for the doctor. 

You spied her last name, Baker, embroidered above the breast pocket her lab coat. You finally recognized Dr. Tonya Baker; you hadn’t worked with her much during your time at Vought, but you knew her by reputation.

Your heart fell into your stomach. 

You struggled against the stern grip of the guard holding you and shouted, “Ben, wake up!”

Between your voice and the commotion outside his door, he started to rouse.

“Get her out of here,” said Dr. Baker. 

Your guards tried to drag you, but you dug your heels in and made it as difficult as possible. Meanwhile, Ben could hear you—when you called his name and now, while you were struggling. He finally drew enough energy and strength to open his eyes and sit up in the cot. 

Once he saw you being manhandled against your will, his fury sparked. 

“Hey!” he barked. He managed to rise off his cot and draw himself to his feet. The first door of his cell slid open for the guards in their hazmat suits. Once that closed, the second one disengaged, and they came pouring in. 

Ben fought them. He managed to punch the first one into the far wall, shaking the fortified glass. He snapped the second man’s neck and broke a leg on the third, but they just kept coming in batches of three or four. The room was misty as hell, slowing Ben’s stamina, and he gritted his teeth in frustration. 

Their strength was in numbers, and gradually, they were able to latch onto his arms, kick behind his knees to bring him down to the ground.

He saw the mask coming towards his face, and the well of panic, hearing your distressed yelling of his name—it gave him the strength to break the chain of men holding him down. 

That’s when he noticed the star bolts zipping outside his cell. 

You were still fighting against the guard’s hold. You ripped back his sleeve and bit into the man’s wrist, eliciting a yell of pain. His grip eased up enough for you to steal his secondary gun on his belt, and despite your cuffed wrists, you shot him in the leg twice to bring him down. 

You raised the gun at your next attacker—Frenchie, who raised up his hands in friendly surrender. 

“Cherie! It’s surprising to see you alive,” he said. You grinned.

“A good surprise?” you asked, and you shot another guard approaching from behind him. 

Frenchie flinched slightly, but after he watched the man fall to the ground, screaming and clutching between his legs, Frenchie’s lips raised in a more genuine smile. 

“Yes, I think so,” he teased. 

You looked past him and watched as Kimiko, M.M., Annie, Hughie, and Butcher took out the rest of the guards. You didn’t see Dr. Baker anywhere; in all likelihood, she’d fled the scene when she saw her opportunity. 

Ben still remained in his cell, and you went to the glass window. He looked all right as he met your gaze, but there were about ten bodies lying around him. His face was firm and assessing. Still, you read the uncertainty behind it.  

You sighed and turned to your team. “Hey, guys. Good to see you.”

Annie went to you first, grasping your shoulders. Her large eyes peered into yours.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Well, more or less,” was your weary reply. Your ribs were throbbing, but you raised your cuffed hands. “Think you can help me with these?”

Annie raised a hand over your cuffs and concentrated her powers into melting them, just enough for Kimiko to strike through them. You slid off the remaining metal pieces and rubbed your stinging wrists. 

“All right, let’s get a fucking move on,” said Butcher.

“Hello to you too,” you replied, raising a brow. 

“Oh, just you wait. You’ve got plenty of fucking explaining to do,” he said, leveling a finger at you. He slid it over to Ben, who watched him right back. 

“Ello, gov.” Butcher smirked. “Look at you, all gift-wrapped for us.”

He turned to M.M., who approached with an especially terrifying-looking gas mask. Your eyes widened. 

“Ready?” Butcher asked him. 

“Ready to knock this motherfucker out and bring him into custody,” M.M. grimly agreed. 

“Wait,” you said, stepping past Annie to get between M.M. and Butcher. 

With your back to the glass, you didn’t see how Ben’s eyes followed you. They hid a thread of uncertainty. He had a feeling you might do this, but he didn’t know what to expect from your team. 

“It doesn’t have to go down like this,” you told them. “He took out Homelander. He could help us bring down Vought. This fucking tower, the whole thing.”

“Is that why you ran at the airport?” M.M. asked. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. We don’t have time to debate this.”

You held out a halting hand. “Look, clearly they're not done making supes if they brought back a new and improved Black Noir. Now they’re selling V24 to the military. They need to be stopped, and with our help, Ben could do it.”

“Oh, it’s Ben now, is it?” Butcher stared at you shrewdly, then at Ben himself. The latter just tilted his head, his mouth quirking with an edge of cockiness. 

Butcher raised a brow. His gaze returned to you, noting the way you stood your ground, but pursed your lips. You were hiding something…a guilty conscience, perhaps. 

“Bloody hell. You two’ve been fucking,” he realized. 

Shocked silence spread through the rest of the team. 

Your embarrassment radiated off your flushing cheeks, and it took everything within you to resist looking back at Ben. You didn’t want to see what kind of expression he wore, but you could guess.

“No,” Annie regarded you with shock. 

“Seriously?” Hughie remarked in a high voice. 

“That’s…well, that’s none of your goddamn business, is it?” you tried to be stern, but your embarrassed shuffling made it lose some of its effect.

Kimiko shared raised brows with Frenchie, who just looked amused. M.M., on the other hand, grimaced with disgust. That actually stung, but you crossed your arms. You didn’t have a good answer for them. Not one you wanted to say in front of Ben, anyway.

“I think we can come to an agreement here,” Ben said at last. 

You turned around, and he gained the attention of the others as well. He briefly met your gaze before he shifted to Butcher. 

“Worked for us once, before you tried to double-cross me,” Ben said. 

“You want to take out Vought.” Butcher glanced at their surroundings, specifically Ben’s cell. He gave a snort of amusement. “I could understand that.”

“Butcher,” M.M. said sharply. 

“We–we should probably get out of here now,” Hughie pointed out. He looked back down the hall nervously. You agreed with him; any moment now, more guards could be coming. 

“Think about it,” said Ben. “The only way you’re getting that mask on me is with a fight. One you’ll probably lose, fucking miserably. We can have the same deal as before, no strings. Until Stan Edgar and Noir are dead.”

It took Butcher all of seconds. 

He turned to Frenchie and said, “Open her up.”

“Butcher, what the fuck!” M.M. argued. 

“What do you fucking want from me, eh? Their special ops security will be all over us soon,” Butcher said. 

But he shared a meaningful look with the other man that you didn’t miss. It sparked your suspicion.

You stepped back as the first door unlocked after Frenchie hacked the commands. Then the gas misting up the cell receded.

There was an immediate reaction from Ben. He blinked in relief as he started to breathe easy. The brain fog making it almost impossible for him to stay alert slowly ebbed. 

He took one step into the hall before it happened—all in a rush, but not unexpected. He blocked M.M.’s punch and tossed him across the hall. 

Someone jumped on his back. He heard you shout, but before he could rip off the hanger on, Kimiko slipped the mask over his face and deployed a heavy dose of nerve gas. It was enough to drop him to his knees as his eyes rolled back into his head. 

Lights out. 

On the way to Supe Affairs, you weren’t happy, but there wasn’t much you could do. 

You were still in your Vought-issued gray pajamas, bare footed as you rode along with your friends in Frenchie’s van. In the very back was the haul of Ben, laid to rest in a chamber keeping him sedated. 

You had to explain to the rest of them that your father, Jonathan, was Stan Edgar’s Chief of Security. You were a cog in Vought’s wheel once upon a time, but joining the S.A. helped you escape. Ben offered you a way to achieve what you couldn’t at the S.A.—taking it all down.

Still, M.M. looked at you like he didn’t even know you. 

“How do you explain fucking him?” he asked.

You shot him a tight frown.

“First of all, none of you know what the hell I went through,” you said. “At first, I was just trying to learn how to read him. How to survive and somehow get back home.”

Emotion clogged in your throat when you thought of seeing your sister again soon, and your mom. You thought of all you had gone through in past two months, and knew that it had changed you…

For better or worse, you didn’t yet know for sure. 

“But for all his arrogance, his chauvinism, his massive ego and general bastardry, there’s still humanity in Ben,” you said, looking up at your team. You thought they had become your friends…but you supposed you would see. 

“Why else would he save me?” you said. 

They didn’t answer. You turned your head to Annie, but even she didn’t look convinced. Though you could see she wanted to be on your side, it was difficult for her to reconcile her own feelings about Soldier Boy. You certainly understood that. 

“He’s too powerful to kill,” you also pointed out. “Putting him to sleep like this will just make it worse when he wakes up…but if he’s properly motivated, he could do some good.” 

“Or off anyone who looks at him sideways,” Butcher wryly replied. “He’s dickmatized you, love.” 

You could tell the others sided with him on this. 

“You can disagree with me,” you said, “but do you have a better way to kill Noir and take down Vought?”

At the S.A., you were able to shower and get on proper clothes in a black tracksuit and some sneakers. You weren’t allowed to find out where they’d taken Ben yet, but Grace Mallory oversaw the transport, just as she called you into her office for your immediate debriefing.  

It felt more like an interrogation, not unlike the one you underwent to be recruited for the manhunt of Soldier Boy.

You felt like a different person sitting across from her. This time you sat up tall, not intimidated by the ice blue stare that greeted you. The lines in the older woman’s face were drawn, but there was an unyielding wall within the woman that you could admire. 

It just didn’t change the fact that right now, she was your opponent. And the chess game had begun.

“You went way off-road with this assignment,” she said at last. You raised a brow. 

“I’m sorry my kidnapping inconvenienced you,” you remarked. 

“Don’t be cute. You know what the hell I’m talking about,” Grace said. “At this point, I’m debating whether to bring you into custody along with Soldier Boy.”

“I’m the one who got him back to the States,” you pointed out, sitting back in your chair with your arms crossed. “I had to get in contact with my father to make that happen. Do you know what that cost me?” 

You resisted an uncomfortable shudder. They’d given you more painkillers for your ribs, but it wasn’t enough the relieve the damage of that encounter. Not to your mind. 

“Aside from any other self-debasing tactics I used in order to do my job, not to mention save my own life. Without me, and the sacrifices I made, Soldier Boy wouldn’t be in a cell downstairs,” you finished. 

Saying those words stung. Like you were somehow betraying yourself. 

“That doesn’t fool me,” Grace said. In fact, her shrewd gaze was much like Butcher’s. It saw straight through you as she tilted her head in wonder. “You care about him.” 

Your lips tightened. 

After a moment, you answered.

“He was tortured for forty years,” you said. “Whether he admits it or not, he’s got scars just like the rest of us…but more importantly to you, he can help us take down Vought once and for all.” 

Grace considered you with a shifting light. “I didn’t think that mattered to you.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you retorted. “But make no mistake. You will pay me what you owe me for this mission. If you think you’re going to welch on your end of the deal, then I’m about to be your long-term problem.” 

Grace huffed in wry amusement. 

“I have a feeling you will be, regardless,” she said. 

“And to that end, I will be checking in on Ben,” you replied. “He’s a person, not a weapon or a lab rat.” 

“Mind yourself, young lady,” Grace snapped, her eyes narrowing. “I admire your sense of loyalty, but in this case, it’s misplaced. That man is a bastard and a murderer, with a devastating power he can’t hope to control. And you, frankly, don’t have any standing to make demands.” 

“And what’s your body count, agent?” you challenged. “Have they all been sanctioned kills?”

When she didn’t answer, merely staring back at you, you stood up.

“You’re right, he can’t control it. Yet. Maybe that’s something productive you can get your damn scientists on,” you said. 

And before you left, you added one more thing. 

“I may not have your security clearance, your power, or your money,” you said. “But I’ve got a big fucking mouth. So unless you want me to use it, my clearance now includes seeing Ben.” 

Grace stared back at you for a moment. 

Her nails tapped on her desk as she assessed you. 

Releasing a long sigh through her nose, she relented. A little. 

“Fine,” she said. “If you can convince him to ally with us on the Vought issue, I’ll allow you to see him.” 

You nodded. For all that Grace hated Soldier Boy, she was a practical woman. She saw the same opportunity you did, and was willing to take advantage of it…even if you both knew that convincing Ben to play ball would be damn near impossible. 

In fact, this would probably be your biggest challenge yet. But this, you were willing to fight for. 

“I can start tomorrow,” you said.  

It seemed that Vought and the CIA had been thinking similarly on how to confine Soldier Boy. 

You spent one strange night back in your musty apartment before you returned to the S.A., bright and early, so that Grace could lead you to a lab below the main building. It was dark and made of pure concrete, encased in titanium. 

In it was a state-of-the-art cell with three metal walls that had to disengage before you could reach the inner room. Inside those four corners of fortified, bullet-proof glass were scarce furnishings. Ben himself was strapped to a bed, with a mask held over his face. 

At least he was out of the coffin, but it was difficult for you to watch, even as the scientists and guards unstrapped him and left the cell. The mask disengaged from his face, allowing him to breathe real air as he started to wake. But gas flooded into the compartment, not unlike Vought’s setup. 

You and Grace stood outside the glass. She glanced at you with sharp nod. Then she left you alone. 

Well, relatively speaking. There were guards posted at the entrance of the three walls behind you, controlling who got in and out of the cell area. 

Once all the walls were back in place after Grace’s departure, you let out a shaky breath and stepped forward with the plate of food you brought, along with a few bottles of water.

Ben was moving off the bed, trying and failing to clear his head as he took in his surroundings with a furious glare. It only dimmed slightly when he realized you were there. 

He made his way toward you, and you pressed a button that would allow you to safely pass his meal to him without letting any nerve gas escape the inner cell. Ben removed the lid from the plate, inspected the chicken and vegetables with an unreadable expression.

Then, with a burst of force, he took the plate and tossed it as hard as he could into one of the glass walls. 

You flinched. But by the time he looked back at you, you’d schooled your expression, merely raising a brow. 

“That was real fucking mature.” 

“Suck on my balls, sweetheart,” he retorted. He cocked his head to the side.  “Oh wait, you did. Last Tuesday.” 

You glared at him with a hot blush spreading across your face. That was not, in fact, last Tuesday. But you didn’t rise to his bait.

“Are you really willing to partner with the S.A. to take down Vought? Or was that just you bluffing?” you asked. 

Ben started to pace in irritation. You knew he was upset, and itching for revenge on anyone that would dare confine him again. You could guess what being in a cell was already doing to his mental state. 

Which was why you were here, desperately trying to help him.

“Really, would you rather be hunted all your life, or would you rather just play ball here?” you tried to reason. “Become a real ally with the S.A. Show Mallory that you can operate within the law.”

Ben looked up from his pacing just to glare at you.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to with all these demands, huh?” 

“You, Ben. I’m talking to you!” 

He ignored you, resuming his pacing. “I’m a solo act for a damn reason.”

Oh really? you wanted to say. That’s why he needed your help to try and get to Stan.

“That got you here, now didn’t it?” you asked. 

He didn’t answer. It made you think you weren’t going to get anywhere with him today. Maybe he needed some time to cool off.

You sighed and turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“You’re just going to leave me in here?” he asked in disbelief. And you thought you could read a throughline of hurt behind his eyes. “I saved you…shit, I’ve lost count how many times now. And still, you fucking betrayed me.”

“Don’t you do that,” you warned. Though you felt a prickle of guilt run down your spine. “You know very well what got you here. I tried to stop it. And I’m the only one who’s on your side right now.”

“Doesn’t fucking look like it from where I’m standing.”  

You sighed in frustration. “I’ll tell you the truth, I don’t want to leave you in here. But if I can’t trust you, they never will.” 

“I don’t know what delusions you have about me,” he said, coming closer. 

“But when I get out of here, I’m slaughtering anyone who gets in my way!” he shouted savagely. 

He banged his fists into the glass so hard that it trembled, making you flinch with a gasp. A more concentrated fog smoked up the cell. Ben coughed and cursed as he stumbled back, and eventually, he fell unconscious right there on the floor. 

You watched in dismay. Despite his rage, it still hurt you to see him like this. Like a caged animal. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you forced yourself to leave the cell before the cameras caught them. You knew Grace would be monitoring this exchange later. 

She would probably feel vindicated at what she saw. 

The thought disgusted you as the outer walls parted, allowing you to leave. M.M. was waiting for you at the exit. He’d seen the entire thing through a monitor at the control desk, where two guards sat eating their lunch. 

“You want to protect that piece of shit?” M.M. said, jerking a thumb towards the cell. “That’s what he really is. And he clearly don’t give a fuck about you.” 

Your jaw tightened. 

“I’m not going to justify my actions to you, M.M. I know what he’s done, especially to you," you said. "But he didn’t just let me live. He protected me, saved me, more than once. From his own men even. And…he was kind to me, in his own way. I have to think that counts for something.” 

M.M. shook his head at you in disbelief.

“Maybe he went soft for a pretty girl, but that doesn’t mean he ain’t a monster,” he said. 

“That’s not all there is to him,” you said. “You didn’t see it, M.M.”

The other man watched you for a moment, before he let out a deep sigh. 

“You actually think he can be saved,” he said. 

“Maybe,” you said. “We’ll see.” 

He crossed his arms. You understood how he felt, but you couldn’t deny what your instincts told you about Ben…and your heart as well. 

“He’s right about one thing,” M.M. said. “You are delusional.”

A few days went by as the team went back to work at the S.A. as usual. But your days during your first week home became marked by your strenuous visits to Ben.

Once again, he’d rather pace than look at you. You had a feeling it helped him stay awake.

“I fought for my country,” he groused. “I don’t fucking deserve this.”

“Oh, would you stop lying?” you said in annoyance. “You’ve only ever fought for yourself. You didn’t even fight in World War II! You’ve never been a soldier. And unless you get a fucking clue, you’re going to continue being the massive man-child your father saw in you.”

Maybe it wasn’t kind, but you were fed up with his stubbornness. You turned to leave. 

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me!” Ben shouted. 

You raised a brow, and you turned on your heel. The man was livid, standing in the center of his cell.

“Or what?” you challenged. 

But you soon relented at the way he withdrew–into himself. 

You had checked the monitors before you came in; he was trying not to sleep, wasn’t letting his body rest. This place was like an open wound: complete wall-to-wall glass, no privacy, nowhere to go, and nothing to do. He couldn’t distract himself with drugs, or TV, or good food, or even good sex and conversation. 

This was terrible for him, and you knew it. 

“Ben, I want to help you,” you said, letting out a shaky breath. You laid a hand on the glass. “Let me help you.”

His gaze was angry and unyielding. 

“There’s only one way you can help me,” he said. “But you won’t fucking do it.”

The team was giving you a wide berth. Even Annie greeted you in the office with more politeness than warmth. 

Above all else, you remained professional, but it was a simple fact that your team was no longer your team. They didn’t trust you, or your judgment. And you refused to show how deeply that hurt you. 

However, until you all got a breakthrough on taking down Vought and Noir, there was still work to be done. So you fell into step back in with the Surveillance team.

That meant taking your place as second-in-command to your manager, as well as returning to your cubicle next to your coworker Jess. She hugged you when she saw you, even shed tears. 

You’d hugged her a bit awkwardly, but you were touched. You hadn’t thought she cared about you that much. 

She told you that the entire Surveillance department had been worried about you. That they’d missed you, especially your calm, supportive leadership. (Apparently your manager had been stressed handling the entire department without you.)

That at least buoyed you throughout the rest of the week. 

When you returned home on Thursday, however, you received an unexpected call. But when you saw the caller ID, you inwardly kicked yourself before you answered. 

“Louisa?”

“What the hell is wrong with you!” came your sister’s sharp voice. 

So many things, you thought with a weary sigh. You held your phone to your ear while you tried to find something to cook for dinner in your pantry. All you found was a box of spaghetti…which dragged up bittersweet memories you’d rather not think about. 

“I meant to call you as soon as I got back,” you tried to explain. “But I’ve been in full debrief mode. It’s been a circus since I got back, Lou.”

You slammed the pantry shut and went for the frozen dinner in the freezer.

“I don’t care. I didn’t hear from you for almost two straight months…” 

You knew the S.A. hadn’t told her anything about your kidnapping, but you knew she had to have been worrying when you didn’t check in at all after that first time in Medellin. The sound of her emotion-choked voice made your own eyes sting. 

“I’m sorry, Lou. I’ll come visit you this weekend, okay? I’m still taking care of some things at work.” Namely a grumpy supe on lockdown. “How’s school?”

“School is fine!” she snapped. You heard her take a breath, presumably to calm herself. She had a bit of a temper, just like you, but your sister managed herself much better than you. You supposed being more well-adjusted had its perks.

“Mom was worried too, but I kept her calm. Focused on work,” she said. 

“I appreciate that. Thanks,” you replied. You knew you had to call your mom soon as well. Maybe you’d stop in on her after your sister. 

“I better see you this weekend,” she grumbled. You smiled. 

“Love you too,” you said.

“Love you…okay, I’ll let you go for now. But don’t forget!”

Once you said goodbye and hung up, you held the phone to your chest and heaved another sigh. You were exhausted, really. Sleep hadn’t been coming easy to you ever since you got back. But you knew it was nothing compared to what Ben was going through.

Which was why you visited him every day.

The next morning, you made your pitstop to the “cellar,” as you’d been calling it in your mind.

You’d brought whatever Grace allowed you to give him, like books and magazines, and an old iPod to listen to music on, but he mostly ignored you.

This time, however, he seemed in a different mood as you sat in a plastic fold out chair and ate your breakfast with him, on your side of the cell of course. You took another bite of your blueberry muffin while he pushed aside his bland-looking eggs. 

“So, how much did you get paid?” he asked. His tone was nonchalant, but his gaze was accusing. You let out a breath and looked up at him. 

“Enough to put my sister through college and pay off my mom’s debts,” you told him. “I took this job for my family, Ben.”

His finger tapped on his arm, but he didn’t relent. “Selling out is selling out.”

Wow. He really had the nerve to compare you to the way his team sold him out.

You’d tried to be nice. You really did. But he could be such a massive pain in the ass.

“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you said. 

Ben mustered up some strength and got up from his cot. He drew near to you, crossing his arms.

“If this is your idea of doing me a fucking favor, then I don’t need it,” he said angrily. “I don’t need a naive little girl like you to help me do jack shit.”

You set down your muffin and stood to your feet, matching his glare. 

“Like you didn’t need my help to get into Vought Tower?” you pointed out, satisfied by the way he piped down. Silently simmering. 

“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even be awake right now,” you added. “You’d be back in an ice coffin.”

And that could still happen if you couldn’t convince him to cooperate with Supe Affairs.

“Fuck off,” he snapped. “And fuck you.”

Oh really? You frowned. At this point, you wanted to slap him. It seemed to be his sheer stubbornness and ego that was keeping him from his own freedom, and that, you just couldn't tolerate.

“You know what?” you said, grabbing your muffin and your fold-up chair. “Suck my dick, Ben. When you’re ready to talk to me like a human being, tap on the glass.”

You left him behind to do your real job, and this time, you didn’t let him halt your steps.

You’d scarcely entered your apartment that evening, when a shadow on the living room sofa gave you a small heart attack. 

You flipped on the lights and found your younger sister, arms crossed with a raised brow. On the coffee table in front of her was a glass of soda. It looked like she’d made herself comfortable while waiting for you.  

“Louisa! What are you doing here?” you exclaimed, with a hand on your chest. “Why the hell are you sitting in the dark?”

“I heard you coming up those rickety stairs and thought I’d pay you back for disappearing in South America,” she said. 

But soon enough, wide grins took over both of your faces. 

You pulled her into a big, warm hug. Tears burned in your eyes, and one or two slid down your cheeks as you tried to get ahold of yourself. 

“I missed you so much,” you confessed. You were just slightly taller than her, able to comfortably pet her hair and press a kiss to her cheek. Louisa was just as emotional, her pretty eyes filled with happy tears. 

She was about to speak when the glass on the coffee table suddenly shattered. 

You both flinched, and your sister gasped. You held onto her shoulders tighter, more protective as you assessed the room. You listened closely. 

A shot rang out, but it hit the wall beside your head. You moved at the last moment and narrowly avoided the third shot that would’ve struck you between the eyes. 

“Get down!” you yelled, forcing your sister to crouch along with you and move across the living room. 

Bullets tore with a vengeance through the windows, crashing into vases, picture frames, shattering the surface glass of the wooden coffee table, and ripping into the sofa until its internal fluff rose into the air like cotton confetti.

You protected Louisa’s head as you both took shelter behind the sofa. 

“What’s happening?” she shouted over the cacophony, but you didn’t have an answer for her yet. 

Your front door burst open and shattered the lock. You tensed, looking for where you stashed the spare gun you kept at home. The S.A. hadn’t gotten around to issuing you a new glock yet.

Heavy boots came through your apartment. You grabbed a piece of broken glass and told Louisa to stay down.

But when you stood and met your attacker, he was nearly three times your size. He grabbed your wrist in a firm, but not painful hold. He pulled his black ski mask down with a hand and revealed a familiar face. 

Your eyes widened, your mouth gaping in shock. 

“Frank?”

AN: 😏 Did I get'cha? Did I? Let me know in the comments. 😂

Next Time:

“Wait, wait. You’re not getting out of this.” Louisa leaned over and grabbed your hand. “What’s the deal with you and Soldier Boy? I thought the whole point of your mission was to capture him.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. 

“I was on the job, things went sideways, I got captured, and things got…complicated.” 

Frank huffed. “I think the kids are calling it Frenemies with Benefits.” 

Keep Reading: PART 13

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[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary: You’re getting over your illness, but, then, there’s still Andy.

Word Count: 2,034

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: Dark, Dub Con (Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex), Manhandling, Slapping, Biting, Scratching, mild Blood, implied Kidnapping, Basement Wife Trope, Possessiveness, Illness (recovery), Swearing/Cursing, Pet Names (honey, sweetheart, etc.). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts for far too long. Hope ya’ll enjoy!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

This is unBeta’d, so all mistakes are my own.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

“Your lymph nodes certainly seem to be doing better,” the doctor says, fingers gently prodding the sides of your neck. They retreat and he grabs a pen light from his pocket. “Let me see that throat, open wide, tongue out.”

You comply with the directions, letting him examine you. Rage filling your head as your eye catches the man standing in the corner with his arms crossed, keenly observant. 

“Your fever’s gone down, too?” 

“Yes,” you reply, “I’ve been a lot better the last few days.” 

The doctor smiles and presses the back of his hand to your forehead. “That’s good, very good.” After tucking away his light, he leans back in his chair to take a long look at the rest of you. “When’s the last time you had a pelvic exam?” 

“Oh.” Mildly stunned by the question, you can’t remember. Thinking hard, you begin to count back the weeks as best you can—captivity not entirely conducive with nailing down timelines. 

“Don’t even think about it, Rogers.” 

Andy steps out of the corner and puffs himself up in a challenge. Your eyes roll. Dr. Rogers stands, though, with his hands held up in surrender. 

“I’m just concerned about your wife’s health.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Andy bites back. 

The doctor packs his few things back into his bag and stands. “Whatever you say, Barber.” A smirk plucks at his lips. “But she will need to be checked eventually.”

Andy gestures toward the door, following the doctor out. You sneak toward the door, waiting until it closes to press your cheek against it. Beep, click, click, click. Just like all the other times. 

You roll your neck back and wander around your room until you find your couch once again. Flopping back, you stare at the ceiling, raising your hand to look at the diamond ring sparkling on your finger. 3 carats, and brilliant. 

The door opens and closes once again, signaling Andy’s return to the room. You don’t acknowledge him. Consumed by thoughts as your ring glints down at you. 

His footsteps approach and his hand weaves with yours. You snarl. 

“Dr. Rogers said he’s pleased with your improvement,” he says while placing a kiss to the back of your hand. You hum. Fingers bend and flex, trying to wriggle away from his grip. “He’ll keep asking about the pelvic exam, though.”

“It’s important,” you reply. 

“That’s true.” Andy releases your hand only to cup your cheeks. “But Dr. Rogers has some particular tastes when it comes to his patients.” He smiles down at you. Your eye catches the silver of the ring on his left hand. “I’m glad I could spare you from that.” 

With little thought, you snap at the hand cradling your face. He doesn’t flinch. Letting your teeth sink into the meat of his thumb. 

He hisses and drops to his knees. Breathing heavy and watching you. Your nostrils flare with renewed rage—his delusions curtailing your petty acts of vengeance. It grits against your gnarled insides. Needing to cause pain, to punish him. 

Your teeth release his flesh, indented marks throbbing red on his skin. Not enough pressure to break it—this time. 

“God, honey,” Andy sighs. “You’re so strong.” From his position on his knees, he lifts so he might level your gazes and slant his lips to yours. 

His greedy kiss consumes you. You both fight. His bid for dominance easily bowing to your fury despite his urgent hunger. You nip at his lip until you taste blood and raise your hand to collar his throat. You shove him away with both your hand and your knee, placed against his chest to keep him at bay. 

He retreats but keeps his eyes on you. You stare back, wondering how you’ve got to this point. When before he seemed so eager to control you. To sit before you, now, more eager for your disdain, simply because a ring sits on your finger. 

Your hand darts out to grasp at his fluffy hair, tilting his head to the side at an uncomfortable angle. 

“You’re only like this now because I’m your wife, aren’t you?” 

He shudders at the question. Two words in particular. His eyes shine up at you, enamored. 

“And all before you were ready to push me around, treat me like I was scum beneath your foot.” You click your teeth and toss him away from you. 

He rocks back on his legs but doesn’t fall. “You wouldn’t have me before.” His eyes stay dropped to the floor. “I had to make you see that it would be better to marry me.” 

“By taking advantage of my weakened state and your strength, by threatening me,” you spit. 

“I’ve been better now,” he counters, “since you signed our marriage certificate and it’s been made official. I’ve been better, haven’t I?”

His chest heaves with deep breaths. The glint of desire in his eye still shines bright. He restrains himself as you think. The first few buttons of his shirt hang undone, showing a peek of his white undershirt. 

“But you still won’t let me out of here,” you accuse. 

“No.” 

Watching him watch you, wait for you, you think it might not be so bad. To have the plentiful opportunities to grind him down. Until he’s just like the husk you became down in that basement. Until he begs for your mercy. You sneer and cross your legs. 

“Fuck you,” you bite. “You stole me from my life on a whim.” You scoff and roll your eyes. “You don’t even care about me, just the idea you have of your perfect wife.” 

“You’re my perfect wife.” 

The slap rings loud in the quiet room. Both of you shocked by the impact of your hand against his cheek. 

Andy blinks, eyes blowing out with lust. You swallow down trepidation but keep the steely look of contempt on your face. You stand, towering over him. 

“You’re pathetic,” you say, every ounce of disdain and disgust lacing the words. 

A dark look, born of frustration rather than lust, washes over his features. He meets your eye with a scowl. 

“No, I’m not.” 

You scoff and turn away from him. Walking toward your bathroom, just to put a door between you and the electric current of hatred that tickles at your core. You’ve had enough. 

Your hand falls to the doorknob, turning it to unlatch the bathroom door, but hands land on you first. Spinning you and pinning your body to the wood. 

“Don’t walk away from me,” he demands, but through his bark, you see his desperation. Your eyes cleared from their fear to see the pitiful man to whom you’re legally bound. The challenge he sets stirring something more than hatred in you. 

“Fuck yo—”

He cuts you off with a kiss, hands grasping at the side of your head to keep you in place. You grab at the front of his shirt, clawing across his chest. Buttons pop open. More of his undershirt revealed. Your fingers bunch and tear at the fabric. A fight between you two. You grunt against his mouth, your kiss all teeth and tongue. Sloppy and frantic and combative. 

He trails his lips down your neck, lowering to his knees. Your hands sink into his hair, hoping to keep him from his goal. But once set on it, he won’t be deterred. He lunges for your thighs, slotting his shoulders between them and forcing you into a lean. 

He rips at your clothes, not in anger but passion. One moment too long to keep him from you. 

Standing bare from the waist down, you continue to push him away. Lifting your knee to knock him aside, but he simply clings to it. Under his strength, you’re pinned to the door and open before him to sup. 

“Andy,” you protest, hands pushing at his forehead, “jeez, just stop it.”

His tongue swipes through your folds. Your breath hitches and he hears it, the vibrations of his chuckle rolling against you. He peeks up from between your thighs. 

“I’m sorry, honey,” he says, not sorry at all, “I can’t help it.” Another swipe and flick to your clit. His fingers pet your folds, parting them for easier access to the most sensitive parts of you. “Let me make you feel good.” 

You can’t surrender now, not when he wants it. Even when he does that thing with his tongue that makes your toes curl and his beard scratches just right on your upper thighs. You grit your teeth. No, no way can you let him know how he affects you. His fingers and tongue work in tandem to bring you over the edge, your legs trembling under your weight and threatening to collapse. Your nails bite into his scalp. He flinches with the pain, but continues his pursuit again and again. 

His body and the door are all that keep you standing. Your legs jelly from the endorphin rush of multiple orgasms, flesh tender and overstimulated. Though, that does not mean your so-called husband is done with you. 

He tugs and pushes you to your bed, messing your sheets with the flop of your body. Rushing with the aftershocks of your high and boneless upon the sheets. 

While you languish in your sweat and the stickiness between your thighs, he strips. His button down and undershirt revealing the sculpted planes of his flesh. Kept up by a daily routine at the pool, his skin always smelling faintly of chlorine when he sees you in the evenings. Then his trousers. Pushed from his legs with his boxers to let his cock bob hard and leaking in the open air. 

Your lungs fill with air. Casting your gaze aside, refusing to give his delectable body one more moment of admiration. He knows how good he looks. You won’t pay him the compliment. 

“Come here, sweetheart,” he says, gathering you in his arms and positioning himself over you. Face to face. 

You huff a frustrated breath, but can’t find the strength to fight back. Not when you know how well his cock stretches you and makes you cum. It’s a perk you’ll be sore to miss once you get away from him. 

His cock slides in, too easily if anyone asked you. Then again, he made it his mission to have you cum on his tongue until you were dripping. You can’t entirely be blamed. 

The thrust of his hips fills you, a steady pace not too frantic or lazy. Just right to drag you to the edge of another climax. He moans in your ear, fingers digging into your hip and the bed’s duvet. 

Your muscles tense, waiting for that moment of release. Building and building inside you. Your nails sink into the skin of his back, scratching down. His hips jerk out of rhythm and he pants, stalling for a moment. 

“You can’t just do that to me, honey.” His eyes catch yours, adoration shining at you. “You gotta warn me if you wanna leave your mark. You know how much I love it.” 

You growl and glare, but he remains unfazed by it. He leans in to kiss you, a sweet peck accompanied by a dirty grind of his hips. You bite in response. Tasting blood on your tongue. His lip split beneath your teeth. 

He moans and bucks against you. Thrusting with need. You bite your own lip to stifle the moans of pleasure clawing up your throat. You break, shatter, keening a cry ripped from your chest. He cums a moment later with a shout and pulls out, splattering the folds of your sex with his spend. 

Your chests heave with your deep breaths, lungs expanding. Andy falls away from you and onto his back. Hand reaching up to comb through his hair. He licks his lip with a smirk. 

“You like marking me up, don’t you?” You don’t reply. Feigning the inability to form words. But, really, unsure whether the pleasure of punishing him mutates in the brief moments of bliss into something primal, claiming. It’s in these quiet moments of terror and receding pleasure where you wonder and dread.

[kasagia]

I just read 'the grudge' and OH MY GOD! I am impressed really. You did such a great job writing it. And the end? It was perfect.

I have a request with a similar dynamic like they were lovers and he cheated and she knows about it (i live for the angst really) then she confronts him and breaks up with him. He isn't very happy about it and wants her back he tries everything but she still refuses to give in to him. So he goes all dark! Coriolanus on her and threatens her with something (her family maybe) and she gives in to him (smutty scene maybe👀). I feel like i talked too much and i am sorry for that. I just want her to be with him against her will ( in public they are the perfect couple and when no one is looking she is miserable and gives him the cold shoulder)

Don't feel obligated to write it if you don't want to. And thank you for feeding us such a great Coriolanus content❤️

Thank you very much! I'm so glad you liked it! 😊🩵🖤🖤🩵 So, tomorrow I'm publishing an oneshot inspired by this request...

And this will be my first time ever writing a true, full-fledged smut scene. 🙈🙈🙈

You will either love it or hate it. 🫣😅 But since tomorrow marks a year since I started writing on Tumblr, I thought why not? There has to be a first time for everything.

BUT... I have an orienting question...

Thank you! 🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵🖤🩵

A fragment from "A powerful man" - which is comming tomorrow..

"If you want her to truly obey you, she must come to you herself. Like a pet. Like a snake. If she sees that your relationship will bring her further benefits, she will come back to you. She's not stupid enough to waste such an opportunity. At least I hope so. You should focus on your campaign."

"I'd like that too. But currently… something else is on my mind." He says, walking over to the tinted window that overlooks the lab. He puts his hands in his pockets and watches you carefully as you work.

"You're wasting your potential. Maybe your children will be wise enough to follow in my footsteps more. One is running for president, and the other is a military chemist. Such a waste."

"Don't worry. One of our children will definitely continue your legacy, you have my word." He assures her, while observing you.

You lean over the table, strands of your hair falling into your eyes behind your safety glasses, as you test another biological weapon on rats. You look hot in that scientist outfit. He grunts, feeling his pants getting a little too tight. He regrets that he never took the opportunity to visit you here...

"It better be that way. And for God's sake, don't stare at her like a love-struck puppy like you did with your tribute from 12. Patience. Or you will have to train her to make her obedient."

"You know I like a challenge, Dr. Gaul." He replies with a sly, cocky smirk and turns his head towards Doctor Gaul once he has calmed down a bit and composed himself.

"Go away now. Your last Hunger Games must be amazing and unforgettable, or I'll tell her what you have planned for her." He laughs at this, shaking his head.

"I appreciate your attempts to intimidate me, but you know I'll be happy with any outcome. Whether it's keeping her on a leash or reshaping her to meet my needs as my future First Lady."

"But we both know which one you would prefer more." They share a sinister smirk. Coriolanus owed her a lot. He's learned many things under her tutelage... things that he uses to make sure you know that your place is always with him.

"As I said, I love a challenge. I will be expecting you as an honoured guest at this year's Hunger Games and my wedding. Of course, right next to my fiancée."

"Don't scare her away, Mr. Snow." She reminds him when he receives a package from her with the latest biological weapon. He will test it at this year's tributes. He smiles, thinking that it must have come from your talented fingers.

"Snow lands on top, Dr. Gaul." He assures her and says goodbye, leaving through a secret passage.

He still had a lot of things to do.

[thedepthsoffandomminds]

Episode six - Bully in the Alley

Masterlist

Jack Dawkins x fem reader

This is a long one

"Do you think he'll like it? I should have packed more macaroons. Rainsford loves macaroons." Fanny chatted away as the three of you walked towards the stairs. You stop when you see the head nurse.

" Nurse Baggett, is Dr. Dawkins here?" You ask.

" On a Friday night? He's paying a house call on the Cat and Bagpipes." She laughs. Disappointed you turn back to your sisters who were already making their way up the stairs.

"Should I give Sneed a peek? What would you say to that?" Fanny said.

"Nothing really. Sneed isn't suited for you. His interest in us is purely political. He just wants to marry a governor's daughter and secure Head Surgeon. And he's already proposed to me." Belle rambled.

"Oh." Fanny stops walking.

"Fanny, he would've married any member of the family, including Father or the dog." Belle says.

"Belle, there is no need to be turt. Fanny, Sneed is not for you. He would not be attentive enough for you." You try to comfort her.

" So, when is your happy day?" She spits her words at Belle.

"The happy day was when I declined him." She replied.

"I should just fill my pocket with stones and walk into the sea." Fanny said.

"Sea's that way." Belle pointed.

"Belle, will you both stop this, now." You demand.

"So, just to clarify. Sneed's still available, then?" Fanny asks finally.

"For now." Belle agrees. The three of you walk into his private room. Fanny quickly delves into unpacking her basket of goodies.

"We've also got coconut macaroons, fruitcake, jam drops. Ooh, and this is pepper jelly. I made it myself to help with your recovery."

"How lovely. Lady Belle, are you well?" Sneed asks her, attempting to ignore Fanny.

"But it's quite peppery." Fanny continues.

"Better than someone who fought a pointless duel." They continued the back and fourth between the three of them. Your attention was held by the window you could hardly see through.

"Quickly. This way. Come on, quickly." You hear Hetty shouting. A Bell rings below. Running out of the room you see people clamouring all around.

"Cold compress on her. Splint that. Some doctors would be nice!" You see Hetty shouting. Jack stumbles in with a man's arm around his shoulders.

" Dr. Dawkins." You rush up to him.

" Lady y/n. Can you take him to the ward?" He hands the man over to you draping his arm over your shoulder.

"Are you even sober?" You ask.

"Three sheets to the wind. One sheet better than Prof usually is." He waves his arms. "Get your sister. I need her in the ward. Aputi, bring him in here." Jack walks away from you.

In the swirl of the chaos you do your best to help the nurses with bandaging and comforting the wounded people of Port Victory. Morning rose up without anyone really noticing. Seeing Jack standing beside the bed of one man you walked up to him.

"There's nothing more we could have done. Not with bleeding like that." He lets out a shaky breath, "Hetty, have you eaten anything at all?" He asks the nurse that looks set to fall down.

" No time." She replies.

Heavy footsteps stomp through the halls and you see your sister rushing up to Gaines.

" Captain Gaines, I will be speaking to my father!" She growls.

" Have you come to finish them off? Blinded in one eye, a fractured skull, and a ruptured femoral artery!" Jack's grits his teeth.

"All the results of resisting lawful execution of a warrant. And that's young Alfie Wilderkins if I'm not mistaken. This is a very good day indeed." Gaines grins and it churns your stomach.

" I want the men responsible court-martialled." You say.

"Well, that would be me. You'll need to tell the Governor his right hand is a criminal."

"Yes. That is a very good idea." You narrow your eyes at him.

" Arrest them. They're accomplices. All right. You, come with me." Gaines shouts and grabs one of the patients.

"They need medical care. I can't let you take these patients." You say putting your hands up across the ward door.

" They were never patients, Lady y/n. They're my prisoners. Stand aside." He moves close enough to you that you can smell the stink of his aftershave, "Your father indulges you. If you were my daughter..."

"I'd run away. Like your wife." You sneer at him. Gaines steps forward raising his hand ready to slap you but Jack catches him, wrenching him backward.

" Oi! Doc, you're needed over here." Fagin calls from the other side of the room. He drops Gaines' hand.

" Pity you didn't strike me, Dawkins." He growls at Jack before marching away.

"father can stop this!" You call to Belle.

"Where do you think I'm going?" She shouts back almost running from the hospital. You turn back to Jack.

"Are you alright?" He asks, you nod your head allowing him to take your hand.

"What do we do?" You ask.

"you've been here all night, go home and get some rest. Hetty you too. Neither of you are any good if you get sick as well." Hetty tries to protest but he shakes his head to her, "Go on, we'll be okay, come back later."

*_*_*_*

"Hold fire!" The Governor shouts as Belle wakes him by dropping. Heavy book onto the desk.

"Gaines has gone mad. People have lost their lives." Your sister tells him.

" No, surely not. I counselled moderation." He rebutes.

"Have you seen what's going on out there?" She asks.

"No, but... Oh, my word, that's lovely." He says taking a sip of congac.

" The hospital is overrun. Beaten by Gaines' men." She interrupts him.

"And I'm sorry you had to see that. The hospital really is no place for a lady. But I bear good news, Excellency." Gaines brushes past Belle. "Your operation has flushed out the notorious Kit Wilderkins."

" Oh, Gaines, that is wonderful news."your father chuckles.

" You ordered this, Father?" You ask storming into the room"

"Gaines is firm, darling, but there's a reason he kept our men alive in Africa."

"No, but he's maiming people. He's killing them." You protest.

" All regrettable incidents. Some were resisting arrest and attacking your men, Governor. I shall pray for their souls. Tell me, does your friend, Dr. Dawkins, ever cause a patient pain?" Gaines turns to you.

" Of course, in trying to help to... " You reply.

"Cure. Yes. And does Dr. Dawkins ever accidentally kill any of these patients?"

" Rarely." Belle interjects.

"And I'm sure he mourns it, as I do. You see, a colony is very much like a body..."

" Yes, I've read Hobbes." You cut him off.

"Then you will know that sometimes we must hurt in order to heal."

"A young man bled to death in the hospital overnight. What of his family?" You say.

"Ah, yes. Very sad. Alfie Wilderkins, only eighteen. Kit Wilderkins was his father. Together they held up the Murchings Bank stage coach last month, and killed three people. Corporal Hartmouth was begging for mercy when they shot him. Hartmouth had two dear little children, Rosie and William." Gaines pretended to feel remorse as he sat in a chair.

"Yes. Look, it's one thing to lose a man in battle, but to crime? It's hard to explain to the widow." The governor says.

"You see, my ladies, sometimes we need to cut a rotten part of the body politic in order to cure the whole." He speaks to you both.

"I know what part of the body politic I'd be removing." Belle bites back.

" Okay, thank you, Captain Gaines." The Governor dismisses his Captain before taking your and Belle's hands in his.

"Darlings... Darlings, I know you disapprove of Gaines and his methods. But I've been asked to turn a penal colony into a society. And I need men like him to make a prison into something better. Now, I'm not asking you to accept everything I do, but I am asking you both to support me and this family." He says.

"we will go back to the hospital and help." Belle says.

"No, we need to rest. Father, you should, perhaps put down your congac and take a good she's look at the people you surround yourself with. Come sister." You take her hand and lead her to the stairs.

"You're giving up?" She asks.

"No, Belle, Jack said we needed to sleep to rest, he sent Hetty away as well. He wants us at our best to help." You explain.

"And what will you do? Hold a few hands and get in the way?" She spat out the words.

You hold onto the emotions that threaten to spill out of your eyes.

*_*_*_*

"Belle, I may not be as smart as you are when it comes to medicine, but I am doing my best."

"You could be doing so much more, instead of wasting all your energy on a boy."

You push past her and storm up to your bedroom.

Three hours later you found yourself unable to sleep so you redressed in a simple cotton outfit, forgoing the hooped crinoline and opting for a smaller petticoat. You sneak back down stairs to the carriage that waited for you at the back of the house. Belle was already sat inside.

"took your time." She smiled. You say nothing, knocking on the carriage to signal the driver. Much to Belle's dismay you give her the cold shoulder all the way to the hospital. Choosing to keep your eyes on the trees going past.

She chased after you into the building when you arrived at the hospital.

"y/n please, I'm sorry." She calls after you. You ignore her finding Jack.

"What'd your father say? When's he going to stop this?" He asks you.

" Yes, I have spoken to my father. There are two sides to this. It's not as clear as..." you say walking through the corridors.

"He's dead. How much clearer could it be?" He almost shouts at you.

You stop and look at him for a moment, "Right, if you're to be like that, Jack..."

"I cannot believe you would give that man's story credence." He said. You turned once more marching god knows where as you spoke.

"I don't give a fig about Gaines, but I do trust my father's word on this."

"You can't agree with their methods?" He asked.

"Obviously not." You answered

" That boy bled to death in front of us."

"I know but, he was a bushranger, who killed one of Father's men."

"So they say."

" He's my father. He's many things, but he's not a liar. He's trying to bring peace to a colony you have to admit is out of control." You stomped through a closed door.

"Did you mean to walk into a cupboard?" Jack almost laughs.

" Obviously not!" You bit your lower lip to keep your emotions from bubbling over. "Gosh. You are incredibly irritating."

"So are you."

"'Cause you won't listen to anyone else's point of view. All I'm saying is it is not clear-cut."

"Look, you either want to be a help here, someone who cares for everybody, no matter how spotty their soul may be, or you are "milady," who gives six of the best to the peasants when we get uppity." He jibs you.

" Uppity? I know you had your past indiscretions, but these were bushrangers who killed three men, one a father." You reply.

" Some people need to thieve in order to eat." Jack sighs.

"And that can lead to death, too." It was getting harder to hold back your tears.

"Have you ever seen anybody dead on the streets from hunger?"

"No!" You agree.

"Have you ever paid for anything you've eaten? Or worn, or lived in?"

"That's a false syllogism." You say turning back toward the cupboard door. Jack runs up behind you.

"Whatever that is, it is not. If you can't see what is happening here, y/n, then you and I have big problems. This puts a wall between us." His arm is across You holding the door shut.

" You climbed it fine when you kissed me in the surgery." You say, a tear escaping down your face. Jack sighs, he knows he has pushed you too far. His tongue darts out to wet his lips.

"let me go, I should, I wish to leave." You whisper.

"Y/n-"

"I wish to leave."

You do not let any tears fall from your eyes until you reached your bedroom. Where you fling yourself upon your bed and cry until exhausted you fall asleep

*_*_*_*

The sound of Fagin's voice wakes you some time later and you tiptoe along behind him. With your arms crossed you wait at the door as he comes shuffling out of your father's office with a large Hessian bag.

"Stealing like a common thief again?" You say when he spots you.

"Yes, well only what was stolen from us in the first place." He raises his hands towards you in submission.

"Fine, take the lot. I no longer care."

"actually we could do with your help you know. Doc is getting your sister for an operation but you, you might be exactly what we need." His smile unnerved and intrigued you.

"Okay, take me there." You agree.

Belle and Dawkins come down the stairs discussing the procedure they are about to do. You pay them no mind as you step into the carriage.

"you're coming?" Jack asks hopeful.

"To help the people, not you." You say turning yourself away from them.

"Sorry about the pissing, Fagin, I just couldn't... Whoa! Hello, Your Majesty." Flashbang spoke when he saw you and Belle.

"Hello." You reply.

"Is this a criminal conspiracy?" Belle asks

"In a manner of speakin', yes."

"If you're going to the hospital, Belle, I'm coming to see Sneedy." Fanny pushes past Flashbang to get in beside Belle, forcing Jack to sit beside you. Fagin plonks himself on the luggage tray at the back and Flashbang hangs onto the side.

Jack glances at you occasionally, you are sure he wants to talk to you but you keep your eyes turned away only replying to Fanny.

At the hospital you follow them all inside. It's agreed that you'll go to the prof and distract him whilst the others got Red's baby out safely. When you were satisfied that he was deep enough into the second bottle you went up to Red's room. Fagin taking your place. Jack stands at the door.

"How is it going?" You ask keeping a distance from the doctor.

"Well I think, I'm not allowed in." He replies.

"Belle is operating alone?"

"she is more than capable."

"Of course she is, Belle would run rings around any trained man." You sit down beside Tim. "Red is strong, she'll be alright." You comfort him.

Jack watches you talk with the man, how he seems instantly at ease with you. All the people in Port Victory did. You held an air of kindness that spread out to those you spoke to. He had to admit to himself that having you here, speaking with the patients and holding their hands eased them. It made the wards feel lighter, as if death was not hanging over their heads. Taking in a long breath Jack turned back to his work opening the door just enough to call in.

" Nearly... I have it now." Belle says from.inside.

"How is it in there? Do you have the head yet?" He called.

"Now, pull up and out." Jack guides her.

" Just one more cut.* Hetty says as they clamp the umbilical chord, " She's out. Come on, Belle."

" Please breathe." Belle encourages the baby with a rub to its chest. The new born cries and everyone sighs with relief.

" Now stitch her, fascia first." Jack reminds her. "Is Red all right?" Tim pushing his way into the room.

"She's breathing steady, Tim." Belle reassures him, handing the now swaddled infant. With them all in the room you chose to stay out, waiting for Gaines to appear.

They managed to sneak the woman and the baby out of the room and secret her away in Jack's room.

Belle is cleaning away her equipment when Jack walks back in.

"We did it. Hetty and I, we kept them both alive." She smiles.

" In time for your father to hang her." Jack snaps back. Belle is about to argue when the door opens and Aputi and Flash bring a large basket into the room. You follow them in as they place the covered body on the bed.

"Well done."

"No! You're body snatching!" Belle rrmarks.

"Pretty standard in our line of work." Jack comments.

" You can't be serious."

"Belle,This is the only way to save her." You say.

" Clearly pregnant. Very good." Jack says before pulling the sheet back, "Clearly not pregnant. This a man." He chastises them.

" Big Kit's all we had in the deadhouse, Dr. Jack." Aputi explained as they left the room.

"This is madness! It can't work! And it's a capital offence!" Belle snapped

" So is killing a mother before she's even put her own child to her breast." You snap back.

"So, what's more important, milady?"

You are the first to hear Gaines approaching and slip out of the room. Jack follows you closing the door behind him.

"Captain," you pretend to feel sadness. "I fear the mother and baby died on the table. How does one bear this sort of loss, Captain?" You put a hand on his chest, keeping him from moving further. "I have never seen it, but perhaps you were right, darkness cannot birth light I suppose." You say. He nods.

"Yes, lady y/n, it is awful when the innocent are tard by the guilty." He pushes your hand away and attempts to step past you.

"You can't go in. Her body's undressed. For shame. And you, a Godly man. Have you no decency?" You pour every bit of heartache you had into the words.

"I need to see the body." He tells you.

" What are you going to do, Captain? Hang her corpse?" You ask.

" Have the Professor bring me the death certificate." The Captain hisses.

"Dr. Dawkins can sign it."

"No! I would find it much more reliable if the Professor signs it." He walks away. Turning yourself round to Jack you look up at him.

"Thank you." He says.

"I didn't do it for you." You drop your eyes to the ground.

"y/n, I-" you shake your head, "I'll see to the patient." He lets you walk away from him, wishing he hadn't.

Knocking on the door you step into the room, Red sat on the small bed by the window.

"How are you?" You ask.

"Better now. You know you are nothing like the rest of your family. There's a little crime in you." Red said with a chuckle, "would you like to hold her?"

You nod and come forward, sitting on the end of the bed. You take the bundle into your arms and rock her.

"She's beautiful." You say a wide smile on your face.

"it's suits you." Tim states.

"What is it, why didn't you follow society? Why ain't you married?" Red asked.

"oh, I.... I'm not well. I wouldn't make a man a widower or a child and orphan." You reply, keeping your eyes on the sleeping baby.

"Sorry." Red whispered. Not long after Fagin arrived and then Jack. At first you wanted to leave but you stayed at Tim's request. Jack poured you all a small glass of Fagin's stolen liqueur.

When at last Belle was done with her cleaning she came up to find you. Not wanting to speak to her you simply walked alongside to the carriage.

At home again you sat in your bed the blankets over knees when Belle and Fanny came giggling into her room. Belle climbed into the bed beside you and Fanny dropped her head to your lap.

"I shared my first kiss." She said looking UK at you.

"With Sneed?" You asked.

" And did you enjoy it?" Belle cuddled closer. "Mixed. At first, it was lovely. But then I think I hurt him rather badly. He was quite angry, actually." She screwed up her face.

"Someone'll sweep you off your feet when you least expect it in the most inconvenient of moments." You say brushing back her hair and stroking her face with the back of your hand.

" I had a thought." She said, flipping herself onto her stomach, "Considering your health, perhaps you and Dr. Dawkins could have a long, happily unconsummated love affair until he walks off, desolate, into the windswept moors..." she all but sings her fantasy, you feel a pang of gult.

"We don't have moors here." Belle reminded her.

"But yes, that is a nice thought." You agree. Your sisters cuddle into you and you all giggle over the day until your mother commands you all to bed.

*_*_*_*_*

Fagin and Dawkins sat at a table in the tavern, Rotty poured them both a drink I to the metal tankards.

"So, our old Cheekybones did well." Fagin grins. "Yeah. She did, didn't she?"

"And her sister, the older one, she is a boone, still, it's not really their world, is it? And you've got to remember, Dodge, theirs isn't yours." He reminded the younger man. Jack played with his cup and turned to the window. His heart leaps in his chest when he sees the nicest sight he had seen in days. Without saying a word to his companion, Jack walked outside.

"Milady. I must warn you I am a little bit drunk. In fact, I am approaching strutting pigeon."

You smile from below your cape, dropping the hood down. Reaching out you take the cup from his hand and swallow down the liquid.

" So am I, now." You smile, "The crime, it's not just for survival. You actually love it." You say.

"The worst parts of me do." Jack admits.

"well, I cannot say I did not enjoy getting one over on Gaines." You admit. Jack laughs.

" It's hopeless, isn't it?" You take a step toward him.

"Oh, yes. We are completely unsuited." He agrees matching your movement.

"We should really never see each other socially." You offer up words you don't believe.

"No, that wouldn't be right." He said moving close enough to slide his hand around your waist. Crashing his lips to yours. Your heart fluttered in your chest. You spin him round so his back hits the wall.

" Holy hell, we're in trouble." You whisper.

"So much trouble." Jack he replies placing his lips to yours and you feel all your resolve disappearing.

"I'm sorry I hurt you." Jack speaks between kisses.

Everything had changed in that few seconds. Your life would never be the same.

Episode seven

@fandomfan-102

[islandtarochips]

Call of Duty OC: Dr. Aelan Kalani ⛑️

A woman who wanted to follow her mother's footsteps of joining the military. But also wanted to be a medic just like her Uncle. A woman who wanted to help those who are injured or in pain. Studying for medic school before signing up for the Army to learn both combat and assisting her team with her knowledge of healing the injured. And she will NOT hesitate to hurt those who tried to hurt her loved ones.

UNIVERSE: Modern Warfare/Modern Warfare 3

General:

⛑️ Name: Aelan Kalani ⛑️ Alias(es): Doc, Fuga (Kanoa called her that), Aely, Aela (her mom), Dr. Kalani ⛑️ Gender: Female ⛑️ Age: Early 30s ⛑️ Birthday: April 19th ⛑️ Nationality: Hawaiian ⛑️ Place of Birth: Honolulu, Hawaii ⛑️ Home: Honolulu, Oahu ⛑️ Spoken Languages: English, Hawaiian, Arabic (conversational) ⛑️ Sexuality: Heterosexual ⛑️ Occupation: Medical Doctor for the Warriors Task Force

Appearance:

⛑️ Eye Color: Brown ⛑️ Hair Color: Brown/Red (Highlighted) ⛑️ Height: 5’9”/175 cm ⛑️ Scars: Small scars on her hands of how many times she has to rush to save a person life with just small knives she has. And some scars on her arms too from fighting off an enemy. ⛑️ Face Claim: Laura Megan Stahl

Favorites:

⛑️ Color: Red ⛑️ Food: Shoyu Ahi Poke and Cone Sushi ⛑️ Drink: Wine ⛑️ Flower: Hibiscus and 'Uki 'Uki (Hawaiian Lily) ⛑️ Hairstyle: Natural (letting her curly hair out when she’s out of duty) and single French braid (when she’s on duty)

Personality:

⛑️ Myers Briggs Type: ISTP Aelan is willingly to take any practical action to deal with a problem or situations. Like if there’s anything that is difficult for her team to FIX it. She’ll be there to handle it. Aelan is also independent, just like her mother. Wanting to try or learn new things on her own but will ask for assistance sometimes. She also have a very good mind of understanding of how things works and explaining to her audience VERY clearly. Like, when she saw her team were having a hard time to understand. She explains to them in a very simple ways possible. ⛑️ Knowledge: Aelan is very smart. Being a medic. She has more experienced on what to do or what not to do of doing her job. And whatever questions you have related to medic things. She'll give you the answers right away. ⛑️ Ethical: Aelan KNOWS of what is best for her patience and for her team. For her knowledge and her experienced of treating them is her MAIN field. And she is NEVER wrong when it comes to treat them in the RIGHT way. ⛑️ Commitment: She is VERY commitment to her work. Just like her mom. She would make sure that everything is done in the RIGHT way. Negative Traits: ⛑️ Being like her mother. Her sassiness sometimes gets out of hand. Like once you said something that will piss her off. She will give you that look and said a very unnecessary comment on you that will break your spirit in seconds. ⛑️ Keeping herself busy isn't very healthy for her. Of course, she needs to get it done but she also needs to take a break. Even her mother would see that and only she can tell her to stop. So no one will tell her to stop working unless it's her mom (Or the Captain). ⛑️ No matter how calm Aelan was. She will not yield back from what was on her mind. And has NO filters. So you might wanna hold onto your tissues once she said all those things to you.

Skills and Abilities: ⛑️ Fighting Style: Hand-to-Hand Combat and martial arts ⛑️ Weapons: MK13 rifle ⛑️ Distinct Weapons: Pocket knife and M18 ⛑️ Special Skills: Can secure the wounds very quickly. Very fast thinker when it comes to a very tight situations. Family:

Alana Kalani (Mother, Alive)

Ola Kalani (Uncle, Alana's Brother, Alive)

Noelani Iona Kalani (Aunty, Ola's Wife, Alive)

Keona Kalani (Cousin, Ola's Daughter, Alive) Trivia:

⛑️ Aelan is the only child who was raised by a single mother. ⛑️ She has no grudge against her mother who went out to the military. All she wanted her mother to come back home safely after her missions. ⛑️ Was really inspired by her Uncle's work in the hospital. Seeing him helping other patience and doing his best to heal them. She was also inspired of her mother's legacy of earning the highest rank in the military after all those years. Making her wanting to join the military too! ⛑️ As much as she loves her hair going down most of the time. She sometimes gets annoyed whenever the wind blows. It HAS to keep hitting her face with her hair.

Background Story:

Aelan has her mother's personality. A hard worker trying to help out with her family. She admired both her mother and her uncle. Seeing how her mom became a soldier, protecting the country. And seeing how her uncle became a doctor, helping to heal the injured.

Her mother had gone to the military when she was 7 months old and she sometimes sees her from time to time when she grows up. And whenever her mother is done with her deployment. She would LOVE to hear her stories about it when she gets back.

Her uncle, Ola, is always there to take care of her with his girlfriend, Noelani. She was also admired by her Uncle's work at the hospital. From being a nurse to a DOCTOR. She would ask LOTS of questions of how his work has been.

That's why she decided to plan to take classes related to medical career and she promised herself that she'll make them BOTH proud.

In High School, Aelan already knows about her mother's ex-boyfriend. For she was curious of what happened to her father from the past. Since seeing her classmates spending time with their parents.

Her mother had told her that the ex-boyfriend and her were drunk and they were playing around. And once the ex-boyfriend found out about her mother being pregnant with her. He vanished.

Typical story.

After hearing that, it boosted her to work and study hard so she can take Medical School somewhere in Maryland. And thanks to her Uncle and his expertise of knowing medical things. She'll be getting into that school in no time after she graduates from high school.

And she did! She had finally got into her dream school. And that's when she started her study. It wasn't easy but because of her mother's hard working attitude inside of her. She stayed determined and kept studying. Before she finally graduated with a degree.

And start working for the Army in Maryland. Until she got a call from her own mother, who is a General now, wanting her to assist Alex, Price and Gaz, along with Agnes, in Urzikstan. With her skills of healing the injured. Knowing that Farah and her men need some healing power.

So she wasted no time and started packing and took a ride to Urzikstan.

[look-a-yandere-fandom-blog]

Ophelia's Flowers.

Dr. Stockill / Gender Neutral Reader

Fandom: The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls.

No Spoilers.

_________________________________

Ambiguous yan - can be read as platonic or romantic.

_________________________________

Content Warning: Reader is gender neutral but is ‘feminine’ in appearance/attire; detailed as having long hair and wearing a dress.

Please proceed with caution if such descriptions may make you uncomfortable/dysphoric.

(If there’s anything else I need to add please let me know.)

_________________________________

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.”

Thin herbal leaves speckled by soft purple flowers join the wreath that lies upon your head.

“Pray you, love, remember.”

The doctor’s thin lips echo the immortal words of Shakespeare, whispered under his breath. The office is eerily silent and it let you hear every syllable.

“And there is pansies, that’s for thoughts…”

Indigo and yellow petals are laid in your hair. Tucked amongst the braids woven with a tenderness unfound in this damned building.

“There’s fennel for you, and columbines.”

The Ophelia Gallery has returned. One of the asylum’s yearly ventures: a show for the masses, or perhaps a warning to all the women who are just one misstep away from being thrown in to it. Locked away for some pitifully small offence.

“There’s rue for you, and here’s some for me.”

The little yellow specks on thin green stalks are added to the adornment. Stockill’s fingertips are wrapped around the stem; placing it carefully behind your ear.

“We may call it 'herb of grace' o' Sundays.”

Dr Stockill’s spindly fingertips curl around another stem, snapping it with the swiftness of a guillotine. He slides it into his waistcoat pocket, beside the stem of wilting violets.

“- Oh, you must wear your rue with a difference.”

A pair of nails presses into the skin under your chin, while the fingers they belong to tilt your head slowly. Dark eyes scan over his work; an artist searching for a spot on his canvas to add another stroke of colour.

"There’s a daisy. I would give you some violets,"

At the mention of those flowers, your gaze darts down to the wilting purple flowers in his waistcoat.

"But they withered all when my siste-"

Your eyes flick up; meeting his abyssal stare.

He pauses, before calmly correcting himself. The alteration smooth enough for the mistake to be ignored. Yet, it did not escape your notice.

"But they withered all when my father died."

He concludes his speaking as The Mad Ophelia, the illusion of her visage shedding from his voice. In her place, the true persona of The Callous Doctor Stockill.

With the silence of the room restored, you stand from your chair, assuming that this is your cue to leave. To join your fellow inmates outside in the crude display of the Ophelia Gallery.

But you barely take a few strides before you hear-

"I did not grant you permission to leave." The doctor's stern voice cloaks the sound of your footsteps.

In an instant, you stop in your tracks. You do not have the courage to turn around; do not have the courage to meet his eyes again.

As your nervous hands twirl and twist the overgrown strands of hair on your head, one of the flowers falls to the floor. Despite its weightlessness, the thud of it hitting the wooden planks is agonising.

Internally, you curse yourself. The cursing turns to anxiety. Anxiety to panic.

Racing thoughts worsen with every step the doctor takes towards you. Until he is directly behind you. His shadow blanketing your form.

"You will not be going out there." Stockill states calmly, while his spider-like manoeuvres return the fallen flower to its rightful place.

"Why not..?" The question leaves your lips before you can think to stop it.

There is a second of stillness.

"You are in no position to ask." The doctor replies firmly. He is the superintendent of this Asylum. He does not need to justify himself to a mere patient.

But soon, he takes a breath, admission bubbling in his throat. He wishes to confess with the fervour of a sinner to a priest. The words like a river battering against a breaking dam.

"Those people out there... the weak, depraved, people of this city... they do not deserve to look upon this."

The doctor divulges, his voice is quieter than you have ever heard it. His hands place themselves upon your shoulders, slowly turning you to face him. He is puzzled by his own wish to admit this all... but he does not have the will to stop himself.

"The women would be disconcerted and disgusted by you, while the men would care only for what lay beneath your robes." He continues as the light of the room hits your skin and illuminates his work.

His expression twitches ever so slightly, in what seems to be anger. Or maybe disgust? You wonder whether that look is directed at you, the people he was describing, or himself.

"And so, you will stay here." The doctor announces, his normal volume flaring up like a violent breeze. It nearly makes you jump.

"Here?" you repeat.

"Here. In my office. Or perhaps my laboratory should I need to venture down there." Stockill clarifies, a touch of irritation is his typically vacuous tone.

"Am I understood?"

The man's question is hardly that: a question. Instead, it is an extension of his command. A rhetorical statement, demanding compliance.

And, with a small nod in response, you comply.

The doctor's hands loosen their hold on your shoulders. You hadn't realised how harshly his nails were biting into your skin; forming dents in the fabric of your dress.

"Good." Dr. Stockill comments coldly. Yet, somehow, there's a touch of approval laced within.

After taking a final glance over your features; the ghostly white dress that hangs over your figure; and the flowers laden in your hair; he lets go. The creaking noise of wooden floorboards resounds as he leaves your side.

"Now, I have to fetch some supplies from elsewhere. Necessities for my work. I will be back shortly." He informs as he straightens the cuffs on his shirt. Stockill's earlier anger and disgust are replaced by an eerie calm, like vines covering a building; hiding it away, as though it had never existed in the first place.

The hinges cry with a mouse-ish squeak as the door opens, the doctor disappearing into the asylum's labyrinth of corridors.

He leaves the door unlocked.

It lay ajar. The latch not clicked into place. A move too foolish to be made by the precise and meticulous physician.

It leaves you with one conclusion: this is a test.

The door taunts you. Tugs on your sleeves. Nags you to leave... Urges you to run from this room, to the company and sanctuary of the other inmates, far from the constricting grasp of the doctor's web...

But, despite your fear, you remain.

You sit back down upon your chair.

You adjust the petals he laid in your hair.

And you listen to the muffled sounds of the Ophelia Gallery outside.

As you wait for him to return.

Just as the doctor knew you would.

_________________________________

[grimsley-official]

Hello! Welcome back to Dr. Footstep's Pocket Doctor! If you would like to see how your pokemon is feeling, please allow your pokemon to walk in front of the camera.

Hatterene detected!

Scanning...

Bede thinks he can beat you.

…Hmm…~? What an odd contraption…~

I can’t say I’ve spoken to many Pokemon in my day… Well, Pokemon that can actually talk back to me, that is~

Ahaha, anyways, I’m fully aware young Bede thinks he can best me in battle. Hmmm, but I’m afraid I very much disagree with that sentiment~✨

One doesn’t hold the title of an Elite Four member for so long for nothing, after all~

[ballonleastadiumofficial]

Have you ever shown Bede the vision of the end of all things, Gothitelle?

Hello! Welcome back to Dr. Footstep's Pocket Doctor! If you would like to see how your pokemon is feeling, please allow your pokemon to walk in front of the camera.

Gothitelle detected!

Gothitelle: No. That is for when I am angry and fighting. I gather that it is not a pleasant sight for humans.

...

Why? Do you think he would like to see it?

[naturally-elegant]

Hello! Welcome back to Dr. Footstep's Pocket Doctor! If you would like to see how your pokemon is feeling, please allow your pokemon to walk in front of the camera.

Gothitelle detected!

Scanning..

Gothitelle: You are... Avery, I think. I heard you say once, "this is not the future my Future Sight foretold". I heard it from my pokeball, in the place with water on all sides and the wavy grass and the steep hills. Can you see the future, like me?

One of the traitor’s Pokémon…? Talking to me…? Odd.

Hmm hmm yes~! I am Avery. I’m pleased to know you’ve recognized me and my elegance~

…

…

Ohoho~! Why of course I can tell the future~! That’s what one would expect of someone with such excellent and elegant Psychic prowess such as I~

How embarrassing it would be for someone to find out I can’t. I’ve already been shamed enough…

[piers-official]

Hello! Welcome back to Dr. Footstep's Pocket Doctor! If you would like to see how your pokemon is feeling, please allow your pokemon to walk in front of the camera.

Mawile detected!

Scanning...

Mawile: Hi. I'm Bede's Mawile. Thanks for saying I'm your favorite fairy type. Now when Hatterene gets all high and mighty about being the favorite, I get to say "yeah well. I'm also a gym leader's favorite. So. Chew on that with your not-even-metal jaws."

Heh, that so? Well, m'glad I could help ya feel better, mate.

I think it's just cuz Hatterene gigantamaxes, but ya don' need t'do that t'be a powerful opponent, yea? Plus, Yer a fairy type who's immune to poison. How many fairy-types can say that?

[boxboysandotherwhump]

Sam signs up.

Taglist: @vickytokio @ashintheairlikesnow @thefancydoughnut @malcolmisthebrightestboy @redwingedwhump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @hackles-up

It's three minutes after midnight and there is blood on Sam’s hands. 

It glimmers red under the neon shine of the streetlamps Sam hastes past.  His face is damp with tears and sweat. Tears that won’t dry even in the oppressive summer heat, they are falling too fast, too numerous. A well of pain flowing over. 

I can’t do this anymore.

Sam’s hand throbs. Sam’s head throbs

His heart throbs. 

I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE! 

Somewhere in the distance a car alarm goes off.

He stumbles on the crossing into the nice part of town. The great hall of the central station is enclosed in thick steel beams and looms over Sam like the industrial carcass of a whale. It’s silvery bones illuminated by floodlights. Behind it, the fashion shops and restaurants of the city's shopping district tower high into the sky. Technicolored neon lights sparkle in their glass facades. 

At the end of the currently deserted strip lies Sam’s goal. WRU. 

Old sneakers against pavement. His footsteps echo between the empty buildings, growing faster, faster, in his haunted desperation. 

If he slows down enough for the oxygen to catch up with his brain, long enough to think about this, to doubt this-

No!

He can’t chicken out. Not now. The blood on his hand has almost dried, color shifting from red to brown. It's too late to stop. All his dreams and aspirations, he smashed them up alongside his sewing machine. Ripped them apart as he shredded his midterm project to tiny pieces of golden fabric. Even if he had the money to re-buy the materials, replace his machine, there wasn’t enough time to re-do that dress from scratch. 

Good! I don’t want this shit anyway. I just want out! Let me get out!

He bursts into Wru’s reception hall, its glass doors opening with a quiet ‘ding’.

The receptionist startles awake from where she’d dozed off behind the counter. Perfectly rose painted lips curve into an apologetic smile. She brushes a lock of honey blond hair back behind her ear. 

“”How can I help you?” 

Sam’s ragged breathing fills the silence between them as he just stares, for a moment. Suddenly remembering where he is, Sam straightens, fumbles with his shirt to make himself look half decent, not sweaty and flushed with his old cat shirt stuck to his back.

“Good-” he gulps down a breath. “Good evening. I, uhm, I wanna sign up.” 

“Oh.” The receptionist musters him, eyes scanning him top to bottom. Sam’s face is burning from more than exertion now. 

“Am I wrong here?” 

“Oh, no no. It’s only- Are you of age?”

“Twentyone.” Sam mumbles, deflating with every second he stands in the shining emptiness of this fake marble hall. It had to be fake, right? 

The woman smiles, pleasant but empty. "Alright. I do need your ID information for our records nonetheless and-” she put a clipboard and pen on the pristine counter, “These are some additional information we need for your check in.”

Check in.

As if signing your very life away was as easy as simply checking into a hotel. Three nights as a pet please. Yes, with breakfast and room service, thank you.

Suppressing a snort Sam fumbles his wallet out of his pocket and plugs his ID from it with shaking fingers. He holds it out to her, arm straining over the counter and on his tiptoes.

“Here.” He says, short but polite, before snatching the clipboard and pen from the counter.  

“You can sit in our waiting area to fill this out.” She gestures to the right without looking up, already typing away one handed, eyes scanning his ID.

The area reminds Sam of a doctor's waiting room, only far more luxurious. Three leather couches stand around a low wooden table, dark and polished. Pet magazines are neatly laid atop it. The tv in the corner plays wru ads on mute. In the corner stands a water dispenser that looks more expensive than all of Sam’s possessions combined. If he would try to drink from it now, Sam knows he would throw up.

He sits down with a soft squeak of leather. The pen scratches over the paper with every word. 

Known allergies: None.

Known  pre-existing illnesses: None.

He is halfway through the first sheet, medical history,  when the dialing of a phone number catches his attention.

“Yes. We have a new acquisition, yes. I need a handler to pick him up, finish the check in. Quickly. Yes.” 

Why quickly? Sam finishes the first sheet in a scribbled hurry. 

“Samantha Higgens?” Sam cringes at his deadname. Whatever, soon it’ll be gone for good right? “Have you informed family or friends about your decision?”

Sam bristles. “How’s that your business?” 

She smiles, very patiently. “We offer a service to inform your bereaved about your choices and answer any questions they might have. Most people find it reassuring to know that no open questions remain for the people- that might have them.” 

 The people that might- worry about him. Miss him.

There is no oxygen left in Sam’s lungs, all of a sudden. The room is way too big and his hands are shrinking, skin too tight over his bones. His brain sloshes around inside his skull. 

“No.” He hears himself say, voice high and tight. “I- I’ll text her myself.” 

The elevator door dings and boots clip over the marble floor with each approaching step. Sam fumbles his phone out of his pocket, hands shaking so bad he nearly drops it. 

Warm fingers steady his own.  When Sam looks up he finds himself face to face with a man near his forties, smiling down at him. He grips his phone tighter. 

“There we go.” The man flops down next to him, eyes crinkling. “The last message, hm? I can’t imagine how brave you have to be to write those.” 

“Huh?” Sam’s face crumbles in confusion, his impending panic attack stopped dead in its tracks. “Who, who are you?” 

The man's brown eyes grow serious without losing their warmth. He is handsome in a way Sam rarely finds in a middle aged man. Dependable looking. Save. “I’m your primary handler. Call me Mister Wilson.”

Sam shakes his outstretched hand on instinct. “I’m- well that won’t really matter once this whole pet thing starts, right?” 

Mister Wilson hums, pleased. “A quick learner I see. I think we will have a great time together. The smart ones are my favorite.”

Heat floods Sam’s face and he drops his gaze, pressing the start button on his phone repeatedly to do something with his hands. 

Mister Wilson lets him fumble until his nervousness morphes back into despondency. He opens his messenger app, closes it again. Opens it. Closes it. Sam stalls for time and they both know it. 

“Little one,” Mister Willsons begins softly, “you’ve gotta be brave one last time now. And after that, I promise you, you won’t have to worry about a thing.”

With a big sigh and his heart beating against his throat so violently he wonders if Mr Wislon can see it, Sam pulls up his aunt's chat. There are at least five voicemails she must have sent after Sam stormed out the door, after their fight. And after demolishing the room, she never stopped complaining about giving up for him. 

Whatever is on there he won’t listen to it. They’re just gonna be a continuation of her never ending accusations anyway. Telling him what a burden he is. How he should give up his dreams of becoming a designer and get a proper job. Whenever she hits a bad mental health spot she turns into a broken record player of soul crushing bitchery!

But when she has a good streak she-

Sam shakes his head so abruptly Mister Wilson startles beside him. 

Fingers shaking with anger punch in the first word. 

Delete it. 

Type a new one.

Delete it.

Try a third.

His fingers aren’t shaking from anger when he finally hits send. His phone screen is slippery with tears. 

I’m sorry. 

I can’t do this anymore. 

I’m becoming a pet. 

I love you.

Forgive me.

[princessisfinethx]

Recom Miles Quaritch x Fem Reader. Pt. 5

Well well well, here we are. Um, so I'm gonna be starting college in exactly a month...that'll be fun. And I'm looking for a job, that's fun. I got back from vacation in Arkansas and now I'm posting this from my boyfriends house. Yippee.

Warnings: Angst! Blood and death! Gun Kink! Degrading/Praising!

As always Minors DNI. Let me know if I missed anything...i posted this from my phone and it wouldn't let me edit sort of. Enjoy <3

Your eyes remained closed while your arms raised up, as if to protect you from gunshots. You expected to feel something, anything. Your body shook and when you heard something fall beside you, you finally opened your eyes and peered down. A quick inspection and you were fine, bullet free. “Oh god, Colonel you really shot them…” You heard Lyle mumble. Your head snaps to the side, Alex lay on the ground clutching their chest.

“Alex-” You fall to the ground and place your hands over their chest. They’d been shot in the left and right rib in lower and higher areas. “Oh god Alex, don’t-...I’m..I’m so sorry!” You knew you couldn’t save them. Their lungs were punctured on both sides and you had no equipment to help. Alex grabs your hand and you squeeze their hand, holding it with both hands. Your vision blurred with tears but you could see Alex barely give a soft smile. “Alex I’m so sorry, I’m so so sorry..” Your voice shook and you brought their hand to your head. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not like this.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a sob. Slowly, their hand lost its strength but you didn’t let go of it. Footsteps approached you but you didn’t look, you didn’t let go. “Doctor.” It was Z-Dog. “...We can’t do anything for them.”

You open your eyes, turning and looking up at her. Behind you, Miles spoke. “Dr. Alex was a traitor to our operation and I won’t be harboring any more traitors.”

“Alex could have faced a trial back at the camp.” You stood up quickly and turned to face him. “You killed them in cold fucking blood!” He didn’t show any emotion towards you. Trying to keep a fearless expression, you pull the gun off of Z’s hip and aim it at him. The rest of the team seemed to become apprehensive. Quaritch didn’t flinch, instead he smiled. “Tell me why I shouldn’t do the same!” 

He held his hand up, telling the team to lower their weapons while he inched closer to you. “Doc, everyone knows you’re not a killer.” His eyes were so relaxed, his ears were even perked upwards, as if he were more than happy to watch you threaten him. You knew if he got any closer he could snatch the gun away from you. You also knew any of the soldiers could shoot you down just like he did Alex. You felt your blood boiling at the thought. You wanted to look down at them but something kept you from doing so. Your finger twitched on the trigger and you realized their blood was still on your hands. 

“You didn’t need to kill them.” Your voice shook. Miles stopped. “You know they’re going to question you when we get back.” And a voice in the back of your head told you the same thing. In fact, what’s keeping him from killing you too? He must know, or at least have some idea this was all your plans, not Alexs’.

“And I’ll answer all their questions with the truth. As I said before. They were a traitor, communicating and possibly conspiring with the enemy. I wouldn’t take the chance of getting me or my team captured or killed.” He stepped closer and kneeled down. “What will you tell them after you’ve killed me, Doctor?” You felt a violent tremor shake your body as tears flooded out your eyes. Quaritch grinned at you and took the gun out of your hands. “Besides,” He pointed the gun at your shoulder and pulled the trigger two times. Two clicks sounded and you gasped, your face going pale. “You can’t kill anything with an empty chamber.” He tosses the gun back to Z-Dog. He then took something out his pocket and tied your wrists together.You look down to see he ziptied your wrists.  “We’ll have to question you back home. Now, let's set up a perimeter, we’ve already wasted enough daylight on this sob story.” 

~~~~~

Every few minutes, Lyle and Z would glance back at you. Twice, Lyle had offered some water or a snack bar from the medic bag he confiscated. You didn’t answer him, or even look at him. Z-Dog gave Lyle an uneasy look, and Lyle sighed and shrugged. He decided he wouldn’t bother you anymore, knowing you were questioning the group of recombinant soldiers and their leader. Z was even more conflicted. She’s never seen you so intent to take someone’s life. When you pulled the gun from her holster, she was more worried about the repercussions you’d be facing rather than the death of Colonel Quaritch. Maybe she’d be worried about both but seeing you in a different light had (dare she say) frightened her. However, you never pulled the trigger.

Everyone in the group knew for certain you wouldn’t have pulled that trigger. 

You were sitting against a tree staring at a flower that resembled a lilly. It was better than looking at the tarp that covered the body. It was further away from you, closer to the trailer but you could still see it. The soldiers converse while glancing in your direction once in a while. You didn’t want to look at any of them. Could you trust any of them entirely anymore? You never should have put trust into them in the first place. It was a bad work decision. You were their doctor. They were your patients. 

Boots made their way towards you and you turned your head to look away. A sigh was given and then they squat beside you. Miles grabbed your hands and yanked them closer to him. You felt water hit your hands and turned to look at him. He was pouring out a water bottle over your hands. “I should have given you something earlier. Blood does stain after a while.” You wanted to yank your hands away but you could see in his eyes that he had consequences planned if you did. So you stared at him. Not in anger or in grief. You gave him a dead stare. Miles held your stare, then tilted his head down. “When we befriend people, and come to know and trust them, we look past their flaws. And when someone you know closely is accused of something outstanding, we tend to doubt and deny that of being possible.” He uses a torn cloth to wipe away the blood. “Most of the time we come to understand that what happened was not our fault. The person we thought we knew, was not who they made themselves out to be all along.”

“You didn’t have to kill them.” Your voice was low and hoarse. You didn’t realize it until now, but your throat was dry.

He ignores you. “But sometimes, we disagree with what we know.” His eyes meet yours. “We know better, know that deep down this person was committing serious crimes.” His stare was telling. Your eyes widened, because he knew. “But we choose to look past them anyway.”

He drops your hands but doesn't move. “I don’t understand what you’re after here. You know what I did. And from what I can tell you already knew.” You glance at the others but they aren't listening. “You didn’t shoot me because, what? You want more information? If you’re worried about someone shooting at us, well congratulations it already happened and it wasn’t the scientists hiding in the trees somewhere. It was you.” You spat out. “The scientists here aren’t out for blood like you, they just want food and supplies. That’s all I was doing, giving supplies.”

“Giving them coordinates to attack supply trains and use the Na’vi to take them down and steal the supplies. Correct?” He had taken his knife out when you weren’t looking and was playing with it, twirling it between his fingers. 

“The electric trains that carry weapons?" Your eyebrows knit together as you think. "I didn’t send info about them, only meals and first aid.”

He was quiet for a second. “Alex did.”

“How-...What? I don’t understand this, the scientists didn’t want weapons, they only wanted supplies…” You blink a few times while looking down. “Alex wasn’t, they didn’t have the scheduled times for the trains unless they were-”

There was some yelling from the jungle and one of the soldiers came out with a screaming and hissing Na’vi child. Miles was up and walking over to investigate. Another soldier came out with two more children. They seemed small enough but from this distance, they were definitely taller than you. There were four children in all, two boys and two girls by the looks of it. Then they found a human boy with long dreads and an oxygen mask. You decided it would be best to stay where you were.

Miles was asking each kid a question and none of them seemed to be happy about it. He had finally gotten to the human kid and squatted down. You watched their exchange last a minute or two, then Miles stood and said something to one of the soldiers. When you looked at the other kids again, you saw the older girl staring at you. You looked away and wished you weren’t in this situation. 

~~

It had been maybe 15 minutes and you noticed the children were whispering to each other in an almost panicked way. You look at the other soldiers but they didn’t notice. You stayed sitting against the furthest tree and decided you should probably get ready in case something happened. Which you were right. A soldier near you was shot with an arrow directly through his chest. You gasped and pushed yourself away. The rest of the soldiers were looking around, trying to see the attacker. You snap out of your trance and crawl over to the fallen soldier. You check his pulse but he was gone.  You reach into his holster and grab the knife to carefully cut the zip tie off. You then quickly run over to the kids and duck down near the oldest boy. He was pushing his siblings away but you held your hand out. “C’mon hurry up, there isn’t much time.” 

He stared at you skeptically but you sigh and grab his wrist, lucky that they were also cuffed with zip ties. “Why are you helping us?”

“I probably won’t be alive to help anyone later.” You got the tie off of him and handed him the knife. “Get your siblings free and hurry it up.” The sound of a helicopter made you look up. 

Above the trees, the helicopter that brought you all here was lowering. It wouldn't be able to touch the ground but it was blowing the trees away. You tried shielding your eyes from the flying pieces of leaves and sticks when an arm grabbed you. You gasped as you were hoisted up. Then the ground below you started getting smaller. You became motion sick but held it together. Inside the helicopter you were thrown into the seat, getting strapped in by Miles. Besides you, the human boy with dreads was huffing, as if he had been fighting. 

Miles looked at the both of you before sitting down in his own seat. You stared at him, then looked at the kid next to you. He looked like a teenage Tarzan, in a way. When he looked at you, you spoke to him. "I thought you got away with the others."

He didn't answer, only turning his head to look out the window of the helicopter. 

~~~

Once the helicopter was taken back to base, you and the kid were escorted into two separate rooms. The boy, Spider, didn't speak a word to you. You hoped he didn't think you were a part of this.

 Well, when you really thought about it, you were. Come on, you're their doctor. 

You hear the door open and look up, expecting the general or someone of high status to walk in and demand what all your crimes were. Instead, Miles walked in. He looked fine, but you could tell something was wrong. He came and sat down, sitting across from you. His fingers tap the table as he thought of what to say but you beat him to it. "Well, by that look and your posture I take it I'm going to be executed…"

His eyes shoot up at you. "You're not being executed, or tried. You were attacked, and killing Alex was the only thing I could do to save your life." 

You stare at him in confusion. "What? Attacked? I wasn't -"

"You got knocked on the head pretty hard, you found out Alex was a mole." He reaches up and pretends to touch your head but he yanks your hair. You yelp and reach up to grab his hands. "They hit you over the head with the bag, nearly finishing the job." He was staring at you hard, his jaw moved, like he was chewing something. 

You stare at him, slowly leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. "Why are you helping me?" You whispered, not realizing you had lowered your voice. Miles only looked down at you, his chewing finally stopped. You thought maybe he was chewing the inside of his cheek or lip. 

"The doctors want to examine you, make sure you don't have any head trauma." He ignored your question but you felt that maybe you weren't ready to know his reasoning. He sighed and rubbed his face, finally muttering. "The boy we picked up."

"His name is Spider…I think."

"His real name is Miles, Miles Socorro." 

You met his eyes, confusion crossed your features once again. "Miles Socorro? What like, he's your son?"

He didn't answer yet. You really looked at him, then for odd reasons, your face flushed at the words coming from your mouth. 

"You're his father."

"That seems to be the case."

"So..then his mother-?"

"Died." His face was unreadable. "She fought in one of the last battles…and I thought she had left the planet with the baby. I was misinformed."

"Well babies can't travel in-"

"Yes I know I know." Miles sighed, finally looking at you. "we're trying to get him to tell us where the others are hiding."

You nod, looking down at the table at his hand. You ball your fingers into a fist but not out of anger. "What will happen to him after that?"

Miles seemed to be dreading that question. And he sensed you had more questions to ask. "I don't know. I didn't know he was here."

The door opened and a young woman around your age came in. "Sorry to interrupt, but we just need to check up on Dr. Linear." 

Miles smiled and stood up. "Of course, we don't want her passing out."

You look up at him, watching his face carefully. He didn’t give anything away, only walking towards you and helping you up out of the chair. The doctor informed you which room you’ll be heading to and Quaritch assured her you’d get there. Once the doctor left, he turned to you and looked at the side of your head. You stare up at him in confusion. 

“I’ll come by later. You’ll be given the rest of the day off to recover.” He leads you out the room. Before you turn away however he grabs your arm and yanks you closer to him. “And knock it off with this hero act. Before you really find yourself in some trouble.” He stares down at you, something hiding behind his eyes. 

“Or what? You’ll have to kill me yourself?” You shot back. He grabs the back of your hair and yanks your head up so you would look at him. He smiled slightly at the gasp you let out. 

“Careful princess, you’re not out of the fire yet.” His ear twitches when he hears people speaking down the hall and he lets go of you entirely. Turning, he walks away and you have to take a moment to compose yourself and curse at how easily you folded for him. 

The rest of your day went by rather quickly. You were examined, asked to do this and that. The doctor noted that you were lucky to leave with nothing but a bruise. It made your eyes narrow but you agreed. She didn't know better. 

You were given the rest of today and tomorrow off for recovery. The young doctor would notify your officers and the rest of your team that you would be out. But you had a feeling everyone already knew. She sent you on your way back to your room but you had other plans. 

Making sure no one watched you, you would enter your office and close the door. You looked around the office and were pleasantly surprised to find that everything was left untouched. You sighed while walking to your desk. You didn't have your keys on you so you couldn't unlock the drawer that hid your old Morse code machine. 

"How did I know I'd find you here?" A voice called from the door and you shot up from behind your desk. Of course, Quaritch was there walking in and closing the door behind him. You rolled your eyes and relaxed a bit. "Up to no good? Playing little miss hero again?"

"I'm not doing anything. I was just making sure my desk wasn't trashed." You shot back defensively.

"You were making sure no one found the communication machine hiding in your desk." He had raised his voice as he stepped closer to you. His ears were pressed back in aggravation. "You need to leave this alone." 

You were filled with rage again, boiling over the top and you rounded the desk so you were in front of him. "You need to leave me alone Colonel. You should have just fucking shot me while you had the chance!"

In the span of three seconds you were laying on your back on the desk with a gun pressed against the side of your head. Quaritch had his other hand spread against your chest with a smirk ghosting his lips. You had to catch your breath from how fast he had moved. "I believe it's time I put you back in line."

You narrow your eyes, almost ignoring the gun now. "Oh? Like how I had you on your knees last time we were in this ro-" his gun was shoved against your mouth and you let out an annoyed groan. It was a smaller gun, a pistol probably. But of course it was larger to comfortably fit the hands of the Na'vi soldiers. 

"Kiss it." He was staring down at you, his gaze was hard and something about that look made you shiver. You glanced down at the gun once again, then slowly up at him. You press your lips to the side of the gun and kiss it, then moving higher, you kiss it again. His eyes moved between your eyes and your mouth while that hard look he was holding faded. 

He pulls the gun away, then grabs your arms and holds them above your head on the desk. Then he places the barrel of the gun against your clothed womanhood. You struggled against his hold but knew you weren't going anywhere. "Miles what are you-"

"Shut up." He presses the gun against you and you gasp at the feeling. Then he holds it there. "Ride it." You looked up at him shocked and confused. "Buck your hips against the barrel or I'll fuck you with it instead."

You swallow thickly. Glancing down at the gun, you notice he never took his finger off the trigger. You bite your lip and do so. Letting your hips rise up off the table and slowly drag up the barrel of the gun. Then your hips move back down and you groan. You weren't a genius when it came to gun anatomy and names, so you couldn't say what was pressing against what. It was disgusting and dangerous. But…

It felt good. 

You move your hips again, eyes fluttering when something rubs against your clothed clit. Why did it have to feel so good? A chuckle breaks your focus and you look up at him.  "Who knew you were such a filthy slut? Look at you. Fucking yourself against my gun." He leans down and presses his mouth against your neck. "What a pretty little slut you are…" 

Your heart was racing and a whimper escaped your lips. You kept thrusting your hips against his gun while he pressed small teasing kisses against your neck. He wasn't giving you anything too heated which you hated. You needed him to touch you, bite you or something. Anything. 

"Miles please-" A shudder runs down your spine and you look up at him. 

He looks at you with that hard gaze. "Please-" he ruts the gun against your clothed cunt and you gasp. "-what?"

You wanted to cry out, but kept yourself composed. You slowly bring your hips up against the gun and back down with a soft moan. "Please fuck me."

He sighed while looking down at his gun. He pulls it away and chuckles softly. He puts the gun into his holster and turns his attention back to you. "Are you going to do what I tell you to?" You give a quick nod, desperate to feel him. "Good girl." He picks you up by the arms he was still holding and pushes you out the door of your office. 

You turn to him, confused as he closes the door behind him. He gives you a grin and puts his hands on his hips. "Go to your room. Get some rest. Maybe I'll visit you tonight, maybe I won't." 

And he turned away, walking down the hallway away from you. You took a step forward but paused. The nerve of this guy…to do what he just did and then leave like nothing happened! With a huff of frustration you turned and began heading to the rooms where you stayed. 

Taglist!

@mechformers

[spookychick78]

Final Girl

My Little Town

Michael Myers X AFAB!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,700

Days turned into weeks, maybe even longer but for the most part, at least for her, life had become uneventful. She couldn't complain, it was peaceful compared to her past. The only real worry had become food, which for the most part they managed. There was just one thing that kept her mind from being completely at ease.

Michael would disappear and often. It was only for a few hours out of the day at first, but then most of her days she began to spend alone. He usually returned sometime during the night to take his place at the edge of the bed. Recently however, there were nights she didn't feel his comforting presence at all. The feeling was all too familiar, but she knew it wasn't the same as before. Over the time they had shared together she had learned well enough he had no interest in romance, at least to her it seemed that way. It had seemed as if he cared, but now she wasn't too sure and with his sudden absence, she began to wonder what exactly he was up to.

It was getting dark out again and he still hadn't returned. She was growing restless, as comfortable as she had gotten with her new home, she could only stand being in the same room for so long. She wasn't going to put up with that again. She pushed the front door aside and scanned the area for any sign of him. but she saw none. Her time alone had made her increasingly fearless, especially of him, so her next decision didn't take much thought. She wanted to know where he was going and she was going to find out. She set out to the only other place she knew there was a chance of finding him.

Luckily, it wasn't too long of a journey, the man never really strayed too far from home. Within an hour or so, she was back in her little town. She approached the familiar house, but something was off. The front door was ajar. She knew Michael well enough to know he would never have left evidence he was home behind. Someone else was in there.

She crept into its dark embrace once more, careful not to make a sound. She instead listened for one. There was movement on the second floor, from the sound of it just one person was lurking around up there. Whoever it was began to make their way down the stairs and she scrambled silently behind the wall of the front room. She held her breath the best she could as she heard the footsteps stop just at the bottom of the stairs. She turned her head back, just to allow a glimpse around the wall to see a man in a tan trench coat.

"You don't have to hide," he said in a calm manner, "I'm not here for you."

She slid out from the shadows to face him. He was shorter than Michael, but then again most were and he was much older. He had lost most of his hair save the salt and pepper goatee. She could tell he had a pistol in the pocket of his coat.

"You're the wanted woman," he said nonchalantly, it didn't really seem to matter to him, "(Y/n)."

So she was being blamed for his 'tragic' death. No surprise there.

"Unfortunately," she replied, "and you are?"

"Dr. Samuel Loomis. Why are you here?" He said shortly.

Loomis, she thought to herself. She remembered reading all those articles about Michael's days at the sanitarium and a doctor. This must whom she had the pleasure of meeting. This could be a problem.

"I'm hiding out here," she said, knowing it wouldn't be a good enough explanation for him.

He gave her a skeptical look, "Well you aren't doing a very good job, I saw you walk in from the upstairs window. I'm sure the whole neighborhood did too. Now why are you really here?"

He seemed to ask himself that more than her. He searched her expression for some sort of answer, diagnosing her in a way. His eyes widened just slightly, he seemed to have found her reasoning.

"You know him," he said, more serious than before.

"Know who?" She said, fighting the urge to back away from him, she knew she could be in deep trouble here.

"You know he's here, why are you looking for him?" He asked.

"Who?" She repeated.

She hoped more than ever Michael wasn't there. She knew there was a possibility this would anger him more than she ever wanted to see.

"Him, it," he said, waving his arms frustratedly, "you know the evil, you've seen Michael."

She tried her best to hide her knowledge, "Michael Myers? Isn't he just a myth or something, a ghost story?"

She could tell he wasn't buying it.

"You're not a good liar, Ms. (y/n)," he said, calmer now, "perhaps it hasn't fully ruined you yet."

"You're looking for him," she started quieter than before, afraid of possible prying ears.

The doctor nodded.

"Isn't that the police's job?"

He shook his head and looked down at the old floors, "They don't understand It like I do," he began, "I studied him for fifteen years. Why do you think I'm here and they aren't? I know he'll eventually end up here. That is after he realizes he won't find her. I've made sure of that."

Her brow furrowed in confusion, "Her?"

"Laurie Strode," he trailed off as he checked out the window.

She remembered the photograph she had found in the old farmhouse. She reached into her pocket, hoping she had left it in there. Her fingers found it. She looked over the face once again, deciding if she should let her curiosity get the best of her. She knew that seeking knowledge from this man might betray Michael, but she had to know. Maybe this would help her understand him more.

"Who is she?" She asked as she held up the photo.

"Where did you get that?" He said quickly, he moved forward as if he was going to grab it from her.

She pulled back and he regained his composure, not wanting to scare her. He knew she knew where he was and he had to find out. She in turn, could see what he wanted from her. She wasn't going to give Michael up, but he didn't have to know that and she wanted answers.

"Maybe we can cut a deal," she said as she leaned against the wall, "you tell me who she is, help me understand him and I'll tell you where he is."

"How about I turn you in and I find him after you confess to your own crimes," he said, making her grit her teeth, "I am a very patient man, Ms. (Y/n), but I won't play your game."

He watched her consider her options. He could see she wasn't truly evil, just lost or misguided. He could see parts of Michael in her eyes, which he didn't quite understand. How could she have gotten close enough? Perhaps she could be swayed if only she knew the truth of what it was.

"There is no understanding it," he began, "Laurie Strode is the woman in your picture, he's after her again. He'll be after her until one or the other is dead."

He could see it hurt her, he didn't know why. He couldn't fathom that she had actually been near Michael and lived. It wasn't possible.

"He will never truly let go of what he is, (y/n)."

That explained why he was disappearing all the time. She couldn't help but feel jealous. This wasn't the first time she had been left to her own devices because of another woman.

"Why her?" She asked.

"There is no 'why', there's no reasoning. It isn't human, it doesn't even know why. He decided long ago that she would die, the same way Judith did, the same way so many have died already," he began to plead with her, "Please, you have to tell me where he is, why you're hiding him."

She couldn't accept that there wasn't a reason behind his 'endless' hunt for Laurie. Maybe Loomis didn't understand Michael as much as he thought. There was an explanation, she just wouldn't find it here.

"Why hasn't he killed you?" He asked abruptly.

She met his eyes and he could see there was just as much confusion about that question for her as there was for him. He could see there was more than just curiosity about him or surface level knowledge about a legend. She hadn't just had a mere encounter with him, there was somehow more. His face began to contort into disgust.

"My god," he started, "you care about it."

She didn't argue, he wasn't wrong.

"I don't know what game it's playing with you, but it isn't capable of human emotions, (y/n), you can't possibly think it cares," he said.

Those words hurt her. The idea of being used again wasn't pleasant, but what on earth would he use her for? She didn't offer him any sort of gain and she wasn't even aware of Laurie up until this moment. She provided nothing for him, so Loomis had to be wrong. She knew Michael had to care, no matter how unrealistic it seemed to the doctor. He had saved her. There was no other explanation as to why she was still breathing other than that.

"You need to get away from him, before he decides you're next," he stated quickly.

Just then there was a crash outside the back window. Loomis brandished his pistol and put a finger up to his lips, silencing any more words from her. He motioned for her to stay while he made his way towards the sound. She knew better. She took her opportunity to flee out the front door and run down the empty streets back towards the old house. She had managed to evade Loomis, but she was unaware of the ill intended gaze she had attracted instead.