#is it staff housing for young doctors? surely not

[telomeke]

Wandee Goodday's biggest, most unexplained mystery so far: how did Dee, Ter and Plakao all end up staying in the same condo? 😂

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[ceruark]

DANCE WITH THE DEVIL.

synopsis: yan! hsr men as slasher movie killers… and “love interests.” [blade, boothill, aventurine, sunday] words: 3.1k cw: yandere themes: obsession, stalking. slasher elements, gore. a/n: happy friday the 13th to all who celebrate

BLADE is already pretty much like Michael Myers from Halloween: large man, terrifying presence, unfathomable kill count, and cannot die. No matter what you do, no matter how many times you or the other survivors find a way to kill him, he keeps coming back, and with renewed vengeance every time.

The first time you’d been subjected to his knife was at a summer camp. Having gone there every summer for years growing up, you grew attached to the place and decided to pick up a role as a counselor in the summers following your high school graduation, and they passed peacefully. However, in the few months leading up to your college graduation, misfortune befell the small town where the camp was located. Someone’s grave had been dug up, and just weeks after that, people started turning up dead, their bodies littered with so many stab wounds that some were unrecognizable.

Given the ongoing investigation, the counselors and other camp staff requested that the summer camp not reopen, but the owners and even some parents insisted they stay open, and so despite your better judgment, you returned. You needed the money, and you knew how to defend yourself— if anything happened, you could keep yourself and your kids safe.

At least, that’s what you believed. When the man appears in the doorway of your cabin, his stocky figure silhouetted by the moonlight and leaving two red eyes gleaming down at you, you know there’s not a chance in hell you’re making it out of there alive.

You’d thrown yourself at him, yelling for your kids to escape through the back. He’s been merciless, sinking his knife into your flesh over and over again, but you persevered and fought back until you were sure every single one of your kids had made it a good distance away from the cabin. At some point you’d collapsed, from exhaustion and blood loss.

The doctors said it was a miracle you survived. They had your house guarded since he hadn’t been detained, but once word of his death by police gunfire got around, things calmed down significantly. You relaxed over the years, letting your guard down and believing that things could return to normal. Serial killings all over the nation popped up, but you worried not—after all, the killer you were concerned with was dead.

One of the survivors reached out to you five years after that fateful night, wishing to get together with the others who lived to get drinks and properly move on from everything. It was, of course, a set up; Blade had returned, and the man who invited you believed he’d be spared if he got the rest of the survivors together in one place.

He’d been the first one murdered that night. 

Once again, you narrowly dodged death, just barely managing to get yourself to a hospital before you received one stab wound too many. Time goes on, and no matter how many times they put a bullet through his head, he manages to come back. The list of survivors has grown, but the list of victims is now countless.

You’re in your thirties when the police reach out to the adult survivors. There’s a new survivor: a five year-old girl by the name of Yunli. Her parents had been ruthlessly slaughtered, but he hadn’t touched even a single hair on the young girl’s hair. She didn’t have any living family, and so, you agreed to take her in. 

Life is easier with Yunli in it. A bright, spunky little thing, she brings joy to your days and some semblance of a family that you’ve been too scared to seek out. It’s nice to have the sound of laughter filling your home.

That same laughter has you smiling tonight, the girl’s giggling floating down the hallway and into the kitchen, where you’re washing dishes. A quick glance at the microwave’s clock tells you it’s close to her bedtime, and she’s far more energetic than she typically would be at this time. You wipe your hands off on a dish towel and walk down the hall toward her room, wishing to find out what’s working her up at this hour and wanting to tell her to wind down before bed.

You knock lightly before turning the knob. You get the door open a crack before the sight on the other side of it leaves you frozen, horrified.

He’s in Yunli’s room, kneeling before her as she shows him the many dolls you’ve bought her. His knife is on the floor beside him, and the eyes that have haunted your dreams for years pierce into you, pinning you where you stand.

The girl seems… happier with you, than she had been with her parents. Perhaps he’ll have to be kinder to you this time.

BOOTHILL gives me Texas Chainsaw Massacre vibes in terms of how he kills and the brutality of it all, but not personality-wise. No, I actually think he’d be quite personable with that southern charm of his— so of course, no one would ever expect him to do anything unspeakable.

You and your friends are on a road trip when the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere. There’s nothing but fields of crops as far as the eye can see, and the only sign of civilization is a barn, some stables, and a few coops with two houses near them about a mile away from where you’re standing.

You all make the trek, hoping to be able to get some help from the people living there. Worst case scenario, if it’s all been abandoned, you can squat there and look for tools to help you fix the car. But to your surprise, when you knock, a kind-looking man with wild white and black hair opens the door, and after hearing about your situation, is more than happy to be of assistance.

He tows the car onto his property and takes a look at it, determining that the entire engine needs to be replaced. Given his distance from the nearest auto shop, he says he’ll leave for town Sunday afternoon and get the part on Monday morning. It’s going to be an all-day trip, so he likely won’t be back until early Tuesday morning.

You’ve got a couple days to get to know him, in the meantime. Your friends absolutely adore him, pointing out how good of a guy he is, some even pointing out how attractive he is. You scoff one night as he’s making dinner away from where you’re all sitting, as one of your friends starts a bet on if any of you will be able to sleep with him before all of this is over.

Sunday afternoon comes all too soon, though, and none of you get very far with him before he’s heading off in his truck toward the nearest town. You’re a bit shocked that he would so willingly leave a group of strangers in his house unattended, but you chalk it up to his kindness that seems to be boundless.

You should have been far more concerned.

You’re all woken up that night by the sound of a chainsaw revving, shortly followed by one of your friend’s horrible shrieking. The room devolves into panic and chaos as you watch her get torn to shreds by the very man who invited you into his home, now donning a mask of what you hope is animal skin.

You all flee in different directions, but he knows the property better than you do, and sure enough, your friends are picked off one by one until you’re the last one standing. You narrowly dodge some of the traps he’s set up and take refuge in the stables, struggling to keep yourself together as you hear your friend’s cries in the distance. 

While looking for something to defend yourself with, you find a box hidden in a pile of hay. It’s locked, but you force it open, dumping its contents on the floor. A pistol, a few handwritten letters, and pictures of a woman and a young girl. You place the pistol beside you before your curiosity takes over, causing you to slowly go through and study the pictures.

In your distracted state, you failed to notice that he’d gotten into the stables. You jump to your feet when the chainsaw revs just a few feet in front of you. You turn off the safety and raise the gun, your hand steady and your shot clear.

He’s lost so much in his life, and it’s driven him to madness. And you, you remind him of something— someone precious who he lost to illness, to the cruelty of life.

He can’t lose you again. He won’t allow you to leave.

And that’s not something you’ll realize until he’s staring at you from the barrel of a gun you believe is loaded, laughing for a reason you can’t understand.

AVENTURINE stepped right out of a Scream movie. He’s a classic Ghostface-type killer, phone calls and everything. He’s certainly got the charisma needed to make the intimidating phone calls, and I feel like he would enjoy stalking and toying around with his prey a bit before going in for the kill. 

You could probably argue that he’s not the type to want to make things messy, but I feel like in this case, he would be using this as an outlet, meaning all his kills are brutal and gory. (Creative, at times, too. The police will give him that.) There’s just something so comforting about being covered in blood, the warm liquid almost serving as a warm embrace.

For him, there aren’t any better targets than his close friend group. He knows all their darkest secrets, and has no problem using his knowledge to torment them and easily back them into a corner, too panicked to see him coming until it’s too late. These people have always been fake, anyway, and he knows they’ve always looked down on him. Can you really blame him for taking out the trash?

And then, of course, there’s you. You’re not a saint by any means— no, you’ve got your fair share of skeletons in the closet, and each secret you divulge to him because of the trust you foolishly placed in him is sweeter than any death he could imagine giving you. Maybe that’s what draws him to you so much; where everyone else wears a mask, there’s something about you that’s genuine, and it’s a side of you that you’ve entrusted to only him.

So when the killer finally shows up on your doorstep, he’s the one you turn to. As you’re on the phone with the killer, responding to his taunts in an attempt to figure out where exactly he is in your house, you’re texting Aventurine on the side and sending him what you believe is your last goodbye. 

“Do you want to be forgiven?” The disguised voice on the other line croons into your ear. “Do you think you should be?”

You’ve just pressed send on your message when a hand seizes you by the back of the neck and throws you to the ground. The impact of hitting the hardwood floor distracts you from the sound of a phone buzzing nearby. You scramble backward, attempting to get to your feet as you do, but the masked man grabs onto your foot and sinks his knife into your calf, ripping a pained screech from your throat.

He drags you back toward him before settling on top of you, his legs straddling your waist rather suggestively. He sinks his blade into you and drags it across your skin slowly, the scorching pain leaving you writhing and crying out in pain.

He flees once he hears sirens in the distance. The police find you on the floor of your living room with four stab wounds and multiple cuts. Aventurine shows up not long after them, disheveled and worried and flashing the police the text you sent him. They allow him to ride in the ambulance with you, admiring his intent to endanger himself if it meant saving you.

You’re so frazzled that you don’t even notice he showed up at your house way sooner than he should’ve, as though he was already nearby. You just blindly turn to him for comfort, clutching onto him for dear life. It’s cute.

He runs his hands through your hair soothingly, shushing you and gently rubbing your back as you sob into his shoulder. You shouldn’t worry so much, dear. He’s here now, and he’ll make sure no one else lays a finger on you ever again.

You don’t realize your grave mistake until you’re standing in Jade’s basement, her brutalized body at your feet and a metal pipe in your hands. You can defend yourself all you like, but it’s far too easy for the masked killer to evade your swings and land his blade in your shoulder, your stomach, your thigh. All places that won’t kill you, of course.

When you finally collapse to your knees, sobbing hysterically and succumbing to your fate, the killer unexpectedly drops to his knees beside you. He wraps his arms around you and presses his chest to your back, trapping you in his hold. You shudder as he runs his blade along your face and neck, smearing your own blood across your soft skin.

“It’s okay,” he coos, and the familiar voice makes you freeze. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

The mocking laughter that follows makes your heart drop, and the rest of your hope vanishes.

SUNDAY is definitely involved in some Children of the Corn type of shit. Some supernatural slasher stuff where there’s a cult behind everything, and he’s at the head of it all.

Ena is not a kind god. Countless generations of Oaks have tried various methods of worship and offerings, but none work quite as well as the human sacrifice. This is something Mr. Wood had taught him from a very young age, explaining to Sunday their history as he methodically cut up whichever poor soul had wandered into their humble, hidden town that week.

As head of the Family, he’s exemplary. No one has ever wielded a blade quite like he has, his hand always steady and unflinching. His blessed hands bring prosperity to the land that has never been seen before, Ena’s favor raining down on him and his people. He is as revered as their god at this point, and there is nothing his people would not do for him.

The road trip you make every year to your parent’s house for Thanksgiving was a long one, and a sudden downpour along the way has you rolling to a stop in the nearest town. You plan to just take shelter at a restaurant and grab a bite to eat while you’re there, then fill up on gas and be on your merry way once everything clears up. 

Everyone is so kind, though. The locals in the restaurant make conversation with you, asking about your life and cooing at you once you explain that you’re on your way to visit your family. You spend most of your time talking to the people at the table next to you, a man and his sister, and you get so lost in conversation that you haven’t even realized night has fallen. You pay your bill and are ready to head out when the man stops you.

“You should stay the night at one of the inns,” he advises, a delicate hand placed on your shoulder. “There are still storm clouds, and it could start pouring again at any moment. It would be unfortunate to have to travel through that, especially at night.”

You check the forecast, and to your dismay, he’s right. With his help, you check into a hotel across the street, and you thank him for his assistance before you turn in for the night.

Your peaceful sleep is soon disrupted by a rag being held over your mouth and nose, startling you awake. At this point, you’ve already breathed in the chloroform, and you barely have time to register the formless figures around your bed dressed in shades of white and navy blue before you pass out.

You wake up in an underground cellar, stone walls encasing you in cold nothingness. There are four other people in the room with you, also bound and gagged and staring back at you with wide-eyed terror. There are screams of pain echoing down the stairs from somewhere above you all, the sound of synchronized chanting doing little to mask it.

It’s not difficult to guess what fate awaits you.

Young children dressed in extremely formal clothing bring you all food and water. They’re sweet to you all, terribly so. You’re not sure how long you’re down there, but the time you have left is counted down with each person that is taken out of the room. There are new people brought into the cellar, but once the original four you were with are gone, you know your time has come.

The next time the shapeless people in robes descend the steps, they reach for you. You’re injected with some kind of sedative before you even have the chance to lash out at them, and the blindfold they place over your eyes seems pointless, since you black out, anyways.

When you wake, your arms and legs are bound to some kind of marble slab that you’ve been laid on. You’ve been stripped, and your skin is covered in some kind of oil. It’s cold, and the vulnerability of being exposed just makes your situation all the worse.

Your breath hitches and your pitiful, muffled cries for help stop when you feel something sharp prick your skin. Sunday lightly applies pressure to the knife in his hand, carving beautiful patterns along the surface of your skin. With his free hand, he traces a gloved finger over the beads of blood the blade leaves behind, his touch so devout it’s downright sinful. The sight of you brings him pause, the knife stopping all too suddenly.

It is the first time he has hesitated during a ritual.

Perhaps… you’re not meant to be sacrificed. No, surely something as divine as you is meant for much more than that. Perhaps Ena has lured you here just for him, a reward for his unwavering faith, steady leadership, and all he has done for their people.

“As the highest among us,” Mr. Wood had said the day he named Sunday the new head of the Family, “you have first pick at reaping Ena’s blessings.”

Ena is not a kind god. But perhaps, just this once, they would allow him to be selfish.

[nats--sw]

Inherited Talent | Leah Williamson

Leah Williamson x reader Leah has finally convinced you that it’s time for your daughter to take her first steps into the world of football. This is based on this universe hey, so, Olivia has grown up a little my masterlist

“There are a lot of girls here,” Olivia murmured, squeezing your hand a little tighter.

“Well, it’s the first day,” you replied, trying to keep your voice cheerful despite the fact that, just like Olivia, your nerves were getting to you.

Leah, on the other hand, was in her element. She moved through the crowd with ease, greeting everyone, posing for pictures with some of the staff, and even a few of the girls who were there for the same as Olivia. Out of the three of you, she was definitely the most excited.

“Why are there boys too?” Olivia asked, hiding behind you as you both followed Leah.

Leah, catching up to Olivia’s question, smiled warmly. “It’s good for boys and girls to play together when they’re young,” she explained. “Once they’re older, they split the teams, but don’t worry, you’ll be on an all-girls team.”

You bit your lip, feeling a bit uneasy. Some of the boys and girls looked a lot bigger than Olivia, who was just barely on the edge of the minimum height for her age group.

This wasn’t new, it’s something you and Leah had talked about for months. Leah had been buzzing about Olivia joining the academy for ages. You, on the other hand, had always tried to push the idea off for as long as you could. But as soon as Olivia turned seven, Leah had come home with the Arsenal academy program in hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

And today was the junior tryout, and as Leah had reassured you the night before, all the kids would be accepted. After all, they were still so young, just children starting out.

“Okay, they’re about to start,” Leah said, hands on her hips, eyeing the pitch, which was noticeably smaller than a regular one. “You ready, Livy?”

But Olivia had backed away a few steps, her attention caught by a group of older girls across the field.

“Love, are you sure this is a good idea?” you muttered, lowering your voice as you shot Leah a slightly worried look.

Leah turned to you, her expression turning serious. “What do you mean?”

“It’s just… Livy’s still so little.”

“Darling, when I was her age, I was already playing with boys older than me,” Leah said, waving it off like it was no big deal. “This is nothing. Don’t worry.”

“But-”

“The doctor said more physical activity would help her, right? This’ll be good for her. Trust me.”

You opened your mouth to push back, but Leah had already wandered over to Olivia, gently nudging her along to join the other girls in her group.

You sighed, dropping down onto a nearby bench, keeping a bit of distance from the other parents. Leah could be so stubborn sometimes, and when it came to Olivia, she was far from objective. It didn’t help that, honestly, Livy wasn’t all that great at football.

Sure, Leah was the pro here, but you’d watched her play every week for over a decade, so you knew enough to tell when someone had that spark. And Olivia… well, let’s just say she struggled with her coordination.

Like most kids her age, she was a bit of a clumsy one, always tripping over her feet or bumping into things while running around the house. But she had it worse than most.

“Where’s your head at?” Leah’s laugh snapped you out of your thoughts as she sat down beside you, her face still full of excitement.

You gave her a sideways glance. “You really think Livy’s up for this?”

Leah’s smile faded, and she let out a sigh, clearly tired of the conversation. “Darling, Olivia’s not going to become a footballer overnight. It’s going to take work, that’s why we’re here. Trust me, no girl here is better than our daughter.”

How wrong Leah had been.

She cringed as the other girls darted past Olivia, barely noticing she was even there. Your daughter had hardly touched the ball once, and when she did, she ended up on the ground, tangled up in her own legs.

At this age, they didn’t really bother with positions in football, it was just a swarm of kids chasing the ball around, trying to kick it into the net. And there was Liv, hanging at the edge of the group, her attention everywhere but where it should’ve been.

Then came the shootout practice. Leah couldn’t help but shift uncomfortably each time it was Olivia’s turn to kick. It was either painfully slow, that the ball didn’t even reach the coach -who was standing in as the goalie- or a wild shot that flew wide of the goal altogether.

“What do you think now?” you muttered under your breath as you both made your way down the bleachers. Maybe this was the reality check Leah needed, seeing other girls Olivia’s age and finally accepting that football might not be Liv’s thing.

Leah shrugged, clinging to her optimism. “Just nerves, the first day and all” she said, then her smile softened the moment Olivia came running towards her.

“Hi, mommy!” Olivia panted, looking absolutely adorable. Her kit was a bit too big, even though it was meant to be her size, and her cheeks were flushed bright red, just like Leah’s after a long match in the sun.

“There’s my little star,” Leah grinned, scooping her up and brushing stray hairs off her forehead. “How was it, love?”

Olivia shrugged, looking a bit worn out. “Can we go home now?” she asked, glancing at you with those big, tired eyes.

“Yeah, let’s get you home,” you said with a smile.

Leah was just about to put her down when the coach approached with a man holding a camera.

“Excuse me, Leah, would you mind if we...?” the coach gestured to the camera.

Leah sighed lightly but waved her hand. “Sure, go ahead,” she said, setting Olivia down gently.

“We’d love to get a few shots of you and your daughter,” the camera guy chimed in. “It’s important for the academy, you know, showing that one of our top players, who came through the programme herself, trusts us to guide her daughter too.”

The coach smiled, but Leah’s stomach flipped after watching Olivia out there on the pitch.

“Of course,” she said, managing a nervous smile as she pulled Olivia close for the photo.

“You know, plenty of footballers' kids don’t end up playing football,” you said as you slipped into bed that night. “Look at Becks’ kids, for example.”

“You’re really not helping,” Leah grumbled, eyes fixed on her phone as she replied to a few messages from her teammates, who’d been buzzing after seeing Olivia’s pictures from the academy.

“Lee…”

“Livy likes football,” Leah said, finally putting her phone down and turning to you.

“Yeah, she does,” you agreed, scooting closer and resting your arm over her stomach, head on her chest. Leah’s hand instinctively found its way to your hair, gently playing with the strands. “I just don’t want you to think you’re forcing her into it or something.”

“I know that’s exactly what you’re thinking tho.”

“Leah, I just want you to realize that Olivia’s not you... at least not yet.”

Leah sighed, a little stubbornness still hanging in the air. “Fine, but she’ll keep training, on her own terms. No one’s born knowing how to kick a ball, you know?” she said, determined as ever.

You let out a quiet sigh, knowing this conversation was far from over, but you’d let it rest for now.

Almost two months had passed, and honestly, there wasn’t much progress.

You were the one driving Olivia to practice during the week, which she actually enjoyed. But on weekends, it was Leah’s turn, unless she was busy with a match. Those were the days Olivia wasn’t too keen on, since Leah would often stick around at the academy for an extra half-hour, kicking balls with her.

“Mummy!”

You were getting ready to take Olivia to the academy, even though there wasn’t any training today, Leah's team had a league cup match, and the academy kids were going along to watch.

“What’s up, love?” you asked, looking up and feeling a bit concerned when you saw she wasn’t in her jersey but in her everyday clothes.  “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” you said, setting your stuff aside and guiding her over to the couch.

“I’m not sure if I want to go see mommy today,” she mumbled, fiddling with her fingers.

“Why not?”

From a young age, Olivia had understood Leah’s celebrity status- her mother was practically famous in the sports world, always on tv or the radio, with people constantly asking for photos. Olivia had always had to share her mom’s attention with adults and teens wanting selfies or autographs when they were out. But now she wasn’t handling it well with her teammates getting so much of Leah’s attention too.

“Is something wrong, love?” you asked.

“I don’t want to see mommy if my teammates are there,” she said, tears starting to brim.

“I don’t quite follow, sweetheart…”

You tried to remember every time you’d been to Olivia’s practices. None of the other kids were ever mean or annoying, and Liv seemed to get along with most of her teammates.

“Mommy doesn’t like me that much...” she sobbed, and it broke your heart to see her so sad.

You scooped her up and settled her on your lap, rocking her gently. “How could mommy not like you?” you said, managing a sad smile as you wiped away her tears. “You’re the most important thing in the world to both mommy and me,” you reassured her, but Olivia just shook her head.

“Mom prefers Millie”

You looked at her, a bit confused. “Who’s Millie?”

“My teammate, number 10,” Olivia said, and you vaguely remembered one of the taller girls from her group. “She’s always playing with mom and me, but mom ends up playing with her more because I get tired first.”

Ah, now you recalled a bit of a late night chat with Leah, where she’d mentioned a little girl who played really well. At the time, you’d just thought it was Leah going on about football again.

“Sweetheart...” you whispered, pulling her into a tighter hug. It’s okay if you don’t want to go. We don’t have to.” You gave her a gentle kiss on the forehead. “What would you like to do instead?”

“Can you play with me for a bit?” she asked, rubbing her eyes. She then hopped off your lap and grabbed one of the many balls lying around the house. “Can we?”

You nodded and got up from the couch, following Olivia to the backyard where Leah had set up a goal. You kicked off your shoes to keep them clean and watched Olivia’s face light up with excitement. It had been a while since she’d looked that happy, even though she played regularly with Leah after school. You had a feeling that what used to be a fun activity was now feeling more like a chore, and let’s be real, no one really wanted Leah Williamson as their coach all the time.

“Well, you know I’m not exactly like mom,” you said, giving the ball a nudge with your foot. “So don’t judge me if I’m not that great.”

“I know you’re not like mom,” Olivia giggled, heading for the goal. “Can you kick the ball from there?” she asked, getting into position.

“Do you want to play like that?” you asked, tilting your head, thinking she’d just want to run after you with the ball.

Olivia shook her head and giggled as your shot went off towards the garden.

“I did say I’m not like mom,” you said, going to get the ball.

When Leah got home, Olivia was already tucked up in bed, fast asleep and ready for school the next morning. You were still with your laptop, wrapping up some work.

“Love?” Leah called out, dropping her bag on the floor. “Hey, how’s everything?” She leaned in for a kiss, but when she noticed you didn’t return it, she pulled back. “What’s up? Is Livy still feeling sick?”

You’d told Leah a small lie about Liv having a stomach ache earlier, which was why you both had missed the game in the afternoon.

“Livy’s fine, it was nothing serious,” you said, shutting down your laptop and patting the spot next to you on the couch. “We need to talk about something…”

“About what?” Leah asked, looking confused.

“I think you’re being a bit too… hard on her,” you said gently.

“Are we still on about this? Look, if Olivia didn’t enjoy playing, I wouldn’t push her. But she likes it, you’ve said it yourself, she now has new friends and she’s improving, even if it’s just a bit.”

“It’s not just that, Leah. Liv’s a really sensitive kid. She’s not like you.”

“What do you mean?” Leah asked, her face getting serious.

“Liv’s more like me- she’s sentimental and emotional. She picks up on things.”

Leah pinched the bridge of her nose and let out a frustrated sigh. “Love, can you just be straightforward, please?”

“Olivia knows she’s not the best at football, and she can tell it... bothers you.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Leah shot back quickly, but you just shook your head.

“Maybe not directly, but you’d like her to be more like the other girls at the academy.”

Leah went quiet and shuffled a bit on the couch.

“My point is… Liv needs you as her mom, not just her coach.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” Leah said, a hint of irritation in her voice.

“Leah,” you said more firmly this time. “Olivia’s always craved your attention, and not just-” you raised a hand when you saw her about to interrupt. “I’m not saying you don’t give it to her, but she needs more. Especially now that she’s worried if she’s not good enough, she might lose your attention to another girl.”

“It’s not-”

“I’m not done,” you said. “And I’ll say it again: she doesn’t want your attention as a footballer. She wants your attention as her mother. So, from now on, football is banned in this house.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you chatting about football at the dinner table or chasing Liv around to play, and no more academy talk unless it’s absolutely necessary. She’s already feeling insecure about it, and you’re not helping.”

“Darling, how can you ban a hobby I share with my daughter?” Leah asked, looking upset.

“There are plenty of other hobbies out there. Find something else.”

Leah dropped her head in defeat, now looking a bit embarrassed.

“Is that why you both didn’t go today?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Yeah, I think she didn’t want her teammates reminding her of how good you are. She’s a bit scared of being compared to you.” you said softly. 

Leah shook her head, her expression softening.

“And I spoke with your mum... and I’m sorry, but she was a bit angry with you. Said you were being a bit of a jerk.”

Leah shot you an offended look. “She was no better than I am now.”

“But she used to get a more positive response from you,” you pointed out. “You two are just as stubborn as each other, so if you wanted to train before school, she’d have just gone along with it.” You rested your hand on her thigh as you saw her processing this.

“And Olivia isn’t like me,” she finally said quietly.

“No, she’s not,” you agreed.

“God, I’m such a terrible mother,” Leah said, burying her face in her hands.

“You’re not a terrible mother, Lee,” you said, gently taking her hands away from her face. “We’re still figuring this out. It’s not easy, and we’re going to mess up now and again, and probably a lot more.”

Leah, with a distant look in her eyes, let go of your hands and leaned back on the couch, resting her head on your lap.

“Now I’m feeling pretty sad,” Leah said. “I was all upbeat coming in because we had a win-” she cut herself off. “Can I still talk about our win today, or is that banned too?”

You shook your head, rolling your eyes a bit.

You heard Leah take a deep breath. With one hand, you gently stroked her hair, which was still damp from her shower before she came home.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Now, we need to take a step back and chill out,” you said. “We need to give Liv some space. Maybe we should find some other stuff she might enjoy besides football. Remember how you used to spend all day watching movies and eating in bed? Maybe she’d like to do things like that with you again. I just want her to know she’s enough for you, no matter what. I know she is, and I’d never doubt that, but she’s a kid and needs to see it more clearly.”

Leah nodded, though her gaze seemed a bit lost as she reflected on everything that had happened over the past month. 

“I just wanted her to feel strong, you know? To have that fire in her. The world can be harsh, and I don’t want her to get hurt…she’s so tiny.”

“I know…” you murmured softly, gently tracing the contours of Leah’s face, something that always helped her relax.

“Football made me tough as a kid and taught me to stand up for myself, fend for myself- I wanted the same for our daughter…I didn’t think it was the wrong way.”

“There are other ways to show her that, love. We’re here for that, and we need to help her see her worth for who she is, not just as a mini version of you to earn your respect and attention.”

As you traced your finger down Leah’s nose, she let a few tears fall. “I feel awful… I never meant for her to think I’m disappointed in her or that I prefer other kids over my own daughter.”

“I know,” you said, pulling her close, the same way you had comforted Olivia hours earlier. “But you sometimes have a hard time showing certain things, so you need to make the effort to really show her. Tell her again how much you love her and how proud you are of her.”

“You’re a better mum than I am,” she said with a sad smile.

“Not at all,” you said, making a face. “I’ve messed up too, and you’ve been the one to help me fix things. We’re a team, Lee. We’re here to support each other, especially when it comes to Liv.”

“Let’s just say we’re both doing our best,” Leah said, laughing a bit as she wiped away her tears. “I’ll have a chat with her tomorrow after school, no talk about football, just us.”

You smiled, giving her a gentle push to get her off your lap. “Sounds good,” you said, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

Leah sighed again, and you could tell she wouldn’t be at ease until she talked to Olivia.

“Thanks for helping me see things clearer,” she said, looking a bit awkward, knowing this could have been avoided if she’d listened to you earlier.

“That’s what I’m here for,” you said, standing up from the couch and offering her a hand to help her up.

“I love you,” she said, giving you a kiss.

Even after all these years, Leah Williamson’s kisses still had that same spark.

“I love you too,” you said, taking her hand as you started walking. “Let’s get to bed. I’m definitely not forgetting to celebrate that amazing assist you pulled off in today’s game,” you said with a cheeky wink, making Leah smile.

The next day, Olivia burst into your home office, chocolate smeared all over her face but grinning from ear to ear.

“Hi, mummy!” she exclaimed, running up to give you a kiss on the cheek, leaving a chocolate streak behind.

“Did you have ice cream before dinner?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mom said it’s a special treat just for today,” Liv replied, as Leah walked in with some wipes in one hand and Liv’s school bag in the other.

“Just for today,” Leah repeated, making sure you weren’t in a meeting with your camera on before leaning in for a quick kiss. “You smell like chocolate,” she laughed, noticing the ice cream remnants on your cheek.

“And you taste like vanilla,” you said, wiping your cheek with the back of your hand.

“Me? Vanilla? I don’t think so,” Leah said with a cheeky grin, and you just rolled your eyes, trying not to smile.

“Idiot.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Leah said, turning around to grab Liv’s arm as she tried to sneak away. “Hey, no, no, no,” Leah said firmly.

“But, mommy-”

“Let me get the chocolate off you first,” Leah said, pulling out a wipe and gently wiping it from Olivia’s mouth.

It was absolutely charming to see Leah’s motherly side; it was something you never tired of seeing.

“There, now you’re all clean,” Leah said proudly. “My precious girl,” she murmured, stroking Liv’s cheeks as she wrinkled her nose. “What would I do without you, huh?”

“You wouldn’t be a mommy,” Liv said, shaking her head, and you chuckled.

Leah shook her head and let out a giggle too.

“Exactly, Liv,” she said, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “Now go and do your homework, okay? Then we can watch some movies.”

Liv sighed dramatically and dragged her feet and backpack out of the office.

You and Leah exchanged a look, admiring the dramatic flair your daughter had.

“She’s definitely your daughter,” you said with a grin, turning back to your work.

“Darling!” Leah came rushing over, weaving through the crowd of parents trying to find a spot in the stands. It was the last game of the season for the kids' teams, and the place was packed.

Leah had just got off a plane from a friendly match abroad, so she arrived only minutes before kick-off.

“I didn’t think you’d make it,” you said, moving aside to let her sit.

Leah shook her head and gave you a quick peck on the lips. “I promised Olivia I’d be here... though I was a bit surprised at how insistent she was that I come,” she said, her voice tinged with a hint of sadness that she tried to cover with a smile.

Olivia had asked you a few weeks ago to start taking her to her training sessions instead of Leah, and given the sensitive nature of the situation, Leah didn’t want to intrude.

“You do know your daughter doesn’t hate you, right?” you said quietly, resting your hand on Leah’s thigh. “You’re still her favorite mom, actually.”

Leah just hummed and avoided your gaze, as if the empty field had suddenly become the most interesting thing.

A few minutes later, the girls appeared on the field, and Leah’s face dropped when she didn’t spot Olivia.

“Where’s Livy?” she asked, looking a bit worried.

“She’s over there,” you pointed to the little girl standing second, wearing a black cap and a goalie’s kit. Leah clearly hadn’t recognised her because she had no clue her daughter had changed positions.

“W-what?” Leah asked, surprised, but her face brightened when she saw Olivia giving her a small wave.

“It was a surprise,” you said, trying to hide your grin.

“But Liv’s never played as a goalie,” Leah said, a bit confused.

“Well, it turns out she’s actually quite good. She saves all my shots that go all over the place,” you said, remembering how Olivia would bounce around, not caring about scraping her knees whenever you threw the ball in the wrong direction.

Leah was lost for words. She didn’t want to seem biased because it was her daughter in goal, and she was trying to overlook the fact that the girls trying to score on Olivia weren’t the best, but she loved Olivia’s determination to catch every ball, even if it meant taking a few hits in the face.

“We are calling Mary as soon as we’re out of here,” Leah said, her eyes still glued to the game.

“Alright, let’s put that on hold for now,” you said, trying to soften the intensity in your wife’s gaze. “Let’s remember, this is supposed to be pressure-free.”

“Yeah, alright, love,” Leah said, sounding distracted. You could tell she wasn’t really listening.

“What was that?!” Leah exclaimed, opening her arms as Olivia came running towards you both with a small trophy shaped like a glove and a medal hanging around her neck.

“Did you like it, mommy?” Olivia asked with excitement.

“What, of course I did! Even Alessia couldn’t score on you if she tried!” Leah said, showering Olivia’s cheeks with kisses in exaggerated enthusiasm.

Normally, you wouldn’t join in with Leah’s exaggerated praise, but right now Olivia needed a confidence boost.

“I’d say you’re even better than Mary,” you whispered against her cheek. “We’re so proud of you.”

“My daughter’s a superstar,” Leah said, pulling out her phone. “Alright, now smile for the camera. We need to get these photos for grandma before she scolds me again, besides she’s still mad at me”

Leah and Olivia had gone to the car while you had to run back because Olivia had forgotten her cap in the locker room. By the time you got to the parking lot, it was almost empty, with just your car and Leah’s left. You saw them standing by Leah’s car.

“…You don’t have to come back next season,” you overheard Leah saying to Olivia.

“I like coming here now, mom.”

“Are you sure? We can look for another sport... or any other activity you’re into. It doesn’t have to be football,” Leah said softly.

“But I like it.”

“Aren’t you just saying that because I like football too?”

“Yes, but I like it as well, mom.”

“Right. But remember, if you decide you don’t like this anymore, I won’t push you. I don’t want you doing things just to please me, or anyone else. Do you understand, love?”

The tenderness Leah showed in her conversation with Olivia touched your heart. You knew Leah could be a bit much at times, but you were certain she’d always put your daughter’s happiness first.

[paradiseprincesss]

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ To Be Eaten Alive | Jonathan Crane

hello hello! im gonna be in uni full time again starting first week of september so uploads will be much slowerrrr im sorry. ill try to write as much as i can for u my little loves!

request based off the prompt 15 from this list here

summary — your boss, jonathan crane, plans on isolating you away from your old life, consuming you whole until you become nothing but devoted to him...but you're too naive to see the mind games that the expert psychiatrist is playing.

warnings — smut, p in v, soft!dark jonathan, doctor/nurse relationship, boss/employee relationship, creampie

word count — 3.3k

masterlist

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY.

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Jonathan felt his chest tighten as he narrowed his blue eyes behind his glasses. His focus was locked on you and only you, along with the orderly speaking to you for the last few minutes.

You were a nurse at Arkham, young and bright-eyed, so full of energy — and that caught Jonathan’s attention. Your unusually cheerful demeanour and sweet aura drew him in, whether he liked it or not. Maybe it was how you’d always give him a cute little wave every time he’d pass by you, or maybe it was how you’d smile at him when everyone else seemed to cower away from the stoic doctor. 

Or maybe it was because once he saw you leaving work in your everyday clothes instead of your usual scrubs, and when you seemingly bent over to pick up your keys which you dropped on the ground, he could see the lace of your pink panties poking out of your low-rise sweatpants — but I guess we’ll never know. 

See, that was the problem. You were so sweet, but you were like that with everyone you worked with; which made Jonathan feel inferior in many ways, but he promised himself that he’d have you eventually.

He didn’t want to hurt you by any means — oh god, no. He’d rather torture himself than watch you suffer through any anguish. However, he did want everyone around you to fall victim to a rather sinister fate if it meant they stayed away from you. 

Jonathan didn’t really consider himself a sadist, but watching those around you seemingly go missing and suddenly quit their jobs at Arkham (unwillingly, of course), derived an innate sense of pleasure within him. 

That was one of the perks of being the chief psychiatrist — he had all the power in the world to do whatever he pleased within the walls of Arkham, no matter who he hurt in the process. Jonathan would quietly fire many employees who he felt were “too friendly” with you, but he’d always tell you that they’d mysteriously quit or that they had changed jobs. 

“Perhaps they just didn’t have it in them to help the…unique patients we house here,” he’d say to you. “Not everyone is as dedicated and as kind as you are, you know?” 

Foolishly, you let his flattery get into your head; you let yourself fall for him without even realizing it.

You believed that the universe divinely guided you to him. You were sure of it — he was just so kind and understanding. You couldn’t believe the other staff of Arkham didn’t see him the way you did! How could they dislike him? Fear him? 

To Jonathan, you were like an angel that fell from above, capturing his cold, dead heart within your warm, beating, and very alive one. You were so kind to the patients, so gentle with them — and your patients only ever had good things to say about you. 

As you spoke to the orderly in front of you about what you did over the weekend, you noticed your boss looking rather tense from the corner of your eye. His jaw was clenched slightly, and his expression unforgiving. He exhaled sharply before ushering you over toward him, causing you to excuse yourself from your current conversation. 

“Doctor Crane,” you greeted sweetly, “how are you?”

“I’m rather stressed today,” he answered softly, taking on that same gentle tone that he always seemed to take with you. 

“Is everything okay?” 

“Everything is fine, but I'm worried about you.”

“What do you mean?” you asked innocently, cocking your head to the side slightly as if to emphasize your confusion. 

“I think perhaps we should speak in my office about this,” he offered. “Come with me, please.” 

Your smile suddenly faltered slightly as anxiety and paranoia ran rampant through your veins.

Your paranoid thoughts had to be put on the back burner as you took a seat across from him in his office, watching him as he sat down at his desk. His suit was pristine as always — and today, he opted for a brown sweater vest underneath it.

You’d count every thread and stitch on his suit for him if he asked you to. 

“Doctor Crane—”

“Just Jonathan is fine,” he interrupted before clearing his throat. “I wanted to speak to you in private about a certain concern of mine.” 

“What is it?”

He sighed before he took off his glasses and meticulously placed them on his desk. He leaned forward slightly, and you stayed quiet as he hesitated for a moment before his smooth voice finally cut through the silence in his office between the two of you. 

“I’m worried that you may be overworking yourself,” he explained, looking at you with his tantalizing eyes. “I notice you pick up shifts and work overtime frequently, and I worry that you may be taking on more than you can handle. As your boss, I just want to make sure that you’re not burning yourself out as that can’t be good for you, and I believe in a healthy work-life balance.”

You made an ‘o’ shape with your mouth, unsure as to what you could say to him — that wasn’t what you were expecting him to say to you. Perhaps you had been overworking yourself, but that was just a part of you. Having a strong work ethic was something you strongly believed in, but maybe he was right. You couldn’t care for your patients if you were too exhausted to, right? 

Now that he mentioned it, you were quite tired today. You started to think about it — as of recently, you’d been slamming coffees left right and center to stay awake at work, hadn’t you? You just wanted to help out since you were fairly new around here, but maybe it was doing you more damage than good.

Jonathan saw your usually cheerful demeanour deflate in his office, and he looked at you sympathetically, “I know this is not something you’d want to hear, especially from your boss of all people — but I just want to ensure that all my staff are doing well, you know?”

You bit your lip for a mere second, hesitating to speak before you let the words fall from your lips, “You know, Jonathan, sometimes I feel like you’re the only person here who actually��cares about me.” 

He internally applauded himself — in a moment of vulnerability, you sought out comfort in him. Just like he had planned. Just like he wanted.

“I think you’re an exceptional nurse,” he mused, “and truthfully, I do enjoy working alongside you. So yes, of course, I care about you. I remember when I first started working after finishing my residency, I would exhaust myself constantly. I’ve learned through many years that it’s just not good for you.” 

Jonathan’s plan was being executed perfectly — he wanted to isolate you. He wanted you to come running into his arms, far away from everyone else around you. He was on his worst behaviour today, but he believed you brought out the best in him. 

You weren’t overworking yourself, but with Jonathan’s quick wit, years of training in psychology, and exceptional gaslighting skills, you thought perhaps he was right. Maybe you should take some time off of work, you thought.

“Tell you what,” he said softly, “how about you and I have drinks tonight instead? Forget about work and such. I think you need it.”

His words caused your cheeks to heat up. He was your boss, and this was way out of line for a boss to ask an employee. However, it didn’t help that you were very attracted to him.

“Drinks?”

“My place at eight. I have a bottle of cabernet I think you’d enjoy — If I remember correctly, you said it was your favourite?” 

“Y-yeah,” you stammered. “It is.” 

“So I'll see you tonight at eight, then,” he smiled softly, causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. “I’ll text you my address.” 

You nodded, slightly starstruck. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

Once you’d parked your car on the side of the neighbourhood street, you stepped out into the chilly night, your high heels clicking against the pavement of the ground loudly as you made your way onto his porch.

You gave three soft raps to his front door before you heard shuffling coming from inside the house. After a few moments, the front door swung open gently, and Jonathan stood there with a small smile on his face.

“Come inside,” he ushered you, “make yourself at home, darling.”

And so you did. 

You two talked over a few glasses of cabernet, bringing up the topic of work a few times here and there, but he mostly attempted to get to know the real you. What you did in your spare time, what your hobbies were, if you were seeing anyone…

“Out of curiosity, are you seeing anyone?” Jonathan asked you casually, but his voice dropped an octave as he looked directly at you, resting his hand on your thigh rather boldly. “I’m asking because I've seen the way you look at me…” 

“I-I’m sorry?” you stammered, your cheeks feeling warmer and warmer by the second with the way his hand was now resting on your leg. You couldn’t deny it now. “I didn’t mean…um, I just — you’re always so kind to me…and I–”

He shushed you softly, creeping his hand up a little further. “I’m quite flattered, darling. Not to worry,” he purred. “I figured it wouldn’t be very appropriate of me to tell you how hard it is for me to not look at you when you’re at work, but after today, I just don’t think I can help myself anymore…” 

Suddenly, his lips brushed up against yours, and as if it was instinct, your hands came to wrap around his shoulders. He let you pull him in even closer, his hands now coming to rest on your hips as you two kissed feverishly on his couch.

You and him were like a chemical reaction — explosive, unpredictable, and potentially fatal.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered against your lips in between kisses. 

A shiver ran down your spine as his hold on your hips tightened slightly, his words causing your brain to short-circuit for a moment before you could think clearly again. 

“Jonathan, I–”

“Don’t speak, just give into it, my darling.”

You let yourself get lost in the constellation that was Jonathan Crane, letting him run his hands all over your body and kiss you with an insatiable hunger. Soft moans left your mouth as he peppered kisses down your jawline and neck, nipping at the delicate skin gently. 

You would’ve been worried about him leaving marks because you wouldn’t want your boss to see the next day at work — but you had to remind yourself that he was your boss. 

But none of that mattered when it felt so right; when his lips felt so good against your skin.

“Can I take this off?” he rasped, toying with the strap of your dress. 

“Mhm,” you hummed. “Please, Jonathan…”

Slowly, he took the dress off of your body, gently tossing the garment to the side as he looked at you in absolute awe. It was like looking at a priceless piece of art in a museum exhibit to him — nothing could compare. Even a picture wouldn’t do the sight in front of him justice. 

“Should we go upstairs?” you suddenly asked. 

Maybe it was the handful of wine you’d shared that evening, or maybe it was just sheer arousal; you weren’t sure which one, but all you knew was that you needed him to have his way with you. 

“Yeah, of course,” he agreed, taking your hand in his. “Just up the stairs to the left — I think I'll let you lead the way, darling…”

The two of you got up from the couch, hand in hand, and Jonathan’s eyes roamed your body from behind as you made your way up the stairs together. 

Of course, you came prepared — you know, just in case things were to happen. Before you left, you threw on your sexiest, laciest, lingerie underneath your dress, and it was a good thing you did because that investment certainly paid off.

He watched your hips sway in your lingerie, along with the heels you were still wearing (because we simply can’t forget about those), and he could feel his cock straining against his pants. “Pretty girl,” he mumbled from behind you. “Your body is heavenly.” 

“Shush,” you giggled, grabbing him by his tie and pulling him close once you reached the bedroom. 

He looked down at you in the dim lighting of his bedroom, noticing the way your skin was glowing under it. Your hair was slightly messy from making out on the couch earlier, and you had a small smile tugging at your lips — you were perfection if he’d ever seen it. 

Jonathan kissed you rougher this time, his hands finding their way into your hair, tugging ever so gently against your scalp. He backed you up onto the bed, pushing you down onto it as he undid his tie, looming over your delicate body which was sprawled out on his king-sized bed. 

After taking his tie off, he threw off his suit jacket and started to unbutton his shirt. You hummed softly, running your heel against his leg as he rushed to get himself out of his clothes. The tent in his pants made it all the more obvious how desperate he truly was for you, but you stayed patient. 

Once he was on the bed with you, he helped you out of your bra and panties, causing your cheeks to heat up from how exposed you felt. “You’re cute when you blush,” he commented when he noticed your blush, making you all the more flustered while he undid his belt. 

After freeing himself, his thick, veiny cock caught your attention, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. He was big — you weren’t sure how that was supposed to fit, but right now you were so wet, you were almost certain your walls would stretch out around him with ease. 

He lined himself up with your dripping entrance, giving himself a few strokes before looking at you with his lip caught between his teeth. “Are you sure?” he whispered, and you nodded feverishly. 

“Please,” you whimpered.

Your back was arched and you let out a filthy moan as he slid himself into your warm, sticky cunt with little resistance. The sheer size of him alone had you feeling so full, and he stilled as he bottomed out in you so that you could adjust to him. “Tell me when,” he said softly, his hand coming to brush up against your hips softly. 

“You can move now,” you breathlessly said, giving him the green light. Your breath got caught in your throat as he started to set a gentle but deep pace, the tip of his cock brushing against that spongy spot inside of you with every thrust. 

“O-oh–” you moaned.

His hands found purchase on your hips, and his eyes trailed over your face as he fucked you sensually, but slowly, eventually going harder and faster as you got accumulated to him. “So fucking tight, Jesus—” he choked out. You’d never heard him curse before, and his smooth voice had you clenching around him, to which he let out another moan. “Fuck, darling — you feel so good.” 

“Mm-hmm!” you squeaked, taking his cock deeper and deeper into your soaked cunt with every stroke. “Jonathan, fuck—!”

“Right there, darling?” he cooed softly, slamming his cock into your hole much rougher now, causing you to see stars as he stretched you open on his thickness. “Feels good, baby?” 

“Yes, yes, yes — oh my god!” you chanted, grabbing onto his biceps as you felt his fat cock drilling you. You were letting out feverish moans, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you became increasingly more cock-drunk by the minute. 

Your moans were like music to Jonathan. Like the sound he would hear being played once he died and went to heaven — because to him, this was heaven. You’d come running into the arms of the man who was slowly isolating you, breaking you; cornering you into his heart. 

But there’s always something so right about something so inherently wrong, isn’t there? 

“I can feel you squeezing me,” he groaned, watching you with furrowed brows as he concentrated on your pleasure. “Are you close, darling? Fuck, you are, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimpered breathlessly, moans being forced out of you with every delicious thrust he gave your cunt. “Gonna– oh, I’m gonna cum!” 

Jonathan watched in a mixture of pure bliss, awe, and satisfaction as you fell apart in his very hands. Yes — this is where he wanted you. He just wanted to love you, to show you how perfect he was for you, to take care of you and make you see that everyone else around you was just a waste of time. 

No more talking to orderlies who’d flirt with you, no more going out for after-work drinks with the other nurses. No, none of that. He was going to make sure that you’d work under him only, figuratively and literally.

“Gon’ cum,” he groaned, feeling his cock spurting ropes of cum into your warm, tight hole as he gave you a few more lazy thrusts, not bothering to pull out. Your mind went blank as he filled you up wholly, stuffing you with his sticky, warm seed as you lay there fucked out from what just happened moments prior. “Why don’t you stay over tonight?”

You looked up at him groggily, mind still foggy from your orgasm. “What? I work tomorrow–”

“Take a paid day off,” he shrugged, pulling his softening cock out from your worn-out hole. “Use as many as you’d like darling, I won’t tell.” 

His teasing words caused you to throw your head back into the pillows blissfully with a sigh, genuinely believing that he only had your best interest at heart — he just didn’t want you to overwork yourself. It’s not like he was planning on totally locking you away from every living being in Gotham besides him or anything…

“I feel bad though,” you murmured sleepily. “I feel like I’m – I dunno – abusing my privileges.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, pretty girl,” Jonathan assured you softly, turning off the lights so that only the moonlight was dimly shining into his bedroom. He placed a soft kiss on the top of your head as he pulled the covers over you both, cradling you in his arms like you were made of fine china. “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

“You’re so lovely, Jon. You truly have such a kind soul.” 

“Surely nothing compared to yours, my darling,” he whispered against your hair as you closed your eyes. “Now, get some rest. We can talk about moving your things in here in the morning…”

Unfortunately, you had already dozed off in his embrace; too busy being washed away by sleep to hear his words. Jonathan smiled to himself — he’d never let you go now. You’d lost all control the moment you stepped into his house, unknowingly making yourself a hostage of some sort.  

In the end, as you clung to him, believing he was the saviour from your exhaustion, you failed to see that it was his “love” that had slowly consumed you whole, leaving you nothing but a hollow shell, devoured by the very hands that promised refuge.

Sometimes, the most dangerous traps are the ones we walk into willingly, thinking they’re the key to our freedom, as they say. But the cruel irony of it all is that we think we’re being saved from the jaws of this terrible world, only to be eaten alive by those who we call our saviours. 

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

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@girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @esotericdoe

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@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues @o0laura @fiona-my-love @cranecat

[somedaylazysomeday]

Good Intentions Part Twenty-Five

Ongoing Silco x fem!reader fic (no reader description, no use of 'Y/N')

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 4,800

Warnings: Fear, insecurity, break-in, threats to personal safety, mob mentality, time skips, guns, bludgeoning weapons, veiled threats, references to sex as a form of payment, drug references, mentions of previous bribery

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---

You were woken by the sound of bells ringing. 

There was no bell system at the Haven for patients to alert that they needed attention - though in the part of your mind that wasn’t focused on getting dressed, it wasn’t a bad idea - so that wasn’t what had launched you out of bed before you had fully woken up. 

No, the bells were the temporary, low-cost security system you had put into place when Silco had pulled his guards away from the Haven. 

Since Silco had decided to use the knowledge of your connection to destroy your life, you had never been sure what the security guards were there to do. Were they a parting gift, meant to console you as you adjusted to a less-protected life in the Undercity? Were they meant to keep an eye on you and report back to Silco? Were they just waiting until the most devastating possible moment to leave? 

It was your best guess that the last possibility was closest to the truth. HexTech had taken over financial support of the Haven after most of the other donors had withdrawn their contributions, but they were a young company. They didn’t have the money to support themselves and pay for external expenses like security guards. You had just been thrilled to be funded, so you had agreed to those terms. 

A little over a week later, Silco had pulled his security guards from the Haven. 

One of the two in-house doctors had resigned the next day. His safety could not be guaranteed without guards. The other doctor had stayed, but he was running himself ragged trying to help all the patients through withdrawal alone.

The original Haven staff would have been able to help - most of them had seen enough to function as makeshift medics when absolutely necessary - but they had long since left. The scandal of you accepting donations from Silco had been too much for most of them, and the others hadn’t been able to handle the increased stress of the new workload. 

In short, the Haven was still afloat, but you were left trying to cover large gaps in staffing, services, and security. Hence the bells. 

You had installed bells over every external door to the Haven, plus a few trip wires and pressure plates that would ring a bell in your room if they were set off. Residents and the new staff knew where the wires and plates were so they could avoid activating them. It wasn’t a particularly elegant system, but it was enough for you to know when someone was in the Haven who didn’t belong there. 

As was currently the case. 

A baseball bat was your only protection as you moved down the stairs as quietly as possible. There was a dim light coming from under the door in the front room, the door slightly ajar. That was what had set off the bells in your room, then. 

With the baseball bat up and over your shoulder, you gently toed the door open and stepped inside. 

You halted almost immediately, startled by the way you had been greeted by name. “Yi? Fletcher?” 

Fletcher had rushed toward you, handsome face happy, but he paused before he got within touching distance of you. “Are you okay? What’s with the bat?” 

“We don’t have security anymore,” you explained shortly. “Never knew when someone is going to break in.” 

“That’s why we’re here,” Yi explained. “The lack of security, not to break in.” 

Your tired brain was struggling to make sense of that. “What-? What does that mean?” 

“Can we sit down?” a vaguely familiar young man requested. You hadn’t spotted him behind Yi and Fletcher, but he seemed to be the last member of the group.

Wordlessly, you motioned them through the door into the kitchen, then followed them inside as they sat at the small table at one side of the room. 

“We heard the Haven doesn’t have security anymore,” Yi explained. “We all wanted to come back and help out.” 

“Why?” you asked, helpless to disguise the suspicion in your voice. 

The familiar man glanced at Yi and Fletcher, then spoke. “I don’t know if you remember me, ma’am. I was part of the security detail that Silco assigned to the Haven.” 

You secrets had been laid bare, exposed before the entirety of Piltover, but you still cringed at the casual way he announced your connection to Silco. “Yes, I remember you. You were fairly new. I don’t know if I ever met you officially.” 

“Okkan,” he volunteered, offering his hand for you to shake. “Nice to officially meet you, then.” 

“Likewise, as long as Silco didn’t send you so he could have someone inside of the Haven,” you countered, voice a little too sharp to be considered polite.

Okkan’s face grew grave. “It’s too late for that. He’s had people here all along. If you haven’t seen him here yet, it’s because he hasn’t wanted you to.” 

Fletcher touched gentle fingertips to Okkan’s arm. “That’s probably not as helpful as you meant it to be.” 

With a sheepish grimace, Okkan nodded. “I’m sorry, that was supposed to prove that you can trust me. My point is, Silco has no reason to send me here as a plant since he already has people doing that. I don’t work for him anymore.”

“Then why are you here?” 

Okkan shrugged. “This is the right thing to do.” 

You hummed suspiciously, glancing at Fletcher and Yi. “And you two?” 

“I need to make sure my boyfriend doesn’t die fighting off anyone who might attack the Haven,” Fletcher told you. Yi and Okkan both snorted - Fletcher’s skills with combat were as limited as everyone else’s, but augmented with a rich vein of jumpiness and a hatred of blood and dirt. 

Yi answered your question with ease, offering it as soon as your eyes rested on her. “I like an underdog.” 

You sighed, trying to bury the surge of relief coursing through you. It wasn’t fair to take advantage of them. At least, unless they specifically knew what they were agreeing to. 

“If you’re looking for a fight, there are good odds you’ll find it here,” you warned. “Silco has made it clear that he considers the Haven a detriment to his plans for the Undercity. I haven’t seen any signs of an attack yet, but the fact that he pulled the security guards away from here is hardly a good sign. I need to know that you’re aware of the dangers of being here. More importantly, that you know the dangers of being on my side. 

“We all know,” Yi assured you. “Okkan was very blunt about the things he saw as part of Silco’s crew.” 

“More importantly, we know you,” Fletcher insisted. “You were always good to everyone, even those who didn’t deserve it. That’s worth something, even if everyone in the city seems to have forgotten it.” 

You nodded. It seemed like the safest choice. You didn’t trust your voice not to crack if you tried to speak. 

By the time you had stood from your chair and crossed to the door, you had recovered enough to say, ���You’re welcome to stay, then. Pick any rooms in the employee quarters. Most of it is empty, so you have options. Goodnight. Thank you.” 

—

Unfortunately, the new arrivals didn’t have to wait long for the fight you had promised. 

The break-in happened at night. You had always suspected that it would - after all, that was the time of day when the Undercity residents were the most active. 

The chiming of the bells was desperate and chaotic, nearly masked by the scuffing feet you could hear throughout the first floor of the building. You had been awake late, sacrificing hours of sleep in favor of writing grant requests and reports for the few grants you had left. The Haven’s progress had slowed significantly since your association with Silco had been made public, and you were struggling to frame the work you had done in the most positive light possible. 

You had drilled every resident of the Haven with what the sound of the bells meant. All the doors on the lower floors were locked when you ran down the stairs, clenching the grip of your bat in your fist. If even one of the residents managed to remember what you had taught them to do, they were trying to contact the Enforcers.

There were more intruders than you could hope to take on alone. Getting an accurate count was impossible in the gloom, but you counted at least eight. They saw you immediately, watching as you came to a stop a few stairs above the ground floor. 

You cleared your throat, letting the bat dangle at your side. “What do you want?” 

“Shimmer.” 

The answer - called from somewhere in the crowd - made you snort rudely. “You seem to have missed the fact that this is an anti-Shimmer establishment.” 

“Addictions are treated with microdoses of the drug,” one of them pointed out. “We’re here for any Shimmer you have.” 

“Well-informed,” you noted. “Except that Shimmer addictions can’t be treated with the drug. It takes over the central nervous system, even in small amounts. There is no Shimmer here, microdoses or otherwise.” 

“Then maybe we’ll tear this place down,” another threatened. “That’ll send a message to Silco.” 

Your heart was in your throat, but you did your best to keep it from being too obvious. “And why would you do that? In case you hadn’t heard, Silco doesn’t have anything to do with this place. Not anymore.” 

“No, but he did.” One woman stepped forward, eyeing you suspiciously. “The Shimmer left this place all at once. It was right around when Silco gave you that money. I think that’s important. It means something.” 

You stared at her. “You are too smart to waste your mind on Shimmer. But no, it doesn’t mean anything. Silco bribed me with money. He didn’t need to get rid of Shimmer to bribe me a second time.” 

“Silco is part of this place,” a large man told you. “Either he hates you and wants it destroyed or he still cares and losing it would make him weak.” 

“You should probably figure out whether you’re trying to give the drug lord a gift or a threat before you do it,” you warned, tightening your grip on the bat. “He’s erratic at the best of times, and you might not like the reaction you get.” 

From the dissatisfied murmur of the crowd, that was a valid point, but one they didn’t want to acknowledge. You weren’t sure how to proceed. Letting them tear down the Haven wasn’t an option, but telling them to leave might be the thing that pushed them into violence. 

The decision was taken away from you when someone grabbed the baseball bat, using it to tow you forward. You stumbled down the stairs, catching yourself only to be pulled into the depths of the crowd. The baseball bat was ripped away from you almost immediately, thrown to clatter across the room. 

Immediately, there were shouts of encouragement to kill you. Your pulse was roaring in your ears and you struggled to hear past it. The crowd seemed to agree that Silco may or may not care about the Haven, but he certainly didn’t seem to like you. 

You tried to free yourself - it would be stupid not to, when they were audibly planning your death. But there were so many hands. Hands on your hips, hands on your waist, hands on your arms. All of them gripped you tightly, leaving bruises in your skin. You could only hope you would live long enough for them to heal. 

“Kill her,” the large man ordered. He was the loudest, which you assumed made him some kind of authority in a crowd like this. “Everyone else, strip this place for anything you can find. Burn the rest.” 

“Should she die fast?” the woman who had spoken earlier asked. The way her eyes studied you sent a chill up your spine. “Or slow?” 

“Slow.” 

The hands squeezed tighter, trying to lead you deeper into the Haven. You fought them, squirming and kicking as you shouted for them to leave you alone. 

“Let her go!” 

Yi’s voice was the sweetest thing you had ever heard. A close second was when she swung your confiscated bat into the knee of the group’s leader.

He screamed in pain, dropping to the floor. One of the people holding you glared up at Yi. “You can’t fight all of us. Not and win.” 

“We aren’t looking for a fight,” Okkan countered. You searched around the room for a moment before you found him standing in front of the door that led to the residents’ rooms. “Between the three of us, we can stop any hope of whatever you all planned to do.” 

For a wild moment, you thought he was counting you as one of the three people who would stop the fight, but you were still held firmly in place. Okkan nodded toward the stairs and you saw Fletcher there, holding another gun. 

Yi brandished her bat, holding it over her shoulder as if ready to take her next swing. Fletcher was aiming his small handgun at the crowd, hands steady. Okkan was holding a gun that looked almost as big as he was. It looked dangerous, and not purely because of its size. 

Okkan cocked the gun loudly, aiming at the crowd. “Time for you to leave.” 

“Fine, we’ll go,” the leader said, standing. It was clear that putting weight on his leg was painful, but he was still an imposing figure. “But we’re taking her with us.” 

To your surprise, a gunshot came from the top of the stairs, putting a neat hole in the doorframe beside one of your would-be kidnappers. 

Yi twirled the bat in her hand. “No.” 

“That was your only warning,” Okkan explained, a menacing smile shining bright in the gloomy room. 

The attackers were gone in a moment, leaving you sprawled on the floor. Ridiculously, the first thing that came to mind was, “Fletcher, I didn’t know you could shoot that well.” 

Fletcher grinned. “I’m not very threatening and I can’t fight. How else did you think I survived in the Undercity so long?” 

You were spared the need to respond when Okkan helped you to your feet. “We need to prepare for another attack.” 

You frowned, running your thumb over the fresh bullet hole in your doorframe. “Are you sure? It seems like you all scared them pretty badly.” 

Okkan shook his head. “Those people broke in. They’re not part of Silco’s group. If random people on the street feel safe breaking into the Haven, that means that word about Silco’s lack of protection has spread. The attacks are just going to happen more often from here. And they’re more likely to get more violent, as well.”

“I don’t have the money for security,” you reminded him. Much as you tried to keep the state of the Haven’s finances from Okkan, Fletcher, and Yi, they had picked it up over the previous weeks. 

“But there are other things we can do,” Yi argued. “Move more people into the upper floors, gather together the ones who can’t climb stairs. We’ll put a sturdier door between their rooms and the main areas. One person on guard would be able to lock the door when there’s a break-in.” 

“And a few more guns wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Fletcher told you, locking the safety on his own handgun. 

You nodded. “Let’s get it done.” 

—

The changes you were making to the Haven weren’t exactly secret, especially since Yi, Okkan, and Fletcher told anyone and everyone that there were even more security advancements to come. 

You knew what it was - posturing. By talking openly about the defenses in place and positioning themselves as guardians of the Haven, they were discouraging people from attacking without doing so in a way that would seem too close to a dare. 

It was clever, though you all knew that moving patients, adding a door, and buying additional weapons were the extent of your security planning. Still, it seemed to be working. Two weeks had passed since the break-in and you hadn’t had a scare in that time. Maybe any would-be attackers were waiting for you to get comfortable and lax, but you were hopeful that the Haven simply seemed like more trouble than it was worth. 

All of your optimism disappeared in an instant as you stepped into your office late one night. You couldn’t keep up the pace you had been, but you were fairly certain you could manage one more night of grant-writing before you collapsed into an exhausted heap. 

The figure sitting at your desk made you jump, though the lit lamp on your desk should have been the first clue that you had a visitor. 

“Close the door, pet,” Silco commanded. “We need to talk.”

You dropped your hand from where it had reflexively pressed over your heart. It was difficult to glare at someone when they could see how badly they had just frightened you. “I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Silco. And you’ve already said everything I was willing to listen to.” 

He smirked. “I have missed your backbone, darling.” 

“That’s nice.” You pointedly held the door open, waiting for him to leave. 

Instead, Silco sat forward, leaning his elbows on the surface of your deks so he could study you more intently. “You can imagine how relieved I was to hear that you survived the first attack on the Haven.” 

You didn’t remember closing the door, but the sound of it slamming beside you was unmistakable. “First.” 

Silco nodded at the word you had repeated. “I am certain you are clever enough to know that more attacks will come.” 

“And I’m sure your memory is good enough to remember that this is the second time the Haven has been attacked,” you countered. “However, we handled this one far more effectively than the last.” 

Silco inclined his head in a silent concession of your point. “You defended yourselves admirably. But will you manage the same next time? And the time after?” 

“I’m sure there’s a purpose to this conversation.” You glanced outside of the window, using the brightness of the neon signs against the darkening sky to gauge the time. “The Last Drop must be open by now. You have a business to run and I need to get back to mine. Make your point.”

“I am here to offer my assistance, of course,” Silco said smoothly. “It would be simple enough to reassign a security detail to the Haven.”

Your laugh was unintentional, but you didn’t mind it. It was a sharp, ugly sound, leaving no doubt about the sincerity of your amusement. “Considering all of this started because of you, I can’t say I’m inclined to accept your help.” 

Silco tilted his head, a dangerous flash of irritation crossing his face. “I am not the one who tried to defect to Piltover.”

“Defect?” you repeated. “Much as you want to believe in it, Zaun isn’t a real, recognized city. Right now, this place is just the lower half of Piltover - looked down on by the Upper City, if they think of it at all. And you ensured that they have no representation in the government.” 

“We do not need the scraps that Piltover deigns to give us,” Silco decreed. “We will demand the respect and status we are owed, as full equals.”

“And when will that happen?” You shook your head. “I think, if it were possible, you would have done it by now. Piltover is unaffected by the horrors of life in the Undercity, as strong as it ever was. More so, actually, if HexTech’s plans work out. Meanwhile, the people of the Undercity are eroded by pollution, mine accidents, and Shimmer. If there was ever a time when the Undercity could demand anything, it passed a long time ago.” 

Silco snarled. “The people of Zaun were cowed by their failures when they should have used them to spur renewed efforts. The next generation-” 

“The one who survives on the scraps that Piltover deigns to give the Undercity?” The sigh that escaped you was less irritated than you hoped, sounding almost mournful. “They are fighting too hard to survive to worry about a revolution.” 

“Zaun-” Silco paused, visibly collecting himself. He smoothed his hair back as he stepped around the corner of your desk. “I have diverted from my original point. Regardless of the myriad reasons we find ourselves here, I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.” 

You snorted. “Have you forgotten how our last ‘mutually beneficial agreement’ went?” 

The back of Silco’s fingers brushed lightly down the length of your arm. You tracked their progress before looking up at Silco, who was watching you with heavy-lidded eyes. “Darling, I have thought of little else these past weeks.” 

Suddenly, there didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. The instant your lips parted around a shaky breath, Silco closed the gap between you.

The touch of his lips against yours was achingly familiar and your body relaxed into the kiss without asking permission from your mind. And considering that he avoided kissing you as long as he had, Silco was shockingly good at it. He knew when to push, when to let you lead, and when to encourage you to deepen the kiss. 

And, to your dismay, you did exactly that. 

Somewhere along the line, the kiss had turned into something deep and desperate. Your hands roamed across his body as his did the same to yours. He felt wonderfully solid beneath your searching fingers, and you finally admitted to yourself that you had missed him. 

Perhaps it was because you had trained your body to expect to be fully satiated at least once a month for longer than you had ever expected. Perhaps it was because such a long time had passed since you had been touched by anyone else. Perhaps - unlikely and abhorrent as it was - you had started to grow fond of Silco. 

In any case, you gasped when his trailing fingers skated over the curve of one breast, rubbing unerringly against your nipple before he continued on a steady path downward. You pulled away from him when you heard the desperation of your moan, the fresh air of the room hitting you like a dash of cold water. 

“No,” you murmured, repeating it louder  when Silco started to tow you back to him. When had you entangled your fingers with his? “No, this isn’t- We have to stop.” 

“Why would we ever do something so foolish?” Silco asked, reluctantly letting your fingers slip out from between his. “I have missed you, pet. Have you not missed me?” 

“You-” You cleared your throat. “You came here for a reason, Silco. You were going to make me an offer of some kind. What was it?” 

“I have already made my offer,” he reminded you, dual gaze piercing. “I will reassign security to the Haven.”

You nodded slowly. “And what are you asking in return?” 

Silco spread his hands out to either side of himself. “Renewed access to your delectable body, of course.” 

Of course. As if it were clear without explanation, undeniable and irresistible. And it nearly was, damn him. You could keep the Haven safe, protect your people. In return, you only had to give him something you wanted him to have, anyway. 

You swayed. 

It was an ugly trait for a philanthropist, someone determined to minimize the amount of evil that existed in the world. Your ideals were so high, but you were only human. You wanted nothing more than to let Silco slake the terrible thirst that had overtaken your body. You wanted to fall back into the routine you had become so accustomed to. It would be so easy, so safe, so familiar. You ached for it. 

But at the same time, the thought of it made you recoil. For all that your relationship with Silco had gone better than expected - mostly because you had expected to die at the end - you’d had plenty of time to analyze it since your life had started to spiral. Your time together had gone as smoothly as it had because there was a profound power imbalance between you. When issues came up, they were resolved because you were paying him to keep Shimmer out of the Haven’s neighborhood. 

Yes, you could go back to the way things had been, but you would never find a better reason to leave. And this time, things could very well end with your death. Was this how you wanted to spend the rest of your life? Fearful and subservient because you missed sleeping with a chem baron?

Your shoulders eased as you realized that your subconscious had already made the decision for you. Silco misinterpreted it entirely, reaching to snag your hand again. 

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured, drawing you closer. 

“No, Silco. I can’t.” Pulling away seemed like the most difficult thing in the world just then, but you managed it. “I can’t go back to the way things were. Not after the way everything has changed.” 

“Nothing has changed,” Silco pressed. “Nothing needs to. We can pick up precisely where we left off. The Undercity has already started to forget the news about the Haven’s donations and, under my protection once more, you can continue to impact this place the way you always wanted. Everything you want - everything we want - is waiting. The only thing you need do is agree.” 

If he had said something like that when the indecisive thoughts were swirling through your mind, you would probably be kissing again and well on your way to more. But your swaying had left you stumbling back from the edge, suddenly capable of seeing the chasm yawning just in front of your feet. 

“Thank you for the offer,” you said, taking another step back and pulling your hand away from his. “But I must decline. If you don’t mind, I have other responsibilities to which I must attend.” 

You had turned to open the door when you felt Silco’s presence behind you. The skin at the back of your neck prickled at both the knowledge that he was behind you and the sudden tension in the air of your office. 

“Dismissing me is a mistake, pet,” Silco told you. The words and tone were genial enough, but there was a sharpness in it that made your nerves thrum. “My offer is the only way to avoid the misfortunes that will fall on the Haven. There are those who will tear this place down if they are not stopped. And I’m certain you remember the last time you chose to ignore my advice about an impending attack.” 

“Security is a smart idea,” you admitted, turning as Silco’s eyes searched your face. “But I can’t pay you for it. I have no money for extraneous expenses and my body is no longer available as a form of payment. I’m not saying you’re wrong about what could happen to the Haven, but the only thing I can do is stand strong against whatever may come.” 

“This is the only time I will give you the opportunity to continue our deal,” Silco warned, Shimmer-infused eye piercing as he stared at you. “The moment I leave the Haven, we are finished. Do not be foolish.” 

You bowed your head, hoping a show of subservience would be enough to push him out of the Haven. Silco was always a little more rational when he thought that he had succeeded in making his point. “I understand that the offer is only good for right now, but unfortunately, I cannot accept. Thank you for giving me the chance to make a choice.” 

“You will regret this,” he warned, anger flashing across his scarred face as he stalked through your door and toward the front door of the Haven. 

You closed the door a moment before you collapsed against it, a fine trembling in every limb and digit. Silco always took it personally when a deal fell through. And an offended Silco liked to soothe his indignation with a little murder. You were getting better about defending yourself against attacks, but you wouldn’t bet on yourself against Silco. It was all for the best that he had left in some semblance of peace. 

As you settled to work on the piles of paperwork lying across your desk, you had to push away another twinge of regretful lust. You had done the right thing, but that didn’t make it any easier.

---

Author's Note - This was not my most elegant chapter, but I needed to show how things are progressing in the Haven and the Undercity as a whole. If it helps, every remaining chapter is one I'm very proud of. This is just my awkward little baby who had to leave home before I felt it was ready.

Anyway, thanks for reading! I'll see you next month!

[velaryqns]

ok awesome :) could i please request a james wilson x fem!reader where reader is a young (of age) nurse or intern at the hospital and her and james have been seeing each other but not really labeled it, and she finds out she’s pregnant? maybe her and james are excited but someone at the hospital points out their age gap and james’ failed marriages and is just an asshole about it idk. feel free to write whatever you’d like! thank you so much <3

I DONT CARE,

Fandom: House MD

Pairing: James Wilson x Female Reader

Warnings: pregnancy, age gap (reader is in her 20s, James would be in his 30s/40s), slight angst, divorce, people being assholes, Greg House being Greg House, there’s a little time jump: sorry not sorry.

Notes: you best believe I was quick to write this. I love me some James Wilson and he doesn’t get enough love. I had so much fun writing this pen.

You sat in silence, the test in front of you as you stared at it. Cuddy had sent you home because of how sick you had felt throughout the day. And it wasn’t getting better no matter how much you insisted. You had made sure to tell your James goodbye before you headed out to return to your apartment.

James said he would be at your place later that night, and you accepted this. He knew you hadn’t felt well, and only checked to see if you needed him to bring you anything; you didn’t.

You hadn’t voiced concerns to James about the possibility of being pregnant. When you’d first started getting close to him people made sure to inform you of his bad luck with relationships. He’d been divorced three times and his girlfriend before you had passed away in a horrible bus accident. Hospital staff continuously told you there would be no reason to have a relationship with James, this included his best friend: Greg House.

So far, you’d been grateful you didn’t listen to them.

You could hear the keys jingle in the door and only turned toward it to greet him. James walked in and the smell of takeout food was comforting, you hoped you could keep it down.

“Hi hon,” you called out, rising to your feet and grabbing the takeout bags. James insisted on keeping the bags until you leveled him with a playful glare that admittedly flustered him every time it was sent his direction. His feeble arguments failed and you took the bag with you to the table, setting it down and glancing over at the test, “I think I found out why I’ve been so sick.”

“Oh really?” James came up behind you, an arm wrapping around his waist as he took a glance at what you were staring at. His eyes went wide and a small smile formed on his face as he turned you to face him, “Oh honey, this is amazing!”

“Are you sure?” You questioned, laughing at his excitement and wrapping your arms around his neck, “Only Cuddy and House know about our relationship…”

“And that’s all that matters,” he reassured you, his lips gently meeting your own, “Let’s eat and head to bed, we can get you to a doctor and then tell Cuddy.”

You hummed, lowering you face to rest on his shoulders while he gently rubbed your back. You did just as James had suggested, and the next morning he had scheduled you an appointment. He made sure it wasn’t at the hospital you both worked at, knowing that the news would get out faster if that was the case.

James reluctantly went off to work, being Head of Oncology never rests, and you headed to the appointment on your own. You had a reason for why the father wasn’t there, and sat through your appointment in mostly silence.

Once you had your ultrasound pictures in hand you made your way back to the hospital. You checked in with Cuddy, then ventured to James’ office. You were already pulling the photos out when you saw Cameron, Taub, and Foreman standing in the room. You quickly slammed the pictures to your chest, eyes wide as you looked at James.

His eyes landed on the photos, then he gave a small nod, “I will handle House in a moment, could I please have a moment alone in my office?”

The team glanced toward you, but then filed out and left you in silence. Once you were certain they were far enough away, you walked to his desk and set the pictures on your desk. A smile spread across his face at the sight, and he lifted it up, “This is amazing.”

Time passed and to say the both of you were excited was an understatement. While you still hadn’t put a label onto your relationship, you two were still going to welcome a child into the world. James insisted on you moving in with him, and you jumped at the opportunity. Cuddy and House were the first to know, then House’s team, and then word slowly traveled by ear around the hospital.

You were sitting at the nurses station, trying to relax in between patients. You ran your hand over your small bump, glancing up as House limped in with a paper clip. Foreman and Chase were close behind him.

“Clinic hours?” You questioned. Greg hummed, bored and nodding as he continued past you and into a room. You stood and grabbed a stack of files to figure out which patients were his or not. Knowing that most nurses couldn’t tolerate House, you automatically fell into the position of being the nurse to help him.

“Still can’t believe you’re the girl who got Wilson to settle,” Foreman muttered. You raised a brow in confusion, “We all know how relationships go for him. Who says adding a baby into the mix will be any different?”

You were silent for a moment, pulling your hands away from the files and watching Foreman, “James and I have been perfectly fine, thank you.”

You returned to your tasks, but Chase wanted to add onto the doubts, “And what about the age difference? Everyone knows about it now. Doesn’t it concern you to be having a baby with someone who’s older than you?”

“What goes on in my relationship is my business,” you snapped, dropping the files to the counter and feeling the eyes of other nurses on you, “He is my partner, not yours. He is the father of my child, not yours. And that’s all that matters to me. I don’t care about our age difference or his past relationships. Why? Because I do love him, and unless you two want to be romantically involved with him I don’t see why you care about my relationship with James.”

You turned to the other nurses who watched you with wide eyes, “I’m sorry to dump this onto you, but could one of you help House for a moment? I need a moment.”

“Of course,”

Once you received your response you walked away from the nurses station, tears welling in your eyes. You forcefully wiped them away as you opened the door to James’s office. You knew he would be with patients, so you shut the door and moved to the couch in his room.

Sprawling into the sofa you stared at the ceiling while resting a hand on your stomach. You didn’t plan on dozing off, but it eventually happened at some point you were awoken by James gently shaking you awake.

“Cuddy sent me to find you,” he said softly, helping you sit up as he remained crouched in front of you, concern on his features, “Are you alright?”

“Are you worried about having a baby with someone…younger?”

He looked concerned, taking your hands and shaking his head, “Where is this coming from?”

“Everyone has been talking about it since news got out,” You murmured, already feeling your tears ready to fall. James’s brown eyes were filled with so much worry as he rubbed his hand on your knee, trying to comfort you, “You can’t expect me to believe you haven’t heard it.”

“Of course I have, from House himself,” James informed you, then he shrugged, “But I don’t care. We love each other and this baby, and that’s what matters to me. Your age is the least of my concerns, and so are past relationships.”

Your eyes met his own, and you gave a small smile as he reached up to cup your cheek, wiping tears away, “I hope our baby learns so much from you.”

He only chuckled while you leaned down and kissed him. You pulled away and his brown eyes watched you lovingly. He smiled, “Let’s go get you and little one some food.”

James stood and helped you to your feet, arms wrapped around your waist as you shared another brief kiss. You two walked beside one another to the cafeteria, and when you saw House and his team you froze slightly, but James being beside you kept you going.

You each grabbed your food, James making sure you got everything that was healthy for you and the baby, then joined House and the team. Chase watched you closely as you settled in a chair, fighting for comfort while James watched in silence. He was never one to take away your physical tasks, but would still silently fuss over you.

You began eating your lunch, but the team’s eyes didn’t leave you. You shared a glance with James and he remained silent, so you sat up straight, “Is there something you all need?”

“You’ve been crying,” House pointed out rather abruptly, “Either your hormonal or the reality of the father of your child has come crashing done on you.”

James heaved a sigh, dropping his fork and leveling a glare at House. You place your hand over his, silencing him so you could speak, “There is no reality to it. James is the man I love, we’re having a baby, and that’s that.”

Chase’s eyes widened briefly, and Foreman quickly returned to eating his food. House studied you for a moment, and you only watched in response, clenching your jaw and feeling James take your hand in his own.

You silently returned to your meal, and after a moment: James did as well. There was a smug look on his face that he was thankful you hadn’t noticed.

It was later that night, after you had both gone home, when you were changing into your pajamas. You were silent as James walked in, he tucked his hands in his pockets as he watched you for a moment.

“I don’t think Chase or Foreman will say something again, or House for that matter,”

You turned to him, gaze softening as you sat on the bed, “They can say what they want. I don’t care.”

With that you laid down on your side, turning off your lamp and waited in silence for James to join you.

And sure enough, he did.

[muiitoloko]

Can we have something fluffy but smutty for Karl? Like a second part of the story of him and nurse reader?

Her nursing him to his prime self, being able to play with his son, take care of business, living his best life but avoiding the sex topic because they are a little scared to try and having something happen or going wrong with Karl’s heart but it goes exactly the opposite way, fantastic, cute and sexy since he is a real gentleman and macho lol

Title: Fragile Heart, Fierce Passion

Summary: Karl is determined to take care of you in any way he can.

Pairing: Karl Hoffmeister × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for your request. I'm loving writing for Karl. There are so few (almost no) stories about him. We need more of Karl!

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Just as you promised, you took care of Karl and his son, Otto. Your days were a whirlwind of responsibilities, but you embraced each moment with determination and love. Karl, true to his word, put an engagement ring on your finger, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and vulnerability as he vowed to return to you in better health. The memory of his touch lingered, a constant reminder of the bond you shared.

Moving into Karl’s house marked a new chapter in your life. You balanced the delicate act of caring for Karl’s fragile health with the lively energy of young Otto. The boy, with his boundless curiosity and infectious laughter, quickly became the light of your life. Karl watched with quiet admiration as you seamlessly integrated into their world, your nurturing presence bringing a sense of normalcy and warmth to their home.

Karl’s business, a sprawling industrial empire, presented another challenge. At first, Karl was hesitant about involving you in his business affairs, a reflection of his deeply ingrained beliefs about gender roles. However, a single icy look and a raised eyebrow from you were enough to dispel his doubts. He realized that you were not only capable but determined to support him in every aspect of his life.

With resolute efficiency, you dived into managing the industries. Your mornings often began with reviewing reports and coordinating with Karl’s staff, ensuring that the operations ran smoothly despite his absence. You proved yourself to be an astute and resourceful leader, navigating the complexities of the business world with the same care and precision you applied to medicine.

Despite the demands of the business, you never neglected your primary role as Karl’s caregiver. You meticulously managed his medication, monitored his progress, and made sure he followed the doctor’s orders. Your evenings were spent by his side, sharing quiet moments of conversation and providing the emotional support he needed to keep fighting.

Otto, ever observant, often joined you in Karl’s study, where you taught him about the world of business and responsibility. His bright eyes sparkled with curiosity as he absorbed every word, eager to follow in his father’s footsteps. You took great care to balance these lessons with playtime, ensuring that Otto’s childhood remained joyful and carefree.

Karl’s initial reluctance about your involvement in his business gradually gave way to admiration and gratitude. He saw how your presence revitalized both his personal and professional life. The industries under your guidance thrived, and the respect of his employees for you grew with each passing day. Karl’s health showed signs of improvement, a testament to your unwavering dedication.

One evening, as you sat by Karl’s bedside, he took your hand in his, his eyes reflecting a deep sense of appreciation. “You’ve done so much more than I could have ever asked,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “You’ve given me hope, strength, and a reason to fight. Thank you for being my rock.”

You smiled, gently squeezing his hand. “We’re in this together, Karl. I promised to take care of you and Otto, and I meant it. We’ll get through this, one step at a time.”

Karl nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “And I have no doubt that we will,” he replied, his voice firm despite the underlying fatigue. “With you by my side, I feel like I can conquer anything.”

As you smiled and leaned in to kiss him, planning just a quick kiss to convey your affection, Karl surprised you by pulling you closer, his lips meeting yours with a hunger that mirrored your own longing. The kiss deepened, both of you losing yourselves in the intensity of the moment, fueled by years of unspoken desire and missed opportunities.

But as the passion threatened to consume you both, you hesitated, pulling back slightly despite the overwhelming urge to surrender to the heat of the moment. Karl held you close, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked at you with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

You knew that taking things further with Karl was a risk, one that you were not willing to take lightly. As a doctor, you understood the dangers that his fragile health posed, and the thought of risking his well-being for the sake of a fleeting moment of pleasure was too great a gamble.

And Karl, despite his own desires, shared your apprehension. The fear of his own mortality loomed large in his mind, casting a shadow over the passion that burned between you. He longed to be close to you, to feel your touch and experience the depth of your love, but he couldn't shake the fear of what could happen if things went too far.

Still, the desire between you was undeniable, and Karl was determined to find a way to please you, even if it meant taking things slow and steady.

As Karl's lips trailed down your neck, his hands tender yet possessive, you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins. But as much as you wanted to lose yourself in the passion of the moment, the doctor inside you screamed a warning, reminding you of Karl's fragile heart.

"Karl, we can't..." you protested weakly, trying to push him away even as his touch ignited a fire within you.

But Karl was relentless, pulling you closer to him with a strength born of longing and desire. "I need to take care of you, just as you've taken care of me and Otto," he murmured against your skin, his voice husky with need.

You tried to protest again, citing his heart condition as a reason to hold back, but Karl silenced you with a searing kiss, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace that left you breathless and wanting more.

As Karl's lips moved from your mouth to your earlobe, sucking and nibbling with a hunger that sent shivers down your spine, you couldn't help but moan in pleasure. His touch was electrifying, igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

"Karl, please..." you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "We can't risk..."

But Karl wouldn't be deterred, his fingers tracing patterns along your skin as he begged softly against your ear. "Let me touch you," he pleaded, his voice filled with longing. "I need to feel you, to know that you're real."

You hesitated, torn between your desire for Karl and the fear of what could happen if things went too far. But when Karl's fingers dipped lower, brushing against your inner thigh with a feather-light touch, you couldn't hold back any longer.

With a reluctant nod, you gave in to the overwhelming need that consumed you both, allowing Karl to turn you around and pull you to sit between his legs. Your back pressed against his chest, his warmth enveloping you as he leaned against the headboard, his lips trailing kisses along the curve of your neck.

As his hand caressed your arms with a gentle yet possessive touch, you couldn't help but feel a surge of desire coursing through your veins. "Karl..." you gasped, your voice trembling with anticipation. "I want you."

Karl's response was a low growl of desire, his hands roaming over your body with a hunger that matched your own. "I need you," he whispered hoarsely, his breath hot against your skin. "Let me show you how much I want you."

You nodded, giving Karl the permission he sought, your heart racing with anticipation as his fingers trailed down your arm, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. His touch was gentle yet possessive, his hand cupping your breast through the fabric of your nightgown, causing you to moan softly in response.

As Karl's other hand continued its journey downward, caressing your thigh with a feather-light touch, you couldn't help but part your legs for him, eager for the intimate connection that awaited you. His touch left a trail of fire in its wake, igniting a hunger within you that demanded to be sated.

You watched with bated breath as Karl lifted your nightgown, exposing your panties to his hungry gaze. The anticipation of his touch left you trembling with desire, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you waited for him to make his move.

With a hungry look in his eyes, Karl leaned in closer, his fingers teasing the thin fabric of your panties as he felt the dampness that betrayed your arousal. His gaze met yours, filled with a mixture of desire and anticipation, as he sought your permission to proceed.

"Please, Karl," you whispered hoarsely, your voice thick with need. "I want you to touch me."

Karl's response was a low growl of desire as he leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he whispered, "I've been dreaming of this moment, meine Liebe. I want to feel you, to taste you, to make you mine."

With trembling fingers, Karl hooked his thumbs into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down as he revealed your glistening folds to his hungry gaze. The sight of your exposed pussy filled him with a primal need to possess you, to make you his in every sense of the word.

As his fingers brushed against your wetness, you arched against him, your hips rising to meet his touch as he explored the depths of your desire. "Oh god, Karl," you moaned, your voice filled with need. "I need you inside me."

Karl's response was a hungry growl as he leaned in closer, his lips capturing yours in a passionate kiss that left you breathless and wanting more. "I'm going to make you mine, meine Liebe," he whispered against your lips, his voice thick with desire. "I'm going to claim you in ways you've never imagined."

With a surge of determination, Karl curled his fingers inside your pussy, groaning in pleasure as he felt your wetness enveloping him. The sensation was intoxicating, driving him to the brink of madness as he lost himself in the depths of your desire.

As you writhed against him, lost in the ecstasy of his touch, Karl's fingers worked their magic, exploring every inch of your pussy with a hunger that bordered on desperation. "You're so wet for me, meine Liebe," he murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I'm going to make you come undone, over and over again, until you beg me for mercy."

You whimpered, holding Karl's wrist. He paused, his fingers still buried deep inside you. His other arm wrapped around your waist, holding you firmly against him as you began to rock against his hand, seeking more of the delicious friction he provided.

But Karl didn't move his fingers, instead choosing to hold you in place, savoring the moment as he pressed his lips against your ear. His breath was hot against your skin as he praised your pussy, whispering words of admiration and desire that sent shivers down your spine.

"God, you're so beautiful," Karl murmured, his voice husky with desire. "I can't get enough of you, meine Liebe. Your pussy is so soft, so wet for me. I love the way you squeeze my fingers, the way you moan and whimper for more. You drive me wild, darling."

His words sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, the intensity of his desire matching your own as you rocked against his hand, craving more of his touch. But Karl had other plans, and he wasn't about to let you take control just yet.

"You're so tight, meine Liebe," Karl murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "I want to feel you around my cock so badly, but I can't risk it with my heart."

You whimper in response, craving his touch more than anything. His fingers are relentless, teasing and stroking your folds with a skill that only comes from years of longing and desire.

"Tell me, darling," Karl's voice is low and gravelly, his breath tickling your ear. "How many of my fingers can you handle inside you? You've got two in there already, and you're so tight."

Your hips instinctively move against his hand, seeking more of the delicious friction he provides. "I-I think I can take another one," you manage to gasp out, your voice trembling with need.

Karl chuckles softly, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "You're so eager for me," he murmurs, his fingers dipping lower, brushing against your entrance. "I love how you respond to me, meine Liebe."

As his fingers curl inside you, stretching you gently, you moan and arch your back, seeking more of him. "Please, Karl," you plead, your voice thick with desire. "I need more."

With a determined growl, Karl pushes a third finger into you, stretching you to accommodate his size. "You're doing so well for me," he praises, his breath hot against your skin. "I knew you could take it."

The sensation of being filled by Karl's fingers is overwhelming, and you writhe against him, lost in the pleasure of his touch. "Oh god, Karl," you moan, your voice echoing with need. "I need you, please."

Karl's other arm wraps around your waist, holding you firmly against him. "I've got you, meine Liebe," he assures you, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'll make you feel so good, I promise."

He begins to move his fingers inside you, setting a rhythm that drives you closer to the edge. "Does it feel good, darling?" he questions, his voice a low rumble. "Do you like how I touch you?"

You can only nod, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. "Yes, Karl," you gasp, your breath hitching with each movement. "I love it, please don't stop."

He continues to move his fingers, his touch relentless and teasing. "I love how you respond to me," he murmurs, his voice a soft rasp.

Karl’s fingers moved with a skill born of years of yearning and unspoken passion, exploring every inch of your core with a deliberate and intense touch. Each stroke, each caress sent ripples of pleasure through your body, making it difficult to focus on anything other than the sensations he was igniting within you.

"You're so beautiful like this, meine Liebe," Karl murmured against your ear, his voice a blend of desire and reverence. "So responsive, so eager for my touch."

As his fingers curled inside you, finding that perfect spot, you gasped and bucked against him, your back arching against his chest. His other hand cupped your breast through the fabric of your nightgown, squeezing gently as his thumb flicked over your nipple. The dual sensations left you breathless, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

"Please, Karl," you whimpered, your voice trembling with need. "I need you so much."

Karl's breath was hot against your neck as he whispered, "I need you too, darling. But we must be careful. Your pleasure is my priority, but I cannot risk my heart giving out before I have the chance to fully love you."

Despite the haze of desire clouding your mind, his words brought a sliver of clarity. You knew the risks involved, knew how fragile his health was, but the craving for his touch, for his love, was overwhelming. "Just... take it slow," you murmured, your voice a soft plea.

Karl's fingers moved more deliberately, slower but no less intense. He knew exactly how to bring you to the brink and pull you back, drawing out your pleasure until you were a trembling mess in his arms. "Tell me how it feels, meine Liebe," he urged, his voice a low, sensual growl.

"It feels incredible," you breathed, your hips moving in sync with his hand. "You're driving me wild, Karl."

He responded with a deep, satisfied hum, his fingers never faltering. "I want to hear you scream my name," he said, his voice dripping with possessiveness. "I want to make you come undone, right here in my arms."

The intensity of his touch, combined with the heat of his words, pushed you closer to the edge. You could feel your release building, a tidal wave of pleasure that threatened to crash over you at any moment. "Karl, I'm so close," you gasped, your body quivering with anticipation.

"Let go for me," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me see how beautiful you are when you come."

With a final, deliberate stroke of his fingers, you shattered. Your release washed over you in waves, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You screamed Karl's name, your voice echoing through the room as you gave yourself over to the overwhelming pleasure.

Karl held you tightly, his fingers never ceasing their movements as he guided you through your climax. "That's it, meine Liebe," he murmured, his voice filled with pride and satisfaction. "Let it all out. I'm here with you."

As the waves of pleasure began to subside, you collapsed against Karl's chest, your body trembling from the intensity of your release. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you caught your breath.

"You were incredible," Karl whispered, pressing a tender kiss to your temple. "Thank you for trusting me."

You turned your head to look at him, your eyes filled with love and gratitude. "Thank you for taking care of me," you said softly, your voice still a little breathless. "But we need to be careful, Karl. Your health is too important to risk."

Karl nodded, his eyes filled with understanding. "I know, meine Liebe," he said, his voice gentle. "I will always put your needs first, but I will also listen to my body. We will find a way to be together, safely."

With a contented sigh, you snuggled closer to him, your head resting on his shoulder. "I love you, Karl," you whispered, your heart full.

"And I love you," he replied, his voice a tender caress. "More than words can express."

In that moment, wrapped in Karl's arms, you felt a profound sense of peace. You knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together, bound by love and an unbreakable promise.

[octuscle]

I work as a janitor at a local hospital and I'm tired of all the snobby attitudes around here. There's this new young doctor who everyone keeps fawning over and I totally get why. Young, smart, incredibly attractive- I'm sure you get the picture. But the other day I heard him talking about the janitorial staff and saying stuff like "this is why I did well in school." Earlier when he was helping perform a surgery, I nabbed his laptop and input some changes to bring him down a few levels and give him a new appreciation for the janitors here. I'd love to see his face tonight when he starts slowly changing.

You can't help being born with a golden spoon in your mouth. No one can help being handsome and intelligent. But the question is always what you do with it. Or if you are suddenly no longer born with a golden spoon in your mouth. And not quite as intelligent. But beautiful in a different way.

When Shawn walks to the parking lot after a hard day in the OR, something is different… Where his brand-new model should be, among all the flashy Porsches, there's a 911 that's about ten years old. The leather seats are a little worn. But didn't his parents just give him a new one for Christmas? Shit, maybe it was just too much work today. Maybe he shouldn't go out for a fancy dinner with the others tonight. Just go to bed early instead.

Normally, Shwan would have had to chase his sports car, engine howling, toward downtown. Into the underground garage beneath his apartment building. The apartment his parents gave him. But as if in a trance, he drives toward the high-rise housing complex on the outskirts of the city. Fatima's hand dangles from the rearview mirror. Arabic music plays on the radio.

Shawn curses the idiots who can't park. He spends more than half an hour looking for a place to park his beat-up old van. If all the Sunday drivers had parked properly, there would have been five or six spaces available. Idiots! The leftovers he took from the hospital cafeteria have long since gone cold, of course. He takes the bags and carries them up to the apartment on the sixth floor. Of course, the elevator doesn't work again. That's a bit of his own fault. After working at the hospital, he is the janitor here in the apartment complex. He puts the food on the kitchen table. His parents and younger siblings eat it greedily. They don't care that it's pork. Shawn doesn't tell them either. It's pointless anyway. Before collapsing on the bed, exhausted, he grabs the toolbox again and goes to the elevator machine room.

Yahya never planned to be the breadwinner for his family. But after fleeing Syria, he was the only one who spoke English. How he would have loved to finish his mechanical engineering degree, which he had almost completed. But earning money was a higher priority. And the hospital job wasn't bad. It paid well. He might even be able to continue his studies. He worked hard for two things: his body, which he was proud of. And for his career. It was easy to stay rich if you were born rich. Yahya wanted to be rich because he was born poor.

[piratefishmama]

Forgiven not Forgotten | Part 9

It was an interesting kind of chaos, what happened in the following moments. Joyce collared a passing nurse, Jonathan ran out to call the house, Hopper kept Lucas from leaping at the love of his young life because “watch out for the wires, kid” she was still hooked up to all kinds of life saving machines, and then most of them were shooed out so the professionals could do their work.

El couldn’t be moved, fully prepared to wreck anyone’s day who even dared try to move her, and Lucas had been there from dawn till dusk, ignoring established visiting hours and all kinds of flak from staff to just be there. They were the only two allowed inside while the professionals made sure Max would stay awake.

That she wouldn’t slip back under.

Then came the hoard.

They’d routinely ignored how many visitors were allowed to a single room. It was ridiculous, the hospital staff both hated them and felt endlessly endeared by them. They’d survived some kind of classified hell and clung to each other both through it, and after it. It didn’t matter that Max’s actual parent was still absent, that she, like others, hadn’t come back yet, or that El had shaken her head once when someone had asked her if she could find Susan.

It didn’t matter, Joyce had loudly declared “I’m her mother now so let me see my GODDAMN DAUGHTER… PLEASE!” When someone had tried to stop them on the first day.

Arguing with Joyce Byers? Not a fun thing to do. She was always so polite about it you couldn’t even be mad at her.

The whole house filled that hallway though, even though they couldn’t do anything, even though they couldn’t go in, even though they couldn’t help, just being there, knowing that behind that door, she was awake despite all odds, was enough to keep them all there. Obstructing hallways. Being general nuisances, and waiting.

Just waiting. Waiting long enough for Eddie to gather just enough courage to sit down beside Steve who’d taken a seat on the floor, not for lack of available seats, just that his seat was to the left of the door to Max’s room, the closest he could be without being inside that room.

“You know there’s chairs, right Munson?”

“Mmn I know, but… I was part of the whole… save Max plan, so I think I’ll stay right here, second to closest to the door.” Steve let out a single breath of a laugh through his nose. Just one little puff and a curl of his lip to show he found that amusing. “Are… are we okay, Steve?” Probably not the best time to bring it up but impulse control was never his strong suit. And people weren’t paying them as much attention as most would usually pay to him while he was around other people.

Attention focused elsewhere on pacing or on entertaining themselves while they waited.

“Why wouldn’t we be okay?”

“God isn’t that just a question and a half. I dunno, Steve, you tell me since you ditched me the first chance you got back at the house. I know we weren’t on the greatest of terms back in ‘86 but like… I’m pretty sure we bonded at least a little in the Upside Down so… I know there’s stuff I’m missing… your agent Stinson, whomever the fuck she was, she got those photos from somewhere… shit like that isn’t just easily doctored I know that an—an I know—I know I wasn’t dead, so… if I hurt you, or I hurt the kids, or I don’t know… if I did something that I can’t remember I just—look, Eleven, your superhero kid, is weirdly comfortable around me for being a total stranger alright? So I know I’m missing huge chunks of a story, but I’m sorry okay?”

“You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions, man. But you cant apologise for something you don’t remember doing. Those apologies don’t mean shit.” Steve wasn’t looking at him, he was looking down at the floor, his brow pinched tight as if trying to think of the safest way to go about his next words. “For the record though. You saved our asses. Or… he did.” He. He. Someone not Eddie, but definitely looked like Eddie. “Whatever he was. El was the only one who recognised him.”

“You’re gonna have to give me more than that Steve… who was he and why—”

“I cant.”

“You’re the only one who can.” The only one he knew he could trust with the knowledge that actually he wasn’t totally gone during those two years.

“Alright, I won’t. You’re safer this way.” At least Steve cared enough to keep him safe, didn’t make that answer any less annoying though. “And I know that’s annoying but… just put it behind you. Be grateful that you’re alive and you’re here. Like I said we are.”

“Are you? Because so far I’ve just been left on my own among total strangers and it’s stressing me the fuck out, you can’t just—you can’t just leave me on my own in the dark after all this, Steve, it’s not fair.” He had a disadvantage from the jump, they all seemed to know him.

He didn’t know most them.

He knew Mike, Erica, Lucas, and Dustin out of the kids, and Robin, Nancy, and Steve out of the older lot.

He sort of knew Hopper through run ins with the law, didn’t really know Joyce although she was easy to feel comfortable around. He didn’t really know Jonathan, or Will, or El, and he damn sure didn’t know any of the kids parents.

They had this comradery that he didn’t have, they had a mini apocalypse to bond through, he had a short experience of it during which he’d died. Didn’t even survive the opening act. The world had moved on, and he was just left with this knowledge that somehow… despite him not being there. His body had been.

And the only one he’d managed to sort of bond with during that whole man hunt back in ‘86, didn’t seem to want anything to do with him now. “…I know… I’m sorry about that” in Steve’s defence, it felt like a much more meaningful apology than his own had been. “We should have taken you with us, there’s no excuse, El just wanted to hang out with you again I guess”

“Again?” Gentle prods, gentle pokes, he’d learn more if he just… kept chiselling bit by bit.

“She doesn’t think like most people, to her you’re her friend. You helped her. You saved her life, man… and she knows—she knows it wasn’t actually you, but—”

“But it’s my face, isn’t it?”

“Mmhm.”

“Something was parading around in my body like some kind of puppet, wasn’t it, Steve?” Steve finally turned to look at him, a pained little frown on his face as he realised how much he’d just… let slip. How easily Eddie had drawn it from him. How weak he still was when it came to Eddie Goddamn Munson. He opened his mouth, but neither heard what he’d have said, because the door opened just before he spoke, two nurses leaving, the third remaining by the door, a smile on her face that promised great things.

Steve was up on his feet, their conversation shelved, the others clamoured forward too, having been politely ignoring whatever he and Steve had been discussing on the floor in favour of keeping themselves entertained.

“Miss Mayfield is stable, awake, and in good spirits, now I know you all want to see her, but please… maximum five to a room, there’s two in there already so three go in at a time, maximum, you hear me? Three more. Maximum.” A chorus of nods were their answers, although the nurse knew they wouldn’t actually listen. So far that seemed to be the running theme with this particular group of survivors. “Alright… go ahead.” She’d leave them to it anyway.

Wasn’t her job to enforce the rules.

Didn’t even need to look to see damn near all of them tried to get in the moment she rounded the corner out of sight.

[grae-98]

Treatment

Set between 1880-1890, You have been feeling and acting off. After visiting the doctor's he sends you off to stay in Pelican Town where you are set to receive treatment for your condition. Upon arrival you learn the doctor administering these treatments is better than you think.

Harvey/ unnamed reader

2nd pov

3867 words

trigger warnings: reader is diagnosed with hysteria, mentions of depression, cheating/ adultery, doctor/ patient relationship

smut tags: fingering, cunnilingus

notes: i do have this posted on ao3 if you'd prefer to read it there. I kinda interested into making this into a short series, if you're interested let me know!

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7

 Treatment

“I believe we may need to seek alternative treatments for this type of abnormal behavior you wife seems to be displaying.” The nameless faceless doctor assures your husband. “It seems to be Briquet’s syndrome. To put it simply for your wife, here it is defined as-“

“Are you calling me hysteric doctor?” You cut in before he could even care to explain his own definition.

“Darling! I’m very sorry doctor as you can see my wife is surely not well. What would be the alternative treatment you speak of?” His statement was that of pure fact with little to no concern for his own wife.

“Normally I would recommend a simple rest cure, but I have a clinic I can recommend on the coast. It will also give your wife access to the sea air, which as you know is good for her feminine liquids.” He says “The doctor there is a friend of mine. He lives in a small area in the country called Pelican Town. I would recommend your wife stay there until she feels her symptoms lessen.”

“I see doctor thank you. I will be sending her soon, my grandfather happened to have a cottage in that area.”

That was all the preparation you received. Not even two weeks after meeting with the doctor you were being packed onto the train to be set off. Settling your skirts as you sat to look out of the window. The countryside was getting denser the further you traveled. The lush trees were scarcely letting in the midafternoon light. Checking your gilded pocket watch there was only 20 minutes left of the journey.

You were angry, you were alone, and you were left to stay in his grandfather’s hunting cottage with only two members of staff. Yes, you could dress yourself, but how were you meant to prepare meals or launder your dresses let alone mend them. But maybe this doctor will be able to help with whatever imaginary issues are at hand.

Stepping off onto the platform and taking in the surrounding environment. It’s all very quaint. You’ve been there only once before during one of your husbands hunting trips. It seemed like any cottage house that you’ve visited but now this one you’ll be staying in for heaven knows how long. The clearing of a throat brought your attention to in front of you. A tall man with light brown hair and well-groomed facial hair stood before you. His clothes were tailored handsomely but seemed to be worn in

“Hello, pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is Dr. Harvey, you must be my newest patient.” He holds out his hand crooked slightly to the left. Staring at it with mild shock you place your hand in it to make a slight squeeze to greet him back. He quirks his eyebrow up at you taking the hand put before you. He seemed rather young to be a doctor. He didn’t seem to have any grey to his hair nor many lines to his face.

“Yes, it seems so. I didn’t realize for my treatment you would make house calls. I would have figured I’d come to your clinic.” You say as you drop your hand from his.

“Normally yes but given the nature of the treatment I would have thought you might be more comfortable in your own home.”

“And why might that be?” The doctor seems to flush at this statement and looks to the help that is beside you.

“Please do take that inside. I will be in shortly.” You shoo away the man helping you carry your suitcase.

“You haven’t had any discussion of your treatment before coming here?”

“I cannot say that I have. I feel as though I have been spirited away and left from my friends.” You say with an awkward giggle.

“Ah, well I see. I will discuss it with you further after we have a bit of a chat. I would like a better list of your symptoms before starting.”

“Yes, very well. Please do come in, I haven’t anytime to explore yet. I am sure we will still find some place to speak.” Opening the wooden door.

“My apologies, I was told you were to arrive yesterday.” Harvey removed his hat and his coat upon entering the cottage.

“I’m not sure who told you that, but as you can see, I have just arrived. I’m sure I will still be able to make time to answer your questions about my diagnosis.”

He seems very caught off guard by the direct statement. The same man who took your case earlier drops off a tray to pour tea. With a quick thank you the man is seen off. You sit in what seems to be a very old couch across from the doctor. Pouring one cup for yourself and one for him. He leans over to take his cup as you begin to speak again.

“I am very well aware the doctor who sent me to you says that I am hysteric. I feel that is not the case. I am bored, there is hardly anything for me to do. I find the typical ladies’ activities to be rather dull. My husband clearly does not love me otherwise I wouldn’t be talking to you right now. I have long been disinterested in my husband and he me.”

“When you speak of disinterest?”

“I mean that my husband and I have not been in… amorous congress in quite some time.” You give a slight pause in the middle of the statement to find the right words to say.

“And do you find yourself frustrated with the lack thereof?”

“On occasion.” You answer truthfully. Harvey seems to be writing down everything you’ve told him thus far.

“Aside from those, do you feel any other physical symptoms that weren’t there before?”

“I do, yes. I find myself often fatigued. I feel as though I cannot sleep a wink at night, and I do suffer for it in the day. Some days I feel ravenous with hunger and other days I could hardly be bothered to eat a crumb. It all feels very strange to me, and that is what I told the doctor. Look where that’s gotten me.”

Harvey nods solemnly and scribbles more notes into his small leather-bound journal.

“Well Missus we will be able to rectify some of these odd behaviors of yours it’ll just take some time. I will be back tomorrow to begin your treatment; I would prefer to give you a little while to settle in your temporary home.

“Thank you, Dr. Harvey, I shall expect you tomorrow in the morning say around 3pm?”

“Yes, very well. Gald to meet you.”

“You as well doctor.”

It was early the next morning when you rose. Something about the fresh air allowed you to be able to sleep much deeper than you are used to. It was a lovely way to wake, with no lingering tiredness or aches. Placing bare feet on the floor you open the windows outward to let in the light and cool ocean air. Taking in a deep breath you move your way back to bed to ring the bell to signify that you’re awake.

After a simple breakfast of eggs toast. The eggs tasted a lot fresher than you were used to than in your own home. However, there wasn’t much time before the doctor would come to visit and you had a few things left to do before seeing him. Writing letters to your friends back at home to explain your journey and explain the place where you are staying now.

Three pm came upon you far too fast for your liking, but it was nearly at 3 o’clock sharp that Dr. Harvey came calling. He greeted you with the tip of his head as he walks into the room to find you sitting in the same place you were yesterday.

“I hope you hadn’t waiting for too long.” He speaks as he takes his seat across from you.

“Unfortunately doctor that’s all I seem to do.” He nods taking a seat.

“I came to discuss with you about the method of treatment that I had mentioned yesterday. After our meeting I strongly recommend this course.”

“Do please explain.”

“You will undergo a treatment that will involve you being able to expel your feminine liquids. Since you and your husband do not share each other’s company, and it is difficult for a woman to expel them herself. What this means is that I am to stimulate to for you for your health.”

“I see.” You blush at the doctor for even mentioning it.

He clears his throat before speaking, “I can feel your hesitancy, but I can assure you this will be relatively quick.”

“How exactly will you ‘stimulate me’ doctor?” You ask in meek voice attempting to sound more emboldened than you are at the moment.

“Easily. I will place a hand on your abdomen and the other I will massage until I feel that you had a paroxysmal convulsion.”

“I see. You said it would be relatively quick?”

“As quickly as I can.” He says with simply too much enthusiasm.

“Alright then. Let us try this new treatment then.”

You bring him to your bedroom for your ease and comfort he told you. It only occurred to you now as you slide your bloomers from under your dress that this man was going to see you. Doctor Harvey has you lay on the bed in such a way that he can stay standing. Sliding your dress up your legs you ask him a question.

“Doctor, how many patients have you done this treatment for?”

“Plenty while being trained on the treatment, but none since I came to practice here. Are you feeling nervous at all?”

“I am yes.”

“I will do my absolute best to ease any discomfort you may have. You will feel a slight pinch in the beginning but it should get better over time.”

He did not lie to you. As he entered a single finger to your entrance there was the familiar drag of skin to your dry opening. Sucking in a pained breath he stopped for a single moment.

“As I said it’s worse in the beginning. I will be better soon I promise.” He looks at you with concern in his eyes. You can tell he doesn’t want to be doing this anymore than you want it. Nodding to him the doctor moves his finger once again.

You feel your muscles relaxing while he moves his finger in a gentle front and back motion. Slowly coaxing the tingle from your belly; you begin to shift your legs higher onto the bed they were already perched on. Then just like a canary you sang a song. The dampness that spawned from a desert was amazing. The glide of the doctors’ finger within you had you singing a praise you didn’t know you could sing.

“Oh stars, Doctor Harvey this is incredible. Please don’t stop.” He responded by pushing the hand on top of your stomach just slightly harder while adding a second finger. Breathing heavily you look down to the doctor to see his sleeve rolled to his elbow, forearm flexing as he pushed his fingers into your newly soaked heat in earnest. Rolling your head back as he moved the hand on your stomach down slightly.

“I’m going to try something tell me if this doesn’t work, okay?”

He began to add more pressure to the top of your monds while pressing his thumb to the hood of your clit. The reaction was instantaneous, your hand grabbing to the one holding you. Wrapping your fingers around his wrist like you’re trying to ground yourself as your hips are now shaking to meet his thrusting fingers. Staggering breathing between throaty moans and cries of him to not stop whatever magic he is doing. You can hear the unmistakeable squelch as he moves his fingers is rapid movement. You feel like you’re on fire like everything is you is burning. The dress you’re wearing suddenly feels like a 40-pound weight, the muscles in your stomach begin to tighten so deeply they feel they’re about to cramp. Your free hand that’s not holding onto the doctor grips the covers beside you. You know you’ve been near screaming when you feel the two fingers leave your body. Breathing heavier than before you sit up to the edge of the bed.

You watch the doctor grab a linen from his bag to wipe off his wet fingers. Casually curling the rag around each of his fingers and down the palm of his hand. He looks to you as you stand and attempt to fix yourself in the slightest.

“Thank you Doctor, that was a very informative treatment. Although, dare I say, Mrs. Harvey must be a very happy lady.” You say towards him with a smile on your face. He responds with a laugh.

“Heavens, there is no Mrs. Harvey. I am unwed; however, I’m happy that you are feeling better after just one treatment. We will have to continue this for at least a few more weeks, just once a week to make sure you’re well and comfortable. “

‘No wife?’ you think to yourself ‘How has this man remained unmarried? Certainly that was incredible and it was unlike anything felt before.’

“I do not know how long I may be here. I don’t see why we shouldn’t make this twice a week to speed up recovery time.” You hope that you’re not coming across more crass than you intend to be.

“I can understand your desire to go back to your home, but I would rather not try to rush your recovery. Your symptoms seemed to be mild at the very least so just once a week should be okay for now.”  Slight disappointment washed over you.

“Next week then Doctor?”

“Next week.” And with that he left.

Six weeks have gone by since coming to Pelican Town. The spring was now turning to summer and the heat was getting slightly more intense.  Although you’re by the ocean so the blazing sun doesn’t seem as blistering as it would at home. Living in the country seemed to have its perks. The small community seemed to be the backbone of this town. There weren’t very many people to get acquainted with and the home in which you’re staying doesn’t have the space to host but nonetheless you’ve managed to make a few friends here.

You made fast friends with Robin who is aware of your condition and promises to keep things quiet after she heard your cries from an open window during a treatment. She is the local carpenter and was coming by to offer her services when she heard the cries. Even with that she offered nothing but support and understanding. Her previous husband tried to have her institutionalized after the birth of her first son before his death.  Thanking the heavens above for your husband who apparently loved you enough to not send you there.

Your treatments otherwise have been very helpful in restoring a delightful mood. Today is a day for Dr. Harvey to come and visit. As the weeks have progressed you’ve invited him later and later to have him join you for dinner.

As the clock tolls 5 o’clock there is a sharp knock on the door. You hear the voices down the hall.

“Doctor Harvey, will you be joining the lady for dinner this evening?”

“If the lady wishes it, I would be glad to.” Harvey responds back. You can hear the rustling of his coat being collected and the footsteps of his approach. It almost feels like a response on these days. Once the footsteps come close you feel your body light with want.

“Doctor Harvey, it’s good to see you.” You say, smile plastered on your face. Standing to greet him. You move your way across the floor meeting him behind the couch. With a quick glimpse behind him you grab his forearms.

“It is good to see you as well. I am to take that I will be joining you again this week for dinner?” He says to you as you look up to him giving his arms a reassuring squeeze.

“As you know I get rather lonely here. What better company than the wonderful doctor that’s treating my illness.” He laughs as you lead him to your bed once again.

This will be the eighth treatment from him, and he will need to reassess after the tenth has been finished. Hoping your time with the kind doctor doesn’t come to an end too soon you pray that he will find some reason to keep you here longer.

You’ve become accustomed to not wearing anything under your dress on the day the doctor comes to visit, and each time the nerves wrack up your spine.

“Feeling giddy today it seems?” He spoke as he rolled his sleeves up once again. It doesn’t seem like you will tire of looking at the pale skin of his arms. Knees backing into the side of the mattress.

“In truth doctor I’ve been having impure thoughts. I used to not have anything like this before.” You loosened the cover that sits over your corset. Allowing you more cooling air to hit your mostly covered chest.

“And what type of impure thoughts are they?” He asks as he helps you slide your dress further up your thighs after you lay in your designated spot.

“I don’t think I should tell you.” You say to him while he pulls up the chair you brought in for him around the week four mark.

“I am your doctor, I think you should tell me.”

“I want to know things that I shouldn’t want to know.”

“Now you have piqued my curiosity. Do tell me.”

You take in a short breath before answering, “I want to know how your moustache feels. How it feels against my legs, my chest, my arms, here.” You stop to point to your mouth before continuing. “And most of all. Here.” You open your previously held together legs to show him the growing damp.

You swore you heard him let a slight gasp before he traced a finger to your outer lips. His eyes scan your half-dressed body to meet your own. He tilts his lip to give you a smirk.

“I believe some of that might be arranged.” He spoke so softly as he lifted your left leg into his hand. Lightly pressing kisses to the inside of your calf. You sigh in content when he moves his mouth higher up your leg. Trailing feather light kisses until he reaches the inside of your thigh where he planted a hot kiss. You open your legs a little further urging him to meet your center and offer you release. Even slower than before he marks wet lips to where your thigh dips. Steaming breaths cloud his rounded spectacles as his mouth hovers over you.

“Harvey…” You whimper. He takes one quick tentative lap with the tip of his tongue against you. You shiver, hands planted firmly onto your knees as you spread them as far as they can go. Fully displayed for the man, slick lips puffy from the morning when you failed to achieve what he can do successfully.

He lets out a shaking breath before muttering something. Before you can ask him what he said his mouth attached itself. Lips suctioned onto the sensitive part of you that he has learned to maneuver with his thumb. Gasping for breath you keep griping the tops of your knees until he dips his tongue into your entrance. Hand sliding down to his hair, and he moans into you. The vibration alone causes you to moan back like it was a call.

“Gods above!” You exclaim. Hand feeling his hair for the first time and it was so soft beneath your fingertips. You mistakenly move your hips up to meet his muscle and he lets out a low growl using both of his hands to keep your hips in place. He laps at your sex with hunger and want to push his head further into you.

Your moans begin to fall off your lips in words of praise and delight. Both hands now twisting wildly into his hair when he lifts the bottom of you. Placing your legs on his shoulders he grips your butt to raise it from the mattress. You start to chant his name like it’s the only word that’s in your mind. He moans into you again and this time you could nearly faint.

“Fingers, Harvey, I need your fingers!” You cry as you feel the intense tightening begin to threat. He obliges and pushes the two fingers into you. The combination of the licking and sucking with the pump of his fingers makes you claw at the sheets. Crying as the damn broke, he began to slow his fingers.

“No, please don’t stop. One more, one more please.” Who is he to deny you. He removes his mouth from you to speed his fingers once again. Curling the fingers your eyes are squeezed shut. Legs held open my sheer force of will, toes curling against the cover. The intensity is so great for this. Your legs begin to quake, breathing labored as moans keep falling from between your lips. His hand moves slightly faster the obscene noise coming from your body would leave you embarrassed if not for how much enjoyment you were getting out of this. You open your eyes to find Harvey palming himself through his trousers. Prominent bulge showing through the tan fabric. You whimper again as you reach your hand out towards him just to feel. That’s all you told yourself. He lets you feel the thickness of it through his trousers. You could feel the heat of him seeping through into your palm and when you look up to see his face you’re awestruck.

Glasses tilted slightly, naturally wavy hair falls in a mess on his head, some even sticking to his forehead, moustache matted down against his parted lips, cheeks flushed and panting heavily. You threw your head back against the mattress whole body shaking against the surface. Harvey let out the longest and loudest groan as you looked down in horror. Shooting up so fast it nearly made you topple over

“I- I am so sorry Doctor Harvey! I didn’t realize that I could… Did I make water on you?” Harvey had no worded response. He quickly reached out to cup your face to haul you in for a kiss. Moaning once again but now into his mouth that tasted like you. Your lips parted only to meet again after heads changed directions. Your hands threaded their way through his hair again. Touch starved and lonely the both of you. As you broke apart you looked into each other’s eyes.

“Oh no.”

[blues824]

Can I have Ciel, Sebastian, and Claude with a fem! baker s/o who's also a vampire 🦇?

Silly, I know

It’s not silly at all! I’ve been looking forward to this one!

Ciel Phantomhive

He absolutely loves the treats you bake, but it does cause him a tinge of sadness because you weren’t able to enjoy them with him. After all, you could only consume blood and water. However, he can’t help but think about the times you could have, like feeding each other a bite of the cake you had made.

He is glad to know that you are a vampire that is on an animal-blood diet, since it would put him in a difficult position if the Queen asked him to track down and kill the vampire that had killed her subjects. This is all hypothetical, since you had not yet consumed human blood.

He finds himself getting a bit queasy when he sees you drinking the animal blood from the animal he had just eaten for dinner. Sebastian really knows how to not let an ounce of the poor creature go to waste.

You are most likely working along Bard (more Sebastian, but anyways) as the Phantomhive baker. You never cease to amaze the guests that came to visit the Manor with your creative desserts (that saved countless amounts of dinners because of the accidents that Bard, Mey-Rin, and Finny caused). You were a hero, essentially.

Not just that, but you were a protector of the household, just like Sebastian was. You just didn’t require a contract for your services. You were strong as well, along with fast. Your lack of a shadow often aided you in battle. The vampire and the demon join forces to protect the young master.

Ciel notices how your fangs are retracted most of the time, and you say it’s to make yourself seem more normal. It’s rather unfortunate that you often have to hide what you are because it wasn’t even your fault in the first place. You had told him that you were sick from smallpox in 1721 and you agreed to become a vampire when your doctor asked you if you wanted to become one just so you could survive.

Vampires were typically beautiful creatures, right? Consider Ciel entranced by you, not only by your looks but by the grace you carry yourself with. You were confident in everything, no matter what it was and that’s what the young Phantomhive master considers beautiful.

Sebastian Michaelis

He also enjoys the treats you bake, especially with a nice cup of tea to accompany them. Unfortunately, you don’t get many of these special moments with each other because he’s busy tending to the master and you’re busy baking for the house.

He understands how tempting human flesh can be… well, he’s often tempted by their souls, but same difference here. However, he will keep you on track by making sure you only consume the blood of an animal.

He doesn’t get disturbed by you drinking blood. Demons devour human souls all the time, so it’s nothing truly new. Sometimes you had to get blood on your hands before consuming the soul of the newly departed.

He does get a tad jealous whenever he sees you getting close to Bard in the kitchen. However, it is to be expected since you both worked close with each other as the baker and the cook of the Manor. He might send a bit of a glare in Baldroy’s way before checking up on you.

You both protected the Manor and the Master as best as you could. None of you really needed sleep, so you would listen for any danger. You both made quite a graceful pair in battle, and anyone who has seen the both of you in action would agree.

He doesn’t mind if your fangs are retracted or protracted. If he sees that you had forgotten about them, then he will gently remind you. Neither of you want any of the other staff members to panic about possibly being killed by you, so it’s better if you keep them away.

Also, you both are gorgeous. We all know that Sebastian is pretty, but the two of you together are on a whole other level. He had to admit to himself that you had gotten his attention by the seductive look you gave him during your interview. He already knew you were a vampire, so you let your fangs hang out as he went down the list of questions. The whole thing ended with you and him shooting flirtatious innuendos at each other.

Claude Faustus

I see him as someone who enjoys more savory foods, but that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t like what you make. He found it quite adorable whenever you approached him with a basket of treats that you had made him. 

He’s another one who understands how tempting humans can be, especially when you want to devour them. However, you are the one who needs to consume something, so he prepares cups of animal blood for you to drink.

He also doesn’t get disturbed by you drinking blood. It’s like seeing Master Alois drink orange juice: normal. You don’t need to worry about getting shy about drinking it around him because he doesn’t mind it at all.

He most definitely gets jealous whenever you start getting close to the Triplets, especially Timber because he is the Trancy Manor Chef. He always tries to lead you away from the cook just so he could have you to himself.

He tries to get you to not fight and stay inside the Manor. You are the one person/vampire that has made him actually experience emotions like love and happiness, so he would not like that to be taken away. Sure, you were immortal, but there was always the possibility of someone shoving a stake through your heart.

Every member of the staff at the Trancy Manor was a demon, so they didn’t care if you chose to let your fangs hang out. Alois didn’t mind either, considering he recruited so many demons. Claude always finds himself staring at you, especially as you run your tongue over your teeth in concentration while preparing ingredients for a recipe.

Now, this demon butler is known as ‘handsome’ rather than ‘pretty’. You were known for your preternatural beauty as a vampire. You both make a very good-looking couple. You both move with grace well beyond your years as well.

[wardenparker]

At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria. 

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak. 

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo. 

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead. 

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light. 

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach. 

Tonight you fear it might be you. 

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way. 

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you. 

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky. 

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man. 

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

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My Masterlist!

[bonny-kookoo]

Jungkook:

Dont Play With Your Food

In which darkness drowns out the light again, and history repeats itself.

Tags/Warnings: HEAVY angst, Black Panther Hybrid!Jungkook, Bunny!Reader, hybrid trafficking, trauma, Dead Dove Do Not Eat

A/N: You all always want angst. Here you have angst.

♥━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━♥

Bad dreams haunt you to this day.

You're stuck between other shivering hybrids, some young and some older, most crying or quietly whimpering to themselves- you included. It's dark, the steel of the trailer you've been tossed into together with the others rattling loudly with the movement of the truck driving somewhere you're not sure of. Everything smells like fear, so much so that it's making you almost nauseous.

You're desperately closing your eyes, pulling your ears down, but you don't wake up like you usually do. No- pulling your ears actually hurts. When you open your eyes, the scene is still going.

You're not dreaming.

So how did you get here?

It all happened so quickly. You've been slowly coming out of your shell more and more these days, an entire year after living with both Namjoon and Jungkook giving you the needed confidence and comfort to try and become more brave. So when Seokjin couldn't take on your regular checkup appointment, you didn't really have any problem going to a different doctor. Namjoon and Jungkook dropped you off at the Seoul Central Hybrid's medical center, promised to pick you up- but then, something went wrong, you name maybe got mixed up with someone else's? You're not entirely sure. All you know is that someone came to pick you up, yes- but it wasn't your owner, nor your mate, and in your still slightly tired out state from the local anesthetics, you couldn't really voice out the mistake to anybody.

And now, you're here. With no idea where you're going.

You don't know how long you've been in here- you know you've dozed off here and there because of absolute exhaustion, so at this point, there's no clear telling what exactly is happening around you. You're cold now, shivering horribly, even with all the other hybrids around you trying to include you in sharing warmth. There's a skinny penguin hybrid near you who pitifully tries to scoot closer- but he can't really seem to move his own body any longer either, survival instinct keeping him from getting any closer to you. The crying had also become more or less quiet and soft, most younger hybrids by now too exhausted to really complain vocally anymore.

You're hungry. Incredibly thirsty. You feel like dying.

Until the container doors open, and you're blinded, and too weak to really attempt at fighting back. You just let them pull you out by your leg, before you pass out into a dreamless sleep yet again- to awake back in a cage, back underground, history repeating itself again it feels like.

And back home, it's absolute chaos.

Namjoon has taken an emergency vacation from work and is currently talking to police for the second day in a row now- agitated that the search efforts lead nowhere it seems. You've vanished- no one wants to take accountability, neither the medical center nor the staff management there, and he also can't forget about the currently raging panther hybrid he still needs to take care of. Jungkook is pretty much ready to tear the house apart- he's more than just nervous, constantly jumpy at every noise, can't sit still, can't think clearly.

He keeps carrying your stuff around; clothes you've worn, stuffed animals you've scented, just to have at least a trace of you around at all times. He knows bothering Namjoon every second of the day isn't helping, so he tries to keep himself quiet. But he still can't help but listen in on small conversations his owner has here and there.

"What do you mean you can't do anything now?!" Namjoon barks into the telephone. "No, I realize that it's difficult, but- No, there has to be a way, try and contact them then!" He aggressively responds to someone on the line. "I.. alright. It's not like I can do anything else- yes, I will. Thank you." He sighs out, before he slaps his phone onto the kitchen counter, head falling into his hands.

He knows Jungkook is standing behind him. He can see him in the blurry reflection of the fridge, holding a green lizard plushy in his hand- one of your favorites, because it's soft, and it used to be Jungkooks in the first place before he gave it to you. "Did they find her?" He asks quietly, and Namjoon has to clear his throat to attempt speaking clearly.

"They found her collar in an empty container in Nagoya. The container had no valid identification, so it's assumed she's… been.. illegally shipped to japan for underground trading." Namjoon explains, waiting for his hybrid to say something- but he doesn't. So he says out loud what he doesn't want to hear himself. "They said right now, they can't proceed with any investigations. They have to.. send out requests, get permits for something- I don't know." He sighs.

"So she's gone." Jungkook silently states.

"She's not gone- we'll get her back." Namjoon promises, as he turns around; seeing his hybrid standing defeated clearly now, eyes dull and already swimming with emotions.

And instead of saying anything, Jungkook just.. leaves the room, and crawls underneath your blankets in your safety cage;

Surrounding himself with what's left of you for as long as it's still there.

[themathomhouse]

I need people to stop acting like me getting a wheelchair would be a bad thing.

I have chronic fatigue syndrome, fibromyalgia, suspected hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos, and a smattering of other illnesses which combine to leave me constantly exhausted and in pain. I'm often housebound, and on my worst days I'm bed-bound.

I've had some adaptations to my house to help me with standing up for more than a couple of minutes, and I'm being assessed to get a carer. People have fully understood without me explaining how these things would really help me and improve my life.

I've also been pushing to be seen by the NHS wheelchair team. Standing and walking is just exhausting, and it's often the reason I can't go to different places. Getting around the supermarket would be so much less of an energy drain if I didn't have to walk. I'd be able to do more than one or two things in a day without risking an energy crash, or making my pain worse, or my joints collapsing and me falling over.

A wheelchair means freedom. I love my house and my cat, but being able to go out more often would be incredible. I'm sure it would do wonders for my mental health.

But so many people react with sadness when I say I'm waiting for assessment to get one. I hired one from the red cross once, and when I returned it the staff said getting "trapped" in one would be "sad", especially given how young I am. People have said things like, "oh I'm so sorry you have to do that", or "that must be so hard."

Part of the reason I struggled to get referred to the wheelchair team in the first place was because doctors would say, "oh you're so young", or "let's only look at that as a last resort."

Mobility aids do not represent giving up. Quite the opposite. As things stand right now, I can only do shorter trips and I can't walk far. Can't stand in queues or to look at things. I love museums and stately homes and aquariums and zoos and parks and gardens and shopping and concerts, but I can't get round them to see them.

A wheelchair isn't a trap. Ableism is a trap. A wheelchair could let me fly.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Emily Yoffe

Published: Jun 11, 2024

Eithan Haim, 34, is at the beginning of his career as a surgeon. He and his wife are expecting their first child in the fall. And now he is facing a four-count federal felony indictment for blowing the whistle on Texas Children’s Hospital, where he worked while a resident. 

At TCH, he discovered the hospital was secretly continuing gender transition treatments on minors—including hormonal intervention on patients as young as 11 years old—after publicly declaring, in March of 2022, it would no longer provide such services.

The hospital unwillingly backed away from the treatments under pressure from the Texas governor and attorney general. But Haim found not only were the treatments continuing—the program appeared to be expanding. He recorded several online presentations by medical staff encouraging the transition of children—one social worker described how she deliberately did not make note of such treatment in the medical charts of patients to avoid leaving a paper trail. Haim told me, “They were talking publicly about how they were concealing what they were doing. You can’t take care of your patient without trust. For me as a doctor, to not do something about this was unconscionable.”

Haim, like a growing number of medical professionals around the world, had grave doubts about the safety and efficacy of the explosively growing business of youth gender transition medicine. When he looked into it, he found that children distressed about their biological sex often had multiple mental health challenges—conditions that were being ignored in the rush to put vulnerable young people on hormones, and even to perform surgical interventions. These treatments are profoundly life-altering, with a high risk of rendering a young person sterile. In the last few years, a growing number of countries have investigated these treatments for young people, found the evidence wanting, and have effectively banned interventions such as puberty blockers—drugs that prevent children from entering puberty.

Haim felt he had to act, but he knew the career risks of speaking out could be enormous. He contacted conservative journalist Christopher Rufo, who published an exposé without naming Haim. Before giving Rufo evidence that puberty blockers were still being surgically implanted in young patients, Haim made sure the patient’s names and other identifying information were redacted. This was both to protect patient privacy, and himself from violating the law known as HIPAA, which protects individual patient identities while also allowing various uses of medical information. The story Haim gave to Rufo was published May 16, 2023. The next day, the Texas legislature voted to ban the medical gender transition of minors.

Haim says there was no immediate aftermath: “Everything went quiet. I was anonymous and went on with my life.” Then June 23 of last year, the day Haim was to graduate from his residency, two federal agents from the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services showed up at his house to have a little chat. Haim’s wife, an assistant U.S. attorney for the Northern District of Texas, a different division of the U.S. Attorney’s office than the one that has indicted her husband, advised him not to talk. 

As Haim later wrote in City Journal, “Before leaving, they handed me a letter revealing that I was a ‘potential target’ of an investigation involving alleged violation of federal criminal law related to medical records.” Haim then went public about the threat facing him in an interview with Rufo. (The U.S Attorney’s Office for the Southern District of Texas did not respond to a request for comment.)

Haim was indicted last week, but, as of this writing, he and his attorneys do not yet know the precise nature of the charges. One of his lawyers, Mark Lytle, told me it’s very unusual to bring felony charges for an alleged HIPAA violation unless there is a significant underlying crime, such as a hospital clerk selling a celebrity’s medical records. He said the indictment of Haim seems politically motivated. “The government is entering into the town square on the culture wars and didn’t like what Eithan had to say,” said Lytle. “I think they are looking to make an example of him.” Haim is raising money for his legal fees through this GiveSendGo account.

Haim told me despite the peril he is now facing he has no regrets about blowing the whistle and is committed to fighting the federal charges. He said, “If we don’t fight back, what world are we delivering our children into?”

--

[verfound]

FIC: "An End of Days" (MLB; Lukanette; LBSC Lukanette Month 2024)

@lovebugs-and-snakecharmers is doing a Lukanette Month for September 2024, and we all just kinda tossed some prompts in the disco to compile a list?  We ended up with 71 prompts, so I decided I’d roll some dice to pick a prompt, do a twenty minute (ish, bc we all know sometimes they run away from me) sprint, and try to get some short fics out this month?

Oh look it's a whole-ass AU now I guess

Read on Ao3

10 September 2024

Prompt 67: Promises

He doesn’t tell anyone.

Not at first.

He doesn’t really know how.

That first day, when the doctor tells him, he sits in his car outside their offices and just…processes.  The nurse had asked if there was anyone she could call, and he knows there is.  His daughter.  His sister.  His best friend.  An entire crew of family and friends who will be devastated by this news, despite how poorly he’s treated them as of late.

…but the one person he wants to tell most – the one person it will affect most, while making no difference at all…he can’t tell her.  He doesn’t know how to tell her.

It wasn’t supposed to be him.

It was never supposed to be him.

…it was never supposed to be her, either, but when it was…how can he be the one going first?  Who will take care of her when he’s gone?  The hospital staff, obviously, but who will care?

The rest of the world moved on.  They all left her behind, too busy with the process of living to bother with someone who couldn’t.  Harmony never knew her.  Resents her most days, he fears, as much as she resents him for getting stuck.  Her own parents had long since passed.  Her friends, her family, had all grown older and had families of their own.

…who was going to love her, when he no longer could?

He had promised for better or worse.  Til death do they part.

He wasn’t supposed to go first.

He wasn’t supposed to abandon her like this.

He had kept his promise, hadn’t he?

…how can he break it now?

So he sits in his car, numb to the world.  He cries.  He thinks of his daughter, old enough now but still too young to be an orphan.  He thinks of his sister and wonders if maybe she’ll be relieved.  He thinks of his gnarled old ma, still raging against the world like its rules had never applied to her.  And then he thinks of Marinette, and then he turns the key.

She’s sleeping when he gets there.  He’s almost grateful for it.  It won’t matter, in the end, because he doubts she’ll understand when he finally does tell her, but he’s not sure he can tell her just yet.  He doesn’t know if he can tell himself just yet.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he still crawls into the bed behind her.  His arms find their way around her, the path familiar even if it hadn’t been walked in too many years.  He holds her close, his face tucked against her hair.  She doesn’t smell right – she hasn’t for years.  There’s a clinical, sterile scent that clings to her these days, but he’s still able to supply her shampoo.  They must have bathed her recently, he thinks absently, because the scent is stronger than it normally is when he presses his face there.  She moves, just slightly, and he stills.

“Lu…” she murmurs, and his heart twists in his chest as she rolls towards him.  Her hands fist in his shirt, one she’s never seen and the old her would probably balk at (he hasn’t worn anything custom – an MDC original – in longer than he can remember), as she presses her forehead against his chest.  Her nose digs almost uncomfortably into his sternum, but there’s something grounding about that.

Familiar.

From the better times.

…who will remember the better times, when he’s gone and she can’t?

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

They were supposed to grow old together.  They were supposed to have an entire house full of little ones – she had always wanted three, but a part of him had wanted more.  She was going to take the fashion world by storm, and his music was going to change the world, and their home would always be full of creativity and passion and…

…who would play for her, when he was gone?

Who would sing her silly little love songs?

Who would sing her her song?

He falls asleep there, holding her close and worrying about a future he never had any control over.  His purview had always been the past, anyway, but there’s no longer anything he can do about that.  There hadn’t been in a long time.  He doesn’t know how long he stays there, but she’s still sleeping when a nurse comes in to check on her later and finds him there.  She gently shakes him awake, her face sympathetic as she reminds him he shouldn’t do that.

“It’ll be worse, M. Couffaine,” she reminds him gently.  “If she woke up before you.  You know…”

“I know,” he says, but he lays there just a moment longer.  Just one more.

Because now he knows he doesn’t have many more left, and he’ll take what little he can get these days.

…who will love her?  Once he’s gone?