#and this will probably apply for when I’m a doctor too | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

joonie-beanie · 7 months

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Doctor's Orders | [Wriothesley x Reader]

Summary: “Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.” In which a simple tea time turns heated, and you get caught up in the consequence of Wriothesley not listening to his doctor. Content: Smut, Consensual Sex, Oral Sex, Aphrodisiacs, fem!reader Word Count: 7.9k

Sigewinne is evil.

You would have never suspected that such a tiny, cute body could contain so much malevolence. (Although, Sigewinne would personally argue that you’re confused, and that the word you’re looking for is actually benevolence. But, you digress.)

It all starts a few weeks into your employment at the Fortress of Meropide.

You’d spotted a job listing for a “personal assistant” in passing one day, and had immediately become interested thanks to the very generous salary listed on the paper. Seeing the job was located in Fontaine’s unofficial prison had, of course, caused you to have some second thoughts about applying, but at the end of the day, money is money.

Which is how you’d found yourself down on the ocean floor, waiting with a few other candidates outside the Duke’s office.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous—waiting there to meet the head honcho of the prison. That when he stepped out to call you inside for your interview—all tall and beefy and scarred—your heart didn’t nervously flutter inside your chest.

…but to your surprise, he’s actually much softer than he appears.

“So,” he says, sitting down across from you at his desk. He folds his arms and smiles at you. “Why should I hire you? ”

Having been through this process before, you had immediately rattled off your qualifications and experiences. A few of which Wriothesley had proceeded to comment on and inquire about further. But it wasn’t until he asked—

“What benefit will I receive from picking you specifically?”

And you’d responded with—

“Errand girl.”

“What?”

“I can run errands for you. I’m sure the guards can be slow, going back and forth. But if you’re my direct employer, I can do whatever you want. Drop documents off, check in on things…pick up more tea.”

—that Wriothesley finally makes up his mind.

“Hmm. Very convincing.”

The next day, you receive a letter with the terms of your employment, and your official start date.

So, since then, you’ve been working for Wriothesley. Which is actually kind of…nice.

Your job mostly consists of going back and forth between the prison and the surface, so that Wriothesley can stay in the Fortress and better monitor his domain. The autonomy the job grants you is very rewarding, and in the same breath, Wriothesley also feels rewarded by how you take care of things without him needing to ask more than once.

Safe to say, the two of you get along.

…which Sigewinne notices.

You, of course, meet Sigewinne on your first day. Wriothesley makes a point of introducing you and showing you where the nurse’s office is located, in case you get hurt, or need to drop something off.

The human-like melusine enthusiastically welcomes you, and, at first, you see her as…someone sweet, and caring. A treasure of the prison.

However, over time, your opinion of her slowly starts to change.

Because she keeps looking at you. Specifically, whenever you’re standing next to Wriothesley.

“Why is she doing that?” you ask him one day, nudging him gently with your elbow. He immediately looks up from his meal, over to where Sigewinne is waiting in the lunch line, her pink eyes boring into you.

“She’s probably just double checking that you’re healthy,” Wriothesley responds, paying her no mind. “I often catch her staring at me, too. You must be growing on her.”

Despite his reassuring words, you can’t help but feel a little…put off…by the look in her eyes. Like she’s plotting something.

The second weird thing you notice is when you walk into the infirmary to drop off some herbs she’d asked for, and find her drawing. At first, you assume she’s doodling, since she seems kid-like a lot of the time.

But instead, when you lean over her shoulder and look, you see that she’s writing words. A big, black “DO NOT DISTURB”...with pink hearts and a few flowers drawn around it.

“What’s that for?” you ask her, forcing a smile.

“Oh! It’s just for a project I’m working on,” she responds, swiveling in her chair to face you. She happily kicks her feet, her eyes darting to the herbs you’re carrying with you.

“Ah, are those what I asked for? Thank you!”

You hand her the small bundle of dried flowers and grasses, watching as she immediately turns and places them on her desk next to some string, and cheesecloth.

“You’re welcome,” you respond, taking a small step backwards. “If that’s all, I’ll keep working on the rest of the tasks on my list—”

“Wait,” she says, grabbing your wrist. You instantly freeze, your eyes going wide as you turn back to face her. There’s a serious look on her face.

“How do you feel about Wriothesley?”

Her question makes your heart skip—heat rising on your skin.

“What?”

She doesn’t bother elaborating or giving you context, just waits for you to respond. You cough a little, feeling awkward, and wondering what kind of answer she’s looking for.

“Well…I mean. I think he’s a good boss. He’s friendly, and devoted to his job. He runs the prison well.”

Sigewinne nods, but doesn’t comment. Just keeps…staring.

Feeling pressured, you force yourself to think of more to say.

“Um…he’s deserving of his title and the respect he garners. I…enjoy speaking with him? Like when he invites me to partake in tea breaks. I dunno…he just kinda reminds me of a big, fluffy puppy. He looks scary but he’s actually pretty…cute, y’know?”

Finally, Sigewinne smiles. She takes your hand in her tiny ones, giving it a squeeze.

“Thank you for answering my question. You can go now.”

You blink at her dumbly, but nonetheless excuse yourself from the room.

Two days later, Wriothesley invites you to his office for tea. And to your surprise, when you walk in, you find Sigewinne waiting there as well.

“Thank you for coming!” she says as you enter the room. You flash her a smile, taking a seat in one of the open chairs around the table.

“Of course!”

“Sigewinne has a tea she wants us both to try,” Wriothesley explains, a fond look in his eyes as he watches the resident nurse flit around—pouring hot water into the teacups that have been set out.

You nod.

“I see.”

“Although, I don’t know why you won’t just steep the tea in the pot,” Wriothesley complains to her, just as Sigewinne places individual tea bags in each cup. “Are we not all being served the same tea?”

She cutely huffs.

“For your information, no we are not. Your and Y/N’s tea is unique.”

“Oh?” Wriothesley leans forward to look into the teacups as the colors from the herbs begin to bleed into the water. “What’s so unique about it?”

“You’ll see,” she responds with a playful look, one that causes Wriothesley to amusedly raise his eyebrows. However, he doesn’t say anything more—simply waiting for the tea to appropriately steep.

“...are you using the herbs I brought you?”

You can’t help but notice the smell wafting from the cup in front of you is a little familiar. Sigewinne nods.

“Wow! I’m surprised you noticed.”

“Ah, so this must be the reason you wanted me to lend you Y/N for a task the other day,” Wriothesley chimes in, his icy blue eyes once again shifting to Sigewinne.

“Do I get to know what herbs you requested Y/N to bring you, exactly?”

The resident nurse shakes her head, quietly laughing when Wriothesley sighs and deflates back into his chair.

“It’s meant to be a surprise! I want to see what you think about the taste without knowing the ingredients.”

“I suppose that’s fair.”

Folding your hands on your lap, the office descends into silence for a brief moment, the three of you intently watching the teacups in front of you. Then, Sigewinne finally claps her hands and declares—

“Okay, they’ve steeped long enough. Go ahead!”

“Finally,” Wriothesley happily mumbles, reaching forward to pick up the pristine little plate on which his cup of tea resides. He brings the cup to his nose, inhaling deeply, and then takes a tentative sip.

“Hmm…”

He frowns, his brows pinching as he tries to discern the flavors he’s tasting.

Curiosity getting the better of you, you take a sip from your own cup—wincing as the hot liquid accidentally burns your tongue.

“So?” Sigewinne prompts, staring excitedly between the two of you.

“It’s…pleasant,” you respond, clearly not as big of a tea connoisseur as the Duke. “It has a hint of sweetness.”

“It tastes like a Rainbow Rose smells,” Wriothesley adds, taking another sip. His gaze slides to you. “Did you pick some for her?”

You shake your head.

“No, I didn’t. Or…at least I didn’t pick any fresh ones. I did go to a vendor and purchase something in a bottle that looked like crushed, pink dust.”

Sigewinne cutely laughs.

“As expected of you, Your Grace. Yes, one of the ingredients is dried Rainbow Rose petals. Do you like it?”

Wriothesley makes a pleased sound.

“I do. The taste is light, but pleasant—like Y/N said.”

“Good! I want both of you to drink up.”

Sigewinne finally picks up her own tea, and you can’t help but notice the difference in color when compared to yours and Wriothesley’s. She really is drinking something different…but why?

“Aye aye, captain,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne laugh. You smile at the cute interaction between them, and have some more of your tea as well.

Together, the three of you engage in friendly conversation—catching up about recent topics while indulging in tea and a few different snacks that Wriothesley had pulled out for the occasion. As you drink, you can’t help but notice you feel…warm. A heat that spreads out from your stomach, and slowly creeps into your limbs.

You’ve never felt this way before but…maybe the tea is just extra hot today?

You glance up to Wriothesley and notice that he’s a little flushed as well. Which is…reassuring? You think. Since you’re obviously not the only one affected.

“Oh! Y/N!”

Sigewinne’s sudden call of your name draws you from your thoughts, and you look over at her. She smiles.

“I forgot to ask, but are you dating anyone?”

“Sigewinne,” Wriothesley gently scolds. He leans forward and sets his teacup on the table, the cup now empty.

His tone practically says “It’s not appropriate to ask questions like that” without actually saying it. Sigewinne pouts.

“Aww, c’mon. We’re all friends here! I wouldn’t ask otherwise.”

Hearing that the melusine considers you to be a friend, you decide to grace her with an answer—ignoring the tingling of the taste buds on your tongue.

“No, I am not seeing anyone,” you inform her with a polite smile. Sigewinne nods happily at your answer, which makes your smile waver.

Is she happy you’re single?? Ouch.

“Okay, good,” she says. “I’d feel a little bad, otherwise.”

You blink in confusion at her words, watching her as she pops off her chair and heads towards the door. Wriothesley raises an eyebrow at her.

There’s sweat beading on his brow.

“Where are you going?”

“Away,” she responds. “To give you two some privacy.”

You and Wriothesley glance at each other, mirroring each other’s confusion.

Your tummy starts to ache.

“Why are you leaving us alone, exactly?”

Stopping just in front of the office doors, Sigewinne turns on her heel to face the two of you. There’s a smug grin on her face.

“This is what happens when you don’t follow doctor’s orders.”

You frown, raising a hand to your chest, wondering why your heart is suddenly racing.

What’s this about doctor’s orders?

You glance over at Wriothesley…only to see that he’s frozen in shock—his eyes wide with realization.

His pants feel too tight.

“Sigewinne, you did not—”

There’s an edge to his voice when he speaks, his eyes narrowing. He plants his feet on the floor and prepares to stand and confront her, but before he can blink, Sigewinne has drawn her pistol—a tranquilizing bullet hitting him square in the chest, where a little patch of skin is showing.

He makes a noise of surprise, and quickly flops back into his chair to avoid falling on the floor—his limbs immediately going numb.

“Sigewinne!” you gasp. You’re not sure what’s going on, but the fact that she’d just shot Wriothesley is…

“It’s okay,” she says with a little sigh. “The effect will wear off in a few minutes. And…I’m sorry I scared you. Let me explain…”

She holsters her gun and smiles at you, trying to calm you down.

“As the nurse of the Fortress of Meropide, it is my duty to look after all residents, including Your Grace. And over the last few months, I’ve noticed him becoming more… irritable.”

“Sigewinne…,” Wriothesley mumbles, but the girl waves him off.

“After observing him for a while, I realized that his stress levels were getting high. And as his doctor, I recommended him a way to manage his stress, but he refused. He insisted tea was enough to soothe his nerves, but that’s simply not true. So…when you started working here, and I saw how well the two of you were getting along, I…got an idea.”

Sigewinne glances over at Wriothesley, noticing how he’s begun to shift his boots against the floor.

Her tranquilizers won’t be in effect much longer. They never work as well on people Wriothesley’s size…

So, she decides to cut to the chase.

Reaching into her pocket, Sigewinne pulls out the DO NOT DISTURB sign you’d seen her making the other day. She holds it in front of her, and beams at you.

“Simply put, the Duke needs to have sexual intercourse to relieve his tension. After watching the two of you and seeing you interact on both physical and intellectual levels, I determined that you would be ideal partners for each other. So, I invited the both of you to partake in an aphrodisiac made from the herbs you gathered for me.”

“You…you drugged us?” you gape, completely thrown by everything she’s just told you. She immediately gets defensive, her cheeks puffing.

“I medicated you,” she corrects. “And in the end, I’m only acting as a doctor. This all could have been avoided if Your Grace had just taken care of his own needs, as I’d insisted. Since he didn’t, I could only logically assume it's because it’s his preference to have a partner, rather than going at it solo. So, if you want to blame anyone for this, please blame him.”

“Sigewinne—”

Gripping the arms of his chair, Wriothesley breathes out a heavy sigh and begins to push himself up. You can’t help but notice his face is much redder now, and you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment, the effects of the drugs, or both.

Seeing that Wriothesley has nearly regained his strength, Sigewinne hurries to exit his office.

“Anyway! The effects of the tea should wear off in a few hours, but only if you relieve yourselves. Otherwise, it will last much longer. So I suggest you let loose and indulge yourselves. You like each other! Enjoy this time!”

Wriothesley opens his mouth to say something, but his words catch in his throat the second Sigewinne opens his office door. He doesn’t want anyone outside of his office walls to hear him or know what’s going on.

“I’ll hang this sign on the door,” Sigewinne continues, her voice hushing. “So no one comes in while you two are…busy. Just remove it once you’re done, okay? Have fun!”

With a supportive little fist pump, Sigewinne then closes the door, leaving you and Wriothesley alone.

A few long beats of silence pass, then Wriothesley finally sighs.

"I…apologize for this. I never meant for you to get roped in."

You turn to look at him, only to find that he's standing with his back to you, his hand raising to rub at the back of his head.

You can see his muscles flexing as he does so, and you hate to admit that it causes the heat inside you to grow.

"It's…not your fault," you respond, laughing a little awkwardly. "I doubt it's easy to follow directions when your doctor tells you to jack off to rectify your hardass-ness."

Wriothesley glances at you over his shoulder.

"Have I been acting like a hardass?"

"You've been a little snippy at times," you tell him, smoothing your sweaty palms down your legs. Seriously, your clothes are starting to make you feel claustrophobic…

"Not to me, specifically. But I've noticed it towards some of the prison residents."

"Shit," he sighs, rubbing his temples. You continue to watch him, your eyes wandering the expanse of his back. For a second, you don't understand why he won't face you. Then it clicks.

"...are you…hard? Is that why you're not turning around?"

"It's…pretty bad," Wriothesley admits, his shoulder sagging in defeat. "I don't know what all was in that tea but…as an aphrodisiac, it's doing its job."

"Yeah…," you agree, swallowing heavily. You can feel wet arousal pooling on the fabric of your panties. His office has also started to feel like a sauna, but you're not sure if it's the air that's hot, or your body.

However, you're still not willing to breach the topic of "relief" with him. You haven't reached that level of desperation…yet .

So, you think of something else to carry the conversation in the meantime.

"So…Sigewinne said you like me?"

"Ah, you caught that."

He laughs a little, and begins pacing around the room, still careful to keep his back to you. You can't help but notice his stride is a little…impeded.

"If I'm being frank—yes, I do. You've been…a pleasure to have around, since I hired you. Actually, one of the reasons I picked you in the first place was because of how you acted during your interview. Most people are scared of me and therefore talk cautiously. You're certainly respectful, of course, but…you're a bit playful, as well. And I found that quality to be attractive."

"Ah, so I charmed you," you respond playfully. "Remind me to add that point to my resume later. "Managed to woo the Lord of the Fortress of Meropide". That sounds pretty good—"

"And there you go again," Wriothesley laughs. He steps behind the chair he'd been sitting in previously, and then finally turns to face you—the back of the chair tall enough that his lower half is out of sight.

"Although, if I recall her words correctly, Sigewinne stated that we "like each other". So, is there something you'd like to say as well?"

Your eyes go wide, and you feel more blood rush into your head. Wriothesley smiles, wide enough to show teeth.

"C’mon now. It's not fair that I praise you and get nothing in return."

You pout.

"To be fair, I didn't know why Sigewinne suddenly asked me what I thought of you…"

"That’s understandable, but still. I'd like to know what you told her."

Wriothesley maintains his playful demeanor, despite the way his knuckles begin to turn white at his sides—a deep-seated need slowly sinking its claws into him.

You sigh.

"I just…told her that you're a good boss, and are deserving of your titles and the respect you garner…"

You trail off, suddenly remembering the last thing you'd told Sigewinne during that conversation. Wriothesley clearly notices there's something you're leaving out, one of his eyebrows raising.

"And?"

You take a deep breath.

"That you're a cute puppy."

He blinks in shock.

"...excuse me?"

Oh god, you wanna phase through the floor.

"I said that even though you look scary, you're really just like a big…cute…puppy."

For a moment, Wriothesley can only stare at you. Then, he throws his head back and laughs.

Embarrassed, you plant your palms on your thighs and push to your feet, instinctively wanting to run away…only to realize that your legs have gone weak.

With a distraught noise, you flop back into your chair.

Out of the corner of his eye, Wriothesley notices.

He coughs, pulling himself back together.

"Well, I've certainly never heard myself described in such a way before. I can't say I totally hate it, but I'm not sure if I agree with the term "puppy"."

You force an awkward laugh, finally losing steam as the arousal inside you begins to cloud your thoughts. Sigewinne obviously wasn't messing around when making her aphrodisiac…you've never felt so horny before that it has literally hindered your mental and physical faculties.

The office is silent for a few tense moments, but finally, Wriothesley heaves a heavy sigh. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, his shoulders slumping as he hangs his head.

"You may revoke your good opinion of me, considering how inappropriate it is for a boss to even consider such a thing, but…I think my dick is gonna explode soon, so I'll just come out and ask."

You swallow, anticipating his next words.

"Would you be…interested in having sex?"

Your body shivers in excitement at the idea, the lustful part of your brain screaming at you to jump him already.

"I…would," you admit, managing to keep it together. Wriothesley's entire body jolts impatiently at your words, but he’s able to keep himself grounded.

"I don't think I'll be able to survive…this without some relief. And…I trust you. So…"

"So we're in agreement," Wrioslethely supplies, waiting for your confirmation. You nod your head.

"We are."

In the next beat, he's is crossing the space between you, a "thank god" barely making it past his lips before he crashes them into yours.

Immediately, you’re groaning into him—your arms wrapping around his neck and his hands finding the backs of your thighs. He lifts you from your chair easily—your chests pressing together as he holds you close.

You’ve always been acutely aware of how large Wriothesley is, but you don’t think it fully sinks in until now—as he manhandles you with ease, quite literally carrying you with one arm as the other sneaks beneath your shirt and tugs it over your head.

You’re forced to break the kiss as he does so, but the second the fabric has been discarded, you’re tangling your fingers in his hair and dragging him in for another.

Your action evokes a pleased little rumble inside his chest.

“You taste sweet,” he mumbles, his palm roaming over the exposed skin of your back. The warmth of his skin against yours makes you ache.

“It’s probably the aphrodisiac,” you reply breathlessly, a shiver raking your spine when you feel his fingers toy at the waistband of your pants.

“Hmm, shall we posit your theory?”

Before you can even think to ask what he means, the room is spinning—too many things happening at once. However, it’s nearly impossible to miss the feel of your pants being shucked down your legs.

When everything settles, you find that you’re no longer chest to chest with Wriothesley, but rather, face to dick.

“Wh—”

Your cheeks heat up as you finally digest the position he’s put you in—your ass in his face, and his crotch in yours—his body now firmly planted in a chair as he spreads his thighs and makes himself comfortable.

“Wriothesley!” you say in shock, your palms gripping his legs for support as you attempt to turn and face him. However, you quickly realize with the position he has chosen, you’re fairly helpless to do anything—completely at his mercy as he locks his arms around your legs and grips your ass in his hands.

“Hm?” he responds nonchalantly, one of his fingers slipping under the edge of your panties. You shift a little, trying to glare at him, but only succeed in having his clothed dick poke you in the cheek. He tenses at the sensation, and you feel his cock strain helplessly against the fabric of his pants—begging for more friction.

“I’m just testing your theory, like I said,” he continues, a surprised mewl tearing from your throat as he leans his head forward and nuzzles his nose in the damp fabric of your panties.

“If you think it’s the aphrodisiac making you sweet, let’s see if it’s also having that effect elsewhere—”

Before you can protest, Wriothesley is tugging the crotch of your underwear aside—his tongue licking a hot, languid strip between your folds. You gasp at the feeling, your nails digging into his thighs through the layer of clothes that he wears.

Above you, the Duke makes a pleased sound, repeating his previous action—noting the way your body writhes against his hold. His fingers grip your ass tighter, his brows furrowing as he presses his tongue inside your entrance—your arousal quickly coating his taste buds.

“Yep,” he mutters after a moment, his voice tight and his throat bobbing as he harshly swallows. “You taste…addicting.”

His words have your cunt squeezing around nothing, although he quickly dives back in and rectifies that problem—stretching your walls out around his tongue.

“Fuck…,” you pant, your head dropping as your strength wanes. Your muscles progressively start to feel like jelly, thanks to his ministrations. Especially, when he moves his mouth to your clit and begins rolling his tongue around it—a whine escaping you as the desire inside of you sears white hot.

And yet, despite the way Wriothesley presses on—groaning into your pussy as he eats you out—you’d be remiss to forget about the fact that he’s currently affected by the aphrodisiac as well, and has his own needs that need to be taken care of.

So, gathering what strength you have, you manage to push yourself up onto your forearms—your hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You frantically work open the button and zipper of his slacks, and then hook your fingers under the elastic of his underwear, tugging the band down.

…only to have his freed cock immediately spring up and smack you in the face.

Your eyes go wide, and in normal circumstances, you’d expect Wriothesley to laugh at the comedy of what has just occurred. However, too immersed in the way your cunt tastes and feels, and the way your body continues to twitch in his hold, he doesn’t even notice. And, too amazed by the sheer size of Wriothesley’s dick as you finally lean your head back and get a good look at him, you don’t bother saying anything.

No, instead you simply part your lips and take the head of his cock into your mouth—sucking lightly, your tongue teasing at his slit. The groan that’s immediately torn from his throat is involuntary—the sound becoming muffled by your pussy as he momentarily stops to savor the feeling of your mouth on his dick—your tongue flattening on the underside of his shaft as you slowly take more of him into your mouth.

Then, he goes back to eating you out with renewed fervor—your eyes nearly rolling back into your skull when he sucks at your clit.

The room quickly fills with the sound of sloppy and messy oral, your head bobbing up and down Wriothesley’s cock. Saliva drips down his length, his pre-cum smearing against your tongue, and you can’t help but moan.

Everything feels so good—from Wriothesley’s tongue on your cunt, to the way his cock fills up your mouth…

“Fuck,” Wriothesley growls. His fingers move to pull at the folds of your pussy, spreading you open wider. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he moves his mouth back to your clit, where he then stays—his tongue flicking rhythmically against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

The pace and motion he settles on is one that you know will very quickly damn you, and he figures this out as well based on the way your thighs begin to shake in his grasp. Your body attempts to jolt away from him—trying to escape the onslaught of pleasure he intends to give—but he leaves no wiggle room. He holds you tighter, enjoying the feeling of your mouth on his cock, and how your efforts slowly start to crumble along with your sanity.

“I…,” you mumble the word around dick, trying to warn him of the orgasm you can feel quickly approaching. Your entire body swims with arousal, your head feeling light.

“Keep going, sweetheart,” he pants. “Let’s cum together.”

You feel his cock throb against your tongue, and, dutifully, you do your best to continue sucking him off—your lips once again suctioning around his shaft. Your actions immediately evoke a pleased groan from the Duke, and you feel his thighs tense in your grasp—his own orgasm quickly approaching.

However, despite your best efforts to continue, everything falls apart the second your climax finally crests.

With a cry, you come undone—your body writhing in his hold. You go brainless almost immediately, the strength in your arms wavering, and Wriothesley’s cock stuffing into your cheek—your hot breath fanning over his length.

Luckily, the vulgarity of the entire situation is enough to push Wriothesley over the finish line—his dick painting the inside of your mouth with his cum. And to his surprise, once he’s spent, you actually pull your head back, close your lips, and swallow.

Shit, he thinks.

His dick is just starting to soften, and yet somehow, it’s also already getting hard again.

There’s a few beats of quiet that are filled only with the sound of you and Wriothesley panting. Then, once he’s caught his breath, he says—

“Let’s get you right side up.”

—and the world spins again.

Honestly, the fact that he can manhandle you this easily is criminal.

“You okay?” he asks, sitting you on one of his thighs. He brushes a few stray hairs from your face, staring at you with a hint of concern.

You nod your head, grateful that the carnal desire you’ve been afflicted with is clearly less, now that you and Wriothesley have both gotten off. But…even despite that, you still feel hot and tingly. Like you want more.

You glance down at his lap.

“Mmm. Seems like you’re in the same predicament as me.”

“Think you can handle another round?” he asks. You meet his eyes, playfully raising your eyebrows.

“I’m almost tempted to say no, and see what you do.”

Wriothesley rolls his eyes, his hands grabbing your waist, and in the next moment, you find yourself slung over his shoulder.

“Hey—!” you protest, attempting to look at him, but he only caresses your ass with his free hand.

“If you have that much spunk left in you, you can handle another round,” he says, carrying you down the nearby staircase, to the floor below his office. “But, I’ll be kind this time and make you more comfortable.”

His boots echo against the metal floor as he walks, and for a second, you wonder where exactly he’s taking you. But, soon after, Wriothesley pushes through a nearby door, and you find yourself in a moderately sized bedroom.

It must be his, you realize, feeling a little silly that you’d never pondered before now where the Master of the prison actually sleeps.

“Here we are.”

Wriothesley gently deposits you onto his bed, and then immediately reaches for his tie. You watch him with bated breath, your heart doing a tiny flip as you realize that he’s finally stripping out of his clothes. He opts to leave on the leather belts encircling his arms and neck, instead focusing the bulk of his time on shedding his suit, and undoing the many buckles on his boots.

By the time he’s finished—his erect cock once again sitting heavy between his legs—you’re practically drooling at the sight of him.

His lips twitch into a little smile.

“I’m happy to know that you like what you see. However, in the time I spent undressing myself, you couldn’t be bothered to remove what little clothing you have left? C’mon now, are you waiting for me to wrestle you out of them?”

Still feeling cheeky, you flash him a grin.

“Hm, I’d like to see you try.”

Wriothesley immediately cocks an eyebrow, his eyes glinting at the challenge you’ve just issued, and your attitude wavers, realizing what it is you’ve done. You open your mouth to say you’re only teasing—your hands already raising behind your back to undo the clasp of your bra—but it’s too late.

In one swift motion, Wriothesley grabs your ankle and twists you onto your stomach—his weight settling above you as he kneels onto the bed. You shiver when his knuckles brush against your skin—his fingers swiftly undoing your bra.

“You’re just a little brat, aren’t you…”

He speaks the words fondly, with a hint of amusement, and yet, they still go straight to your cunt.

“Don’t say things like that,” you respond, instinctively raising your hips when Wriothesley hooks his fingers on your underwear and begins tugging them down your thighs. He stares intently at your backside as he does so, an idea popping into his mind.

“Why? Because you like it too much?”

He discards your panties on the floor along with the rest of the clothes you’d both shed, and then grabs your knees, forcing you to spread your legs, so he can properly settle between them.

Another blush rises on your face at his words, your tongue feeling heavy in your mouth. At your lack of response, Wriothesely continues.

“In my understanding, brats tend to like it a little rougher, so…”

His hands ghost up your thighs, to your hips, and he grips you tightly—forcing your lower half off the bed until you’re propped up on your knees—his cock sitting heavy against your ass.

“...what say we continue like this, hm?”

Bracing yourself on your forearms, you turn your head back to look at him—your body tensing as you watch him fist his cock and drag it downward, between the lips of your pussy.

His icy eyes catch yours.

“Any objection?”

“...no,” you mumble, your fingers anticipatedly fisting in the sheets.

Wriothesley nods—

“Good.”

—and then presses the head of his cock inside you.

Immediately, you drop your forehead against the mattress—willing your body to relax for him as he slowly inches inside of you.

His tongue had certainly been enjoyable, but this? Fuck. Nothing compares to the sensation of him slowly stuffing you inch by inch—the girth of his cock positively delicious as he forces your cunt to stretch to accommodate him.

It’s so much that by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, your body is shaking—your breath coming out in quick, desperately little pants.

Seeing your reaction, Wriothesely soothes a hand up your spine, his warm palm settling between your shoulder blades. He decides to start slow—to give you a little more time to adjust to him.

And honestly, he’d love to take his time in general—to really savor the sight of you beneath him, your cunt swallowing his cock so perfectly, but alas. The effects of the aphrodisiac make him impatient with need, and it’s not long before he’s moving faster—little gasps and whines finding their way past your lips as he begins fucking you back onto his cock.

“Ahh…seriously you’re…so fucking tight,” he curses. His fingers dig into the plush of your hip—his jaw clenching, and his racing heart pumping lust through his veins.

Your cunt clamping on his dick seriously might be his personal slice of heaven.

“Wrio, I—,” you can’t even get the words out, your brain short-circuiting. You can’t think straight anymore—not with his cock rubbing you in all the right spots, making a mess of your insides, and quickly rocketing you towards another—

Wait, no, it’s only been a minute—!

“Fuck! ”

You choke the word out, your spine curving and your knuckles turning white as your second orgasm of the night is unexpectedly forced out of you—your pussy spasming around Wriothesley’s dick.

The last of your strength officially drained, you collapse forward onto the mattress, your cheek smushing into the covers.

…however, Wriothesley doesn’t allow your lower half to fall along with the rest of you—his hold on your hips keeping your twitching pussy firmly planted on his still-hard dick.

“We’re not done yet, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his cock continuing to languidly drag between your walls, drawing out the tail end of your pleasure.

You can’t help but whimper at his words, already feeling a bit oversensitive thanks to two consecutive orgasms. Wriothesley does his best to soothe your frayed nerves.

Leaning over you, he gently tangles his fist in your hair—coaxing your head off the mattress so he can kiss you.

The kiss is messy, but sweet—the angle of your bodies forcing his cock deeper inside of you, his hips completely flush against your ass.

“You’re doing so good,” he tells you, peppering a trail of kisses against your cheek, and across your jaw. His praise causes you to whimper, a shiver raking up your spine when his tongue drags across your skin—his teeth nipping at the nape of your neck.

His actions successfully get you to relax—your body becoming more pliable in his grasp as he once again begins to move. And soon enough, the wet sound of sex fills his bedroom once more.

Wanting to help him cum (and to feel his seed fill you), you do your best to help Wriothesley along—purposefully flexing the walls of your pussy as he fucks you. However, in doing so, you accidentally start yourself down the path of yet another orgasm…

Feeling the familiar, aching pleasure beginning to build inside of you once again, you quickly stop what you’re doing. You think that a third orgasm honestly might kill you, but…it’s too late.

Wriothesley has already noticed your growing arousal, and decides that he likes it better when the two of you cum together.

So, he sneaks one of his hands between the apex of your legs, and begins rubbing at your clit.

The garbled, desperate cry that leaves your mouth immediately becomes seared in his mind for a long time to come.

“No, Wrio, I…I can’t. I—”

Your words come out jumbled, tears beading on your lash line.

Momentarily removing his hand from your clit, he once again reaches forward and grips your hair—pulling your head back so he can kiss you. His lips swallow up your worries.

“You can,” he insists, his voice whispering in your ear, and his hot breath fanning over your skin.

“I want you to cum with me, pretty girl. You can do it.”

You give no protest aside from a cute little whine, and that's good enough for Wriothesley.

Releasing your hair, his hand finds your clit once more.

He then proceeds to fuck you into the mattress—pursuing his orgasm with abandon. A groan leaves his mouth at the way your pussy starts clamping on his dick once again—tightening up with each pass of his fingers across your clit—your pussy slick and messy with your own arousal.

Unable to think straight, you can only hold on for dear life—clinging to his sheets like a lifeline. You can’t even process the sounds that are coming out of your own mouth—a damned, desperate symphony moans.

To Wriothesley, it all sounds like a siren's cry—beckoning him closer to the edge.

“Shit,” he pants, feeling his cock throb, and his balls tighten. The motion of his fingers on your clit quickens—your toes curling as the coil of pleasure in your tummy continues to wind—so close to snapping.

Sweat beading on his brow, Wriothesley leans forward, curling his body against yours. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, his husky voice sending goosebumps across your skin.

“So good for me…,” he breathes, his hips smacking into your ass. His broad strokes deteriorate into needy rutting, and the sensation has you quite literally sobbing—his cock now incessantly grinding into your g-spot.

You can’t take it anymore.

Shoving your face into the mattress, you bite the sheets and scream—your entire body shaking as you cum for a third time, your cunt milking around Wriothesley’s cock.

He curses at the feeling, his face burying in your neck. Wrapping his arms around you, he hugs you to his body—fucking inside of you a few more times before finally joining you in ecstasy.

His teeth sink into you as his orgasms peaks, a heady groan muffled against your skin as his balls empty—pumping you full of his cum.

It’s not until the intensity of his pleasure has died down that Wriothesley ultimately releases you from his hold—your lower half immediately flopping down onto the bed, and his softening cock slipping out of you.

The Duke takes a moment to simply look at you, and how fucked out you are. Your eyes bleary, skin flushed, and the imprint of his teeth engraved in your flesh.

He grunts at the sight, and settles in beside you—his arm curling around your waist as he tugs you back against him. His tongue immediately begins lapping at the bite mark he’d inflicted, attempting to soothe the sting.

After a few seconds, you begin shaking, and Wriothesley immediately pauses, scared that he’s hurt you in some way.

…only to realize that you’re laughing.

“...puppy…”

He props himself up, glancing at you.

“What?”

“You really are like a puppy,” you giggle, your finger lifting to brush a stray tear from your eye. “The way you bit me, and then immediately started licking at it in apology. So cute…”

You break into another tiny fit of laughter, and Wriothesley rolls his eyes, yet can’t help cracking a smile.

“Well, I’m glad to know I didn’t break you, at the very least.”

His hand rubs against your waist.

“...right?”

Finally getting ahold of yourself, you roll onto your back and smile at him, your hand reaching out to cup his cheek. He immediately leans into your touch, and it makes your heart flutter.

“I’m not broken, no. Just…sore. And gross. And sweaty.”

Wriothesley chuckles.

“Well, I think I can rectify some of those issues. I do have a bathroom, with a tub.”

“Wow,” you respond, watching him as he scoots to the edge of the mattress and gets to his feet. He waits a second for you to join him, but you don’t move.

“My…limbs feel like jello,” you admit, raising your arm and flopping it back down bonelessly for emphasis. Wriothesley rolls his eyes, but nonetheless leans over the bed and scoops you into his arms.

You rest your cheek against his chest, admiring for the first time how soft it really is.

“Whatever shall I do with you,” he playfully sighs, carrying you into the adjacent bathroom. He sets you on the vanity, moving over to the tub and turning on the tap for the hot water. You hum.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things you can do. The first of which is helping me into the bath once it’s ready.”

Wriothesley quietly chuckles. Returning to your side, he takes your hand, and brings it to his lips.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Once the tub has filled, the Duke keeps true to his word—once again carefully cradling you in his arms as he seats himself in the tub basin, before positioning you in the space between his legs.

The steaming water immediately soothes the ache of your body, and you sigh in relief—sinking back against Wriothesley’s body. He lightly wraps one arm around your waist, the other resting on the edge of the tub.

For a few long minutes, the two of you bask in silence, simply enjoying the refreshing feel of the bath.

…then, you start to notice something beginning to grow—pressing at your back.

“...really? Is the aphrodisiac still getting to you that much?”

“No,” he admits after a beat, leaning forward to kiss your neck. “I think this one is actually all me.”

You roll your eyes, but nonetheless crane your head to the side—allowing him access to more of your skin as his mouth begins to wander.

“I thought I made it clear that my limbs are jello right now.”

“I can work with that,” he responds, and you feel him grin. His hand slowly trails down your stomach, and between your legs.

“I’ll do all the work. You just get to make pretty sounds and feel good.”

His fingers slide between the folds of your pussy, and you jolt as he passes over your overly-sensitive clit. But seriously…how are you going to say no to him?

“What am I going to do with you?” you sigh, echoing his earlier words. His chest rumbles with laughter, and he grabs your chin with his free hand—turning your head so he can kiss you.

“Mmm, I can think of a few things.”

The next morning, you find yourself in a back in your clothes, standing beside Wriothesley just inside his office door.

“I’ll go first,” you say, to which he nods. “I have some errands to run anyway. You can wait a minute and then come out after me.”

“Sounds good.”

The two of you stare at each other for a second, before you finally square your shoulders, and reach for the door handle.

Before you can twist it, Wriothesley catches your wrist. When you look back at him, you find that there’s a blush on his cheeks.

“So, I’ll…see you later?”

His suddenly bashful demeanor causes you to smile. Pressing onto your toes, you cup his cheeks and softly kiss him. He immediately grabs your waist—deepening the kiss.

“You’ll see me later,” you promise.

With that, the two of you finally separate, and you disappear through his office door.

Wriothesley takes a deep breath at your departure, combing a hand through his hair as he waits for the right moment to make his own exit.

To be safe, he decides to wait a good few minutes. But finally, he opens his door—preparing to venture into the main area of the fortress, and make his normal rounds.

…however, he only makes it a step before remembering the sign Sigewinne had made.

With a sigh, he immediately backtracks and tears the DO NOT DISTURB sign off of his door, crumpling it between his palms.

When he turns back around, he nearly jumps—Sigewinne standing right in front of him.

“So,” she says, a pleased grin on her face. “How’d it go?”

Narrowing his eyes, Wriothesley only stares ahead, and walks past her. She easily follows after him.

“The fact that you’re out and about this early in the day means something likely happened between you and Y/N.”

“No comment,” Wriothesley responds, which makes Sigewinne giggle. They pass by a few prisoners as Wriothesley makes a B-line for the elevator to the production zone. Once there, Sigewinne squeezes herself in along with him.

As the elevator begins to descend, only a few seconds pass in silence, before Sigewinne asks one last question.

“As your doctor, it’s my recommendation that you continue to regularly relieve your stress. So, are you going to be dutifully carrying out my orders from now on?”

Wriothesley makes a little face, glancing away from her.

“...maybe.”

Sigewinne smiles.

That’s good enough for her.

#wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #wriothesley genshin #genshin fic #bean fic #fic #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin smut

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lovelyyandereaddictionpoint · 2 months

Text

Yandere Manager When You Call in Sick

“Wait what!?”

Your eyes are so heavy you can barely see

Your body too is like concrete

And the Hot and Cold chills changing from an inescapable savanna to the North side of the Arctic

It’s honestly a miracle you were able to call at all

For all his nagging and disturbing actions for the time being he is your official boss

It would be unprofessional not to say something

You also must be in such a haze because you only called him and not the assistant manager

After you make the call, you return to the pillow and you slip back into a feverish sleep

Of course unbeknownst to you the Manager is losing it

The other employees have probably gotten the gist after he launched a chair into the breakroom wall and began angrily mumbling to himself

“B-b-boss, why don’t you go visit them? Like, offer to take care of them!”

“Y-y-yeah j-j-j-ust give us the keys for lock up and you can go pick up some soup for them or something. Y-you still have their key right?”

Like an instant change of night and day, the Manager is all smiles as he easily wrenches the chair from the new hole in the wall

“Thanks, guys! I promise not to secretly apply those pay cuts I wanted to. I’ll also be sure to give you a pizza party. And for good measure, I won’t slash your tires. ”

“What?!” “Wait–”

“Toodaloo!”

With a skip in his step, Clyde is on his way to your house after visiting the local pharmacy and employing his manager's discount

Ie: blackmail

“Honey, I’m home! Have you eaten today? Drink any water?”

If it weren’t for the attempts at getting this man off your property

But of course, he’ll stroll in with his copied key of yours

And for once you’ll probably appreciate it

Massages or icepack or heating pad whatever you want he pampers you beyond compare

Taking advantage of your feverish disposition to lick kiss the sweat on your body

“You’re so sweet, Honey! Even when your sick!”

After a swab on the inside of your cheek don’t ask why he wanted that+

And a little cuddle

Then he starts doing your chores

Clothes, food prep, organizing, cleaning

He gets to work

Taking the dirty undergarments or sucking on your toothbrush as compensation

It’s a nervous habit

Where he keeps himself busy because staring at your labored breathing scares him

He’ll pop into check on you but for his health he can’t be by your side 24/7

At the end of the day, if your temperature hasn’t gone down, he might call his special doctor

Now don’t try asking for their credentials–they’ll just ignore you

But they’ll make sure you’ll pull through from this

“How are you feeling, my love? Better?”

“W-what are you doing in my house?”

“Now do you want takeout or homemade chili? Also, I don’t approve of your shift changes so you’ll have to come in your usual times.”

When you are well enough to physically push him out he’ll start concluding his visit

“GET OUT! And don’t come back!”

“So mean! You’re lucky I don’t dock your pay right now!”

For all his whining he is quite pleased

The haul was magnificent this time around

Part of its charm is the fact that you were in the house when he stole it

“Ah what a good day….it’s almost so good maybe I won’t slash my employees' tires anyway…,,,who am I kidding? That’s the best part of the weekend!”

More of Yandere Manager

#yandere x reader #yandere x you #lovelyyandereaddictionpoint #yanderexrea #yandere #yanderes #yandere manager #yandere manager oc #yandere manager oc x reader #yandere oc x you #yandere oc #yandere x darling #yandere headcanons #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc x y/n

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 4 months

Text

Same as it ever was 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, cheating, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can’t catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: I'm just tryna get through the week.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The waiting room is excruciating. You find yourself standing more than you sit. Both are torture. Your concern mounts with your discomfort and the more you think of Hansen’s response. He’s a demanding asshole, he told you several times he takes what he wants, but today, he let you go. Even he could see something was seriously wrong.

Funny how you never dread the doctor so much when you’re there for Simone or Malik, but for yourself, it makes your insides knot. You can’t even think of the last time you made an appointment for yourself. That’s probably not good either.

As the doctor examines you and goes over your symptoms, you wince and struggle not to keel over. He’s patient and gentle, treatment you’re unused to. That stray realisation is even grimmer as it sticks in your head.

“Hmm, I’m going to be optimistic and say it’s a bruised tailbone,” he explains, “we can send you for imaging to check for a fracture but it wouldn’t likely be possible today. I’ll call the lab with a request, just to make sure.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” you lean on the examination table, “so what does that mean? Painkillers? Stretches?”

“Rest,” he points at you with his gold pen, “avoid sitting. You want to keep pressure off the tailbone. Lay on your stomach when you sleep.” He tucks his pen in his coat pocket and goes to the cabinet in the corner by the sink, “you’ll want to keep this handy.” He opens the door and slips out a box, “it’ll help.”

As he gives you the box, you consider the image of the donut cushion on the front. The inflatable seat is stuffed into the tight package. You’re not unfamiliar with it.

“Apply ice. Every twenty minutes for the next two days, then two to three times a day should work,” he takes his pen out and his little pad, writing as he talks. “Make your husband do some of the chores.”

You cringe. You nod as you accept his advice. You were just about to argue; you have two kids and a job.

“I’m writing you a note. You’re not working for a week at least. I’ll fax a letter that should be acceptable for the time-off,” he rips off the top page and hands it over.

“Thank you,” you utter again as you look at his chicken scratch. “What is this?”

“Something for the pain and something for your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure?”

“Your readings are elevated. It could be stress, it could be anything. Right now, I want you to keep track. Measure it and write it down. Come back in a month so we can go over the numbers.”

“Is it that bad?”

“At your age, it’s not entirely unusual,” he assures you, “better we catch it before it’s too serious. You get headaches? Feel tired?”

“Well, I have kids, I’m always tired and yes, they give me headaches sometimes,” you shrug.

“How often do the headaches come?”

“I don’t know, sometimes two or three times a week.”

“Do you have a history of migraines?”

“Not since college,” you answer.

“Ah,” he nods. “Take the pills, icy your tailbone, and stay in bed.”

“Doctor,” you go to argue.

“If it isn’t already a break, you’ll make it one,” he girds, “the lab will call you about your imaging appointment.”

You swallow down his orders. They’re much easier to follow than Hansen’s. And surely better for you. You thank him once more and leave the room, stopping by the counter to give your work address and get your imaging paperwork.

As you get to the car, you unpack the cushion and use the little pump to inflate it. You drop it on the seat and get in. It still hurts like a bitch but not intolerable. You sit behind the wheel and stare.

You could cry as you go over the appointment. Is it that obvious that you don’t take care of yourself? That you don’t have time? The doctor saw right through you and that brings it all flooding in. You’re barely holding it all together, you’re not sure how much longer you can.

You make yourself start the car and pull out of the lot. You go down to the pharmacy and turn in the script, wandering the aisles as you wait for it to be filled. You take out your phone to check the time. A missed call from Pete and another from Hansen. You don’t have the energy for either of them. Once you have your meds, you have to get the kids.

You claim your prescriptions and start your race against time. Waiting to see the doctor alone took up the bulk of your day. Now you have to get through the rest.

You nearly speed up to the curb of the school, at the tail end of the pick-up as the clock ticks on. You roll around as you see Simone and Malik waiting with Mrs. Guinness. You roll down the window and wave, thanking her loudly as the kids rush to the car.

You get out to strap Malik into his seat as Simone grips her book in her lap but doesn’t open it. You’re breathing loudly as the pain coils around your spine. You muffle it and give her a smile as she watches you. Her eyes dart to the front seat.

“Mom, are you okay?”

“Good,” you say as you snap the buckles together.

“What’s that for?” She points to the cushion.

“The seat’s uncomfortable,” you grunt and push yourself out of the back door.

You shut the door and get in the front. You settle in, clicking in your own belt and fix your mirror. Simone is smart, too smart. She’s quiet as you shift into drive.

“Mommy, mommy! We played a game today–”

“Shh,” Simone interjects, silencing her brother, “mom,” she utter tenuously, “are you pregnant?”

You nearly scoff as you grip the wheel tight. You laugh and shake your head. “Why would you ask that?”

“Well…” she lets her thoughts hang in the air before she speaks to them, “you and dad have been… arguing and you have that cushion.”

“Trust me, I’m too old,” you shake your head, “don’t worry, you won’t be having another little brother.”

“Oh,” she hums, disappointed, “I was hoping for a sister.”

You take a breath. It’s all so complicated but some of it isn’t. They’re going to know sooner than later.

“Look, the cushion is because I hurt myself. I was waiting until we got home to tell you but I fell and hit my bum pretty bad. Got some bruising is all,” you explain lightly, “doctor says I’m good, just need to rest.”

“Mommy’s hurt?” Malik babbles.

“Oh,” Simone accepts again, “I… does dad know?”

“He’s been working but I’m gonna give him a call,” you fight to keep your tone steady, “he’s gonna have to come home and help me out a bit.”

“Mommy, you can have Donny, he’ll make you feel better.”

“Mal, she doesn’t want your stupid dragon.”

“Sim,” you rebuff, “don’t be mean. Malik, you can bring Donny in to snuggle with me, okay? That’s really nice of you.”

“Ugh,” Simone huffs and you see her roll her eyes in the rear view.

“Sim, do you have enough time between chapters to help with dinner?” You tease. She doesn’t answer. “Oh, don’t worry, I can manage some mac and cheese on my own.”

You flip on the radio and let the music waft through the car, trying to push away the other worries. You are going to have to call Pete but you really don’t know how much help he’s going to be.

🗄️

You pull into the driveway and repress a groan. You’re really starting to feel it. Your legs are numb yet painful. You push yourself out of the car and grab your purse and the cushion, your keys jingling loudly in your hand.

You open the back door but Simone’s too quick. She’s right beside you, waving you off.

“I’ll get him out,” she insists, “the doctor said.”

“I know what the doctor said,” you chuckle, “thanks, Sim.”

Another car door snaps shut from somewhere unseen. You don’t think much of it as other neighbours often get home at the same time. You wait patiently for your daughter to unbuckle Malik as he squirms impatiently.

“About damn time,” the timbre roils in the air hotly.

You almost let a ‘shit’ slip through your lips as Hansen’s voice makes you tense. You squeeze the cushion and look over Simone’s head at him. She lifts Malik down onto the ground and she turns to face your uninvited guest.

“Ew, it’s him,” she sneers.

“Nice to see you too, toots,” he struts up the walk with his hands in his pockets, “isn’t this sweet? Got the whole clan together.”

“What are you doing here?” Simone challenges.

He tilts his head, brows arching, “you know, maybe I should give your mom some time off so she can teach you some manners.”

“Hansen,” you put your hand on Simone’s shoulder and sidle past her and echo the same question, “what are you doing here?”

“I’m actually being a good guy,” he leans around, speaking to Simone pointedly, “not evil at all. Checking in since I sent you off to the hospital.”

You hesitate. That’s not exactly believable. You know why he’s here; to taunt you. At least he has the discretion to try to hide that from your children.

“Bruised tailbone, doctor is sending a letter, I’ll have to take a few days off to recover,” you say cautiously, knowing he won’t like the news.

“A few days…” he mulls with a sour expression, “bullsh–” he stops himself as Malik comes for to cling to your leg, peeking out from behind you.

“Mommy,” your son whines, “I wanna go inside.”

“Tell him to go away,” Simone hisses.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Hansen, I gotta get the kids inside and make dinner–”

“You can do all that but you can’t drag your –behind– to work,” he challenges.

“I have a doctor’s note–”

“I don’t f–” he struggles to censor himself, stopping as he waves off his agitation. He exhales and wipes the frustration from his face, “you’re right. You’re in bad shape, it’s plain to see. So where’s the husband? Shouldn't he be here doing the heavy lifting?”

“My dad’s on his way home,” Simone insists.

“Yeah, he’ll be here soon,” you repeat her lie, “to help.”

“Well, he ain’t,” Hansen bounces on his feet, “but I am, so why don’t I help you out, huh? We need you back to work,” he reaches for your purse, latching onto the strap. “So you should rest.”

“Dude, go,” Simone snarls and pushes his arm.

“Hey,” he growls back at her. “I’m helping.”

“We don’t want your help. She’s not at work, you don’t boss her around here.”

“Simone, Mr. Hansen,” you snip, “please.”

“I’m being a nice guy,” Lloyd retracts his hand and throws it up, “she’s the one making this hard.”

You look at your daughter as she sticks her tongue out.

“She’s twelve,” you state.

“Yeah, and what are you? Sixty?” Simone accuses him.

He recoils, his lashes batting violently, “excuse me?”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, “Simone, take your brother inside,” you hold your keys out, “let me talk to him. It’s just work.”

“And the doctor said–”

“Please, Simone, thank you,” you shake the keys.

She sniffs and takes them. She blows a raspberry at Hansen as she grabs Malik and tears him away from your legs. You rub your neck, the donut cushion around your elbow, as you wait, staring at Hansen as he watches over your shoulder.

“Why?” You ask pointedly.

“What? I’m being good. I let you see a doctor for your fucked up booty and now I’m just tryna fill the hole left by that deadbeat–”

“Not in front of my kids,” you say.

“I was polite.”

“You are arguing with a twelve year old,” you shake your head, “please, I will do my best to get back to work. I know you don’t give a shit but I’m in so much pain, I can’t handle this right now. So please, go.”

“Huh, alright, let’s understand something here, you might be a little broken at the moment but you don’t tell me what to do,” he snarls, “that’s the first thing. Second, you put a muzzle on that daughter–”

“Don’t,” you warn.

“That mouth,” he points in your face, “it’s the ass that’s bruised, not that.”

You clamp your lips tight as your nostrils flare. You stand in a deadlock, silently glaring back at your boss. You feel the tension ready to snap. This is the moment where you could fuck everything up.

Neither of you speak, each measuring your next word but almost afraid to say it. A screech of tires veers in behind your car and fills the end of the driveway. You flinch and look past Hansen as Pete’s garish sports car beams back at you.

“Just in time,” Hansen mutters as he turns slowly.

Pete hops out and swings the door shut, almost frantic as his hair flops forward.

“Hey, I’ve been calling,” he puffs and stops short as he notices Hansen, “uh, everything okay? Where… are the kids?”

“Inside,” you eke out, clearing the frog from your throat, “everything is good, alright?” You try to convince yourself as much as your husband, “Mr. Hansen was just checking in. I missed work today. I went to see the doctor about… my fall.”

Pete blanches and nods, giving a guilty glance to his leather shoes.

“Yeah?” He dares to look at you, “you okay?”

“Bruised,” you answer bluntly, “so I was just telling Mr. Hansen that I am fine. I just need a few days to rest. And I was going to call to tell you the same but I had to get the kids.”

“Your wife’s a busy woman,” Hansen interjects, “hard worker. And she speaks so highly of you, bud.” He claps Pete’s shoulder, “you’re a businessman?”

Pete twitches, as if surprised. He looks at Hansen’s grasp on his shoulder but doesn’t shove it off. There’s a moment of recognition in his eye. Men and their ‘business’.

“Yeah, I run a fitness agency. We do equipment and training, aiming to get into the big leagues, you know, furnish facilities on the National scale,” Pete goes into his pitch.

“Ah, fitness, thriving right now,” Hansen slips easily into his role, “you know, I’m not wearing Louis Vuittons because I work in a dipshit office. I invest and I do it well.” He pulls his hand back and puts it on his hip, “why don’t you tell me more about this agency? I’m intrigued.”

You just stare. This has been an awful, painful day and it just won’t end.

“Uh, yeah, sure, come on in,” Pete sputters excitedly, waving him up the drive. “I got all my stuff in my bag.”

“Great, dinner’s on me,” Hansen offers, “for your time.”

“Oh, awesome,” Pete grins, “I’ll just get my bag out of the car. Honey,” he turns to you.

“Uh, yeah,” you swallow as Hansen faces you with a smirk, “right this way.”

You turn and hug the cushion against your stomach, each step tender and tingling. You sense him behind you, too close for comfort. He snickers quietly as you get to the door. You stop with your hand on the handle.

“Please,” you whisper.

“Be good and I will be, too,” he shoots back.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #fic #dark!fic #dark fic #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #pete brenner x reader #series #same as it ever was #au #the gray man #pain hustler

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tennessoui · 7 months

Note

I'm begging on my hands and knees for more Twilight au, and those are words I never thought I'd say! Anakin being able to resist compulsion, and Obi-Wan seeming instantly obsessed, and poor Shmi! Pretty please 🥺🙏

hey!! sure! here's some more!

(2.5k)

Having a sheriff for a mom sucked a lot when he was a kid growing up in a small town. There was probably nothing Anakin was rebelling against more at eleven, at thirteen, at seventeen than the rule of law his mother represented.

All things considered, she was pretty good at separating her home life from her worklife. It was Anakin who was bad at respecting the separation, Anakin who couldn’t keep son out of delinquent. There’s only so many times he could be pulled out of wreckage and bars and buildings with Keep Out No Trespassing signs on them before he got The Sheriff at home and out in public.

He’d hated it growing up and had come to grudgingly respect it later and in fits and starts. His dad dying had, terribly and ironically, helped a lot. His mother had had a stroke just before and then Anakin had been faced with the possibility of being an orphan, and the terror of that had mellowed him out.

Sorta.

He still hates a lot of things about his mother’s job. Especially the fact that she’s the sheriff of a very small town.

And when people talk, she listens.

The thing about small towns is that everyone’s always fucking talking. And other people are always fucking lsitening so they can talk later. One big fucking community, which means when Anakin comes home from his weird doctor’s appointment with Dr. Kenobi, a few hours later because he took a detour biking along the edge of the seaside cliffs just to spit in the good doctor’s metaphorical face, Shmi Skywalker already knows more than Anakin ever planned to tell her.

Like, for instance, “Sheila says that Dr. Kenobi thought it would behoove you to spend some time at the local library volunteering.”

Anakin pauses, backpack half-slung off his shoulders. He hangs his stuff up slowly, careful to keep his tone very light. “Did Sheila say what I told him after he said that?”

His mom’s silence is very loud.

“I don’t want to do i—”

“I asked the new librarian about it on my way home from the station. She thinks it’s a wonderful idea. Apparently we used to have a program like that in the forties but it died out during the war.”

“Mom, come on—”

“It’ll look good on resumes, saying you created and supported a local reading program.”

“Yeah, but I’m a bit too old to be applying for babysitting positio—”

“It’ll look good for me as well,” Shmi says in her sheriff voice. “Elections are coming up soon. It’ll be good, if my kid was involved in the community.”

Anakin’s glad that his back is still turned to the living room, where his mom is sitting. “Are you gonna run again?” he asks, paying special attention to his tone this time.

“Why wouldn’t I?” his mom replies. “I’ve been sheriff for a decade and a half.”

Anakin lets his eyes fall closed for a second, knowing that his face can’t be seen. This is how they end up half the time: Shmi’s ardent belief that she is invincible, going up against Anakin’s desperate desire for her to be so.

And they just don’t talk about it. As if they’re actually in agreement.

He knows how this is going to shake out.

“Do you have any plans tomorrow?” His mother asks.

Anakin’s eyes remain closed. “I guess so,” he says.

—--------

Mrs. Kenobi—call me Satine—is sort of scary up close. She’s tall. She glides between bookshelves. Anakin’s never met someone who glides before. And she’s so intensely, incredibly, blindingly perfect that Anakin would rather be anywhere but in her vicinity. There’s something incredibly unnerving about the symmetry of her face, the sharpness of her cheekbones. She’s obviously an absolute knock-out, just drop-dead gorgeous, but it makes Anakin’s skin crawl and his heart beat fast, but not in a good way or a normal teenage boy way.

Anakin tries to keep the unease off his face as Satine leads him through a tour of the library, a gentle hand on his forearm. That’s another thing Anakin doesn’t really like. She’s wearing satin gloves. He doesn’t know anyone who wears gloves anymore.

It’s just all a bit…unsettling.

“I put in a few words around the school yesterday afternoon,” Satine tells him. They pass by the mystery section, the fantasy section, and take a hard right into the young adult section. The shelves are smaller here, and Anakin feels rather stupidly gigantic as he and Satine walk through them. “To some parents picking their children up after school. They agreed it would be good exposure to bring them to the library for an hour or so of reading before supper.”

Anakin highly doubts it will be, but Satine hasn’t really asked him.

She sweeps past his figure and pushes open a pair of double doors with a flourish better suited for a Russian tsarina hosting an elaborate ball than a small town librarian showing off a small, cramped, and dusty room filled with padded seats and threadbare rugs.

And then, as if she has been waiting to put the last nail in the proverbial coffin, Satine adds, “A few students from the local high school will be here as well.”

“Sorry,” Anakin says, “are you saying I’m going to be reading to high school students? Can’t they do that themselves?”

After all, Anakin went to high school here. Academics hadn’t been too rigorously challenging, but they’d taught the fucking basics.

Satine raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow in his direction. “They’ll be volunteering as well.”

Oh. Right.

“It looks good on their college applications,” Satine waves a hand through the air and the words linger there. Anakin looks out the rather dirty window, jaw clenching. “I’ve already chosen a handful of books I think the young ones will enjoy.”

Anakin, committed to his fate, pads over to the titles placed carefully ontop of a short, stout side table.

“Peter the Rabbit,” he reads off the top. “Peter Pan. Alice in Wonderland. Treasure Island. The Prince and the Pauper—look, you’re the librarian here, but don’t you have anything written this century maybe? Harry Potter, even.”

“These are classics,” Satine tells him, her nose raised into the air as if she has encountered something particularly foul-smelling. She turns away, presumably to return to the front desk so she can welcome half the fucking town inside the library so Anakin can read them fucking Anne of Green Gables and become a better person.

“These are fucking boring,” he mutters to himself, flicking the cover of the first book, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz open. Publication date: 1900. “I’d rather be in Kenobi’s office getting lectured at.”

There’s a sharp noise of disapproval from the doorway, and Anakin’s head snaps up to see the tail end of a very heated look from the librarian before the door closes behind her.

He shivers, alone in the emply room, and it takes several long minutes for his heart to settle back into its normal pace.

—----------

After the fourth kid sneezes, Anakin closes his book with a snap and stands from the very small chair they’ve got him sitting on. “Come on,” he tells the cluster of children he’s been assigned to. “We’re getting out of here.”

“Are you kidnapping us?” One of them, a snot-nosed kid who’d started the sneezing says, rubbing at her cheek beneath her glasses. “Cause mommy says that’s not allowed.”

“I’m not kidnapping you,” Anakin snaps back, barely holding in his natural follow-up to the sentence which is of course, I don’t want to be around any of you in the first place. “Also, just for future reference, you shouldn’t ask if someone’s kidnapping you after you already start following them.”

The girl scowls and reaches up her hand to hold onto Anakin’s.

For the love of Christ.

“We’re just going to go into the main part of the library,” Anakin tells his children, all six of them. “They have windows out there.”

They have windows out there and they also have parents. Parents who absolutely should be doing other things with their lives and precious hour of extra freetime.

Parents who are clustered instead around the library’s front desk as the town’s newest librarian holds court.

“Is reading time over?” one of the kids asks him, turning his head to look up at Anakin.

Anakin thinks about it. “Do you want reading time to be over?”

The kid thinks about it back. “Yeah,” he decides. “You don’t do the voices good.”

“It’s a boring book,” Anakin tells the kid. “Voices aren’t going to make it better.”

“Voices always make it better,” another kid says. “They make everything better.”

“Oh look,” Anakin says. “Is that your father?”

He gestures vaguely towards the cluster of drooling middle-aged somethings focused on Satine.

The kid peeks around his thigh and then shakes his head. “No,” he says. “That’s Dr. Obi.”

“Dr. Obi!” The kid holding Anakin’s hand says, and she lets go.

Anakin gets a bad feeling about this, a feeling that only doubles when he turns around to see Dr. Kenobi sauntering towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of a long dark jacket that makes him look even more pale than he already is.

He scowls automatically as the man gets closer. “Dr. Obi.”

Dr. Kenobi spares him a look that’s far too amused for Anakin’s pleasure before he crouches down to the level of the kids. “Hello there, young ones,” he says, opening his arms to accept a hug from the traitor of a girl Anakin’s just spent thirty minutes reading to. “Are you eating all your vegetables? Even the brussel sprouts?”

“I like brussel sprouts,” one of the kids reports sounding proud, and that starts a cacophony of opinions about brussel sprouts from all around Anakin.

“Wow! One of mine just absolutely hates them,” Dr. Kenobi says. “She refuses to eat them, so you’re very brave, Michele.” He lets go of the girl and turns his golden-brown gaze up to Anakin. “And what does Mr. Skywalker think?” he asks, raising a hand for Anakin to take. It’s very obvious he’s asking for a hand up and Anakin is obeying before he thinks about it. He snatches his hand free almost too soon, but Dr. Kenobi doesn’t even have the grace to lose his balance and fall over.

His hand is like ice in Anakin’s, and Anakin stuffs his fingers into the pocket of his jacket automatically a second later.

“Do brussel sprouts help with circulation?” he’s biting out before he can stop himself. “Cause you may need some then.”

Kenobi’s head tilts very slightly to the side as his eyes catch and hold onto Anakin’s. “Oh?” he asks lightly.

“You’re cold,” is all Anakin mutters in return. He swipes his other hand against the back of his neck. “”S poor circlutation, isn’t it? Something in your diet maybe?” Dr. Kenobi blinks at him and then breaks into a wide smile. “I can assure my diet is very…circulation-mindful,” he says. “Blood health positive.”

Anakin’s mouth thins into a line. He guesses that’s what he gets for trying to give health advice to a doctor, especially a doctor like Kenobi who just so happens to be devastatingly attractive and also smart.

And also an asshole. And also married.

Speaking of which. “Are you here to fend off your wife’s admirers with a scalpel?” Kenobi’s eyebrows raise. “Young ones,” he turns his head away from Anakin, down to the children.

The strangest feeling breaks of Anakin the second Kenobi looks away, almost as if a strange pressure he hadn’t even realized had been building was suddenly dissolved.

The very small beginnings of a headache begin to thrum in his temples.

“Young ones, it’s time to find your parents, isn’t it?” Kenobi says, and like fucking magic, the crowd of six children around Anakin disperse, children swarming away from him towards the group of adults surrounding the front desk.

“Can you teach me how to do that?” Anakin blurts out, even though he’d meant to ignore Kenobi now that he doesn’t have to make nice in front of small kids. Not that he was really making nice in the first place. But now he definitely doesn’t have to.

Kenobi gives him a half-smile, eyes heavy-lidded. “It’s a special sort of skill that takes, above all else, much practice.”

Anakin scowls. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Does Kenobi think he can’t commit himself to something even as mundane as a fucking commanding persona? Does he think he doesn’t have it in him to be–-

Kenobi’s eyebrows go up again. “Has anyone ever told you that you are exceedingly defensive?”

“You’re extremely nosey,” Anakin snaps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Don’t you have better things to focus on right now anyway?”

He gestures loosely towards Satine, who has started playing with one of the mother’s bracelets as the other woman stands and looks at her rather dumbfounded.

Kenobi follows his gaze and then lets out a huff of laughter. “Satine can take care of herself,” he says, even though it hadn’t really been Satine that Anakin was worried about.

He’s about to open his mouth to say so when Kenobi turns back to him. His eyes are piercing, a dark, captivating sort of gold.

“Do you find my wife beautiful, Anakin?” he asks.

Anakin blinks. His headache is getting worse, which is probably down to what can only be a trick-question fashioned to look like a grenade lobbed at his feet. “I don’t think there’s a good answer to that,” he mutters, rubbing absently at his forehead. “What the fuck.”

“An honest answer is a good one,” Kenobi says lightly. “Tell me honestly.”

The words feel pulled from Anakin’s stomach, and he’s opening his mouth before he realizes it. “No,” he says.

Kenobi’s eyebrows crinkle together. “No?”

Anakin curses his stupid impulse control. “She’s beautiful,” he adds quickly. “Really. But…it makes me uncomfortable.”

Kenobi’s lips purse, and then there’s something like disappointment in his eyes as he examines Anakin. “Ah yes,” he murmurs. “I’ve been told my wife can make countless young men feel rather uncomfortable. It’s normal in men your age, Anakin. Sexual ar—”

“Uncanny,” Anakin blurts out. He doesn’t mean to, but he also doesn’t want to listen to Kenobi trying to lecture him on fucking arousal in the public library. When it’s not even relevant. “She’s so beautiful, it’s uncanny.”

“Uncanny.”

“Yeah, like. Monstrous.”

Kenobi’s mouth falls open, pink lips parted in what looks like honest surprise.

Anakin’s own eyes widen as it hits him that he’s just called Kenobi’s wife a monster to Kenobi’s face.

“Shit,” he says. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m going to go.”

He throws a look at Kenobi, whose eyes are lit with something a lot like interest and then across the library to where Satine’s head is turned, cocked, and eyebrows up high on her forehead, as if she’s just heard everything he’s said.

He decides rather immediately that he’s going to take the backdoor exit.

#asks #twilight au #obikin #a couple of things:#all the books mentioned are published before 1920 because satine was probably a young mother around that time #imo she became a vampire during ww1 #brussel sprouts tasted very bitter in the 60s through the 90s before we tweaked how they were grown genetics wise #so kids used to hate them and one of the vampires in obi-wan's coven was a kid during the 60s so has strong memories of brussel sprouts #being awful #satine's special vampire power is her beauty which is like double that of the normal enthralling/alluring/perfect predator beauty #so anakin's own sort of immunity to vampire powers a la bella means he just finds it unnerving and uncanny #but he did fall prey to obi-wans mind trick at the end there because the immunity thing i think would be something he has to practice #to get strong at #so his immunity kicked in at satine's beauty and it didn't affect him #but he couldn't also effectively protect himself from obi-wan's mind compulsion #to tell the truth #because systems overloaded

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wiltingedelweiss · 4 months

Text

The Mad…Nurse…?

Twisted Wonderland X Fem!Yuu

A/N: This isn’t proof read, and the ending is really sudden, I just didn’t know how to end it lol. I’ll probably post pictures of Silos later when I’m not at work.

Content Warnings: Blood, injury mention, mad doctor oc (I don’t know-), lemme know if I missed anything.

After the headmage called Yuu different words for ‘bland’, ‘magicless’, and ‘mundane’, he ordered them to the nurses office for a check up (clearly ignoring the part of their story where Yuu was hurt, and the blood dripping from her pant leg,). Which lead to its own…experience.

Yuu watches as Ace and Deuce are checked over, black shadow-like tendrils darting around the room and grabbing the needed supplies.

“It’s almost impressive how roughed up you got on the first day,” The nurse grins, applying too much pressure while bandaging a tender scratch on Ace. Ace winces, tearing his arm away.

“Hey, doc, can’t you be a little more gentle.” He lightly rubs his arm, a slight glare on his face. “We’re already injured.”

The grin on the nurses face fades into a dark look. “Do not call me that.” He scowls. Ace holds his hands up in mock surrender.

One of the tendrils approach Yuu, and she backs up slightly. The tendril persist, and wipes a bit of blood from her leg. It shoots up, and back towards the nurse, trying to get his attention. He ignores it, even swatting it away, before he sighs and looks at it. At the sight of the blood, his eyes dart to Yuu.

A manic grin spreads on his face.

Suddenly, Yuu feels like she’s in danger.

“I remember you!” He approaches, herding her to sit on the bed. He takes on a curious cadence as he examines her leg.

The tendrils approach with supplies as he unwraps the torn cloth from her leg. “You’re from a different world?” He asks, glancing up at her, before setting to disinfect the wound. She nods with a grimace, ignoring Ace and Deuce turning to listen in.

“Interesting…” He hums out, inspecting the wound closer. “Perhaps we should schedule some more check ups, just so we can see how your biology differs from ours. For safety reasons, of course,” He thinks out loud, though something tells Yuu that it’s mostly to satiate his own curiosity rather than for her own good.

“Now, just how did this happen? That’s a nasty gash.” He inquires.

“It’s sorta a long story, but,” Yuu goes on to explain the gist of what happened. The longer she explains, the darker the look on the nurses face gets. Yuu winces as his grip on her leg tightens.

“Uhm…Sir…?” She calls out, meekly. He snaps out of it, shaking his head. He lets go of her leg, and stands up with a sigh. “You’re telling me the headmage sent two students, and a magicless human girl with a dire beast to the mines to get a mage stone…?” The grin on his face begins to feel empty, fake.

Ace nods, leaning back in his seat. “It was that or expulsion,” He shrugs. The tendrils start move erratically around the room, knocking things over. They slow down as the nurse closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Alright…” He mumbles. “Probably just a one time thing,” He says, once again, most likely to himself. Though he didn’t sound convinced.

One time thing…Something tells me that’s not the case.

One tendril approaches Yuu with a roll of bandages. “Change them once a day, or if you notice it getting dirty or wet.” He instructs firmly. “If you need more, feel free to see me. I’m Dr.Silos Ecks. You can call me Mr.Ecks” He looks at her expectantly, and after an awkward moment of silence she jumps slightly, realizing what he wants.

“I’m Yuu,” She introduces herself. He nods, satisfied. “Well, Yuu, come see me tomorrow after class, you’re not from this world and I worry about what you might have an adverse reaction to,” He seems to only be telling a half truth, but she nods anyway.

The trio walk out of the nurses office, and they’re met with Grim jumping up from the floor. Mr.Ecks hadn’t let Grim in, on account of him not being hurt and it being unsanitary. “Took you all long enough!” He shouts, though Ace and Deuce ignore him.

“Just what’s up with that guy?” Ace asks, rubbing his arm once again. Deuce nods in agreement. “School nurses aren’t normally that rough with students…” He mutters, popping his neck.

Yuu shrugs it off, and Grim jumps into her arms. “Huh?” He exclaims, but continues without letting anyone explain what happened. “Doesn’t matter,” He waves it off. “Let’s focus on what’s really important!” A grin grows on his face. Yuu hums inquisitively.

“I’m a student now!”

“Technically you’re half a student,”

#disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst yuu #disney twisted wonderland #twst mc #twst x mc #twst x yuu #ace trappola #deuce spade #twst grim #twst oc #Intermission One #The Mad…Nurse…?

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year

Text

And they said I couldn't be a psychologist [COD x fem! Reader]

Tired of living with a family that genuinely thinks that being a psychologist is a wild ride to being poor and lonely? Got too many student loans to ever think that you will be able to repay them? Just join the army! Good company, great benefits and lots and lots of travel.

AO3

Characters featured in this chapter: Captain John Price This fanfic will contain incorrect use of psychology, my dead dreams of becoming a therapist instead of a journalist, basically a harem "The only girl on the team" plot and a reader who can't fight to save her life, literally. Each chapter will concentrate on one or few characters at the same time, I hope you will like it!

Google search: average school psychologist salary in my state

Allow Google to search for your location?

Fuck it, the government already know who you are, where you are exactly, and what you will do with this pretty wrecked mental state of mine, if I wouldn’t get an affirmative answer.

School Psychologists made a median salary of $62 000 in 202X.

Google search: average psychologist salary in my state without Master’s degree

National average salary for Bachelors in psychology is: $32,395 per year

Google search: master’s degree psychology how much

Average cost to earn a master’s degree in Clinical Psychology: $62,650

Average cost to earn your doctorate in psychology: $115,500

Google search: how many days can person not eat

Google search: annual striper’s salary

Google search: can I become a stripper if I’m not attractive

Google search: Army enlisting

💬💬💬

In highsight, perhaps, you should have stayed with the stripper option. Sure, it would be a lot more mentally draining, but at least you would make much more money out of the utter humiliation this work would promise to be every day. Military, on the other side of the spectrum, wasn’t really different from being a sex worker – you are still selling your body and mind, still have too much time in a dominantly male field, and will probably experience a lot more patriarchy sausage parties once you get there. The only thing that was different was the employer.

And tax benefits.

And health insurance.

And a special program for those who would like to receive an education after they are done killing people, but don’t want to pay more than 100 000 dollars for a diploma that would look good on exactly one photo on the wall and then would be forgotten by pursuing the career of a sandwich artist. Ah, oh no. Negative thinking again.

Jesus fucking – oh no, blasphemy, looking not good for your all-american goody-two-shoes portfolio – Christ, you have to get herself together – and at least somewhat presentable, even this would mean very little, considering the fact that for a woman in such masculine field, any signs of traditionally feminine things would be considered a bone thrown to a pack of wolves, but…no, no, no. You can’t have this new age psychology shit while she is on a mission…by being a new age psychologist, enlisted to the army just because you don't want to be a stripper, and too slow to become a good drug dealer.

Cynthia Cockburn once wrote an essay about women's role in maintaining patriarchy by joining the army. How a lot of females are helping salvage the old system, that has to be put down for good for a long time already – and how this system continuously throws them out, without even acknowledging their input.

You are wondering, if by applying your makeup right now, you are doing pretty much the same. Ah yes, a woman in a field dominated mostly by psychotic men! Let me just put on my brightest red lipstick, a short that will barely cover anything important and, of course, a pair of heels that would set anyone in the hearing range to a Vietnam flashback even if they never been in Vietnam to begin with. Oh no…is that a risky joke? PTSD is a serious matter, you know. You shouldn’t joke about flying helicopters and war flashbacks – not when the training for the military psychologist courses were so hard, that even you, with your pretty much good mental health, would have to check herself double time for any trauma that the instructor would leave with you.

Two weeks of torture for an opportunity to apply the blandest eyeshadow known to mankind, the pinkiest lipstick that barely holds any pigments – it’s not like you have money to splurge on something better even given the permission – and a mascara as clear as the mountains fresh air. God – oh no, blasphemy again, you really don’t want to get a good grade with all of these God-fearing old-fashioned men, aren’t you? – you really hated just how bland you look. You feel like one of these girls in your college – with tightest buns, cream sweaters and perfectly high-pitched laugh that would make them desirable for even blander college boys. Ah, how much you hated this place.

The military base, however, is far worse.

First, there are just too many people here. Second, everyone looks at you like you are some sort of ghost. Judging by your loosely hanging white doctor’s coat, they aren’t too far from the truth, but it still was weird. And finally, third – you are still not sure that your papers have been sent correctly, and this is even the right place.

Instructor – a terrible, horrible, horrendous woman – told you that there would be plenty of study material for you here. That with these people, writing your master’s or even doctorate would be a “ ‘king breeze, rookie, if they ain’t decide to eat ya first”. The males around you – and some women, of course, because the newest military recruitment made sure to include as many people as possible, providing everyone with the opportunity to kill people as much as they would want – doesn't sound quite as great material for your research.

And you are not going back to the fucking college.

She said that some Captain brought you here specifically – and that higher-ups made him do it, as he was dismissing any previous attempts of sending psychological help for any of his units. So this is going to be a classic conflict between a person and the government – and you, a useless specialist – are going to be stuck in the middle, as long as you don't get shot. Perfect, terrific, just a great fate for someone who got out of college after 4 years of destroying her own hopes and dreams in a giant cell of a US education system.

You haven’t even met the man before, and now you are sitting here, in the middle of nowhere on this gigantic base. Fighting with the fabric of your clothing – a nice buttoned shirt, nothing that could be considered a provocation from your side, and trying to breath as the reality of the situation is slowly thinking it.

Breathe in

You stuck here for only god knows how long – until you either will be dismissed, or decide to go away by your own choice. With people you know nothing about, and who probably doesn’t even want you here.

Breathe out

This is a perfect opportunity for you to write your Thesis – just pick one of these perfectly twisted specimens, and make his mental state even worse. Or better, if you would feel nice enough for such hard work.

Breathe in

Perhaps, it’s not so bad – only a few years of service, and you will be back in your education. The children and their easily molded minds are waiting for you to be their perfect school psychologist. With average salary of “fuck you and your savings too”.

Breathe out

Health insurance is nice. Would be even better with some dental insurance, but this is reserved only to soldiers. And you are…well, not a soldier, that is for sure.

Breathe in

– Greetings. I suggest you are the mental health expert?

…and, all of your neatly putted breathing schedule is fucked. Stupid army people and their stupid questions with such nice and deep voices that would make you think of deeply fucked up stuff any other day and…

– Oh, um, yes. A psychologist. And you are..?

– Captain Price. You have to work in my unit, but I figured out that just sending my men to get you would be too much on your first day.

– Thank you, I…I would rather greet them myself, that is. I kinda have to.

He frowned. Oh, great. A perfect example of stoic fatherly type – the guy who is probably thinks of his soldiers as his kids, definitely don’t have a wife – alive one, at least – and slowly cooking himself alive in a pot full of misery, machism and “I don’t buy any of this mentally ill stuff”.

His mustaches are great though. And a hat.

– Do you really?

– Well, I don’t want to earn my paycheck for just sitting around. This would be nice though.

– In that case, higher-ups would put us both in trouble for this.

– Do you have anything for me to start working with? Like a personal file or…

– I’ll show you around.

– Oh. Okay.

He seems harmless enough. As much as one man wearing a full uniform with too many weapons and a tiny hat could be – but you still feel well protected while walking beside him. With this still hanging loose coat of yours – you’ll have to search for something more adjusted for your tiniest fucking height – you can feel everyone’s gazes on you. Jesus, you will have to work with this many people? Let’s just hope that no one here believes in magic powers of therapy, and you would be pretty much free for any of your working hours.

— But you do have personal files of your soldiers, right?

— I thought your people like more of a personal approach?

— Well, it would be really great, but I need some documents to write off my work and…

— Then you are going to write those documents, kid. I don’t want to scare you, but a young miss like you really wouldn’t want to see real portfolios of my men.

— Sir, with all honor, I am not a…

– We’re here.

Oh. Saving you the humiliation of being able to recognise patronizing tones and understanding, that you are, in fact, a kid, a young miss, and generally a useless fucking person. Psychologists in a place, where most of the people probably believe, that getting drunk will save them from nightmares? What a joke.

At least the office is nice.

Tidy place, neatly furnished room with a table, a sofa – something right out of Freud’s fantasies. A small empty closet for all three of your psychology books. You can already picture whimsical and fun soldiers laying here, trying so bad not to laugh in your face as you were trying to uncover all of their mental trauma without being strangled to death.

– Thank you, sir…captain? It’s nice.

– Not much, but everything that we were able to put when they said that we need a mental expert here.

– I will try my best not to disappoint you, I promise.

– You can unpack here, someone will show you the bed later. Still don’t know whether to put you with soldiers or medics.

– Um…I would really prefer a… A nice and roomy bedroom, preferably with no one to snore alongside you, and definitely not with soldiers who can get the wrong ideas about a nice and sweet lady psychologist sleeping right next to them on their base. Of course, you can’t say that.

–...I need to gather as much material about them as possible, so it would be really neat to sleep closer to the soldiers.

You are the architect of your own demise. You and your stupid Thesis that you are not even sure, whether you could write it right now or not.

– Oh.

He scratched his chin in a manner that you have seen too many times. Do all older males with bears share the same mannerism?

Then he smiled – a ghostly feature on his face, that almost made him look like he actually wanted you here, and not just putting up with higher-ups bullshit because every special task force needs its psychologist just so the soldiers won’t kill each other on one sunny day.

– Okay. I’ll think about something, doc.

– I am not…not a doctor, sir. Not yet, at least.

– Well, it’s either a doc or a kid. What do ya prefer?

– Doc would be better. Perhaps, I will earn my doctorate after the service.

– That’s the spirit, kid.

– But sir-

Shit. He is gone already.

You were never a fan of dad jokes. Or dad types. Or anyone, who is questioning what the fuck you are doing here, even though you spend 4 years fighting for this position in the college. Who cares, if you can’t shoot guns? Words are just as deadly!

Well, judging by the size of the rifle on the Captain's body, maybe, your words would definitely be less threatening than his guns. But this doesn’t change the whole picture!

Oh, well. You might as well try to get yourself as comfortable as possible – considering all of the possibilities, they might simply forget that you exist, and you would have to sleep on this tiny couch at least for today. What a great opportunity and definitely something that you spent four years waiting in awe of. Perfect, beautiful, something right from her dreams.

“You can still get out of here, you know. Just go out of this door and we will never ever speak about joining the military ever again. Trust me, babe, I am your conscience.”

Oh no. You hated talking with your conscience – mostly because it was an annoying prick, and also because, as studies were showing in many of the presentations you would make for your classes, this is a first sign of not just a person being self-aware, but also the step to being proclaimed a mad man. Even if you are, in fact, a very self-aware and mentally healthy person. Mostly. You liked to think of yourself as one, at least.

“You don’t want to be here. And you shouldn’t – there is plenty of work outside.”

Yeah, like a sex job. Or secretary. Or a waiter – what a beautiful line of work for someone already in too much debt to her government. And judging by the already dismissive faces of your parents, going home as a stay-at-home daughter is also not going to be an option. So, go far and beyond.

You just need to find a few people who would be interested in psychotherapy – how hard is that?

#cod x you #cod x reader #cod #call of duty #john price #price x reader #ghost x reader #soap x reader #gaz x reader #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #konig x reader #konig mw2

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renecdote · 1 year

Text

everything that touches us

Yes I am posting more fic for In Another Life idk what to say it did something to my brain. This one is for BTHB: burns.

[Read on AO3]

The bandages peel away easily. First one hand, then the other, then the gauze underneath.

Eddie doesn’t really need to be here for this, but the doctor asked Buck if he’d prefer if his visitor left, and Buck’s, “no,” was so quick that Eddie got goosebumps. So he’s here, standing in the corner of the room with one arm folded across his chest, chewing on his thumb nail and reminding himself that he’s not squeamish. That he’s an EMT, for fuck’s sake. He was an army medic. Just because it’s Buck—

Except there is nothing just about Buck.

“These are healing well,” the doctor says, and Eddie makes himself look as well. The skin on Buck’s palms is red and blistering, and he winces when the doctor gently moves his hand to check the damage, but she’s right: the burns are healing well. In a few weeks, they probably won’t be visible at all. Not even a scar to remember them by.

Buck’s eyes stay on his hands while antibiotic cream is applied and the gauze pads replaced.

“No more bandages?” he asks when the doctor starts packing up the supplies.

“I think you’ll be okay without them,” she smiles, “just try not to touch the burn area too much, okay?”

Buck nods. He’s a little paler than he was when the doctor came in, Eddie thinks, but she either doesn’t notice or isn’t concerned. He tells himself that means he doesn’t need to be concerned either, but. It’s Buck. He’s not sure he knows how to turn off concern.

“I can go,” he offers, when it’s just the two of them again, “if you want to get some rest.”

Buck shakes his head, rubbing at his eyes. “‘M sick of resting.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “You remember you got struck by lightning, right?”

Buck huffs, then coughs, knuckles digging into his chest. Eddie’s heart stutters for a moment, his own breath held while he waits for Buck to catch his, and he has to grip his arms tight to stop himself from—he doesn’t even know what. Leaping forward, running away, putting his hands over his ears so he doesn’t have to listen to his best friend struggling to breathe again.

God, the things he would give to never have to listen to that again. To never feel the dead weight of Buck’s body in his hands again. Never have to feel the crack of ribs under his hands trying to get Buck’s heart to start beating again.

To never have to go home to his son and say, “Buck is in the hospital, it’s bad,” again.

Eddie swallows, and blinks back the itchiness in his eyes, and forces himself not to look away.

“Rest,” he repeats when Buck has caught his breath, non-negotiable this time. “I’ll call Bobby if I have to.”

“You wouldn’t,” Buck shoots back immediately, but the way he glares at Eddie says he knows the threat is real.

“Please?” Eddie tries, gentler this time. “Just lie down, close your eyes. You don’t have to sleep.”

Buck’s glare turns suspicious. He knows that trick—has used it on Christopher himself, maybe even on Jee-Yun—but Eddie stands his ground and doesn’t squirm.

Buck gives in first.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I’ll rest.”

He says the word like it has a bad taste, but he lies down. Closes his eyes. Opens them a moment later to sit up slightly and fuss with the blankets, pinching with his fingers so he doesn’t have to move his hands too much.

Definitely hurting, Eddie concludes.

“Let me,” he says, and he steps forward before Buck can argue, taking the blanket and tucking it more comfortably around him. “Better?”

“You’re staying?” Buck asks instead of answering, head turned toward him on the pillow.

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, pulling up a chair, “I’m staying.”

Buck hums—good—and lets his eyes closed. “’S better.”

When I’m not alone, Eddie thinks he means.

“I’ll be right here if you need anything,” he says, reaching out one more time to readjust the blanket, even though it doesn’t really need readjusting. “Are you going to sleep?”

“No,” Buck answers, but he already sounds like he’s fading. “Talk to me?”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. Anything.” Buck yawns, then winces, rubbing at his brow. “Have you seen It’s a Wonderful Life?”

“Everyone has seen It’s a Wonderful Life, Buck,” Eddie answers, even though he’s pretty sure that’s not true. Statistically or whatever. He only watched it because he had an English teacher who said she’d give extra credit to anyone who wrote an essay about the motifs, or metaphors, or something like that. He remembers crying in front of the TV, and trying to pretend that he wasn’t, acutely aware that his dad might get home from work at any moment.

“Chimney made me watch it,” Buck tells him, smiling a little at the memory it brings up. “I fell asleep halfway through and he was so annoyed that he wouldn’t tell me how it ends.”

Eddie laughs. That sounds exactly like something Chimney would do. He’s had plenty of his own Chimney-enforced movie nights since joining the 118.

“You’ll be laid up for a few weeks,” he reminds Buck, “I’m sure Chim can find some time to watch it with you again.”

“Yeah,” Buck agrees, tiredness making his voice fuzzy. “Maybe.”

Quiet falls and stretches between them for long enough that Eddie thinks Buck has fallen asleep when he rouses himself to ask, “It’s got a happy ending, right?”

There’s something in the way he says it—something in his voice, in the way he curls his hands on top of the thin hospital blanket—that makes Eddie think he’s not just talking about the movie.

“Yeah,” he answers quietly, reaching out to lay a hand on Buck’s wrist, touching for the first time since the doctors swept Buck away in the ER. “It’s got a happy ending.”

“Good,” little more than an exhalation. Buck’s chest rises and falls, and rises and falls, and rises and falls. Under Eddie’s hand, his heart beats steady.

Good, Eddie’s mind echoes, because it is now. Buck is okay now. Not healed, not yet, but okay.

When he’s sure Buck is asleep, he pulls out his phone and goes straight to the group chat he has with Chimney, Bobby, Hen and Maddie. Patient is okay, he texts. Burns are healing well, bandages came off. He’s sleeping now.

And then, after another moment’s thought: We should have a movie night when Buck is home.

Then he sits back, while his phone buzzes with a burst of hearts, an omg yes from Chimney, and a slew of planning details that follow. He can’t help but smile, watching Buck’s eyelashes flutter, his nose scrunching in his sleep, and for the first time since that lightning struck, Eddie feels like he can breathe.

#Evan Buckley #Eddie Diaz #911 Fox #911 Spoilers #fic #badthingshappenbingo

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crienosaur · 2 years

Note

Platonic headcanons for Riddle, Leona, Azul and Malleus with a little sister!reader, please?

Omg that’s so cute QQ yes ofc

Pls excuse my lack of consistency when it comes to length and format- I’m newer here still TT

HC for platonic little sister

Riddle, Leona, Azul, Malleus

No warnings! Just fluff I think

Riddle

If you’re only like a year or so younger you probably have similar struggles and so you can vent to each other

He holds you to high standards so might act a bit disappointed in you

But when he’s not disappointed he’s proud and that happens more often

He just isn’t good at expressing it

Tells you about the terror that is boys from experience

Accidentally makes you think he’s gay

Maybe he is

If you’re much younger then he honestly kinda gets jealous of you… you’re a girl and your mother isn’t as harsh with you

He just thinks you must have it easier

But he’ll still be protective and loves to take care of you

Is the one to take care of you when you’re sick cus he’s a little doctor

Leona

If you’re close to his age, again, he also shares burdens with you

Even so, as a woman, you have a bigger role in his society so he feels that you can’t complain at times

You let him do some of your tasks and advocate for him

He’s cuddly actually and will cuddle you publicly

Very proud to be related to you!

You’ve physically and verbally defended him and Ruggie on many occasions

If you’re little he acts like you’re the bane of his existence

Makes you and Cheka play when Cheka visits so he can be left alone

Actually adores you tho and thinks you’re hilarious

But also little kids are yucky sometimes so he dips if you’ve got like a snotty nose

Will let you stand on his feet

Azul

When you’re close in age he feels bad about sharing his problems with you so he tries to hide them

He’ll go ham if someone insults you no matter how old you are

Kisses your forehead a lot and is very affectionate and protective

Mommie is like that so he picks it up from her cus it comforts him

Will brag about you

Octo mers are ugly unless it’s someone who isn’t him

He tries not to insult himself if the insults could apply to you

But if you’re both fighting then… you go for BLOOD- like- scaring everyone around you

It gets verbally VICIOUS

If you’re very little he wants to teach you lots of things and keep you safe

Will make sure you love yourself and are healthy at all times

Malleus

You’re a fae so you’re probably not all too little unless you were adopted by Lilia

If you’re blood related to Malleus then you’re viewed as the “not so scary” one

Idk why this is

He’d NEVER trouble you with his issues

Not even if you beg

But just hold him and that’ll make him feel loved

You fit right in with his friends and all of them cherish you

Sebek has called you adorable and other things and everyone questions it cus why is he so in love with you and Malleus

But you both think it’s normal and he’s adorable too <3

If you’re adopted or born when Malleus was much older he absolutely treats you like his little baby

Treats you like a mommy dragon would treat a baby

Silver prob got the same treatment

You’ve both been dressed and played with like little dolls

He’s so gentle

Lilia teaches him to be the best big brother ever

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g3minimars · 2 months

Note

Could I please request a Kyle x reader fic where Kyle finds out his girlfriend is in the hospital after being in a car accident?

I’m sorry|Kyle Broflovski x fem!reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Genre - Angst/Fluff🥀🌸

Warnings: Attempted suicide, self hatred, angst, swearing, mentions of death. All characters are aged up. Please let me know if I missed anything for the warnings, or if there are any typos in the story. This story is based off of a previous story I made around two years ago on one of my other blogs, @59candelas. You can read the story here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~”I don’t care!” Yelled a voice across the room. “You’re the reason we can’t afford to go to my mother’s for the week. She’s sick and you don’t seem to give a shit considering all you do is just sit around in the house while I have to go make us money, I have to take care of the house.” The words he spoke made you want to hide in a hole and never come out. “At least you have a mom.” You spoke before leaving the room towards your car. “Yeah, run away like you always do.” He said again before you slammed the door behind you. You and Kyle never got in fights. At least, not fights like these. Sure, there would be times you two fought, but those were stupid fights, playful ones even.

I got in my car, thinking about what Kyle had said. Well, yelled I suppose. He wants to go to visit Shelia because she’s terribly sick right now. He said that all I do is sit around all the time, even though I make dinner every night, clean the house, and take care of our mini garden. Apparently he doesn’t seem to care about my mom, who’s dead. She died in a car accident last year, and I’m still recovering from it. We got in a fight, just like the fight me and Kyle had except on a different topic. The cops said that it was a suicide, and she had driven into a crosswalk sign.

I was driving to our local coffee shop, to get some coffee to calm my nerves. But, what if I just ended it like my mother did? What if the world would be better without me in it? What would Kyle think? He probably wouldn’t mind. Kyle, I’m sorry we’ve been getting into fights lately. But, you probably want me dead. I guess I should just end it. For our sake.

Sirens, yelling, swearing, Kyle. I drove into a crosswalk sign, just like my mother did. I couldn’t feel anything, couldn’t see anything. But, I could hear, and I heard Kyle, crying it sounded like. He was here, probably here to see me die. I don’t blame him, I’d want to see me die too. Except, these weren’t happy tears, these were the tears of someone who was sad, in pure despair, someone who felt of loss.

I was transported to the hospital, Kyle came too. He held my hand I think. I couldn’t feel it but one of the doctors said that he can’t hold my hand. When we arrived at the hospital, they put me in the uncomfortable hospital dresses or whatever they are and put me in a bed with oxygen tubes. I think I’m in a coma. At least I get to suffer for hopefully the rest of my life.

She was laying there, in a coma. The cops said that she tried to commit suicide, but she didn’t hit the sweet spot that lead to death. It’s my fault. I’m the reason. I should be in her place. I should be in pain, suffering, feeling like I’m in hell. I already feel that, after what I’ve done. Pain in my heart, suffering inside, and in hell knowing what I’ve done. I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I love her, and here she is, dying, on what’s probably her death bed. I should be in her place. I should be suffering. I should be dead.

“K-kyle?” she spoke. A soft touch applied to the one who spoke. Hand in hand, and eye to eye. “I want you to know that I didn’t mean anything I said earlier. I want you to know that I love you and you’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. You’re the most hardworking, responsible, and beautiful person I have ever met. I love you. I’m sorry.”

A brief silence.

“I love you too Kyle.”

-g3minimars

#south park #south park x reader #fluff #kyle broflovski #kyle broflovski x reader #kyle broflovski x y/n #my writing #angst #hospital #car accident #anon ask #g3minimars

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ckret2 · 5 months

Note

Were there any health effects for Bill as a child, being able to see into the third dimension? I know you mentioned its a uncommon to rare condition in his home world, known enough to make a science of it, but after you mentioned Bill can as a human strain his eyes to see into the 4th but it makes them bleed I’m curious. It fit the human ancient history of assuming someone with a condition is spiritually aligned. I mean besides the effect of seeing inside people and sort of around objects which I feel would probably mess with perception.

Less "uncommon to rare" and more "rare to extremely rare." It's known, but in terms of proportions of the population, if it were a debilitating health condition in the US, it would be in "no pharmaceutical company bothers to make medicine to treat this because the customer base is too small for it to be worth their effort" territory.

Bill's condition was only identified because the most characteristic symptom is angles that don't add up like they're supposed to. For example, in Euclidean geometry, every single triangle, without exception, has 180º degrees. If you have a triangle that measures 60º, 60º, and 61º—so 181º—and yet all three sides measure as PERFECTLY straight, that's bizarre enough to dig into, especially in a society that's historically shown so much interest in shapes' angles.

This is first and foremost known as the You've Got Weird Mathematically Impossible Angles condition, and because of that it got disproportionate resources for research thrown at it in spite of its rarity; "plus these people can see through walls" is a strange bonus symptom that was identified later when they realized everyone with this condition reported such visions. It's rare enough Bill grew up with the expectation that he'd never meet somebody else with the same condition.

So, in his home dimension, it's not an eye thing; it's a whole body thing. All of him bends slightly into the third dimension. In a human body, he doesn't have the same "condition," so he's straining JUST his eye to look into the fourth dimension; which is why it's so damaging to a human eye.

As you'd imagine, yeah, there are gonna be some health side effects to a condition that means your whole body is slightly bent weird. His mom had a condition that I've been imagining as some cross between Ehlers-Danlos syndrome and scoliosis, if you were to try to apply those to a sentient line segment; and Bill's hypothesized that his mom's condition contributed to the fact that he "bends" out of the second dimension. He doesn't have THE SAME condition, but there's some symptom overlap.

Like, back pain. And the emotional pain that comes from people constantly recommending stretches for your back pain that would make your back worse. If he hadn't gained godlike power, he probably would have gotten arthritis early. If he'd ever needed surgery, doctors would've found his organs are just a little bit wrongly placed. Probably rooked up his digestion somewhat, since the organs designed to absorb sunlight evolved expecting light to fall on perfectly flat panels, not a slight dome. And also: other things I haven't thought of!

But nothing extremely debilitating. Probably nothing he even would have gone to a doctor for, until the arthritis. Just a bunch of tiny inconveniences, slightly weird corner angles, and the ability to see through walls.

As far as he was concerned, the biggest negative impact on his life was that it made TV & movies hard to watch, because he's used to seeing the world as shapes but TV only shows the flat lines that normal shapes looking "forward" can see. And also the devastating social isolation.

#anonymous #ask #about my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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maccreadysbaby · 7 months

Note

how do I write a character with emetophobia?

Writing Characters with Emetophobia!

from your neighborhood emetophobia haver, aka me!

TW for emetophobia things under the cut (emetophobia is a fear of vomit or vomiting)

so you want your character to have some quirky fear, and the fear of puking is what you landed on! I’m here to tell you what it’s like to have severe emetophobia and what that entails for my life. all of these struggles and symptoms are personal and doesn’t apply to everyone with emetophobia. it is a very individual phobia, this is just how my body and mind reacts

Living with Emetophobia ↴

this post has no real structure, it’s more or less just things that have happened to me. i’ve had this phobia since my inception, so here’s a list of things your characters with emetophobia might do.

Avoiding foods or actions that (probably won’t, but could) trigger sickness: I was terrified to eat anything that contained dairy because — one singular time — I heard that milk makes you throw up if you have a fever and I swore it off from the time I was 8 until I was about 12. I was literally nine years old reading labels in the store for dairy and violently throwing it back on the shelves if it contained it. Not to mention my mother was lactose intolerant (Which I’m not) but seeing her fall at the hands of dairy didn’t make me feel any better about it. During this phase I only ate about three things and you literally couldn’t get me to eat anything else to the point where I was nearly anorexic. Once my friend told me she coughed so hard she threw up and I didn’t let myself cough when I was sick for a long time after. I also ran away from anyone who coughed near me. (I was such a psycho.) Now I will eat most foods given to me, but if something repeatedly offends my stomach, I usually just stop. I’m not so dramatic about it anymore lol. (I am much healthier now, too.)

Literally running away from sick people: I will never forget one time, my brother got sick. I wasn’t even in the same room as him. My mom yelled “maccreadysbaby, can you bring me some wipes?” I did. And as soon as I saw what happened I threw them at her, ran across the house, hid behind the couch, covered my ears and started crying. Another time, my mom informed me that my brother had thrown up while I was not home for a few days, and I avoided him like the plague. Literally like I would die if I touched him. My parents stopped telling me if my siblings got sick while I was away after that. When I was in gradeschool, a classmate got sick on a Tuesday and I was fine for the rest of the week. Then I puked on Saturday. For years afterwards, if I was ever around a sick person, I’d always count four days and if I didn’t throw up on day four, finally relax. (Again, I was such a psycho.) This instinct is still here as an adult. For example, my sister just recently thought she was gonna get carsick (while I was in the back with her) and let me tell you I was so squished up to my door I couldn’t breathe. I still sort of do the day counting thing if I’m completely honest, but I’m not so terrified and incessant about it.

Thinking that they’re sick all the time: This was a terribly big thing for me. For a span of 5ish years, at the same time I swore off dairy, I basically categorized myself as gonna throw up all of the time, even when I was perfectly freaking fine. I woke up, assumed I would puke that day, because why wouldn’t I, and triggered my anxiety. Which would actually trigger stomachaches and stuff. I would sit on the stairs and beg and cry until my parents let me stay home from school, and we almost had to go to court for the amount of school I was missing because I pulled this crap every day. This phase of my life only ended when my mom took me to the doctor (while I was literally fine) and made him tell me I was just anxious and not actually going to puke. (As you can see, I was a very fun child to raise.) I don’t behave this way anymore, but if my stomach does hurt for some reason, I immediately spiral into oh SHITE not HAPPENING territory.

Have debilitating anxiety: This is one of the things on this list that still happens to me regularly. If my stomach hurts in any capacity (even on my period) I am immediately thrusted into I’m gonna freaking puke mode. I get really cold, start sweating, start trembling (like, shake the whole couch trembling) and just sit there while my anxiety eats my brain. I can’t move because some part of me thinks moving an inch is going to make me puke. No matter how much I tell myself you’re fine, you’re not going to puke, this happens to you every day and you haven’t thrown up since you were twelve, you’re being so dramatic, it doesn’t stop. I just have to sit there and wallow in my pain and anxiety until my stomach stops hurting. Then I laugh at myself for being stupid and move on, even though I routinely worry about it coming back throughout the day. If it does I rinse and repeat. If I do puke (which I fortunately haven’t done since I was twelve) I can confidently say there’d be a lot of crying and minimal screaming about how I’m gonna die.

Here’s a recent (as of literally this morning) emetophobic thought pattern for you to analyze, to help you understand what your characters minds might be doing when they’re freaking out:

I received a text that my cousin, who I saw last night, was throwing up. I was still asleep but I woke up and checked my phone anyways. This was my exact thought process.

oh SHITE I was around him, wasn’t I? Well, I guess not a lot, he spoke to me a few times and I was near him at the campfire, but I maybe not enough to make me sick. But you know who was around him? My freaking sister. And if she gets sick there’s no hope for me. oh my GOD does my stomach hurt right now? I think it does. Wait, shut up, maccreadysbaby, you’re being stupid. Think about something else and go back to sleep. Why are you SHAKING stop being so pathetic. Your stomach totally hurts right now. You have plans today maccreadysbaby you can NOT get sick you can NOT be the reason your plans are canceled. I’m totally going to throw up today as life’s way of spiting me. Shut up and go to sleep, you weren’t even around him. But I WAS we ALL were, sitting across the table doesn’t count as being far away. Maybe he just got carsick or has acid reflux or something. Today is Saturday so if I make it to Wednesday I should be fine. But what if I ACTUALLY throw up I don’t even want to think about it oh my God what if I do? Okay, you’re fine, shut up and go back to sleep.

I went back to sleep (eventually) and woke up twice more to go through that entire process again before my alarm went off. It’s basically that on repeat every time I hear of a sick person or my stomach hurts. Fun times 😬👍.

#life #writing help #writing angst #original writing #creative writing #writers #writing #writerscommunity #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writing tips

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127tyong · 1 year

Text

I.O.U

(Be There For You Follow Up)

A/N: Same universe as BTFY, different characters, same medicine. You don't need to read BTFY to understand this story tho they're kinda their own thing

Pairing: Qian Kun X Reader

Genre: Be There For You AU, Smut, Doctor Kun, Good Ending, (as always, i know nothing about medicine lol)

Warnings: Mind Break, kun is kinda mean

Word Count: 2.3k

“I mean, every college kid does a clinical trial to make a quick buck at least once, right? That’s just like, part of the freshman experience!” You were on the phone with your friend as you stood outside the clinic, ready to get tied up to an IV for 10 hours or have your sleep monitored.

“Whatever. Don’t let them do anything stupid to you, alright?” Your friend replied, dryly.

“They’re doctors! They wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, right? Anyways, I’m gonna go in!” Way too optimistic, considering you were willing to go through Hell for $1000.

You walked in and went to the front desk.

“Hi, can I help you?” The worker, wearing a name tag that said “Jeno” asked you. He seemed… like your average nerd. Chunky, black rimmed glasses in a rectangle shape.

“I’m actually wondering if you have any studies that I could participate in.” You smiled up at him, biting your lip, as to avoid asking him if his bright pink hair was up to code.

“Hm…” He grabbed a paper. “How about you fill this out to let us get a better grasp of who you are, then I’ll have a doctor chat with you, alright?” He quickly smiled up at you, but his eyes were cold, probably wishing you’d leave him alone already.

You nodded. “Thanks!”

After about 30 minutes and 100 questions later, you were called into an exam room, and you sat on the bed in there.

A young man with wire rimmed glasses and light blue hair entered and applied hand sanitizer. “So, my name is Kun Qian. So I’ve checked your questionnaire and your medical history, and I’ve compiled a list of things you are able to participate in.”

He handed you a stack of papers, and on top, there it was.

Project E 2.0

This medication is being tested to treat PCOS and other hormone irregularities.

Side effects include a heightened libido, sensitivity during sex, as well as more intense and stronger orgasms.

You glanced up at Kun, who was clicking his pen. “I’ll just do this one, it seems simple enough.”

Kun sighed, rolling his neck back to crack his neck. “The E one? It’s important for you to know that the side effects of this medication are… strong, to say the least.”

“What, am I going to go feral? It’s fine, just give me the jab.” You laughed, but Kun didn’t respond.

“Yes. The woman who received the 1.0 version was unable to sleep, eat… she couldn’t live a normal life for several weeks because of it. All she was able to do was have sex and be force-fed by her doctor… Well, boyfriend now, I guess.” He pulled off his glasses and looked you in the eye. “I promise, I will be right here, ready to assist you, or anything you may need, but I need to know that you can deal with the pain.”

“Well, when you put it like that… I guess I should learn a bit more first.”

“Do you have a husband or wife? Any significant other that might be able to help?” Kun started to write stuff down on his clipboard.

“Er, I have a roommate?” You fidgeted with the hem of your skirt, unsure of what Kun meant.

Kun exhaled loudly, leaning back in his chair, his annoyance with you obvious. “I meant someone you could have sex with, madam.”

“I have a vibrator?” You laughed, the hairs on your arms standing due to your nerves.

Kun bit his lip. “I think it’s in your best interest to choose another option.”

“Um, but I think this would be the easiest for me… All I have to do is track possible side effects, right? And I can go home?” You flipped through the other studies, ranging from a hypothermia study to a sociology study.

“Well, you’d have to stay here for a week, only so we can see how you’d react… but yes, you can.” Kun clicked his pen against the clipboard. “I’ll give it to you. Let me lead you to your room.

It actually wasn’t that bad, considering this was an independent clinic. You had your own bedroom and bathroom, and your roommate sent you clothes for your week stay.

Kun sat on the chair next to your bed, letting you settle in before giving you the shot.

“I’m ready.” You sat on the bed, shuffling over to where Kun was sitting.

“There.” Kun injected it. “I’ll stay with you for the first hour, if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. Do you wanna get in bed with me?” You scooched over, letting him in.

“Um…” Kun stood up, sitting down next to you, taking his shoes off before moving to sit next to you.

“So, Doctor, how’s your day going?” You turned on the TV in front of you, switching the channel to some cheesy reality Lifetime show.

“You’re the first person I’ve seen today, so I guess… Good.” Kun inspected your body, from the palms of your hands down to your chest, then your thighs and feet. “So… what made you want to do this?”

“Money?” You glanced at him, noticing how plump his lips were after he bit his bottom lip. “Why does anyone let themselves do something like this?”

“Well, you’re not wrong, I guess.” The palm of his hand pressed against your forehead, trying to feel for your temperature. “Are you feeling okay?”

“It’s only been like… 5 minutes, so I guess I feel the same.” You looked up at Kun, who was now standing up and sliding his shoes back on.

A minute turned to two minutes, two turned to twenty, twenty turned to sixty…

“I want to check something.” Kun grabbed his stethoscope, putting it in his ears and against your heart. “I’ll be back in a minute…”

You just sat there, scrolling through your phone.

And it started. Your back hit the bed’s back board, the heat getting to you. You knew you were going to get horny, but you didn’t know it was going to be this bad…

The heavy wooden door opened again. “Okay, so I wanted to see if-”

“Doctor…” Your voice was so whiny, you hardly knew you could make that kind of tone. “Need you.” You sat on your knees, reaching out for him, lips pouting, drawling out every word. Blood coursed through your veins, your heart beating out of your chest. And you felt all the blood rush to your clit at the sight of Kun.

“Fuck.” Kun pressed the stethoscope back against your chest, and after about 10 seconds he ripped it out of his ears, falling down towards your body, one of his hands on your shoulder, the other on your back. “Come on sweetie, let’s get you in the shower… or something, I…” Kun frantically looked around, his concern for you resulting in a furrowed brow. “Did your roommate bring you anything, a dildo, or…”

“You…” You finally got out a word. “Please, fuck me.” Tears began to well up in your eyes. It truly was a feeling you never felt, it was like you had been edging for days without release.

A million thoughts rushed into Kun's mind all at once. The loudest one being the word pathetic. You were a pathetic, whining mess, begging him for his cock, needing to fuck him. And it made him so hard. Any man would get hard in his situation, he figured. But he knew he had to stay professional, even if it was for a few more minutes. “I… I don’t think I can, I mean, I’m your doctor!” Kun pushed you off him, then slipped your jacket off you, trying to get you to cool down.

You had a ball of the fabric of Kun’s lab coat in your fist. “Please, I need… anyone.”

“Fuck, fuck… I thought Jaemin fixed it… I knew I shouldn’t have fucking trusted him.” Kun bit his lip, half wanting to search the suitcase and dressers in your room, but also knowing he needed to comfort you right now.

“Cum… Cum inside me…” You whined, your head hitting Kun’s chest. You breathed in the thick scent of his cologne. Minty, musky and woody. He smelled so good, and that just made things worse for some reason. It truly felt like you were going feral, like you were turning back to your primal instincts, needing him inside you, his warm release, to be filled up. “Need… you inside me…”

“Come on baby… work with me.” Kun helped you to your feet, leading you into the bathroom. The lock on the door automatically locked behind the two of you. Kun started undressing you as quickly as possible then pushed you into the bathtub. “Tell me if the water’s too cold.” He turned on the water, the cold helping lower your temperature.

“Kun…” You cooed, wrapping an arm around his neck. “Please, fuck me.”

You caught Kun looking at your body, up at your breasts and down to your thighs…

“I’ll, um…” Kun’s hand entered the water, and began to rub your clit, making you immediately reach your climax.

“Doctor!” You cried out. “More, more please!”

“I don’t know, I don’t know how to help you anymore…” Kun mumbled, thinking hard.

“Cock, please…” You whined.

“Fuck…” Kun helped you out of the bathtub and wrapped you in a towel, quickly drying you off then leading you to the bed, bending you over the mattress.

“Cum inside, please, please, please…” You really felt like you were actually going brain dead, the only thing on your mind being Kun’s cock.

And he finally was inside you. You let Kun do whatever he wanted to with your body. You figured he must’ve been pent up, too. The way his cock slammed into your womb, hitting your cervix with ease, letting you know how sore you were going to be tomorrow. His hands made their way into your mouth, both middle and ring fingers hooking into your cheeks, stretching your lips horizontally, making you drool, tongue sticking out on its own.

He was rough, nothing like the shy boy he was two seconds ago, who didn’t even know if he should be fucking you. It was like a flip switched in his brain, like he was just pretending to be kind so his cock would feel even better when it went inside you…

“Doctor, please be gentler!” You felt like you were melting on his dick, so hot and so hard…

“I don’t want to.” His hands moved to your neck, wrapping around your neck, choking you until you were unable to breathe.

“Cumming!” You screamed out, hitting your second climax.

You felt your womb filling up with Kun’s cum before he pulled out.

He picked you up and laid you back down. “Do you feel better?”

You nodded, sitting up, covering yourself with the blanket.

“Good. I’ll be back with your dinner.” Kun slid his pants back up then left.

And after about 30 minutes you felt like a bitch in heat all over again.

“Dinner.” Kun entered again after 45 minutes, catching you with your fingers inside yourself. “Jesus Christ…” He sighed, slamming the tray onto the nearest table.

“Doctor…” You whimpered, hoping he would fuck your again.

“You’re so… pathetic. And whiny.” Kun ran his hands through your hair, then grabbed your hand, pulling your fingers out of yourself and licking your juices off. He stood at the foot of the bed, grabbing your foot to pull you down and began to lick your clit.

And again, you practically immediately reached your high…

Kun wiped his face, your cum on his nose and lips. “Do you feel better?”

You shook your head. “Cum…” You whined. “Please?”

Kun facepalmed, sighing. “Ride me.” He sat on the couch in your room.

You slid off your bed and sat on Kun’s lap, facing away from him, lining his cock into you.

“You know, it’ll hurt more if you take it slow. Put it in all at once.” Kun his hand on your waist, stabilizing you.

“I know!” You whined, shoving it in. “Fuck!”

“Hm? Is that it?” Kun’s tone became more mocking than annoyed. “Do I have to do everything for you?” His arm went under your knees, fucking you under you.

“You’re in too deep, Doctor!” You cried out. You felt like Kun was in your womb. “You’re not gonna be able to pull out!”

“Don’t think.” Kun instructed.

And you did as told, letting your brain melt into nothingness other than the feeling of Kun’s cock inside you. You probably wouldn’t be able to recall your own name…

That was, until Kun’s cum flowed inside you again, bringing you into your own orgasm.

Kun dropped you back onto his lap, your arms wrapping around his neck and your head fell onto his chest.

You woke up still on Kun’s lap.

“How long-”

Kun cut you off. “45 minutes. It’s fine.” But really, the entire left side of Kun’s body was numb.

You nodded.

“So, what did you think?” Kun asked you as you climbed off his lap and back onto your own bed.

“It was… good. Amazing, actually, I’ve never felt so good…” You started dreaming about getting stuffed full of Kun’s cum all over again…

“I was talking about the medicine, but thanks for rating my dick.” Kun scoffed, getting up to give you your dinner.

“Oh. Not as fun.” You watched Kun.

“I, um… was thinking that you could live with me and help me test the rest of the iterations of the medication.” Kun hooked you back up to the blood pressure monitor.

“Maybe.” You took a bite of the dinner. “But I’ll say yes if it means I can keep having sex with you.

“You can keep having sex with me even when you stop being my patient.”

#nct smut #nct fanfic #nct x reader #wayv smut #wayv x reader #kun smut #qian kun smut

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