#and so many good moments with the doctor it was hard to narrow it to only 10

[thirteenstardisfam]

Thirteen in Every Episode      ↳ Legend of the Sea Devils

[euthymiya]

“i wanna ruin our friendship!” ft. wriothesley, neuvillette, alhaitham, and kamisato ayato

in which genshin men decide being friends is not enough. why be friends when you could clearly be so much better as lovers? part two of “we’re just friends, but…” (<- read part one for better understanding of each)

contains: female reader (use of miss, milady/my lady, lovely lady, and madame) ; fluff (slight hints of angst but all happy endings) ; confessions, friends to lovers, wriothesley: implied harassment of reader by an inmate, reader is a doctor at the fortress, angry and possessive wriothesley, jealousy ; neuvillette: reader works at the palais, melusine features, neuvillette is implied to be emotional and make it rain ; alhaitham: mentions of drinking alcohol (alhaitham), vulnerable alhaitham, reader can cook ; ayato: slightly insecure reader, mentions of reader being in a lower class than ayato

WRIOTHESLEY

wriothesley is not a possessive man, despite his feelings for you.

he’s long accepted that somewhere between frequent visits to you in the infirmary and occasional lunches together as fellow colleagues at the fortress, he’s fallen hopelessly hard for you. how could he not, when you’re so gentle-natured, smart, and unfairly pretty?

but still, wriothesley is not a possessive man. when men praise you to the archons and admire your unearthly beautiful smile, he is not possessive. when he grumpily watches your fingers brush against bare chests of the wounded after pankration matches, he is not possessive. when you shyly thank an inmate who rushes to hold a door open for you, he is not possessive.

but even wriothesley has his limits. and they happen to snap over the edge today—because now, as a man corners you against the wall, pestering you until distress is clear on your face, wriothesley feels possessive.

it’s a shameful feeling, but it’s one he can’t help. he’s tolerated many things, enough of them that make him wash down the bitter taste of jealousy with the most soothing tea he can find in his collection. but this? this is beyond the patience of even a kind warden such as himself.

you, whether you or anyone else in this fortress knows it, are his to protect.

so he walks up, fisting the inmate’s shirt and lifting him up to drag away from you, jaw tight and locked as he asks lowly, “is there a problem? if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you were giving this lovely lady here some trouble.”

“y-your grace,” the man, to his credit, has a good mind to look remorseful, eyeing you nervously for a moment before rapidly shaking his head. “n-no, i was just…i was just askin’ her if she’d like some help findin’ her way is all. you know the fortress can be confusin’ ’n such.”

the inmate trails off, nervously chuckling as he quivers in the warden’s unforgiving hold.

wriothesley glances at you, raising an unconvinced eyebrow as he asks, “and do you need any help finding your way, miss?”

“no,” you shake your head, voice a bare whisper.

his jaw tightens further, glancing back at the man before he snarls lowly, “then you leave her alone. don’t let me catch you bothering her again, understood?”

“y-yes, your grace!”

wriothesley releases the man’s shirt, crumpled from his iron grip as he stares, eyes narrowed—threatening, even, as he waits for the brave soul (for anyone who bothers you where he’s in charge is the bravest of all souls) to leave. not one moment is wasted before you watch the inmate scramble away, leaving you alone with a tense, disgruntled duke in your hands.

“thank you,” you whisper, “i’m not sure how much longer he’d have bothered me if you hadn’t shown up.”

“anyone else ever try that before?” he seethes. you’ve never seen him so angry before—something about it feels almost personal.

you shake your head, stepping away from the wall as you walk over to him. “no, wriothesley,” you murmur, “no one gives me a hard time. this was a first.”

“let me know if anyone bothers you,” he grunts, fist still clenched even with no shirt to hold like earlier. “i’ll take care of it.”

you eye the way it’s tightly curled, knuckles almost ghostly white from the pressure before you gently grab his hand, working his fingers loose from his tight grip and rubbing a soothing thumb over the crescent mark from his nails along his palm.

“of course,” you smile softly, “though, i’m sure word will spread quickly that the warden doesn’t appreciate his doctor being bothered by persistent men. i don’t think there will be any repeats of this incident.”

he should feel ashamed.

you think so highly of him—defaulting to believing he’d saved you because he was only worried for your wellbeing, and not because it burned him alive to see a man so close to you, a man who desired you just as much as he did and had stooped to such unchivalrous methods to have you.

faintly, he’s aware that your hand is still grasping his, still rubbing a thumb over the angry, red marks along his palm as you study him carefully. he’s sure there’s not much he hides in his expression—you must be reading him like an open book. he can’t bring himself to care, however, not when the sight of someone else pinning you to a wall and towering over you is still so fresh in his head.

“something on your mind, your grace?” you ask, leaning closer.

perhaps, if he was a stronger man, one with more firm principles, he’d know to pull away and give you your space. but you lean closer, and he’s weak to his own desires, so he takes it as an invitation to lean closer himself.

“yes,” he admits, “i…i’m afraid i had less than honorable intentions when stepping in.”

“oh?” you raise a brow, looking at him in fond amusement. maybe you already know, he thinks, if your lack of surprise tells him anything. “enlighten me, then. what were your intentions?”

“to make sure no man comes close to you,” he mumbles, leaning closer while you do the same, your noses just barely brushing as your breath all but mingles.

“why?” you ask. it almost sounds like a plead—like you’re waiting to hear something desperately.

“because it’s unbearable to see you with other men,” he says hoarsely. if you’re uncomfortable, you don’t show it. but he has reason to believe you’re quite the opposite, in fact, when your eyes seem to brighten.

“and if i were to say i appreciate your intentions?” you ask softly.

finally, his jaw loosens—instead, he replaces the clench with a loose, easy grin, one that allows him to chuckle lowly as he stares at you with a playful disbelief.

“that so?” he hums, “perhaps then you’d care to join me for dinner today, milady—i’ll have the finest meal the cafeteria has to offer waiting for you.”

“on a date?” you ask hopefully.

“on a date,” he confirms with a slight nod.

you kiss his cheek, making his breath catch in his throat as you step away and smile gleefully. “i’ll see you at dinner then, your grace.”

NEUVILLETTE

the first day you skip your newfound routine of tea and desserts with neuvillette and the many, many melusines that join, it rains. harshly so, in fact.

you walk up to the palais, soaked from the unexpected weather as you grin sheepishly at a concerned sedene.

“madame!” she gasps, “oh, you’ve been caught in the weather!”

“it’s alright, sedene,” you chuckle, “it’s nothing new in fontaine to have unexpected rain. i suppose i should’ve planned accordingly. is monsieur neuvillette in his office? i have papers for him,” you hold up a file.

sedene fidgets for a moment, hesitant as she says, “yes…he’s in his office but…well, i should warn you that he’s not in the best of moods.”

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, “how unfortunate. i’ll make it quick. they’re quite urgent papers.”

she nods at your promise—and just before you can turn to leave, she stops you, seemingly debating before making a final comment.

“you didn’t join us today, madame,” she starts, “for tea today during the monsieur’s break.”

“oh,” you tilt your head in surprise for a moment, “you’re right, i didn’t. i apologize if you were waiting on me. i was caught up with much paperwork to finish before i came in.”

“i see. perhaps monsieur neuvillette will appreciate knowing that, then,” she smiles.

before you can ask, she skips away, finding a group of melusines in the corner. you watch as they whisper away behind their paws, blinking back your confusion before walking towards the door of neuvillette’s office, knocking gently.

“monsieur neuvillette? may i come in? i have some papers that must be delivered to you.”

there’s a shuffle from inside, a clearing of the iudex’s throat before a raspy, “yes, of course. come in.”

you enter, walking in slowly as you close the distance between the door and his desk, smiling as you set the file down in your hands. he looks rather…well, you’re not sure, exactly—perhaps the best word would be melancholy. suddenly, sedene’s words from earlier ring in your head, and you wonder if there’s any relation between your absence and his seemingly downcast mood.

so you give him an apologetic look as you speak. “i apologize if my absence was a surprise to you today. it seems i lost track of time with paperwork. i hope you enjoyed a peaceful break with the melusines,” you hum, “you certainly need a proper break with all the duties you take on.”

against your better judgement, you reach over, brushing a strand of misplaced hair from his forehead and tucking it back in place. rarely does the chief justice of fontaine ever look less than prim and proper, if ever at all—and the action causes you to pause just as much as it does him.

he breaks the silence first, and if he notices the slight flustered expression on your face, he doesn’t point it out as he says gently, “it’s quite alright. i’m sure you’re a busy individual.”

“i do quite enjoy my routine visit,” you say shyly, “it was a shame i couldn’t join today. but rest assured, i’ll be present tomorrow.”

“i’m glad to hear it,” he seems to brighten a bit, a gentle smile pulling at the corners of his lips as he admits in a quieter voice, “truthfully, i had assumed you didn’t want to join me—or excuse me, us,” he coughs, correcting himself at the end.

“oh dear,” you furrow your brows, crinkles forming in your forehead as you quickly shake your head, “of course i love joining you. today was a rare occasion, i’m afraid. i hope i didn’t upset you, monsieur.”

“no,” he shakes his head just as quickly. he coughs, clearing his throat as he adds, “it’s just that i…well, i have come to enjoy your company. a little more than i perhaps should.”

he doesn’t meet your gaze, cheeks flushed a gentle shade of pink as you take in his words. silently after a moment, with a bright grin on your face that spreads across your lips and finds itself in the deepest of crinkles in your eyes, you slowly reach over to cup his face.

neuvillette, no matter how trained in self control, cannot help but lean into your touch, staring at you with wide eyes as you rub a delicate circle into the swell of his cheek.

“i’ve come to enjoy your company as well, monsieur. perhaps…perhaps it would be nice to enjoy each other’s company outside of the palais as well,” you offer. and then, eyeing the small opening in the door, you add, “somewhere away from prying eyes.”

neuvillette watches as the door quickly shuts, the soft giggles of the melusines muffled behind the door as he chuckles in amusement. his hand cups the back of your own, cheek laying comfortably in your palm.

“yes,” he murmurs softly, “i think i would love that.”

ALHAITHAM

alhaitham is not drunk today.

you can tell when you open the door because he’s not swaying, or slurring his words, or staring at you with a hazy look. instead, he’s perfectly sober, perfectly rational, and perfectly collected alhaitham.

you look at him in surprise before smiling in greeting.

“you’re not drunk for once,” you murmur, “i don’t think i ever get a visit from you when you’re not drunk.”

the words make him wince a bit—he doesn’t like the implication of that. alhaitham enjoys your company when he’s not inebriated, especially when he’s not inebriated, in fact. mainly because he can actually recall things that way, like the way you laugh and the crinkle of your eyes. but somehow, being drunk has become a bit of a weekly routine for him at the tavern with his friends (which really, is just cyno and tighnari, and of course, kaveh—but kaveh can hardly be considered a friend these days).

coming to your doorstep every week when he’s drunk becomes a byproduct of his habits. he can’t control them, like an involuntary muscle that moves on its own accord without his permission. just like his heart beats and pumps blood, his feet carry him to find you.

it’s natural, autonomic.

“i didn’t want to drink tonight,” he explains, rubbing his neck awkwardly. alhaitham is blunt—speaking his mind is not a complicated task. he’s sure of his thoughts and opinions, and the response people give them is of little concern to him.

but his thoughts aren’t very coherent when they come to you. he’s not sure of even a single thing, in fact. sure, he knows he likes you—really, really likes you. but sometimes, he contemplates if he’s fallen in love with you. he can’t tell, if he’s being honest, because he’s never been in love before. it’s uncharted waters for even someone as knowledgeable as him.

and then there’s the more difficult part. he’s not sure if you feel the same, or if you’d respond positively to the idea of his developed feelings. logic tells him you’re kind, compassionate, deeply understanding. perhaps you’d let him down gently and still consider him a good friend if you don’t feel the same. but for some reason, there’s an illogical part of him. one he doesn’t recognize. one that tells him that you might walk away and never look twice in his direction again as soon as you realize the nature of his feelings.

logic doesn’t win in his mind for once. it hasn’t for a very long time. it’s why he doesn’t tell you for so long how he feels.but tonight he plans to change that.

regardless of your feelings, requited or unrequited, alhaitham will tell you how he feels. he owes you that much, for all the careful care and deduction you put into handling his drunk self. for all the meals you made and let him eat before letting him crash on your couch. for all the cups of coffee you made his hungover self as you carefully tiptoed around your own home so the noise wouldn’t disturb his pounding head.

he clears his throat, fiddling with his fingers as he stares at his feet.

“do you want to come in?” you offer.

he shakes his head. “i don’t think that’s a good idea. i came…i came to say something.”

“i see,” you nod, “then by all means, share what you have to say.”

it’s not so easy. not when he tries to plan the words in his head as he walks to your home, and not when he’s standing before you. alhaitham is a linguist. he speaks over twenty languages, some of which are known to be romantic by nature. he’s read the divinest of poems and decoded the most complicated of hieroglyphics. he, of all people, should excel in putting words together.

but his tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth as he stares at you, though. distantly, he’s aware he must look stupid. standing here, silent and stiff as you stand by your door and wait for him to spit out what he has to say.

so he says the first thing he can think—and it makes his face burn as soon as he realizes what he says. “your sabz meat stew is my favorite.”

you grin, chuckling in amusement as you murmur, “oh my, i’m flattered. you came all this way to praise my cooking?”

“n-no,” he sighs in embarrassment, “that…that’s not what i meant.”

you hum, smiling at him softly as you patiently wait for him to speak again. a part of him feels like you’re aware of something, something that maybe even he’s not aware of himself. but he doesn’t want to dwell on that—perhaps your knowledge is a product of his drunken rambles, and he’s not sure he wants to even begin imagining what that might look like. what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him.

“well, if you must know,” you giggle, “i enjoy making your favorite for you.”

“i enjoy your stew,” he mumbles, concentrating for a moment before his face hardens with determination and he looks at you, “i enjoy waking up on your couch, and drinking your coffee, and the way you hum when you get ready for the day. it’s enjoyable because it’s you.”

you process his words for a moment before smile slowly, eyeing him with wonder as you break into a fit of giggles. he doesn’t have time to dwell on whether or not you’re laughing at him because there’s an arm looping around his bicep, pulling him in past your door and pressing him against it as soon as it’s shut.

you’re close—it’s the first thing he notices, chest brushed against his chest as you look up at him with a fond, affectionate expression.

“you’re a smart man, alhaitham,” you murmur, “i’m sure you can figure out why i make your favorite every time you come. and make your coffee just how you like. and let you sleep in on my couch when i could be spending my morning enjoying the sun.”

he wants to tell you that he doesn’t feel very smart when he’s around you. it’s like logic is a foreign concept as soon as your smile invades his line of sight. but words are difficult enough to produce when you’re so close, he doesn’t think he could tell you even if he tried.

instead, he asks, “because you’re kind?”

“not kind enough to do groceries for two every weekend,” you chuckle. “unless…”

“unless…?” he asks breathlessly.

“unless it’s you, silly,” you snort. “do fill in the lines, will you?”

he allows himself to hope. because it doesn’t take logic to let himself hope you feel the same way he does.

“if…” he takes a deep breath, taking a moment to contemplate before boldly settling his hands on your hips, “if i come here next week sober, would you still open the door for me?”

“of course,” you whisper.

“if i came whenever i wanted, would you still open the door for me?” he asks, eyes peering into yours desperately, begging you to tell him what he wants to hear.

you sigh, gently cupping his cheeks as he closes his eyes and shudders. “always,” you breathe, “will you come?”

“yes,” he nods. his shoulders slump—in relief and in pure bliss as he lets his head drop to the crook of your neck, pressing his nose into your warm skin as you cradle the back of his head. “because i enjoy coming home to you.”

“and i enjoy welcoming you home,” you murmur.

and it’s at the same time that you kiss the side of his head and he kisses the soft skin of your neck, a stumbling mess of limbs pressed against one another as you both find your way to collapse on your familiar couch.

KAMISATO AYATO

it’s midnight when there’s a knock on your door. it’s rushed, an incessant tapping against the surface that almost has you concerned, but the familiar face through the peephole eases your worries.

and then it hits you—ayato is here. beyond the question of how he has the time to visit you so unexpectedly, there’s the concern of what people might think if he’s seen here so late, standing outside your door.

“ayato? why are you here?” you look at him in confusion as you open the door, eyebrows furrowing as he smiles at you.

“well, hello. such an enthusiastic greeting you’ve afforded me,” he says playfully, making you roll your eyes. “won’t you even invite me in?”

“well, come on then,” you huff, “it’s always something or another with you.”

“whatever do you mean?” he gasps, a hand pressing to his chest in mock hurt, “i’ve simply come to have a heartfelt conversation.”

“at this hour?” you cross your arms, scoffing at his timing. still, you could never turn him away.

it’s not of any trouble to you—ayato knows it too. but there’s something oddly vulnerable about having him in your home, and unexpectedly at that. suddenly, everything feels out of place and untidy to you, a contrast to the large, sophisticated estate you’re sure he must be used to. you shift on your feet, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of someone as important as the yashiro commissioner, standing in your small home where you have nowhere to hide.

“ah,” he nods in amusement, “how impolite of me. shall i take my departure, then?”

“i could hardly turn the yashiro commissioner away without allowing him to speak,” you shake your head, fighting back a smile as he grins. “pray tell, what could have prompted such a spontaneous visit?”

“i’d like to ask for your hand,” he says bluntly.

you blink, gaping at him in disbelief. ayato has never been cruel—in fact, he’s always been much the opposite. especially to you. he’s become painfully important, a friendship you’ve never expected but cannot fathom existing without now that you have him.

but something about this feels cruel, like he’s aware of the deeper feelings you’ve accidentally let surface in the process, feelings you try to push back desperately. how could the yashiro commissioner be seen with someone so far from his realm? someone so disconnected from his world and status?

you furrow your brows, looking at him unimpressed as you murmur, “that’s hardly funny, ayato. be serious.”

“i am serious,” he tilts his head, “i, kamisato ayato, would like to ask for your hand, milady. if you would be so kind, that is.”

his hand is offered to you—and something in your aches to reach for it. to feel his fingers intertwined with yours, to feel the rough calluses of his hands from years of swordsmanship, to feel the gentle warmth of his palm pressed up against yours.

“i-in marriage?” you ask in utter confusion.

he chuckles, hand still outstretched as he raises an eyebrow. “well, i figured marriage would be a bit sudden, but far be it from me to deny such an enthusiastic idea.”

you’re not sure why (or maybe you are, and you simply hate to admit it), but there’s a burning sting in the back of your eyes. something bubbling between humiliation and hurt and flooding in the form of tears as you stare at him unsure if he’s lost his mind, or if he’s simply joking at your expense.

ayato has never made you feel like a victim of casual cruelty from his end, so a small part of you wonders if he’s truly serious. but the more logical part of you tells you that if not a mere attempt at playfulness, what else could this be?

“this isn’t funny,” you whisper, voice small. “i hardly find such pranks entertaining, ayato. i thought you to be better than that.”

it’s silent. deafeningly so, in fact.

his hand drops—slowly, hesitant as he eyes you in uncertainty. he takes a step towards you, closing the distance enough to notice every small detail of your face, but leaving enough of a gap so as not to overstep.

“i hardly find any entertainment in offering myself up, either,” he murmurs, “do reject me gently if you intend to. i’m afraid my age is catching up to me—i have a weak heart.”

“you’re hardly old,” you snort, watching him suppress a smile as he studies you. “you’re really being serious?”

“do you doubt me?”

“i suppose not,” you whisper. his hand extends to you again, something hopeful in his eyes, something almost desperate as he stares at you and waits for you to finally take it in your grasp.

your hand slowly finds his, fingertips grazing those calluses you’ve noticed for so long, rough and firm under the delicateness of your touch. finally, it hits you he came without gloves on, and you realize it must be for the chance of feeling your skin against his, bare touch with no fabric to separate either of you.

you feel him, taking in the years and years of training that show through such toughened skin, and he watches you carefully as you trace along his palm before flattening your own against him, slowly lacing your fingers together.

“i have found the man who attacked you,” he says quietly, “and i’m ashamed to admit the…unsavory methods i was prepared to take to punish his crimes.”

“i hope you wouldn’t stoop to such levels for me,” you say quietly.

“i fear there isn’t much i wouldn’t resort to for your safety,” he admits.

“i’m hardly worth such trouble,” you shake your head, smiling softly as you reach over and cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently against the mole you’ve always ached to feel. whether from the brush of your lips or from the graze of your thumb, you’ve always wondered how it’d feel. “there are much more worthy women to be the object of your affections, my lord.”

“ayato,” he corrects. it sounds like a plead, if you listen carefully. “and not to me,” he shakes his head. “it’s you i desire. i’m afraid i cannot concentrate on my duties until i have you. the nation shall befall a most unfortunate fate if i must suffer a single night more without having you.”

“i’m starting to think i am the only hope inazuma has left,” you roll your eyes, staring at him in wonder, “it seems it has fallen to me to ensure we have a functioning yashiro commissioner.”

“i do hope you’ll take such responsibilities seriously.” his hand lays over your own, keeping your touch in place as he leans his face into your palm further, closing his eyes and relishing in your touch.

“oh, ayato,” you chuckle breathlessly, eyes watery as you step closer, closing the gap until your chest presses against his. you wonder if he can hear the rapid thrumming of your heart, if he can feel it. “you’ll be the death of me.”

“i should hope not,” he chuckles, leaning closer and closer until his lips hover over yours, just a millimeter away from brushing against them, “i fear for my own sanity should such an ill fate come before you.”

“oh kiss me, you fool,” you scoff tiredly at his antics.

he doesn’t waste a moment, pressing his lips hungrily against yours, hands wandering to your waist and instantly pulling you closer, fitting his palm to cradle the small of your back. he chases your lips frantically when you pull away, a low grunt of disapproval rumbling from his chest before he plants his lips against yours once more. he kisses you like he’s crossed oceans upon oceans to find you, fixed on keeping you not more than a fingertips distance away at all times so that he’ll never lose you again.

and finally—finally, once he’s decided he’s sufficiently stolen the air from your lungs, he allows you to pull back and breathe.

“i’m afraid i can be a rather overbearing lover,” he murmurs against your lips, pecking them lightly. “you’ll hardly be free of me should i desire your company.”

you chuckle, leaning to kiss his mole softly, cradling his face. “i believe i’ll find a way to cope,” you grin.

ayato was fun to write last time, and he was just as fun to write this time and i am realizing i have some real hidden feelings for the man the more i write him. i really enjoy doing his dialogue, though i’m not sure if i do it justice. i sure hope i do 🥹

[roxygen22]

Timothee gets overheated on the set of Dune and feels sick and reader who’s visiting him while they film in the desert takes care of him back at their rented apartment

C/W: hospital setting

Overheated

Thanks to the flexibility of your job to work literally from anywhere, you were able to accompany Timothée to Jordan when he was filming Dune 2. One day, you were strolling through the market while he was busy on set when you got a call from his assistant.

"Hello?"

"[Y/N], it's Lizz. He's alright, but..."

Your heart stopped. That was never a good start to a conversation.

"...we had to take Timothée to the hospital. He and Z were shooting a scene in the stillsuits, and he started fumbling over his lines. He got lightheaded and nearly fainted. He's hooked up to IV fluids and resting now."

"I- I'll be there as quick as I can. Can you stay with him until I get there? H-he hates hospitals," you stumbled over yourself due to rising panic.

"Of course."

Lizz let the staff know to expect you so they wouldn't stop you at the door. They quickly escorted you back to his bed. You pulled back the curtain, but her description did not adequately prepare you for what you saw.

Timothée's normally voluminous curls were plastered to his head by sweat. He was pale and shivering from the cold saline they were pumping into his bloodstream and the ice packs on his body. He opened his eyes as you touched his cold, clammy forehead. You could feel the grit from the sand on his skin.

"Hey," he rasped.

"Oh, Timmy," was all you could muster before you choked on tears. You brought his hand to your cheek and kissed his palm. You felt his thumb wipe a tear across your cheekbone.

"I'm alright, babe." He tried to reassure you.

"No, you're not." Your voice raised slightly as narrowed your eyes at him. "You are dehydrated. You are pushing yourself too hard. I kept telling you that your body would make you slow down if you didn't do so voluntarily."

"I know. B-"

"No buts. I am going to ask Lizz to clear your schedule for the rest of the week."

"They can't film without me," he argued weakly.

"Exactly! If you don't take care of yourself, you won't be able to film. Just think how many jobs will be lost if they lose their star. They cannot do this movie without you."

Timothée's eyes dropped, and he sighed heavily. "You're right."

"Damn right, I'm right," you said with a wink and a smirk. "I love you, Timothée. I just don't want to see you hurt like this again."

You took him straight to your shared apartment (a short-term lease) once he was discharged. He was still weak and shaky, so you supported his weight from the car up the stairs to the door. He practically collapsed on the bed, his lanky legs dangling from the edge. You took his shoes off and guided his legs under the covers.

Timothée fell asleep quickly, overextended just from the short journey. In the brief moments when he was awake, you encouraged him to sip on electrolyte mix. A few hours later, he attempted to get up. He was so weak that it didn't take much energy on your part to push him back down by the shoulder.

"I don't think so, mister. The doctor said you needed to rest."

"[Y/N], I don't think getting up to go to a different room counts as physical activity," he retorted. It was good to see he had the energy to argue.

"Whatever you need, I can get it for you."

Timothée smirked and raised an eyebrow. "And what if I need to go pee?"

You spluttered, then laughed, knowing he got you on that one. "Well, I would say that is a good sign and one of the few things you can get up for."

"Thanks. I can maintain at least a shred of my dignity. Do you know how embarrassing it was to nearly fall out on set?"

You tucked a loose curl behind his ear. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about, Timmy. They see how hard you work. The cast and crew care about you. Your phone has been blowing up ever since we got home. Z already sent over some of your favorite snacks."

"That was nice of her."

"They all want you to take the time you need to recover. Completely," you emphasized, "and not a moment sooner."

He let his head fall back on the pillow. "You were right that I needed to slow down. I went straight from Bones and All to Wonka to Dune. I promise, even though I may grumble about it, I will be a good patient until I am cleared to go back."

"Good. Besides, it'll be nice to sleep in, cuddle, and make some progress on our watch list," you replied.

Timothée squeezed your hand. "I'm glad you're here; otherwise, the downtime would be unbearable."

You pouted your lip at the sweetness. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be. I love you."

"I love you, too. But, babe, I really do need to go pee." You both laughed as you helped him stand.

<><><><><>

Masterlist

Tag List:

@croatianprincess

@bluizh

@jindongdongie

@groovyqueer

[dazed-and-confused23]

Dear Hearts and Gentle People 18

Summary: Cooper comforts you after the two of you leave Vault 3. There isn't anything he can do to take your memories of that place away, but he sure as hell could try.

Pairings: The Ghoul | Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Warnings: Not many? Hurt/Comfort. Cooper does his best. Drug use and sexual assault are mentioned. Lots of cuddles and crying.

Masterlist

You don't remember how you got out of the Vault, and you don't care to recall how either. You lay in bed in your room at the Atomic Wrangler for three days, recovering from the copious amount of chems that the fiends have shoved into your system. Julie Farkus had told Cooper that she was lucky to be alive and that most women didn't have someone that could save them like he had for you.

Cooper had grit his teeth, lips pulled in a nasty sneer, and told the good doctor that it'd almost been too late, but he was just glad that Julie could help him. Today was the first time that you felt up to more than just sleeping, and the ghoul made sure to be by your side. You sat up, back pressed against the wall, and played with the plate of food in your lap.

"You gonna eat, smoothskin?" He asks and shifts his weight in the stool beside your bed. Cooper's been here for the better part of those three days, only leaving for necessary reasons and never for long. The bounty hunter is dressed down, only his jeans and button-up and boots, and you finally look at him.

You clear your throat, lips pulled in a harsh frown. "Yeah, I will."

Cooper doesn't like the tone you use and sits forward, elbows on his knees, and he stares you down, "Do I need to feed you?"

You scoff at the vauge threat and pierce a piece of steak before popping the morsel in your mouth and slowly chew it. You eye Cooper then swallow, "Happy?"

The ghoul narrows his amber eyes, "Not yet."

He watches your lips purse and look away from him, shoulders slumping and hands going limp. He doesn't expect to see tears growing in your eyes or to watch the way you fold into yourself, lips trembling as a broken apology spills from between your lips.

Cooper rises and takes the plate away from you, setting it to the side so that he can crawl into the bed with you. He sits against the headboard and pulls you back so that you rest between his legs against his chest. You don't bother fighting against him and simply cry a little harder when his hands rub soothing motions across your back.

"Wanna talk about it yet?" Cooper offers quietly. You've not said shit to him about your time in Vault 3. He understood the big picture when he'd arrived down there. His smoothskin had been treated worse than a fucking dog, drugged up and left to wallow in your own filth.

You shake your head. You don't understand how Cooper even wants to touch you right now. You feel disgusting, and the phantom feel of the fiends' hands still haunt you at every second of the day. You want another shower, but hot water was a precious commodity.

"Stop apologizing," Cooper rumbles after a moment, and you snap your mouth shut, unaware that you'd just said everything out loud. His arms tighten around you, and you bask in the strength of the hard planes of his body.

"Nothing those bastards did to you could make me love you any less."

His words only make you sob harder, but you can't help but feel relief at them. Your ghoul loved you and had taken on an entire vault of chem addled cannibals to save you. He had come out on top and dragged your sorry body all the way back to Freeside, snarling and demanding help from the followers.

"Thank you," you say, and press yourself as close to Cooper as you can. You never want to let go, and you never want to see the inside of a vault ever again.

"You're mine, Darlin', "Cooper rumbles and tightens his hold on you, "And nothin' will ever stop me from comin' for you."

*sorry if this one is a little lackluster. I had some trouble with it. ❤️*

[imtrashraccoon]

This writing request comes from my friend @gamemasterofscratch who requested Dr. Baggs being comforted as he's always so stressed and busy. I decided to try my hand at writing in third person for the first time in a while and chose the Reader-Insert character from the Bad Sansuary challenge I wrote, "Have Some Empathy, Dear." (I hope you like it, even if it isn't how I usually write!)

Dr. Baggs belongs to @/megalommi

CW: Mind control against an unwilling person. Nothing explicit happens though.

Doctor's Orders

Dr. Baggs & Female!OC

Word Count: 3,397

Careful...this next part was especially sensitive.

His phalanges trembled ever so slightly as he started to pour the contents of one beaker into another one. He only needed a drop, any more would ruin the experiment and mean the last twelve hours of work had been wasted.

He had taken the necessary precautions of course, just like he always did, even if his bones weren't as frail as many other's bodies were. He had thick black rubber gloves on that covered his entire forearms, a white lab coat that was specially treated to be fireproof, and he was even wearing safety goggles in case there was an explosion.

He narrowed his eye sockets as he scrutinized the bright pink liquid that he was trying to add to another beaker that contained an ashy powder. There was no guarantee that replicating it was even possible. He still had to try though. It would change everything if he could successfully make a synthetic version of that peculiar substance that humans produced naturally. There was no limit to how useful their own version of Determination could be.

Why, he would never have to worry so much about monsters losing hope and falling down. The Guard could have stronger soldiers that could evenly match the most competent human ones, not they weren't already capable in combat that is. He could even break the barrier and reclaim the surface for Monsterkind if he so chose. Not that he was sure that was even feasible in the first place.

A drop of the pink liquid landed on the small pile of ash and...nothing...

He held his breath and studied the beaker closely for several long minutes. When still nothing happened, he finally caved and added another tiny drop, just hoping that it was a fluke. He couldn't have messed something up, he just couldn't have!

A small puff of smoke curled up from the ashes, flooding his nasal cavity with an acrid stench that forced him to take a few steps away from his desk.

He clenched his fists, the rubber material of his gloves crying out in protest, and grit his teeth so harshly that he felt a small jolt of pain in the back of his skull.

wonderful job, sans... you've failed again...

As soon as the thought entered his skull, he frowned and tore off the goggles. He hadn't gone by that name in years, so why had it returned to him at a time like this?!

With a huff, he threw the eye wear at the far wall. The action wasn't nearly enough to placate his growing frustration and with a growl, he turned his attention to the desk. He swept everything to the floor and pounded a clenched fist onto the metal surface, hardly registering the pain from doing so.

Now he'd made a mess of his work area that he'd have to thoroughly clean up. It was a pain to get Monster dust off of anything, let alone that synthesized mixture his assistant had invented. The only good side was that this room had been constructed from easily sterilized materials.

He was so tired.

Yet no matter how hard he had tried to find a remedy in the past, he couldn't sleep. While having more time to dedicate to his work was helpful, it was also detrimental for his health to constantly be burning the candle at both ends.

Dr. Alphys had called him a workaholic once and he'd laughed. She was right though. He couldn't leave well enough alone or stop working for a moment, lest he fall behind some unseen competitor.

He took a few deep breaths and counted backwards from ten. It was such a simple technique but humans certainly knew what they were talking about when it came to psychology. Now if only they had information in their books on how to counteract magical insomnia...

Rubbing small circles over his sphenoid bone, or where his temples would approximately be if he had flesh, he did his best to ease the tension and stress that had built up inside his soul. His frontal lobe felt sensitive too, like he was about to get a migraine, which he really didn't want to deal with right now.

Something set his instincts on high alert. It was a soft sound, like someone had scuffed their foot against the tiled floor when they'd taken a step.

His skull whipped in the direction of the intruder.

His eye sockets widened when he realized they weren't a Monster at all, but a Human. One he'd never seen before either, which was impossible, what with all the surveillance systems scattered around the Underground that he personally oversaw.

They appeared to be a woman with shoulder length dark hair that had loose ringlets at the ends. She had a lighter complexion compared to some humans he'd interacted with and striking eyes that seemed like a mix of green and blue. She was dressed causally in a simple striped cardigan and a pair of black jeans. Interestingly, she also seemed to have some sort of thin plating poking out from her clothes that kind of resembled armour.

She was also taller than him, by at least six or seven inches. Granted, most people were taller than he was, but it was another factor he found concerning about her.

The weird thing was that she was just watching him. All other humans had at least tried to attack him or flee on sight. So why wasn't she?

Forcing himself to relax, he let his arms hang loosely at his sides in an attempt to appear non-threatening for the moment. "can i help you?" he asked, his clear baritone voice easily carrying across the room to her.

She shook her head, although he didn't fail to notice the glimmer of curiosity in her eyes. He could also tell that she was a little nervous, although she was trying to seem relaxed like he was. Her shoulders were rather stiff and with the way her feet were spaced apart, he could tell she was readying herself to flee if he made any sudden movements.

"I was about to ask you that same question," she responded. She let out a bit of an awkward chuckle but made no moves to approach him.

He shook his skull. "i don't need any help you think you can provide, human." He didn't really mean to sound hostile but he couldn't help it.

She seemed completely unfazed though. "That's okay then."

"who are you?" he asked.

She got a strange look on her face and the corners of her lips quirked up slightly. "Well, I have a lot of names, but you can call me...Minty."

He could only look at her blankly. Someone was messing with him, surely. Where had this odd human even come from? She hadn't popped out of nowhere, right? He needed to buy some time and maybe get an idea of what was happening.

Folding his arms behind his back, he drew himself up to his full height and briefly regarded the woman in front of him. "my name is dr. baggs and if you aren't interested in a fight, i have some questions for you..."

She smiled in a more genuine way which was slightly reassuring. "Of course, so long as you let me ask a few of my own."

Baggs nodded and gestured to a rolling chair next to another desk. "feel free to sit down and make yourself comfortable." When the human did so, he pulled another chair over and sat down, although he was careful to stay just out of her reach.

"how did you sneak past all the cameras and get into my lab?" he asked.

She laced her fingers together in her lap and fiddled with her fingernails. Her posture still seemed tense but she appeared calm at the moment.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," she said with a slight chuckle.

He raised a bonebrow suspiciously. "try me, i've seen a lot of things that many would consider unbelievable."

She seemed concerned and her eyebrows furrowed as she considered it. After a moment, she made up her mind and looked up at him again.

"Alright, if you say so. The truth is that I'm not from this world and...a friend dropped me off here."

He understood why she didn't think he'd believe her. In the past he'd theorized about the existence of alternate timelines or even a multiverse, however it hadn't been feasible to explore such theories. He still didn't have the ability to properly do so and even if he did, it could prove dangerous to his own timeline. Who knew what entities existed beyond the veil of reality?

He tapped his clavicle with a phalanx in a thoughtful way. "i see...then why are you here? what do you want from me?" he asked carefully.

She opened her mouth to answer but shut it again with a frown. After a couple seconds of contemplation, she tried again.

"I'm here because of you..."

"why is that?"

She took a deep breath and made eye contact with him. "I can sense how stressed you are and...how your soul is crying out in pain," she stated.

Baggs was a little surprised at how frank she was being right now. Still, he couldn't help but remain on edge. He knew how dangerous humans could be, even without magic, but he was a bit curious how she could sense his emotions.

"how do you know this?"

She pursed her lips as she tried to figure out the best way to answer his question. "It's a little complicated to explain but I've always had a talent for reading how people are feeling. I wouldn't exactly call it magic but it has similarities."

He wasn't sure what to think about how vague her answer was, but he didn't like this situation at all. She was pretending to act casual but he could tell that she was just as, if not more, on edge than he was. Yet she had been polite and actually had tried to relieve some of the tension between them. There was one thing that wasn't sitting well with him though and that was the fact that she seemed to want something from him.

Her gaze shifted from him and towards the discarded experiment on the floor. "I'm guessing whatever happened is why you're so stressed right now, huh?"

"you would be correct."

"Did you want to tell me about it?"

When he didn't answer immediately, she glanced back over at him and tilted her head in a questioning way.

"no, i wouldn't tell anyone, let alone you."

She didn't react to his harsh tone and simply nodded in an understanding way. "That's fine, we don't need to go into details. I can see you didn't get the results you wanted though. How many times have you tried to do this?" Her tone of voice was soft and she seemed to be choosing her words carefully so as to not upset him.

Baggs sighed and shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "nine times now," he muttered under his breath.

She inhaled sharply and he could feel that she was studying him. "I don't think I would've tried again after failing three times. It's impressive how persistent you are, at least in my opinion anyways," she remarked.

She asked a few more casual questions about various topics and he responded in kind. However, the longer the conversation went on, the more uneasy he began to feel. It was like she was trying to get him to feel more comfortable around her. The whole situation felt familiar and he knew why.

It was something he'd often done in the past.

If she was planning to do something, getting him to feel more at ease was the perfect first step.

He hated it.

Before she could ask another question, he interjected with one of his own. "i might be wrong here, but you have experience as a therapist, don't you?" He'd kept his tone even and leaned forward while speaking to express interest in what her answer would be.

She seemed surprised but soon smiled warmly at him. "Yes, I-"

No sooner had she responded did Baggs do what he should've done from the beginning. His magenta right eyelight expanded until it filled his entire socket and the pink swirled with blue to create a hypnotizing array that couldn't be ignored.

She fell easily under his control, just like everyone else before her, but in the split second it took to do so, she seemed to realize what he was doing. She had a look of shock but there was also a strange glint in her teal eyes. She lunged for him and while he tried to move away, her hand closed around his left forearm in a vice grip.

His mind was suddenly flooded with an overwhelming sense of compassion and empathy. However, the feelings weren't his own and for a moment, he was paralyzed from the shock.

He was stronger though.

A simple thought was all it took for the feelings to fade.

Baggs leaned his skull back against the chair and let out a heavy sigh. He'd never had anyone react like that before. Violence sure, but never using...Intent. It didn't make any sense...

He looked down at her, half sprawled on the ground where she'd collapsed and half sitting up almost leaning on top of him, all the while she was still clutching onto his arm. She was stronger than he'd first assumed and he was lucky she hadn't had a chance to go for the kill. But...that wasn't what she'd even tried to do in the first place...

why didn't you follow through and attack me? he asked, using his own thoughts to communicate.

Her expression remained passive and her body didn't move at all, meaning she was still completely under his control. He wanted an answer though and used his magic to gently prob into her mind.

"...I only wanted to help you," was her silent response.

how does any of that help? he pressed further.

"I could feel how much you were hurting. I want to help you with shouldering it, if you'll let me..."

how is trying to influence my mind and emotional state supposed to help?

"I wasn't trying to control you... You didn't believe that I truly wanted to help earlier...so I had to show you."

Baggs narrowed his eye sockets suspiciously. He knew she was telling the truth as no one could lie to him when under his direct control. However, he was a bit intrigued as to what her goal had been.

what else would you do to help me? he asked.

"..." Her thoughts were silent, although he could sense that she was struggling to come up with an answer. "...Anything you allow me to. Although earlier I was thinking of trying to comfort you if you don't mind that," she finally answered.

He decided to give her a chance and relaxed the hold his magic had on her mind. He didn't release her just yet though.

She was still for a moment before she let go of his forearm and sat up properly on the floor. Her eyes never left his and she remained docile, not making any sudden movements.

"May I hug you?" she asked in a soft whisper.

"you may."

She dragged herself to her feet and shuffled towards him. Her movements were slow and unsteady, likely from the effects of the hypnosis, but she managed to stiffly wrap him in a hug.

Baggs let her hold onto him for a couple of minutes before gently pushing her arms away. It felt rather odd allowing a stranger to touch him like that but it wasn't entirely unpleasant either.

Her eyebrows were slightly furrowed with concern and she tilted her head. "I can sense that you're still tense. Would you like it if I tried something different?"

He gave her a curious look. "what else can you do?"

"Well, I know how to use magic to absorb negative feelings."

"i know most humans are incapable of using magic, so could you explain your magic and who taught you how to use it?" he asked.

She nodded and sat down on the ground again, although she crossed her legs this time so she could be more comfortable. "I've always been good at empathizing with people but I can do two things with my magic. I can transfer my own positive emotions to someone else by touching them or I can replace their negative emotions with my own positive ones, absorbing them into my own soul."

She paused for a moment and, sensing that she wasn't willing to reveal who had taught her, Baggs focused his magic again to probe her into telling him.

"His name is Nightmare and...he was also the one who brought me here..." she whispered.

Baggs felt a wave of annoyance flicker over him at the mention of the god of negativity. They'd only met in passing before and it hadn't been a pleasant one.

"Are you okay? I can try comforting you again..." She asked quietly, having apparently sensed his change in demeanor.

He shook his skull and sighed. "no. tell me why he sent you."

Her passive expression faltered and her eyebrows knit together with concern. Still, she was powerless to refuse a direct command in this state.

"Nightmare can sense your negative emotions and he's become very interested in your work," she muttered. "However, I'm not here to convince you to make any deals... I just want to help you."

He knew she was telling the truth and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that Nightmare was using this situation in an attempt to establish good relations. It didn't sit well with him at all.

Baggs fully released his hold on her soul and mind, his right eyelight returning to its usual size and magenta colour as he did so. He could take back the control at anytime and she wouldn't even be able to notice if he did, but he didn't tell her that.

She inhaled sharply and her eyes flicked around the room before settling on him again. As she did so, her body jerked backwards as if to instinctively get away from him but she stopped herself. It was incredibly apparent to any outside observers that she was struggling to remain calm and not freak out, which was commendable.

Baggs stood up and offered her one of his hands to help her stand up as well. "i should apologize for being such a poor host. would you like something to drink?" he inquired.

She grimaced and shook her head but still accepted his help. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't trust you after...that." She looked away from him and dusted her clothing off.

"i understand your concern, but i have no intentions of harming you." He smiled and tried to change the subject with a different question. "may i ask how you came into nightmare's service? you don't seem like the type someone like him would select for his...work."

She smiled while recalling the memory before answering. "You're right, I actually met and befriended his henchmen first. He saw fit to rescue me when my own world collapsed."

He raised his bonebrows in surprise. "I'm amazed you're still in one piece," he remarked dryly.

She chuckled and waved him off. "Well, I have a few more scars now compared to before, but those are mostly from learning self-defense. I'm not deployed for the usual missions so I haven't had to kill anyone yet."

"what missions are you usually deployed on then?"

"I am tasked with the missions that require more tact than what Nightmare himself is able to perform."

It seemed he'd been right from the beginning.

Neither of them said anything for several long seconds. Finally, she put her hand on his shoulder and gave him a gentle smile.

"Is there anything else I can do to help you? I don't know about you but I'd like to at least end this meeting on a pleasant note," Minty commented.

Baggs nodded slightly. "i suppose i can afford to take a break for a little while..." he hummed.

[hesbuckcompton-baby]

UNDRESS FOR YARA PLEEEAAAASE

POETTTT YOU KNOW I GOTTA REPRESENT OUR GIRL!!!! here's some yara x macon POW camp goodness to keep us going <3 ONE WORD PROMPTS warnings: injury description

-> undress

The mattress beneath his back felt as hard as a board as Macon lay still, staring up at the bottom of the bunk above. Those wooden slats that slotted across the bedframe had been his constant companion in the four days since he'd arrived here at the Stalag, the pain in his neck sending a bolt of fear through him whenever he turned his head too far in either direction. Sure, the doctors had looked him over, - given him what help they were willing to offer - but Richard didn't know enough about the nature of a broken neck to risk anything that could cause further damage. And so, he'd scarcely gotten up from this bed since the moment he'd lay down, frightened to move until he was sure something was healing.

During the day, the men and women that crowded this room departed, taking advantage of the Stalag's poor excuse for summer and wandering loop after loop around the barren camp, simply glad to breathe air that wasn't contaminated with the smell of so many bodies crammed into narrow bunks. Every few hours, Daniels or Jefferson would poke their head around the door - make sure he was alright, bring him some terrible, tasteless food, or crack a joke to keep his spirits up. Macon was used to the rest of their fellow inhabitants remaining entirely absent in the daylight hours, so it caught him by surprise when two of the women wandered in, taking a seat at the small table in the middle of the room.

Marty Jarlsson. He remembered her - he wasn't sure he'd ever seen a woman quite like her, so tall and so broad. And then, trailing closely behind, came Yara Katz. On her, he had nothing. There was something strikingly elusive about the woman, a silent, looming presence as she hovered in the corner every evening. He'd seen her speak to the other women, but they stood close and talked in hushed tones - he didn't even know what her voice sounded like.

Without turning his head, he could watch the pair through the corner of his eye, stretching his vision as far to the side as it could go. Yara shrugged off her jacket, a frayed tear visible across the back of the sweater she wore underneath. Reaching up over her head, she pulled off the sweater next, sitting now in nothing but a bra and the layers of bandages that had been unprofessionally wrapped around her shoulder. Macon felt heat suddenly rush to his face, blinking rapidly for a moment as if it would purge the image from his mind, and announcing to the silence "I can leave if you want."

Yara scoffed slightly. "Seriously? No - I'm not letting you screw up your neck for the rest of your life for the sake of my modesty."

They were the first words she'd ever spoken to him - hell, the first words he'd ever heard from her period. Her voice was deeper than he'd imagined - smooth and self-assured, easy to listen to. He caught himself wishing she wouldn't stop.

"Yes, ma'am," Richard uttered, fixing his gaze back on the top bunk as a means of respect. A moment of silence passed, but then she suddenly let out a sharp hiss of pain, and before he could remember what he was looking away from his gaze had snapped towards her, staring as Marty peeled away the last layer of bandage.

Across her right shoulder blade ran two gashes - jagged, red tears through smooth, olive skin. Yara had her dog tag between her teeth, biting down on the metal, eyes screwed shut in pain as Jarlsson began to quietly clean the wounds. Hanging from the same loop as her tag, dangling against her chin, was a Star of David, clearly handmade from a twisted scrap of wire. Macon sucked in a breath. Suddenly her silence made sense.

Marty dabbed with gentle diligence at the cuts, Yara's expression contorting in silent agony every time her crewmate made contact with the sensitive flesh. The room was small, and although she wasn't quite close enough for him to see properly, she remained within arm's reach. Without thinking, he reached out the next time she winced, palm pressed flat against her knee. For a moment, Richard felt her tense, and he considered pulling away, but when Jarlsson began to apply new bandages, wrapping dry linen tight against tender skin, Yara took his hand, squeezing as she sucked in a long, shaking breath.

"Ok, you're good" Marty affirmed, skimming a kind hand against the bare skin of Yara's lower back. She sniffed sharply, nodding as the Norwegian rose to stand and packed away what little medical supplies they had been afforded by the camp's doctor.

"Alright. I'll be out in a sec," Yara spoke, lifting herself out of the chair as she seized her sweater, staring at the tear for a moment before pulling it back over her head, tugging it down until the bandages were once more hidden from sight. Macon had returned his gaze to the bunk above, dutifully pretending not to hear or see anything as Marty left the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall outside until everything fell quiet once more.

"... Your neck's broken, right? That's why you don't move it?" There came that voice again, smooth like honey with the slightest hint of a lisp, so barely perceptible that he wouldn't have noticed it at all had he not been concentrating so hard. The vague imperfection made the prospect of talking back seem suddenly easier.

"That's right. First couple days I couldn't move it at all without passin' out," Richard replied. The scraping of a chair against the floor sounded, and suddenly he could see her, droplets of sweat formed on her forehead as she positioned her seat right beside the edge of the bed, firmly in his line of sight. Yara sat down with a sigh, hands clasped together in her lap.

"... What happened to your shoulder?" He asked slowly, cautiously, as if treading shallow water in search of a drop-off. She poked a finger beneath the neckline of her sweater, rubbing along the edge of the bandage.

"Guard dog slipped the leash about a week ago, before you arrived. Lucky it wasn't worse - you should've seen how the others went at it," Yara chuckled slightly. "Kit and Gale had it by the neck." The mental image almost made him laugh - the even-tempered Cleven and scrawny Lieutenant McKenzie taking it upon themselves.

He liked her smile. Until today he'd never seen her wear anything but a scowl, but even the smallest of smiles seemed to change her entire face, the hardness in her eyes dissipating. Richard couldn't quite fathom how he'd never noticed her before, with all those hours he'd spent in this room with her already. She spent every night in the bunk opposite his, lying on her side to face the wall as if she could somehow forget where she was if she didn't look around. If only he could've met her in better circumstances.

"... You got a cigarette?" He asked after a moment of prolonged silence.

Yara reached for her coat, scrounging around in the pockets. Pausing, she let out a huff of amusement. "Last one," She declared, retrieving a single, slightly bent cigarette.

"Oh, well, I couldn't-"

"Nah, I don't mind," She shrugged, stealing a match from the box hidden beneath the floorboards below DeMarco's bed. They pilfered from one another with such ease here that it would have been impossible for everyone not to have known. Yara struck the match, holding the flame to the end of the cigarette. As smoke began to waft from its end, she reached out, her palm brushing against his chin as she held it to his lips. Macon inhaled, sucking in the smoke as he lifted his own hand to take it from her, their fingertips brushing against each other's in a movement so minuscule and yet big enough to send that heat rising to his face once more.

Yara smirked slightly. He realised he hadn't pulled his gaze away from her face since the moment she'd produced that cigarette, a tiny act of selflessness that was like a holy miracle in a place like this. With a faint sigh, she stood up from her seat, placing the battered metal dish they used as an ashtray on the chair beside him. "I'll... see you later," She stated.

"You gotta go?"

"Yeah."

He could tell she wasn't going to offer any further explanation. "Alright. See you later."

She seized her coat, pulling it on over her shoulders. Even in August, it was cold here - he shuddered to think of the conditions the others had suffered in the months before his arrival. She could cross a room without ever making a sound - no rustle of fabric or creak of a footstep - as if she'd never entered at all. Even before she'd left, Macon missed her presence, feeling her absence the moment she turned away from him.

"Thank you," Yara paused in the doorway, speaking one last time.

His brow furrowed slightly. "For what?"

She shrugged. "Holding my hand."

[analogwriting]

Star-Crossed

Chapter 3: Calon

Donquixote Rosinante x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k

a/n: happy valentines day! i wanted to get something out on heart day related to our heart man! i have, like, half an hour to spare so i made it (barely) have some flirting

next

After crying to Marco for a good while, you were finally able to collect yourself. He listened as you sobbed incoherently before finally able to tell him what you were trying to say the whole time. Hell, it even almost brought a tear to his own eye. The kid you saved all those years ago just happened to come back? That he had become a doctor somewhat because of you? Wanted to work here because of you? If that wasn’t the sweetest thing, he wouldn’t know what was.

All of the dots were connecting. To what? You had no idea, but things were connecting. Now to just go with the flow and find out what happens. 

Once you gathered yourself back up, you went back to work. You didn’t have time to wallow or really dwell on emotions for too long. Hospitals didn’t run themselves…maybe this is what Marco meant by you work way too much. 

Law didn’t ask who saved him again, seemingly respecting their decision to remain anonymous. You knew you’d tell him one day, you just weren’t ready for that bag of worms right now. You were already in enough of a tizzy with them coming back here. And there you were, using the word tizzy. Dammit Marco.

The weeks flew by and, before you knew it, it was time for quarterly reviews. Naturally, the two nearly had perfect marks. You had a couple of critiques here and there, but you would coach them through it as did Marco. This was still part of their learning process, after all. They both took well to the criticism, so that was also good. You had far too many people who just couldn’t take such comments. They never lasted long. Hell, you still received criticism from others to this day. It was a constant learning process.

You had made sure to check in on Law and Robin at least once a week. Marco kept you updated of course, but you liked to be able to talk to the interns themselves and get their feedback on their programs.The two of them didn’t seem to have any complaints. They were adjusting well and were enjoying their time. Well, with Law you couldn’t tell. He still didn’t say a whole lot, but he didn’t seem unhappy, so there was that. 

Today, some new nurses were starting. There were three of them. Two regular nurses and one that was going to be working in the pediatric unit. When you went to the conference room to meet them, you noticed Law with them. He saw you and immediately went white.

“You know them? Why didn’t you say anything?” You tilted your head to the side, folding your arms across your chest. You had mentioned some new nurses and he never once said anything. Why?

Law’s face darkened as if he was a child that had gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. “Uh, it never came up?” You narrowed your eyes at him for a moment. The trip suddenly threw their arms around Law and his face grew more red, but he didn’t seem to fight them.

You just shook your head, amused by the scene. “Aw, c’mon, boss! Don’t be like that! We’ve been friends since we were kids!” One of them chimed. “We all wanted to also help people, but we weren’t sure if we had what it took to be doctors…so we went with the next best thing!” Another chimed.

You laughed, nodding. “I see that. Well, nurses are just as important as doctors. They are the face of the hospital. They are the first people that patients see and do a lot of things to help doctors.” 

They just stared at you, shocked by your answer. “What?” 

“A lot of people usually laughed at us for wanting to be nurses. Saying that we’re too stupid to be doctors and that’s why we’re nurses.”

You frowned, shaking your head. “That’s not true. Nurses have to memorize a lot. It isn’t easy and they work just as hard. And from your marks, you all scored really high, so clearly you’re not lacking in the brain department. Just because you don’t have the title of doctor or don’t go to school as long doesn’t mean you’re any less important.”

The three nurses looked at you. It almost seemed like they wanted to cry. “Law, why didn’t you tell us your boss was so cool!” They all cried. “Ah, get off of me!” Still, he didn’t exactly fight them off either.

“What’s going on here?” You look over, seeing Marco join your side as he watches the scene before him. “Would you look at that, he does have a heart,” he mumbled to you, making you elbow him in the ribs. “Be nice.”

You watched the scene for a moment more before you spoke up. “Alright, let’s let Law get back to work. We have some introductions, yeah?” The quartet all split up, Law quickly beelining for the exit once he was free. It truly was nice to see this softer side of him. That was always incredibly important when it came to being a doctor - in your opinion. Some would argue and say otherwise, but you knew what you were about. There was a reason your hospital was one of the top in the region.

Introductions began and you learned their names were Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin. They had grown up with Law, meeting him shortly after he left your hospital. They all grew up in the same town and all moved here along with him. Friends for life they had said. It was truly heartwarming. 

You had known Marco in the same way. You knew him before you had become a doctor, but you weren’t really friends. You knew each other in passing because your fathers used to be friends, but you didn’t really start becoming friends until college. Now you were basically attached at the hip. 

Again, you weren’t able to stay for long past introductions as you had meetings to attend to, but you were glad to have been able to witness the cute scene earlier. It also provided some insight on some other things. 

When lunch rolled around, you needed to get out of the office. Meetings made you want to bash your head into the wall already, but with the board of doctors from other hospitals, it was worse. Most of the time it wasn’t even important. They all just wanted to fluff their own egos and brag about whatever they did that week. You couldn’t care less and you were never one to brag, but you had to attend the meetings for a reason you’d long forgotten.

You decided you’d treat the newcomers and your interns to lunch. The nurses were fresh off the press and the interns had glowing reviews for their quarterlies, so you thought you’d treat them to something nice. A welcome and a celebration.

You picked out a nice restaurant, told them to pick out what they wanted, and you’d go get it. The trio of nurses were more than excited to receive free food, so you kept that in mind. Robin had initially declined, saying that her boyfriend was going to come and visit, but you told her to pick something out for him as well. You had met him a few times before and he was…well…super. Fantastic guy. He was full of energy and always treated Robin with the utmost respect. He was her fanboy and she was his fangirl. You could tell they were in love - it was cute.

After grabbing all the food, you started heading back. It wasn’t far from the hospital and you could use the fresh air; you decided to just walk there and back. On your way back, however, you had that feeling again. Ah, shit. How were you supposed to do this with your hands full? Your body moved and you braced yourself for everything crashing to the ground, but your foot stuck out instead, catching someone - everyone knows who - on your leg like a clothesline.

“Again?” you grumbled, rolling your eyes. Rosinante quickly straightened himself out and you stood back up. He looked at you with amazement. “Not only is it you saving me again, but you did it with no hands!” He seemed completely and totally flabbergasted. 

Though, you’re not sure how you always miss him. How do you never see him before the moment of impact? It’s not like he’s exactly the type of person to blend into a crowd. He was insanely tall. Sure, there were other people who were also just as tall, if not taller. You knew of a pastor downtown who was like a skyscraper, and a lot of the Charlotte family had incredibly tall people in their family tree.

But still, how? Especially with how observant you are. Nothing usually slips past you, but he somehow does every single time.

“How do you always show up at the most convenient times?” he asked, still staring at you. You shrugged, giving him a lazy smile. “Maybe it’s fate bringing us together,” you teased, winking at him. You had no idea why you did that, you started mentally scolding yourself. Maybe Marco was getting to you - or at least influencing you.

You watched as his eyes widened and his entire face turned a bright red color. You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction, shaking your head. “Chill out, I’m only kidding.” You mused, turning to leave. “Alright, be careful!” 

You didn’t want to be around him too long in fear of saying the wrong thing and him finding out everything. It was always a constant fear in the back of your mind. That he’d make all the connections. Who you were in relation to what happened but also being who you were and then things going belly up. What would he even do? You had no idea. Logically nothing, but you couldn’t help but worry in that overthinking brain of yours.

“Wait!” You stopped, mentally cursing. Of course. Fate and her games. “Where are you going with all that food? I could help you!”

You narrowed your eyes, looking him up and down. “I don’t know if I trust you.” He was an incredibly clumsy person and you really didn’t want to have to come back for more food. You already almost lost everything once. You didn’t want to lose it for real.

He shrugged, looking you dead in the eyes. “I think I’ll be fine with you by my side.” 

You weren’t sure if it was the eye contact or with the way he phrased it but now you were the one turning red and he was the one that was smirking. You sputtered for a moment, quickly recovering. “F-Fine.” You let him take some of the food, relaxing a bit more as you weren’t struggling as much. 

On the walk back, you made some small talk. Mostly about his clumsiness since that’s how the two of you kept running into each other. You had to catch him a couple of times so he didn’t end up ruining the food. Then you smelled something…burning?

“What’s that smell?” You stopped, sniffing the air before looking at Rosinante. Your eyes bulged out of your head as you saw that the man was on fire. “What?!” You were floored. Who the hell just caught on fire like that? What the hell? You set your things on the ground before ripping off your jacket and trying to beat the flame.

After it was put out and you were over your initial shock, you picked up your things and continued walking. “Does that happen often?” you asked, referring to the literal roast that Rosinante just received. “Ah, sometimes. Not sure how it happens.”

“Well, when you figure it out, let me know because that’s not normal but it’s also kind of fascinating.” 

The both of you laughed and next thing you knew, you were at the hospital. “Oh, we’re here.”

Rosinante stopped, staring at the building. “Oh, you work here?” There was a mixture of emotions on his face but he pushed those aside to look at you. You nodded at him. “It’s my hospital, actually. I run it.” You grinned widely at him.

His jaw dropped. “That means you know my son! He works here!” You feigned ignorance, pretending to not know. “Oh? Who’s your son?”

“Law! He wanted to be a doctor and he wanted to come here after they saved his life! It’s the whole reason we moved back.” His face softened. “We were also hoping we’d be able to meet our savior if they were still around, but it seems like they want to remain anonymous, just like back then. Which is understandable considering…” He trailed off, looking at you as he realized he was probably saying too much.

You shook your head. “It’s okay, you don’t have to disclose everything to me.” You smirked, winking at him. “But, patient confidentiality and all that, I wouldn’t tell a soul.”

“I’m not a patient though.”

“Did I not treat your wounds the last time I saw you?”

“That…is a good point. I can see why you’re a doctor.”

“Thank you, thank you. My sharp mind is what got me to where I am.” You bowed ostentatiously, making him laugh. A grin spread across your own face.

“Doctor!” You looked over, seeing one of your underground nurses running towards the both of you. “We have an emergency!” You could only imagine what could’ve been happening. With the underground hospital, it could be anything. But, usually, you weren’t exactly needed, so if someone was looking for you, it had to be bad.

You immediately tensed, looking at the man next to you. “Can I ask you for a huge favor?”

“I mean, you’ve saved my ass more than once, I think I can spare a favor or two for you.” He smiled lopsidedly and you offered a small one in return.

“Can you please take the food inside to the front desk so I can deal with this emergency? Just tell them that I told you to drop it off. The receptionist will take it from there.” The man nodded, taking the rest of the food.

“Leave it to me.”

You smiled, thanking him. “You’re a lifesaver. And be careful!” Then you ran off with the nurse, hoping that whatever the emergency was, it wasn’t too awful.

[robotsrawesome64]

ohhh please can you do cod match up for me?? i'm female, german, 27, aquarius and work as an artist and project manager at an agency specialised in classical music. at work i'm very organized, detail oriented and efficient, but in private i like to slow things down. i guess you could say i have two personalities: at work i like getting things done and have no problem arguing with people, but in private i literally hate calling the doctor's office lol.

it's very hard for me to take my brain off work and usually only achieve that by getting engrossed in a show or painting. i like cooking, not so much baking. my hobbies are reading, going for walks (how very german of me), playing with my cat. i can be very funny, but i am more introverted and a very good listener. my love language is acts of service.

my cod favourites are price, ghost and könig, but at the moment i'm leaning more towards könig.

thank you very much and lots of kisses 😍

and I AGREE::: (shorter and sweet ones now SORRYYt_t Cue some HCs/drabbley things:)

 @/fairypurgatory on pin & @/jolvelyn on twt [art]

W: Intimidating newer man in your house O God, dark if you think about it (sprinkle sprinkle glitter sparkles on the war criminal), abrupt end

◈ Okay. Neighbour. Neighbour König. (AARRURURURURURU GET MARRIED GET MARRIED GET- GET--)

◈ After many sweet-talkings outside your respective doors, y'all had a date due at your place. If you cooked for him- omigod. Social expectations be damned, the clear thought and skill behind it… When he looked back up at you, eyes boring into yours, you were half worried you'd bought a serial killer home? (Which I mean, technically yes, don't ask too much about his job history-) But no, his ridiculously intense, maliciously-coded gaze was that one of determined enrapturement. ◈ It was an amusing juxtaposition to see him meet your cat. Tough guy, tryna be smooth, leaning on the side of the doorframe.. Before his intense focus was interrupted by something fluffy and he hit his head and almost cried. He's not the best with animals, but after enough visits they become casually inseparable, and a key part of the cuddle pile. If your cat wasn't spoiled already they were now. Hey, the pair of you aren't half bad at taking care of something.

◈ Doubly fell in love with you when he saw you popping off at work. He got called in for something important you left at home, god forbid, but of course he had your back, emergency key and all. He knows all too well the importance of things needing to go to plan. But forgive him if he just stared in awe like a motherfucker seeing you go off on someone.

◈ Oh, don't you worry. When your teeth are clenching looking down at your practice's phone number for that long overdue appointment- it's right there, just a click away,- König will snatch it from you. Mixed feelings, perhaps his confidence a little infantilizing, but… it's like a vice is undoubtedly unclamped as he waddles away with the dreaded compressed waiting room music (as if it was a totally normal thing to do). He'd confirm any details prior bending over behind you, rubbing your shoulder and cooing in your ear about it. Because of course you can do it, darling, but he's always there~…

◈ Takes great smug pride in a)taking care of you, if that's something you want- and b)being with you. Uh, yeah, the badass work-focused bigshot is his? And putty in his arms? That's right. So proud of showing you off to others at any possible convenience. 'Tries' to be subtle about it. Keyword 'tries'.

◈ He needs a break too. Proudly, toxic-masculinely denies any interest at first, but would ultimately happily waste away binging something with you. Colours and shapes reflecting off the TV onto his narrow, goofy lil' glasses, eyebrows slightly furrowed in focus as he guillibly complains about some ragebait. Uses you as a human weighted blanket laid on him, supporting your back with his chest.

◈ König's a prevalent yapper during whatever you do together. He plans as much as you'll allow, whisking you off for dinners, lunches- all expenses paid (or halfsies). Or elaborate hiking trails he insists you join him on, though sometimes he likes to choose the ones with tricky bits as an excuse to help or carry you.

[meeblo]

favorite..AND least fav arknights operators?

Favorites gameplay-wise are probably Muelsyse and Jessica the Liberated. Their kits are both very dynamic and fun to use, with a focus on smart positioning I find to be quite engaging, with optimizing the adjacent tiles for Muelsyse's ranged clone to split to or adjacent tiles to use Jessica's shield to allow her to change direction with.

Story-wise, there's too many to really narrow it down, so I'll pick some favorites by storyline. Amiya deserves a mention from the main story, she's a very interesting take on a paragon protagonist with distinct moments of fallibility and an allowance in the narrative for her to be wrong and then change as a result. Kal'tsit and Doctor are both fascinating as well, which is why it's such a shame that Kal'tsit is so maligned for talking too much in the story (she really doesn't) and Doctor is often just boiled down to a self insert (they really aren't). Ch'en wins "most improved" in the main story, I disliked her on her first introduction but really came around as the main story progressed with learning her backstory and scenes such as the end of episode 6/beginning of episode 7 (Dossoles Holiday Ch'en is still lame though). Mudrock is a very interesting figure, especially with how she fits with Big Bob as having chosen to leave Reunion behind and the differing lives they chose to lead afterwards; I'd love if we could get a flashback eventually of Mudrock speaking with Patriot before she left reunion, it would be a fascinating conversation for sure. From the Rhine Lab storyline, Muelsyse and Saria are my two favorites, with Silence earning an honorable mention as well; Muelsyse I wrote an analysis post up about a while ago (pre lone trail but it still mostly holds up). It's hard to boil down why I like Mumu and Saria most of the Rhine Lab storyline in a few sentences, can't think of how to make it succinct. Kroos and Saga are the standouts of the Sui storyline, with Who is Real in particular being the most interesting Sui event in my opinion with the subject matter it covers about morality as related to perception and the nature of value within art. Kroos is possibly my favorite alter in the game with how her files and story in events gives you enough to read between the lines about what changed her to bring her to who she became and what elements of the younger Kroos remain. Goldenglow is a standout lead for one of the best vignette events, it's very interesting structurally with how it nonlinearly shifts PoVs and timeframes by vignette. Texas, Penance, and Lappland all are phenomenal in Il Siracusano, which is in contention for being my favorite event story; it's hard to sum up exactly why other than that Il Siracusano is simply just that good. Jessica in Come Catastrophes or Wakes of Vultures is phenomenal; it's the best event they've released recently (though I was too busy to ready Zwillingsturme so I can't judge there). Exusiai deserves a mention as well; she was my first six star, but she also has a lot of interesting story connections buried beneath the surface despite never truly headlining an event story.

As for least favorites, I don't really have much I outright dislike. I suppose Ch'en alter, if only because it means Ch'en will likely never get a (narratively) good alter now and thus will never be the focus of a story again because that slot was already taken up with a waste of a summer alter. I wish we could have had a main story Ch'en alter instead. In general I hate whenever a limited operator is meta on principle, because the limited operator system is inherently predatory and hostile to people especially those who haven't been playing since year 1, though if I must pick one I'd say Skadi the Corrupting Heart annoys me most because the roles she fills are highly effective and simply cannot be approximated by any other operators. Thank god for the 5th anniversary free character finally alleviating that.

[quietwingsinthesky]

(Follow up to one of my previous asks)

Could you do a follow up of the Rose/Missy prompt? I'm just thinking about what might happen after when the Doctor sees her, the interactions between the three of them (plus Clara!).

It would be soooo fun to see the Doctor's reaction to Rose being you know. There.

-🌺 Anon

(doctor voice) these are my three girlfriends and YES they smoke weed

When the Doctor wakes up, there are three faces staring down at him—two he recognizes and one that leaves him with the nagging feeling that he should. He’s not sure where to look. Names jumble together on his tongue.

“Doctor?” says Rose, and she can’t be here. It’s not so far out of the question that he’s seeing ghosts after being knocked on the head. He can’t let himself talk to her. That’s too much like hope. He casts his gaze over to her side.

“Clara,” he says. She’s down with him in a moment. He has to see the shock cross Rose’s face, and he’s only able to stand it because she isn’t real. The real Rose is alive and happy and so far beyond his reach. Better for it, he knows. Better to be far, far away from him.

“Missy!” says the third figure. “Introductions over. On your feet, Doctor, I’ve got another present for you.”

“I’m not a present,” Rose says, in the long-suffering tone of someone who has had this conversation many times and never been able to change how it goes. Missy ignores her. The Doctor clasps at Clara’s offered hands to sit up. It’s only when she glares up at the other two woman-

“Clara,” he whispers, poorly by how both Missy and Rose immediately look at him, “can you see her?”

“Which one?” Clara says. “The one who told me she wants to skin me to make a handbag”—Missy grins, folding her hands like she is completely innocent. He has a terrible feeling that he knows exactly who she is.—“or the one who was too busy making puppy-dog eyes are you while you were out to notice?”

“I was not-” Rose starts.

“You definitely were,” Missy says. “Watch what you say, Clara. She bites!”

“So do I,” Clara mutters.

The Doctor stares, his mouth half-open, as the three of them bicker. It’s Rose who notices first.

“Hey,” she says, so simply. He knows Clara is glancing back at him, but he can’t look away from Rose. Not when she smiles. He’s missed that like sunlight, the memory never as bright as the real thing. He lifts one hand towards Rose, and she takes it as invitation, falling down to the floor with him and Clara and wrapping her arms around him so hard that the air gets shoved out of his lungs. Clara stubbornly holds onto his other hand, so he strokes through Rose’s hair with just one. “You have no idea how long I’ve missed you.”

“You can’t imagine,” Missy adds, and he lifts his gaze over Rose’s shoulder as breathes in the scent of her hair for the first time in centuries. It scares him, the little sympathy he finds on Missy’s face, because if she is who he thinks she is, then he’s not sure he wants to know what Rose means.

He tries to keep the questions out of his mouth, at least for now, to have this moment untainted. Rose burrows into him. “You got old,” she says, fondly.

“Not that old,” he says, and he thinks to tell her about the face that came before, the young one he thinks now would have been more to her taste-

“It looks good on you,” she says, settling him. She pulls back. “Still my Doctor, then?”

“Your Doctor?” Clara asks.

“My Doctor,” Missy speaks over both of them. “I don’t share.” Rose tosses her head to face her.

“Come down here,” Rose says. Missy narrows her eyes at her, but the indignity of following an order is far outweighed by getting close to him. Or, so he assumes from how she butts in between him and Rose to steal a kiss. Rose laughs. Clara gasps, gripping his hand tighter. Even when he’s finally allowed to breathe again, he’s still dizzy. Missy lifts his hand to kiss his pulse at his wrist twice before bringing his hand to her chest to confirm what he’s suspected.

He looks between them, Rose practically (or is she actually…? No, must be a trick of the light) lit up with excitement, Missy deviously stealing into more and more of his personal space, and Clara doing very little to hide her jealousy but still watching, eyes dark and far more hungry than they should be.

He’s not sure how he’s going to survive them, but he will ride out every last moment holding on as hard as he can.

[regscupid]

8/28 prompt: injury - EMT regulus, james is concussed (712 words) - @jegulus-microfic

James has done many, many stupid things in his life. When he was twelve, he broke his elbow throwing himself through a window during a very intense game of indoor football. When he was sixteen, he tried to stand up on the back of Sirius’ motorcycle as it was moving– leaving him with road rash and his parents banning both of them from standing within twenty feet of the bike for a month. At nineteen he drunkenly fell off a roof at a party, though the tequila made the stitches fairly painless.

Where he always excelled in school for being naturally book-smart, he could be right stupid about his physical wellbeing. A skateboard he’d never once attempted to ride in his life and a metal railing along a concrete staircase he decided he was skilled enough to ride on later, that fact is only further drilled into his head– along with a deep ache and some ringing.

Sirius frets over James, crying heavily when the ambulance arrives. As soon as it’s stopped moving, he flies up to tell one of the EMTs what happened, while the other EMT dashes forward with a bag in hand before dropping to his knees beside him.

James feels the breath in his chest catch when his eyes meet the most beautiful ones he’s ever seen. Grey and piercing, a bit familiar but captivating in a way he didn’t know possible. Then, he takes in a stuttered gasp when his eyes flicker over the rest of the man and realizes it's not just his eyes, all of him is like that. Severe cheekbones, an angled jawline, sharp, narrow shoulders. His eyes reach their final destination and James wonders if he could soften the hard set of his mouth. He doesn’t know if it’s the head trauma speaking but he decides immediately that he needs to get injured more often if it means this man will come rescue him.

“Can you tell me your full name?”

“James Fleamont Potter,” Even in his current state, he can hear how breathless he sounds.

The beautiful man gets a crease between his eyebrows when he brings out a little flashlight and shines it briefly in both of James’ eyes.

“Alright James, do you know where you are?”

“Uh, the ground,” James knows it’s the wrong answer when he narrows his eyes and opens his pretty mouth to say something so he rushes to correct himself, “The stairs in front of the university library.”

“Alright, good. That’s good.” James practically beams. “What’s today’s date?”

“The twenty-eighth? I think?”

“That’s correct. Are you able to recall what happened here?”

James grimaces, not keen on recounting his stupidity to the man he’d decided might be his soulmate for all he knows. God, he hopes so.

“I was uh, trying to ride down the railing on that skateboard. But I don’t know how to skateboard. So I… fell. Like, halfway down.”

The man rapidly blinks three times in succession. Takes a frankly well-concealed deep breath, and nods his head once. A stretcher shows up beside them and James realizes the other EMT rolled it out and Sirius was standing next to the ambulance on the phone, likely speaking to Euphemia or Remus.

“I see. Well I don’t think it’s anything serious but we’ll have you at the hospital soon where a doctor can get a better idea. Sound good?”

“I’ll go wherever if you’re there.” James says without a moment’s hesitation and almost regrets it until his pale complexion allows an obvious blush to spread across his cheeks and ears.

The other EMT snorts loudly. James doesn’t know what the guy looks like, his eyes don’t leave the man’s face.

“Alright, James, up you go.” The man doesn’t meet his eyes as both EMTs move him to the stretcher. James almost, almost pouts.

“I’ll drive, Reg.” The other EMT slaps Reg on the shoulder, causing his blush to return in full-force.

“Evan I swear to-” He hisses.

James is making the delightful realization that that means he’ll be in the back of the ambulance with him the whole ride, before his train of thought is interrupted by the sudden paling of Reg’s face. He follows his line of sight to an equally pale Sirius.

“Regulus?”

[quietwings-fics]

one, two, three

Rating: General Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Fandom: Doctor Who Ship: ClaraMissyRoseTwelve Additional Tags: Pre-Poly, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Bickering, Humor, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence Wordcount: 747 Summary:

When the Doctor wakes up, there are three faces staring down at him—two he recognizes and one that leaves him with the nagging feeling that he should.

Prompt:

"Could you do a follow up of the Rose/Missy prompt? I'm just thinking about what might happen after when the Doctor sees her, the interactions between the three of them (plus Clara!). It would be soooo fun to see the Doctor's reaction to Rose being you know. There."

When the Doctor wakes up, there are three faces staring down at him—two he recognizes and one that leaves him with the nagging feeling that he should. He’s not sure where to look. Names jumble together on his tongue.

“Doctor?” says Rose, and she can’t be here. It’s not so far out of the question that he’s seeing ghosts after being knocked on the head. He can’t let himself talk to her. That’s too much like hope. He casts his gaze over to her side.

“Clara,” he says. She’s down with him in a moment. He has to see the shock cross Rose’s face, and he’s only able to stand it because she isn’t real. The real Rose is alive and happy and so far beyond his reach. Better for it, he knows. Better to be far, far away from him.

“Missy!” says the third figure. “Introductions over. On your feet, Doctor, I’ve got another present for you.”

“I’m not a present,” Rose says, in the long-suffering tone of someone who has had this conversation many times and never been able to change how it goes. Missy ignores her. The Doctor clasps at Clara’s offered hands to sit up. It’s only when she glares up at the other two woman-

“Clara,” he whispers, poorly by how both Missy and Rose immediately look at him, “can you see her?”

“Which one?” Clara says. “The one who told me she wants to skin me to make a handbag”—Missy grins, folding her hands like she is completely innocent. He has a terrible feeling that he knows exactly who she is.—“or the one who was too busy making puppy-dog eyes at you while you were out to notice?”

“I was not-” Rose starts.

“You definitely were,” Missy says. “Watch what you say, Clara. She bites!”

“So do I,” Clara mutters.

The Doctor stares, his mouth half-open, as the three of them bicker. It’s Rose who notices first.

“Hey,” she says, so simply. He knows Clara is glancing back at him, but he can’t look away from Rose. Not when she smiles. He’s missed that like sunlight, the memory never as bright as the real thing. He lifts one hand towards Rose, and she takes it as invitation, falling down to the floor with him and Clara and wrapping her arms around him so hard that the air gets shoved out of his lungs. Clara stubbornly holds onto his other hand, so he strokes through Rose’s hair with just one. “You have no idea how long I’ve missed you.”

“You can’t imagine,” Missy adds, and he lifts his gaze over Rose’s shoulder as breathes in the scent of her hair for the first time in centuries. It scares him, the little sympathy he finds on Missy’s face, because if she is who he thinks she is, then he’s not sure he wants to know what Rose means.

He tries to keep the questions out of his mouth, at least for now, to have this moment untainted. Rose burrows into him. “You got old,” she says, fondly.

“Not that old,” he says, and he thinks to tell her about the face that came before, the young one he thinks now would have been more to her taste-

“It looks good on you,” she says, settling him. She pulls back. “Still my Doctor, then?”

“Your Doctor?” Clara asks.

“My Doctor,” Missy speaks over both of them. “I don’t share.” Rose tosses her head to face her.

“Come down here,” Rose says. Missy narrows her eyes at her, but the indignity of following an order is far outweighed by getting close to him. Or, so he assumes from how she butts in between him and Rose to steal a kiss. Rose laughs. Clara gasps, gripping his hand tighter. Even when he’s finally allowed to breathe again, he’s still dizzy. Missy lifts his hand to kiss his pulse at his wrist twice before bringing his hand to her chest to confirm what he’s suspected.

He looks between them, Rose practically (or is she actually…? No, must be a trick of the light) lit up with excitement, Missy deviously stealing into more and more of his personal space, and Clara doing very little to hide her jealousy but still watching, eyes dark and far more hungry than they should be.

He’s not sure how he’s going to survive them, but he will ride out every last moment holding on as hard as he can.

(Enjoyed it? Any interaction is welcomed. You can even support me on Ko-Fi <3)

[elvenbeard]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Yes I'm actually doing this on a Wednesday wooo :D

I just went back through all my tags of the last month and man, you guys ;__; <3 I'm not good at keeping up with tumblr atm and I don't have something to share every week, so I think once a month a WIP Wednesday might be a good compromise XD Thank you for all the tags!!

@theviridianbunny @dreamskug @ouroboros-hideout @lokiina @therealnightcity @chevvy-yates tagging you all right back!

So, with that off of my list of works in progress, as is answering all the tag games and quizzes, some projects I'm working on atm:

Writing: Love is stored in the olive jar (WT) - Chapter 13

It's done, but still needs a lot of editing, as it got very heavy on dialogue in the end and I want it all to flow more nicely and make it a bit more scenic XD Too many instances of "she looked up again" or "he paused for a moment/second" xD But I'm getting there! Here's a snippet from the already somewhat polished beginning:

“Alright,” Fuentes said as she finally caught her breath again, “I suggest we cut straight to the chase.” “Yes,” V nodded, “Thank you again for taking the time.” “Of course,” Fuentes nodded, “I have to admit, I have been thinking about you and your case a lot these past days. Even with the limited knowledge I have so far, I still believe I may be able to help. If you are willing now to tell me more about your condition now, of course.” ‘Willing’ wasn’t the word V would use, it was more a necessity at this point. “I will,” he said, “But only if you can provide me with a certain level of security.” Fuentes shifted in her chair slightly and frowned, then she opened one of the drawers of her desk and pulled out a tablet. She turned it on and began to search for something on it while maintaining eye contact with V as best as she managed. “You’ve come here today as my patient. As far as I’m concerned, everything, anything that we discuss, falls under the doctor-patient confidentiality. My contract with the Little China MedCenter binds me to treat your data and information with utmost care and discretion. All data we store is locked away securely, all in accordance with your Trauma Team policy. I can resend you the patient information papers and contracts, although I think most of them you should already have…” “I care less about the MedCenter than about what you personally do with the information I’m going to give you,” V said, and Fuentes stopped her search, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m not sure what you’re alluding to,” she said, still polite, but significantly more tense than before. “Nothing,” V shook his head carefully, “This is just not something I tell random strangers on the street… no offense, of course. If I have to play with open cards, I need you to as well.”

In which Vince hates doctors but has to trust one now, boo XD

Writing: Some drabbles :3

Inbetween the longfic I still have some ask prompt drabbles to fill that I'm looking forward to tackling soon! And in a sudden burst of inspiration I wrote out a long although not very serious convo between Vince and Johnny the other day xD I'd love to turn it into a (VP) comic maybe, but I'm not sure yet XD

Art: Nothing new since last time, slowly chipping away at some bigger projects inbetween

VP: Currently no concrete plans for a bigger project

Although I wanna do more "days in the life" for Vince!! And I wanna play around more with some poses though and have a very soft set to share that I gotta edit a bit still ;_; Tomorrow probably!

Also, I'd like to turn the interface thingies from my recent "V as NPC" projects into shareable templates, that is also on my wip/ to-do list! Just wanna gather some in-game reference shots first :D

Modding: 👀👀👀

I'm working on a little something maybe, and I'm so excited :DDD Just gotta relearn how to do Archive XL, it's been half a year xD And I fought MLSetup Builder so fucking hard, but now I know how to edit MLMask Setups, so that's a victory at least XD And I have a base for a very kitschy coat :3

But yes, so much to that so far! See you again in a month or so probably with an ever-growing pile of wips xD But maybe some more writing, maybe some more art, and maybe a finished mod after too long 👀

[missingcarrion]

carrion //ch10 tomorrow

tw/cw : alcohol, transphobia

notes aasimar is pookie i love him

taglist: @tapioca-milktea1978 @neapolitantoebeans

masterlist

-

Seated around a table, Shepherd finds himself amongst a few of the Institute’s greatest minds. Across from him sits Aasimar, who looks almost bored, and he flicks tiny paper balls at another who seems annoyed but attempts to keep her composure. She grows increasingly more and more upset with him, however.

The others ignore them, and largely they ignore him too which is something that still feels odd to him. But he tries not to think on it too hard. They were called into this meeting for a reason. Whatever that reason is.

“Can someone get it to stop flicking things at me,” the woman seethes, and her badge reveals her to be Lucille Greenwich, interim head of the defense department. “Could we not find another feasible replacement for the Doctor instead of using this … miscreant?”

Aasimar snorts, and it perturbs Shepherd how casual he is. She has just insulted him, reduced him down to an ‘it’, an object, inhuman. And yet, he laughs! He almost takes pleasure in it.

“Please, you and I both know I’m not going anywhere,” he leans back, letting out a low hiss of discomfort with the position change before hes back to smiling. “You’ll have to try much harder to get me out of here.”

“How about I strangle you?”

“Mm, I might like that, but not from you. I’m in a bit of an exclusive… relationship of sorts.” He waves his hand and laughs at the way Lucille almost chokes.

Shepherd flushes and his eyes widen ever so slightly. Is that… Does Aasimar speak of them? Is this dating? Too many questions barrel through him and there just isn’t the time to ask. Luckily, the meeting commences when the boss walks in. No name comes up when Shepherd looks at him, nor does he wear a badge. A strategic move, maybe, but he’s not sure.

“That’s enough, you two,” he says, and Shepherd notices the woman straighten out, “how is it that you are in charge of defense and yet, you let little Aasimar get on your nerves so easily. And Aasimar, you ought to know better. We are here for a reason, your petty squabbles will get you no further.”

“Of course, boss man,” Aasimar bows his head slowly, “I was merely having a bit of harmless fun while we wait. No harm no foul.”

Shepherd can’t help but stare at Aasimar. He seems almost entirely relaxed, like he knows he can’t be punished for his behavior. And for a moment, their gazes meet, and Aasimar smiles. He looks so… beautiful, with a smile like that.

“I see our latest project is up and running,” the man interrupts Shepherd’s thoughts, eyeing him like some slab of fresh meat on a table, “good, good, has he been trained in combat yet?”

Aasimar shifts, uncomfortably, the smile dropping from his face. “I don’t see why he must be trained to fight. He was designed to help people, right?”

Shepherd remains silent – the look on Aasimar’s face tells him it’s pertinent that he remain quiet, the perfect example of a well behaved weapon. But he’s curious, is this man the creator of the Institute?

“He will only help those loyal to the Institute,” he said, his tone almost grim, yet calculative, “and punish those who stand against us. Simple. Why do you think we made him as big as he is? He’s designed for power and domination.”

“Ah, Aasimar only mourns not having him as a plaything for his lab,” another jests, the head of communications, but Shepherd quickly deems him unimportant. “He loves having toys to play with. Or fuck. Whatever works for him, really.”

The table laughs, but Aasimar does not. He shrinks in his seat, gaze casted downwards. He is… ashamed. It takes everything in Shepherd to sit quietly, to pretend not to care that they had objectified him and hurt Aasimar’s feelings all in one fell swoop, but there’s anger boiling inside of him. Anger that’s festered since the day he’d woken up.

“He provides better results than you, Edwards,” the Boss narrows his eyes, silencing their laughter in an instant, “who is it that’s provided alternatives to fixing the smog in the southlands? Who is it that’s returned the extinct flora of the eons past to us? Certainly not you. The Doctor is a more trustworthy guardian of Shepherd than you.”

“You’d truly trust a weapon bioengineered for warfare with… with her?” The air in the room goes still.

Her? Shepherd thinks, Aasimar is not…. His mind trails off, there had been peculiar scars on Aasi’s chest, but nothing out of the ordinary, not really anyway. But her? That just isn’t right – the slip of Lucille’s tongue has Aasimar standing abruptly, wobbling on his feet.

“I’m not a her, Lucille. I have been here for almost ten years, you know that. Call me that again and I’ll tear your spine out through your mouth.” His fists clench, trembling with white-knuckle rage.  

“That is enough. I trust him with far more than you think,” the Boss hisses, “Aasimar, why don’t you… meander about the town? Take it with you. He needs more… freedoms if the project is to work.”

Aasimar’s wrath doesn’t waver easy, and he nods through gritted teeth. “Shepherd, come.”

The members of the meeting mean little to Shepherd as he stands, carefully maneuvering himself past the seated members, hoping their gazes see nothing beyond the shell he wants them to see. He follows behind Aasimar, head down as he ducks beneath doorways too small for his largeness.

“Aasi,” he says, softly, pulling them into a hallway, tucked away from the main hall, “Aasi, what did she mean? Why did she say that?”

“It’s not – it’s not true!” Aasimar hisses, his tone laced with despair, “I’m not a girl, I – I’m not. I – I promise!”

Shepherd blinks and he stops, brows furrowed in confusion and worry. “Aasimar, of course you’re not a girl. What do you mean? What’s going on?”

Aasimar wears a look of despair like he had become accustomed to it, but the look of confusion morphs his face, like he’s not used to the blissful ignorance. “You don’t… You don’t know? But…. Didn’t Oleander talk about it, in his notes? Why I have my scars?”

“Hm? No, he only talked of your experiments, your kindness when you’d help him. Occasionally the notes on your favorite things, like that flower you want to bring back? The blue nemophila? He never mentioned anything about scars, though. Are… are you okay? Were they… bad scars?”

“No, they’re… they’re good scars,” Aasimar nods slowly, arms wrapped around his chest tightly, as if protecting himself. “These scars make me happy, very happy.”

“Then does it really matter why you have them? Truthfully, I don’t understand, you’re happy, you aren’t hurting anyone. What does it matter?” Shepherd huffs loudly and casts a look over his shoulder. “Lucille is a bitter woman, I think. Perhaps jealous she did not get ownership of me like you have.”

“I don’t own you, Shep. You are your own person, I’m just your temporary guardian until they’ve decided your capable of being on your own.” Aasimar recoils, hands slowly dropping to his side. “I… it’s not like I don’t trust you to share why I have them, I just… it’s not easy for me to talk about it.”

“Don’t feel like you have to tell me, Aasi. I just… I was worried, in there. You looked so hurt and angry. It was different than the other times you’ve been angry.” He shrugs, hands tucked into the pockets of his pants. “But anyway, who was that boss guy?”

“Oh, Andersfellen? He’s the founder of the Institute. Started it when he was young, cryogenically froze himself until his plans came to fruition, and then woke up to become a ruler from Hell,” Aasimar casts his gaze aside, “he collected a few favors and now we’re all stuck here, like slaves. You’ll do good to keep the robot persona up around him. He won’t hesitate to put you down if he sees one sliver of humanity from you.”

“Is everyone here so… against my existence?” Shepherd purses his lips, brows furrowed. If the world is so cruel, why create him at all?

“The Institute doesn’t care about anything other than itself, it’s a remnant of a society long gone, or at least we had hoped it was long gone.” Aasimar glances around them, to make sure there was no one around. “But there are others that are similar to you, maybe not exactly. But we’d have to go deeper into the Under city for that, and I don’t know. It’s … it’s not like our previous outing.”

“I can handle it.” He says, even though he’s not actually sure that he can, but he wants to try. There’s a whole world out there, one he longs to see.

Aasimar makes a face, before he relents. “You’re lucky you’re sweet, I wouldn’t take Hannah to any of the places I normally hang out at. She’s not as…. Willing to try new things.”

This piques Shepherd’s interest and he tilts his head. “Earlier, she said you were avoidant to change. But… Is she avoidant of it too?”

“We’re all avoidant to change, Shepherd. We get comfortable in what we have, we don’t imagine how different the world could be.” He says, eyes shifting but then he smiles. “But, change can be good sometimes. It brought you here.”

“It brought me back you mean.” He replies bitterly, and the anger in his tone surprised him.

“No, you’re not Oleander. You’ll never be him, and that’s the point. You shouldn’t be him. I don’t want you to be him, and you shouldn’t ever want to be like him,” Aasimar looks at him, as if this may be the single most important thing he’s ever been told. “But anyway, let’s get out of here. I need a drink.”

—

            Shepherd does not strike Aasimar as a club goer, but he leans back in the booth, legs parted, and his head cocked to the side like this was a second home to him. The thrum of the music and the cool-toned lights highlight him perfectly. But Aasimar only holds his attention for a few moments before others in the club call towards him. They dance, but glowing from their bodies are metallic parts, some more than others. They’re all not completely human either, pieced together by metal.

            This must’ve been what Aasi had meant – others like him existing. They’re like him, made of metal, and maybe he’s not made of real flesh like him, but there’s some comfort in their similarities.

            He turns to look at Aasimar, catching him mid sip of his Pink Whitney vodka, he looks exceptionally relaxed, and Shepherd has to restrain from scanning his body to see if he’s drunk. He’s not really sure if Aasimar getting drunk here is safe.

            “Do you come here often?” Shepherd asks quietly, eyeing the pristine glass, “the bartender seemed to know you.”

            “I come here every Friday,” Aasimar tilts his head, tracing the rim of his glass, “want a sip? It isn’t a necessity for you, but they gave you taste buds, right?”

            Shepherd gulps and eyes the glass before he nods, “may I?”

            Aasimar shifts the glass, pushing it towards Shepherd and he cocks his head to the side, “so, what do you think of this darling outing of ours?”

            There’s a quiet pause as Shepherd brings the glass to his lips, taking a small, unsure sip. It tastes bitter yet sweet all at once, with a citrus tang to it.

“This is… very nice. I didn’t expect to see others that were…. Similar to me.” Shepherd furrows his brows and he hums, “this is really good, do you get this often?”

“Plenty of people are mostly metal nowadays, gang fights, violence, the Institute, people lose limbs all the time. Some do it because it’s cool.” Aasimar glances at the people dancing on the floor, “sometimes. Other times I’ll get a mimosa, or something heavier depending on mood. You’re welcome to have as much of it as you’d like.”

Shepherd quiets and he watches Aasimar, “Aasi, what are we? Earlier, you said you were in an exclusive relationship. Did that… mean us?”

“I… yes, I did,” he tilts his head slowly, brows furrowed, “what do you want us to be, Shepherd? I want to do this on your terms, it only seems right.”

He thinks. Aasimar’s existence had brought him so much, helped him understand things he hadn’t really fully grasped yet. Being with him felt as natural as existing, and maybe Hannah was right. Maybe Shepherd might only adore him because of how integral he was to Shepherd’s discovering humanity, but… he’d rather have Aasimar, regardless of what it meant.

“I want,” he pauses and licks his lips, “I want to be your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend,” Aasimar hums and leans his head back, grinning, “yeah, I like the sound of that, Shep. My boyfriend. My sweet, big, perfect boyfriend.”

“You’re drunk,” Shepherd shies away, averting his gaze as his body heats up a few degrees, “should we get going back to the Institute? Hopefully walk it off before we make it there?”

“Mm, I’ve got a place, might be nice to spend the night outside of the Institute for once, if… you’re willing to try that, that is. New surroundings and all that.” He smiles lazily and downs the rest of his Pink Whitney. “What do you say, lovely boyfriend of mine?”

Shepherd snorts, “yeah, we can go. But I’ll feel better if I carry you. You don’t… look all there.”

Aasimar slow blinks and he grins, “piggyback? I’ll be good, promise.”

“Whatever you want, Aasi,” he snorts, and stands, offering a hand to him.

[tomaytow]

unlabeled

— doctor! venti/reader

“…Fine. Sorry, Doc.” You yelp in discomfort when he starts to clean your face aggressively with the wet cotton ball. “Hey! Be gentle!! O–Ow! It stings, you know?!”

He chuckles. He sends you a small smirk, “My warrior is still a baby it seems.”

or: you’re reckless and venti is not having it.

You can already feel a scolding incoming when your ears pick up the familiar footsteps approaching your room. Adjusting your jumpsuit and brushing a bit of your hair to look at least decent—though you’re positive that you look like a huge mess—the door finally opens. 

“Goodness me,” you quickly glance away from the vanity to see your assigned doctor entering your quarters. He closes the door as he puts one hand on his hip. He scans you up and down disappointingly, “[Name]… What happened to you? Oh dear. Come here.”

You oblige from his wishes and take a seat on the bed. You avoid his gaze shamefully as he starts pulling out the bandaids, alcohol, and cotton balls from his gladstone bag. “How utterly reckless – how many times did I tell you to be more careful? You have more scratches than before.”

The bed creaks when he sits beside you. A warm hand caresses the side of your cheek, turning you so you can face his evident worried expression. (His concern for your well–being makes your heart do tons of somersaults, even if this is like, the umpteenth time he has visited you.)

Still filled with embarrassment, you refuse to meet his vibrant, enchanting green eyes so you opt to focus on his braids instead. 

However, he did not like this at all and sighs. Your chest flutters when his thumb rubs your supple skin slowly. The doctor leans in and whispers in your ear, “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” 

(Yep. It definitely sent shivers down your spine.)

You shut your eyelids for a moment, to at least regain your composure and prepare yourself, before finally lifting them up. 

Archons. He’s still gorgeous as ever. 

His hair is still majestic with the split ends he garnered the whole afternoon, and his white coat, though wrinkled, makes you want to smoothen them out. Or not. It still looks good on him. 

You’re aware that you’re not the only one the doctor has to take care of, and yes—as much as you hate to admit it—you’re not the only one attracted to him.

That’s why you sometimes wish you’re that high up enough in the ranks to let him be your personal doctor.

So you can have him all to yourself. (You guess that you have to train more, then.)

Wait.

No.

You shake your head frantically.

That is so not professional. 

“…Fine. Sorry, Doc.” You yelp in discomfort when he starts to clean your face aggressively with the wet cotton ball. “Hey! Be gentle!! O–Ow! It stings, you know?!”

He chuckles. He sends you a small smirk, “My warrior is still a baby it seems.”

You immediately burn up from the my. My warrior? Seriously, this doctor that you have… “N–no, you did it on purpose! What did I even do to you to deserve this kind of treatment?”

When the doctor puts the dirty cotton ball away and begins to unpack the bandaids, he rises his chin up and he scoffs, “Well, first of all – I know that you’ve been too hard on yourself. Tiring yourself, overworking yourself… You’re even skipping meals and your sleep! Ah, ah, don’t give me that. You can’t lie to me. I’ve heard from the others.” Then, he huffs, and presses the bandaid on your cheek hardly, making you wince. (Your head even bobbed from his sudden force!)

“Second! Recklessness. Stubbornness. I appreciate your fighting spirit, [Name], but you’re getting way overboard! Not everyone can keep up like you, and you’ll have to remember that you have your limits, too! You just don’t know when to stop, huh?”

You argue, “I need to get stronger, it’s essential for my—” but you don’t continue your statement when he narrows his eyes at you as a warning. He lightly touches your lips with his index finger, shushing you.

“Shh.”

You gulp nervously from the contact.

“…And third, didn’t I tell you to call me Venti when we’re alone?” his words soften, and you feel yourself heat up when he discreetly slips one of his delicate hands into your rough, patched ones.

Ah yes.

You briefly remember that one time when you were at a much worse state, to the point that you cannot even stand up due to the exhaustion and how wrecked your body was from the rigorous and intense training you pushed on yourself. 

When Venti saw you, you would never forget how he dropped all the things he had in his arms and anxiously rushed you to the infirmary. He was so upset that the enthusiastic doctor revealed his tears to you for the first time.

The only way you managed to calm him down was when you called for his name weakly, shocking him, and then reassured him that you were okay. (You would be okay.) You gave him additional comforting touches to remind him that you were still alive – that you were still breathing whenever you saw him shake when he cured your injuries.

Then the rest was history.

Maybe.

Venti presses closer. Fresh cecilias flood your nostrils and he kisses your cheek through the band aid as an apology, before detaching himself from you to stare at you fondly. “Always making me worried… you better make it up to me, love.”

You both still didn’t know what to call your relationship with one another. 

But you do know that he cares for you so so much.

[4-doctor-full-physical]

A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR

I didn't have any trouble finding the office from the directions the doctor had given me. It was on a quiet residential street just off a main city thoroughfare. I parked in the driveway as he had instructed and walked toward the door. Up until now I hadn't been nervous, concentrating on the drive, but now my breath quickened and my heart began to beat faster.

It hadn't been easy to get this appointment with such a distinguished physician. Dr. Roberts and I had an extensive chat online before he determined that I was qualified for one of his physical examinations.

It was a hot late spring day. I had on a T-shirt, jeans with a jockstrap, my favorite underwear, underneath, and old Nikes. I wasn't going to keep the clothes on for long anyway, so there wasn't any need to dress more formally.

I was walking a little funny because my bladder was uncomfortably full. Dr. Roberts had told me to drink a lot of fluids before I came so that I could give a urine sample without difficulty as part of the physical examination. I'd overdone it a little in my eagerness to comply with his instructions.

I got to the door and knocked. It opened right away and finally I saw the doctor in the flesh. He was exactly as I'd hoped he'd be: tall, trim, and distinguished looking with neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. He wore wire-rimmed glasses that accentuated a pair of friendly gray eyes. His teeth were white and even when he smiled.

"You must be Dirk," he said, sticking out his hand. "Right on time. Come in and have a seat."

He ushered me into a front room with a desk. He motioned me to sit in a chair in front of it, which I did. Sunlight filtered in through the shaded window. He rummaged in a box on the floor and pulled out a binder before he sat down.

"Since it's your first visit to the Male Clinic, I'll do an intake interview with you," Dr. Roberts said. "Please answer the questions as thoroughly and truthfully as you can, even if some of them seem intimate or embarrassing. The more I know about medical and sexual history, the better examination I can give you. Do you have any questions or concerns?"

"No, Doctor. I'm prepared to answer your questions to the best of my ability. I'm putting myself in your hands."

Dr. Roberts smiled. "Good. Let's begin." He opened the binder.

The intake interview took fifteen or twenty minutes. The first questions were standard ones that I'd answered at doctor's offices many times before, about my medical history, past surgeries, any current symptoms, drug allergies, etc.

Then Dr. Roberts' questions became more personal and detailed. He asked me whether I had any phobias, specifically about sensory deprivation or restraint. "No--in fact, the idea kind of excites me," I said truthfully, with a smile.

"Good," he said, returning the smile. "Now there will be a series of questions about your sexual history. Again, please be as truthful as possible with your answers."

We talked for ten or fifteen more minutes. By the time he was done with the questions my heart was beating fast and my cock was rock hard, even though my bladder was aching for release.

"I think we're ready to begin," the doctor said. "Will you please follow me into the examination room?"

We walked down a narrow hallway, past a bathroom, up a flight of stairs, and into a spacious room in the rear, which took up the entire width of the office. A padded examination table stood in the middle. The walls were lined with shelves, holding medical equipment of every conceivable kind. I recognized stethoscopes, padded hammers for testing reflexes, and a fewother things, but there was too much for me to take it all in.

"First," the doctor said. "I'd like you to undress down to your briefs. Place your clothes on this chair," he said, gesturing to one that stood nearby.

"Yes, doctor." I unbuttoned my shirt with fingers that were trembling with excitement. In moments I was naked except for my jockstrap. I covered my crotch protectively with my hands and stood before him with downcast eyes for inspection.

"Very nice," Dr. Roberts said. "You're wearing a jockstrap. You do that often?"

"Yes, doctor."

"Very good for scrotal support," he said. "And very sexy. Now this," he said, producing a paper hospital gown, "is not so sexy. I'm going to ask you to put it on."

I put my arms through the short sleeves. He put his arms on my shoulders and gently turned me to tie the gown in back. I started as I felt his hand touch my bare butt.

"Sorry, I know my hands are cold," the doctor said. "I'm going to ask you to sit on the examination table now."

Perched on the examination table in the hospital gown and jockstrap, I watched as Dr. Roberts gathered together his equipment and put it on top of a cart covered with a towel. The exam began pretty routinely, as the doctor grasped my wrist and looked at his wristwatch while taking my pulse. He then looked into my eyes with a small light, then into my ears with another scope. He even produced a tongue depressor, pushed my mouth and tongue this way and that, and asked me to say "aah." I suppressed a smile at the old-fashioned procedures.

"Now I'm going to take your blood pressure." He expertly wrapped the cuffaround my upper arm and squeezed the rubber bulb. I felt the pulse inside my arm as he gradually let the air out.

"One hundred ten over seventy," he announced. "Excellent. You're in great shape."

"I work at it."

His eyes scrutinized my body. "It shows."

"Thanks."

The doctor cleared his throat. "From here on I'm going to examine various areas of your body. It may be easier for me to do this if you remove the gown. If you are uncomfortable doing so, you may keep it on."

I looked him in the eye. "I can take it off."

"Good." He watched as I lifted my arms and undid the strings in back. I lifted it off and handed it to the doctor, shivering a bit in the chilly room.

"Are you cold?"

"A bit," I said truthfully.

He looked at my chest. "I can tell. Your nipples are erect. We'll get some measurements in a minute." He put his face close to mine as he gently palpated the sides of my neck. "Checking your lymph nodes. No problem here." He then picked up a stethoscope and put the ends in his ears. "Now I'm going to listen to your heart and lungs." The cold metal pressed against my pectoral muscles, sending another shiver through me. "Good." He moved around me and the stethoscope pressed into my back. "Take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Again. Again. Good. Lungs are clear."

He came back and faced me again. "Stand and place your palms in back of your head, please. I'm going to inspect your skin for any suspicious looking moles or growths." I followed his instructions as he bent to put down the stethoscope. When he straightened he held a small magnifying glass. Dr. Roberts then moved in very close again as he started at my neck and moved slowly down my body with the magnifying glass, examining every inch of my skin. He put the glass in his pocket. I started to relax, but he said--

"Keep your palms behind your head. We're going to do a little test."

"What kind of test?"

A slight smile. "In our preliminary interview you told me that your nipples were very sensitive. We're going to find out just how sensitive. Now, do your best not to move or react, no matter what I do."

He stood very close in front of me and gazed into my eyes intently. I gasped as I felt the light, cool touch of a fingertip on each of my nipples. My breath quickened as his hands and fingers began to move, fondling, squeezing and gently pinching each nub of flesh. My cock swelled and strained against the pouch of the strap as the doctor continued the stimulation. Despite the doctor's instructions a small whimper of pleasure welled up from my throat. He smiled.

"Remember what I said."

"Yes, doctor," I gasped out with some difficulty.

"Is this painful or unpleasant for you?"

I laughed, unable to help myself. "Hell, no. Oh my god-it's wonderful."

Dr. Roberts produced a metal tube from his pocket and squeezed out some of its contents onto his fingertips. "I see that your nipples are a powerful erogenous zone. Let's try some moist stimulation."

When he began to rub the K-Y onto my tits I lost control, throwing back my head and moaning. It was all I could do to keep my hands locked behind my head. I felt moisture in my crotch and felt precum from the head of my cock soaking through the elastic webbing of my jock pouch.

"Please, doctor-"

"Yes?" The doctor said, continuing his stimulation.

"I'll cum if you do that any more. No kidding."

"Really? I guess that gives me my answer. Let's take a measurement." He produced a small metal ruler and pressed it against my chest. "One centimeter in diameter and a bit more in height when fully erect. You can lower your arms." He stepped back. I let my arms fall limp at my sides and stood, still panting, head hanging, a bit embarrassed that I had become so aroused.

"I'd say on a scale of 1 to 10 of nipple sensitivity you're a 10. Next, turn toward the table so I can examine your back and buttocks." In a moment he said, "Bend forward and spread your cheeks."

He knelt and spent a long time looking at the skin on my rear end, holding his face so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks and my asshole. I was trembling again from the cold and from the excitement of being scrutinized so intimately. He moved the glass down the backs of my legs, then asked me to straighten up again. He moved around to my front so that his face was right in front of the now moist pouch of my jock. His hands took hold of the waistband. "I'm going to lower this garment to examine the pubic area."

He slowly pushed the jockstrap down my thighs. My cock flopped out, half-hard with excitement, the head glistening with the pre-cum I'd leaked already. The doctor once again took his time, passing the glass over my groin and pubic area. After the visual exam was done, he took my penis and lifted it with one hand, taking each testicle and cradling with the palm of the other, then gently rolling it between his thumb and forefinger.

"In case you're wondering, I'm doing a testicular exam to check for

cancer. This is the way to do it, if you don't know already."

"Yes, doctor."

"I see that you are circumcised. I'm going to take the head of your penis

and press on it to spread the urethral opening. I'm checking for any

discharge that may indicate disease."

I was looking around the room, trying desperately not to let myself throw a

full-boned erection. Feebly I tried to joke about the situation. "You can

probably tell I'm discharging already."

Doctor Roberts' voice was dry. "A normal by-product of sexual excitement,

quite harmless." I gasped as I felt his finger spread the pre-cum over the

head of my cock, sending a wave of pleasure through me. "Checking the

consistency of the fluid. Totally normal pre-ejaculate."

He took hold of my jock, but instead of raising it back in place he pushed

it all the way down to the floor and looked up at me.

"With your permission, I'm going to remove your garment. The rest of the

examination will be easier if you are completely unclothed. Are you

comfortable with this?"

I was trying not to shiver. My breathing was quick. My heart was beating

fast with nervousness-and arousal. I nodded. "Whatever you say, doc."

"Good." He lifted both my feet out of the strap, picked it up, and put it

on top of the rest of my clothes. "Now I'd like to get a urine sample." He

stepped to a nearby table, picked up a large glass laboratory beaker, and

turned back to me.

My bladder was painfully full, but even so, it's always hard to pee in

front of another person, particularly when you're naked and semi-hard and

the other person is clothed and staring intently at you. My first attempts

to get the stream started were a total failure. I sighed with frustration.

"Would turning away from me help? You can if you wish."

"Thanks." I turned around, closed my eyes, took some deep breaths and tried

to relax. Finally golden liquid began to flow into the container. And

flowed. And flowed. The relief was exquisite. By the time I was finished

the beaker was nearly full. I turned back to the doctor and held it out. He

smiled.

"Your bladder sure was full, wasn't it? This will have to be held until we

can send some to the lab." He took the container and left the room. In a

moment he was back. "You've been very cooperative so far. Good job."

I blushed and lowered my eyes. "Thanks, doctor."

I felt a hand under my chin, gently but firmly lifting my head until my

eyes met his. "As this medical exam continues you may experience some

psychological as well as physical discomfort. I can assure you that

anything that I do is for your health and welfare. Are you prepared to obey

without question, to trust me?" His gaze was level, his voice cool and

professional. I nodded without hesitation.

"You're the doctor. I'll do anything you say."

"Good boy." He smiled. "We're going to go back to the examination

table. I'd like you to mount it and assume the position on your hands and

knees."

I walked to the table, shivering with cold and excitement. I climbed on and

crouched as the doctor had ordered, elbows and knees on the padded top of

the table, my bare ass in the air.

"Lower your head. I'm going to take your temperature rectally. It's the

most accurate way, though most doctors don't want to embarrass their

patients."

I gasped as something narrow, cold and rigid was inserted into my

asshole. My muscles automatically clenched around it. I felt the doctor's

hand on my cheeks, trapping the thermometer between his fingers, preventing

it from being drawn in and disappearing into my insides.

Doctor Roberts chuckled. "A strong response. I'm going to have to hold it

in place. Stay as still as you can. This will only take a minute."

The room fell silent except for the raspy sound of my breathing. My face

was on fire with embarrassment as I was forced to hold this humiliating

pose. My cock was rock hard underneath me. I could feel precum being

squeezed from its tip every time my rectal muscles involuntarily clenched

around the thermometer. Occasionally the doctor's fingers holding the

thermometer in place moved, seeming to caress my cheeks. Finally he grasped

the thermometer and withdrew it.

"Ninety-eight point six. Absolutely normal. Now will you turn over onto

your back, please."

Once I was on my back, he began to press on various places on my lower

body, palpating my organs, occasionally asking me to take deep breaths and

let them out. Although he approached my private parts, he did not take hold

of them as he had earlier. His touch was firm and professional and I began

to relax a bit.

"Doing okay?" The doctor asked. I nodded.

"Good. I want you to be relaxed for this next phase of the examination. I'm

going to test your sensory perception when you are deprived of visual

cues," said the doctor. "I will blindfold you with a special light-blocking

mask, very high-tech, and restrain your limbs. This is so that you will

focus exclusively on the sense being tested. Are you ready?"

"Yes, doctor."

In a moment Dr. Roberts loomed above me with the high-tech blindfold. It

looked like a pair of safety goggles, but completely black. Sure enough

when he placed in on my face and tightened the strap around my head

everything became pitch black even though nothing was touching my eyes and

they could stay open.

I felt my legs being gently spread apart, and fastened in place with

straps. My arms were then lifted over my head. The doctor gently made me

bend them until my hands almost touched my head. I heard the clink of metal

and felt something soft encircle first my right, then my left wrist. I

realized I was spread-eagled and shackled to the table. A thrill of mingled

arousal and fear passed through me as I realized how completely at his

mercy I was now. I had no choice but to trust him, fully and completely.

"We will begin the test now," the doctor said in a soft voice. "I will

touch various parts of your body with various objects and

substances. Describe to me any sensation you feel-temperature, pressure,

sharpness, anything. There should not be anything that will cause you more

than mild to moderate discomfort. If at any time you want the test to stop,

indicate your wishes by saying 'mayday.' Do you understand?"

I nodded. "'Mayday'. Got it."

"Here we go."

A moment later I chuckled. "Very gentle touch. Your fingertips on my

stomach."

"Right." I gasped as my right nipple was fondled, lightly and gently. "A-a

feather?"

"Mm hmm. Good. Are you ticklish?"

Before I could answer I started as the same object touched my rib cage.

"Yes!"

The doctor's voice took on a teasing note. "Are you?" He tickled me again

with the feather and I shouted with laughter, jerking and straining at my

bonds. "Stop! Please!"

"Okay, I will. For now," he said, in a mock-ominous tone.

A pause, then I felt cool moisture on my stomach and a sharp minty aroma

filled my nostrils. "Whew, feels cool. Ben-Gay?"

"That's right. A little menthol rub." The next moment I gasped as the same

substance was applied to my nipples. The pleasure was exquisite and I

sighed and strained at my bonds as the doctor's fingers continued to move

in gentle circles on the sensitized nubs of flesh.

"Oh God," I moaned.

"You're getting erect again," the doctor observed in a dry voice. "Yes,

your response to nipple stimulation is an exceptionally strong one."

He withdrew his hands. A pause, and then I heard a sound, which I

recognized as the striking of a match. The sharp odor of sulfur assailed my

nostrils. A thrill of real fear raced through me.

"Wh-what are you doing?"

"Now, now, don't worry. I promised-no pain, no physical injury. Maybe just

a bit of discomfort, though."

The next moment I screamed, more in shock than in pain, as I felt something

burning hot drop onto my right thigh. It quickly cooled to a tolerable

warmth and I braced myself for another hit.

"Ah!" Another fiery liquid hit on my ball sac.

"You haven't told me what you think it is," the doctor murmured.

"Candle wax, it's fucking hot wax!"

"Very good." Two more hits, one on each nipple. My back came off the table

as I cried out each time the melted wax hit a sensitive zone. I strained

uselessly against the bonds holding me in place. I was panting with mingled

fear and yes, arousal.

"OH FUCK!" I screamed, as flaming agony erupted from the head of my erect

cock, where the doctor had dropped one more splash of wax.

"Had enough?"

"Yes! Yes! Please stop! Mayday!"

"You needn't worry about suffering any permanent damage. Paraffin melts at

a very low temperature, actually. Just hot enough to give you a bit of a

jolt. Now lie still and I'll remove the blindfold."

When I could see again I looked down at the splotches of congealing wax on

my body, the skin pink underneath each one, then up into the doctor's face.

"Amazing how lack of vision increases sensitivity, isn't it?"

There was nothing I could say to this, so I didn't say

anything. Dr. Roberts scraped the lumps of wax off with his fingertips,

being gentle with my somewhat softened cock, and brushed the crumbs off the

table. He released me from my bonds.

"Just lie there a moment and relax. I know that was a bit stressful for

you."

"A bit," I agreed, trying to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

"But you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

For a moment I was speechless, then slowly I nodded. "Yeah. In a way I

guess I did. Does that make me some kind of pervert?"

The doctor's expression was serious. "We're so quick to label behaviors

weird or perverse. If two adults are involved and there's mutual consent,

neither person getting harmed, then there's nothing wrong with whatever it

is they're doing."

He patted my stomach. "What this is all about today is your giving up

control. That's a strange and difficult thing for a man to do. You're doing

very well, by the way. Shall we continue?"

My mouth was dry as I looked up at him and nodded yes.

"Good. We're going to move on to the final phase of the examination, the

rectal and prostate exams and the collection of a sperm sample."

There was no point in trying to pretend my cock wasn't rock hard. He could

see it as plain as day. Like a good doctor, though, he gave no indication

that he noticed.

"In order to give you the best possible exam your system has to be

thoroughly cleaned out. Have you ever had an enema?"

"Well, I have cleaned myself out. For, you know..."

Doctor Roberts smiled. "This will be a little more extensive than that, but

at least you're familiar with the idea. I'll be back in a moment."

He disappeared and returned in a little while, carrying a large glass

pitcher with measuring markings on the side filled with water and an object

that at first I didn't recognize. It was a rather squat plastic bottle,

again with markings on the side, with a black, conical nozzle. Through the

plastic I could see that it was filled with water and a tube hung down into

the inside.

"This device," the doctor announced, "is sold as a nasal rinse. However,

because of its construction it works very well for our purposes. Turn onto

your left side, away from me, and raise your right knee toward your chest,

please."

I obeyed, exposing my asshole to him.

"We'll need just a little lubrication." I felt a gloved finger apply a cold

hit of lubricant. "Now, take deep breaths. Relax as much as you can."

I felt the nozzle press against the opening, then enter. The next moment

warm liquid flooded into my bowel, almost too warm to be comfortable. I

didn't fight it-in fact, it felt good.

"Very good, we're almost finished with this first bottle," the doctor

murmured. "As I continue adding liquid, you may start to feel

cramping. This is normal, and should not be unbearable. You'll be required

to hold the fluid in for a certain amount of time. I'll monitor the

situation closely."

He withdrew the squeeze bottle and I heard him filling it again. The next

bottleful began to flow in and I began to feel full-very full-inside. It

was a strange mixture of arousal and discomfort.

"How many more?" I asked.

"Let's see. I think you'll be able to take two more. That'll make about a

quart of fluid."

"Really?" I was nervous at the thought.

"You'll be fine. This is a saline solution, so it won't upset your

system. Plain water could thin your blood too much." The doctor grasped my

shoulder reassuringly. "Nothing bad will happen, I promise."

"Okay." The third bottleful of warm water was squeezed into me. Now I

really began to feel uncomfortably full, and I shifted to try and ease the

cramps. Dr. Roberts ran his hand along my stomach, gently. "You're feeling

it now, aren't you? Breathe deeply, keep relaxed. You're doing great. Just

one more bottle."

I groaned as yet more liquid flowed into my system. My stomach was

distended from the water inside.

"All done." The doctor put down the bottle. "Now, we'll take a few minutes

to let your system adjust." He began to rub my stomach again. "I'll let you

know when you can expel the liquid. The bathroom is nearby." He pointed in

its direction. "When I tell you too, get up SLOWLY off the table and

proceed there. Don't hurry, even though you may feel like running. We don't

want to have an accident," he chuckled.

He bent over close to me, his hand never stopping its gentle motion on my

body. "Breathe...relax..." he whispered into my ear. I did my best to obey

him and ignore the cramping urgency in my body.

Finally, he said, "I think you are ready to evacuate. Remember what I

said. Get up slowly. Walk slowly. Leave the bathroom door open."

I found out what he meant when I moved-my insides lurched with their watery

burden and almost betrayed me right there. With an effort I avoided

disaster and began walking toward the bathroom. In the midst of my

embarrassment and discomfort I felt another, surprising sensation. I looked

down at my semi-erect cock.

I made it to the toilet just in time. As I quickly sat down and let myself

go I looked up and saw the doctor coming toward me. He stopped at the door,

leaning against the frame and looking intently at me as the "evacuation"

continued.

My face felt hot as I blushed. The doctor nodded. "I know this is

embarrassing for you," he said. "It's for your own safety. Sometimes people

have odd reactions-most often, faintness and dizziness. It's best if I

monitor the situation until you're through."

"Aw, fuck," was all I could say. No one had watched me take a shit since I

was a toddler and the humiliation was intense. I bowed my head and tried to

tune out everything. The next few minutes seemed really long, but finally

it was done. I flushed and stood up.

"Stay there." The doctor disappeared and came back with a washcloth. "Turn

around and bend over, I'll clean you up."

When he was done, he said, "Now we're ready. I'm going to lead you to a

special table for the final phase of your examination. This way, please."

I had seen the equipment he was talking about when I first walked in. It

was a table with two additions at either end. At the head end, which was

raised at an angle, there was an extension, a flat board with two wrist

restraints attached to it. At the foot a tall scaffold had been attached to

the legs, so that a bar ran horizontally several feet above the end. Two

leather rings hung on chains from this bar.

The doctor's voice was low and soft behind me. "You will be restrained at

both ends. The stirrups will force your legs to stay apart, allowing me

maximum access to your anus, rectum and prostate. Your wrists will be

bound, making you unable to resist. I will of course not physically harm

you in any way, but you will be totally at my mercy. I want to make sure of

your consent before we proceed. Do I have it?"

I waited a long moment, then nodded. "Yes."

He patted me gently on my bare shoulder. "Good boy. Please assume the

position."

I got on the table and turned onto my back. He raised each of my arms above

my head and snapped the restraints into place, then lifted my legs and

passed them through the leather rings. When he was done he stepped back,

regarding me silently. I noticed that there was a definite bulge between

his legs, visible through the long white coat.

"Some of my patients ask to be hooded, blindfolded, or gagged. Since you

are a first-time patient, I will omit those steps." For the first time a

slight leer crossed his face. "My guess is you'll want to see what's going

on."

I lay bound, spread-eagled, my genitals and asshole exposed and

vulnerable. I licked my dry lips and nodded. "Yes, doctor." My cock was

hard as a rock on my belly. It felt as if it had been that way the whole

afternoon.

His gaze grew intense. "You are a beautiful young man. I'm going to enjoy

this examination." He pulled up a chair and drew a small table toward him

as he sat down. On it was a pair of rubber gloves, a tube of K-Y jelly, and

a collection of what I recognized as dildos and butt plugs.

The doctor snapped on the gloves and squeezed a glob of lubricant onto the

fingertips of his right hand. I peered down, watching his hand as it

approached my hole. I felt his fingers tickle the opening. "Breathe," he

said, and a moment later I grunted as his fingers pushed in. He rotated his

hand to the left and right. An involuntary "ah" escaped my lips as he found

my prostate and began to palpate it vigorously.

"Feels very healthy," the doctor said. "Firm, no nodules. A bit enlarged,

congested maybe. You've been aroused quite a bit this afternoon."

"You're telling me," I chuckled, between gasps of pleasure.

"You've had receptive anal intercourse, correct?" he asked, his fingers

never stopping.

"Uh-huh."

"I'm going to test the muscle tone of your anal sphincter by inserting

progressively larger instruments. If you really feel you can't take it,

tell me."

"Okay," I said, nervously eyeing some of the toys he had on his tray. I

hoped he wouldn't get to the biggest one.

It went on for what seemed like forever. Helpless in the restraints, I

shouted and groaned with mingled pleasure and pain countless times as the

doctor lubed up dildo after dildo and pushed them into my asshole, gently

but without mercy. Sometimes after insertion he would move them back and

forth, fucking me with them. Other times he would tell me to move my hips

and fuck myself on the toy that was violating me. He would give my cock a

few strokes each time, never enough to push me over the edge and make me

cum, no matter how much I pleaded.

The instruments, as he kept calling them, got thicker and longer. My eyes

bugged out at the sight of the last one, a huge black latex butt plug.

"Please, no. I can't," I pleaded.

"Oh, I think you can," he purred. "Your sphincter is nice and relaxed now,

after all these preliminary insertions."

"No, please, doctor." For the first time I was really scared. "That thing

will tear me apart. Please don't make me."

The doctor considered this, and then looked at me. "Well, there is one

alternative. I don't usually offer this to my patients, but you're so damn

hot..."

I realized what he wanted, and nodded vigorously. "Yes. Take me. Fuck me,

doctor."

We locked eyes. He stood. "As you wish." He began to unbutton his white

coat. In a very short while he had stripped naked, revealing a surprisingly

toned body. His long, cut penis jutted from his trimmed crotch, its darker

head moist with precum.

Dr. Roberts reached for the instrument stand and picked up a foil-wrapped

condom-I hadn't noticed it there before. I watched his every move as he

tore it open and unrolled the latex onto his himself. A swipe of K-Y and he

was ready, smiling as he moved toward me and got between my spread legs. He

took his cock in his hand and guided it to my hole, slick and tender from

the abuse it had already taken.

"Entry shouldn't be difficult," he said. Sure enough, one thrust of his

hips and he was inside. I grunted and tossed my head as he quickly buried

himself up to the balls in me. He looked into my eyes again and something

happened.

All afternoon I had let this man strip, embarrass and humiliate me. He had

crossed all boundaries, violated me in multiple ways, with my consent. He

had torn down my defenses. Now he was taking me in ultimate conquest.

In that moment I surrendered the last traces of my identity and

self-respect. I became just a fuckhole for his all-conquering dick. I

wanted nothing more to be ravaged and used by him until I was a dried-up

husk, then tossed aside.

"You're mine," he whispered, as he grasped my calves and began to thrust.

Dr. Roberts proved to be as skilled a fucker as he had been at everything

else he'd done to me that day. He fucked me deep, then shallow, fast, then

slow, occasionally grinding his hips in a circle, constantly keeping me

guessing as to what he'd do next. In the midst of it all he bent downward

and gave me a long, wet kiss, feeding my hungry mouth all that it wanted of

his lips and tongue. He then switched his attentions to my nipples. That

got me thrashing and whimpering, straining futilely at the restraints

binding my wrists. I wanted so badly to throw my arms around him, press him

to me, take my tortured cock in my hand and bring myself off. I couldn't do

anything except lie there and take it.

In the fading light of late afternoon the doctor took what he hadn't yet

taken of my body. He took my soul.

I could have stayed in this sweet hell for the rest of time, but all too

soon it had to end. I could tell the doctor was getting close to blowing

his load as he began to step up the pace of his thrusts for the last

time. His handsome face reddened as panting breaths emanated from between

his clenched teeth.

"Ready to give me that sperm sample, boy?" he asked.

I had no words left. I nodded. He gave me one last encouraging grin and

began to jack my cock, hard. As I passed the point of no return my eyes

closed involuntarily. Whimpers from my throat turned into cries, then a

prolonged roar of ecstasy as my body tried to jackknife off the table. My

head flew up just in time for the first blast of cum to hit my chin. A

dozen more shot out of my spasming cock, splashing across my chest and

stomach. In the middle of it all I felt the doctor's cock drilling my hole,

his pubes slamming against my crotch, hoarse shouts of triumph issuing from

his throat as he reached his own orgasm.

I opened my eyes and surveyed the sticky mess starting to congeal on my

heaving chest. I looked up. Dr. Roberts' back was arched, his face turned

up to the ceiling, his eyes closed in ecstasy. Then he let himself go limp,

body almost falling forward onto me as he drew air in great, ragged

breaths.

He reached over my head and undid the wrist restraints. I grabbed his head

and drew it to mine. We kissed tenderly, languidly, our mouths meeting over

and over again as we slowly came back down to earth.

I released him and fell back on the table, utterly spent. I felt him start

to pull out of me and reluctantly let him go.

"Stay there," he said. "Just relax. I'm going to get you cleaned up."

I closed my eyes. When I heard him coming back I opened them. He was still

naked but had stripped off the condom, his partially erect cock swinging

heavily. In his arms he had a washbasin and towels. He took the first and

blotted off the congealing semen on my body.

"That was an impressive ejaculation," he said, once more adopting his

clinical tone. "Prolonged arousal increases the amount of seminal fluid, as

you can see."

"What time is it?" I asked.

"About four o'clock."

I whistled. "Talk about prolonged. I think I've been hard for three hours."

He chuckled. "You young people have so much stamina." He bent and dipped a

washcloth into the basin, squeezed it out, and began to wipe me down. The

warm moisture was comforting, as was the faint smell of mint. Then with a

third towel he rubbed me dry. When he was finished he stood above me and

laid a hand on my stomach.

"How are you doing?"

I didn't answer right away. Strange feelings were coursing through me. To

my surprise and embarrassment I felt tears welling up. I tried to stifle my

sobs but couldn't.

I felt myself lifted and gathered into strong arms. The doctor held me

against his bare chest as I cried my guts out on his shoulder. After what

seemed like an eternity I began to get a hold of myself. He handed me one

of the towels. I took it, blew my nose, and wiped my eyes. Then I sat on

the table staring at nothing, unable to look him in the eye.

"Dirk," he said. I looked at him. His gaze was warm and friendly, and I

could tell this was really him, not some mythical doctor.

"Don't be embarrassed. Many of my 'patients' have the same reaction."

I was surprised. "Why?"

"Not sure I can explain it very well. You were a marvelous patient--you took everything I threw at you and accepted it wholeheartedly, not holding anything back, totally letting yourself go. Because of that your ultimate release was greater than most of my patients. Men aren't used to laying themselves that bare in everyday life, and when they do in this examination room, stuff can come up from deep inside that they didn't expect. Does that make sense?"

I nodded. "Kind of."

He shrugged. "I'm sounding like some sort of medical professional. I'm not,

of course. I like to think that by doing these fantasy exams with a small

group of select men that I'm somehow helping them. I hope you got something

out of today."

I hugged him. "I did. I hope you could tell. Thanks."

He smiled and kissed me lightly one more time. "Don't mention it. And now I

think it's time for you-and me-to get dressed."

At the door a while later I turned to him. He was every inch the cool

professional again, even to his white coat. The words stuck in my throat

but I had to ask.

"Will I be able to get another appointment sometime?"

He didn't hesitate. "Absolutely! I'd suggest you wait a few months at

least, though, until you really feel you need it. Drive safely now."

I went to the hotel I'd booked for the night and checked in. As soon as I

was in the room an overwhelming wave of fatigue washed over me. I collapsed

on to the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

I haven't yet scheduled another exam with Dr. Roberts, though I know I

will. Like he said, I'm waiting until I really need it.

I never liked going to the doctor. Now I think all men need regular

checkups.