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ddollipop · 6 months

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CURB THIS SICKNESS. . . ! — ( SOFT YANDERE!PLAGUE DOCTOR OC X READER. )

#. synopsis! — there's a virus outside that's snuffed out the lights of many. . . and lucian refuses to let you meet such a miserable fate .

#. contains! — f!reader , explicitly nsfw content , multiple orgasms , vaginal fingering , implications of paranoia , cum swallowing , oral sex , cunnilingus , blowjob , vaginal sex , obsessive behavior , frequent usage of endearment terms (love, darling, angel) , missionary position , bathing , established relationship , slight choking , slight hair pulling , creampie , biting .

#. word count! — 5.1k .

#. oc carrd! — click here to find more information on lucian + other original characters of mine that i might write for in the future! xx .

When the virus began to spread in all directions from its alleged location of origin, —you were certain you’d be dead before winter. If not from sickness, then certainly from another disease, or at the hands of some twisted maniac just searching for someone to slaughter that nobody would care enough to miss. You thought it was only a matter of time before you succumbed to hunger or thirst or the changing chill of autumn, or maybe something completely different: but something was bound to happen, and you were sure of it.

And it did. . . But it was nothing like what you had in mind.

Lucian may have seemed like something out of a horror story passed down through generations, still clad in his working attire the night he scooped you up in his arms from a shabby alleyway like a stray kitten, but he was surprisingly gentle (and perhaps unusually quiet.) He wasn’t very talkative, but he cared for you in a way you were completely unaccustomed to, —prepared you a warm meal, brewed you chamomile tea, ran you a hot bath, and gave you a place to sleep for the night. He said you were slightly fevered and a bit malnourished, but all things considered, it could have been worlds worse.

“You’re lucky,” he hummed, a gloved hand smoothing over your jaw, “the pestilence hasn’t taken hold of you.”

Even back then, that wasn’t why you felt lucky. . . No, much to the contrary, you felt lucky because this man had taken you in without expecting anything of you in return, and he sought to keep you safe from the rot of the outside world. Thus, little by little, you stopped caring much about going out there.

His place is a bit quaint for two, but it’s homey, and it smells perpetually of lavender. Over time, he’s shifted the sleeping arrangements, and now you rest in his arms each night; about as close as one can get to being a lover without having the label.

A part of you is sure you could get it if you asked, but to you, it doesn’t matter much. At the end of each day, he comes home to you, and that’s what counts. You take care of the housework while he’s away (not that there’s ever much to do.) For as odd as he is, his living space is free of most things, —no trinkets unrelated to his work (which you are not keen on touching), and he’s meticulous about picking up after himself and keeping all his items in order, so your unofficial duties are few and far between. Otherwise, the rest boils down to cooking meals, washing clothes, and keeping yourself entertained while he’s away. . . Like some kind of glorified trophy wife.

And sure, this will probably get old eventually, but for now, this is what you’re working with. He likes to have you close and to know where you are, —to know that you’re safe and not out getting infected by anyone or anything. If you’re at his home, you’re safe from all the filth of the outside world, and heaven knows it’s so nice to come home and lie next to a body so utterly unmarred by the grime of society.

You’re sure once the virus has stilled, he’ll ease up.

But tonight is not that night. Lucian all but stumbles through the door, and you can hear his rapid breathing through the long, beak-like shape of his mask. He seems startled and frantic, and you rush over, a concerned expression crossing your features.

“Lucian? Are you alright?” You ask, reaching out to put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

In an instant, he snatches your wrist and grabs for the other, holding one in either hand. His grip is fervent, but far from painful, and you become more confused the longer he goes without explaining the state he’s found himself in.

“Lucian—”

“Darling,” he cuts you off, “you mustn’t get near the door.”

“Okay,” you nod in compliance, “but why?”

“The pestilence has taken hold of this city,” he replies. “The air out there, you wouldn’t believe the thickness of that putrid aroma. It’s suffocating.”

Before you can ask if there’s something you can do to quench his worries, he tugs you away from the entrance and into the bathroom. He removes his gloves and sets them aside, reaching down to begin running a warm bath. Then he looks to you, almost expectantly.

“Strip, please,” he encourages, —saying it like he’s desperate for the act, albeit not necessarily under the context you’d prefer of him.

“Lucian—”

“Darling,” he hisses, “please, do as I ask of you.”

His bare hands cup your cheeks.

“Please,” he repeats.

It’s hard to deny him when he asks like that and has been so good to you, and it’s not as if he’s asking for a lot. He’s just having a bad night, and if scrubbing yourself down will help ease his mind a bit, you’re willing to put in that sliver of extra effort for his sake.

Lucian sighs in relief as you begin to disrobe.

“Thank you,” he comments. “I really don’t have a clue what I’d do if you fell ill. . . I don’t think my heart could handle such a thing.”

You slip the last of your clothing off and step gingerly into the filling tub. It’s not long enough to stretch out in, so you bunch yourself up neatly to fit the space and look up at him once more.

“I feel fine,” you assure.

“I’m glad,” he replies. “Even so, it’s much better to air on the side of caution. The human body is a dangerously fickle thing, and it can be incredibly fragile. I’ve seen as much firsthand more times than I can count. In its infancy, this virus is little more than a common cold, but progresses into something fatal at a rapid pace.”

You simply nod as he kneels next to the tub, rolling his sleeves up.

“Your breathing is ragged, Lucian,” you state, “you should take that mask off and get some fresh air.”

“After,” he answers quickly.

He reaches for the half-used lavender soap bar and lathers it on his palms, then reaches out to smooth the suds over your arms and neck. His motions are a little rough and all too urgent. This is far from the first time he’s accompanied you for a bath, but it is the first time he’s ever done so and been this aggressive in his approach (if only as a result of his own anxiety.)

For the time being, he seems to avoid your breasts, instead reaching for one of your legs to hike it up out of the water. He repeats this process with the other, cleaning you until he seems satisfied. When he makes no move to revisit your chest, you take the soap from his hand and lather it yourself, placing it in its previous spot before leaning back slightly and allowing your hands to travel where you’d have liked for his to go.

Lucian watches but doesn’t touch. Your fingertips nudge at your nipples, feeling them harden under the minstrations, your bottom lip slipping between your teeth. If nothing else, he should be getting the hint by now.

Surprisingly, you’ve never had sex with him in all the months you’ve spent curled up in his arms, sleeping in his bed. He’s watched you take care of yourself on a number of occasions, has helped with his fingers another few times, —and allowed you to wrap your hand around him once a few weeks prior; but anything beyond that has seemed to be off limits. You’ve chalked it up to his shyness, or perhaps his distaste for human contact as a result of the pestilence; but tonight feels distinctly different.

Even in his previous state of frazzlement, Lucian seems all too content to sit back and watch you fondle your own breasts, soapy fingers clutching and releasing in tandem. You’ve always liked for him to watch you do things like this. Though his mask obscures the view of his face, you just know his eyes are trained on you, soaking up every movement, and you like to think he’s drooling at the way you grope yourself for his enjoyment (and for your own.)

“Lucian?” You prompt, half-lidded eyes glancing over to him.

His shoulders straighten as you say his name.

“You’re very beautiful,” he says, words almost too muffled by the mask to be made out.

“You think so?” You smirk a bit.

“I do.”

Ah, but that’s nothing new, and it’s nothing he hasn’t shared with you before. On the very night he took you in and washed your hair, he smoothed his gloved hands against your scalp and mumbled about how pretty you looked, even with dirt still caked on your skin. Even covered in filth from the alleyways you’d been sleeping in, he thought you were nothing less than stunning, —a real vision to behold, and he’s never skimped on such compliments.

You pause for a moment, reaching out to grasp for his hands. He allows the gesture, though he seems a bit confused, leaning in closer to the rim of the tub as you position him to your liking.

“Do you think I feel feverish?” You inquire, placing one of his hands on your neck and another on one of your breasts.

He makes no move to pull away, firming his grip up almost instantaneously, as if he’s been itching to feel you this way.

“Perhaps a bit warm,” he mumbles, taking a moment to roll your nipple between two nimble fingers, “but body temperature is known to rise during times of. . .” he trails off, clears his throat, then utters: “arousal.”

You trail your nails down his arm, letting your head tip back again. His hands are a bit calloused, but they feel so good against your skin, and you let a few moans slip past your lips. It’s not often he touches you like this without his gloves on, but the flesh-on-flesh contact is electrifying.

“Not to worry you, but I do feel a bit strange,” you huff slightly.

Through the slightly tinted bath water, Lucian can still watch your hand as it travels between your thighs.

“I’m just a throbbing mess,” you hum, giving him a pointed stare; “but you’ll take care of me. . . Right, Doctor?”

It may just be your imagination, but you could swear you heard his breathing shudder at that request. You’ve never been this forward with him, but something apart from the facial expression that’s still hidden away tells you that he likes where this is going. His fingers clamp down on the column of your throat, squeezing just enough to make taking in air a bit more of a struggle, but not anywhere near hard enough to be fatal.

The bit about being a throbbing mess was by no means an exaggeration on your part, so you take matters into your own fingers for the time being, drawing circles on your clit beneath the water.

“Of course,” he finally finds the voice to agree, “—I’d do anything to keep you from feeling unwell.”

That is what you like to hear.

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

His grip tightens on your throat again, for emphasis, and with that, he seems to come slightly undone.

“Darling, that’s why I’ve demanded you stay here in my home, —our home. It’s safe here, free of contaminants and filth and anything that could cause you harm,” he says, the words spilling out like he’s been holding them back since he first set his sights on you.

“The world outside is ill, not just this rotten city. I’m working tirelessly to combat this pestilence, but as things stand now, the safest place you can be is here. With me. You understand that, my love. . . Don’t you?”

You’re only half listening, but you nod in agreement anyway. Whatever he’s saying, you trust his opinion on the matter.

“Of course,” you gasp, almost slipping a finger inside yourself to the tune of his melodic voice.

“I knew you would,” he continues, loosening the grip on your neck again. “You know I only want what’s best for you, that everything I do is to ensure your safety, —to eliminate the possibility of you ever falling sick.”

“Of course,” you repeat, head growing cloudier by the minute. “You’ve always taken such good care of me, right from the very beginning.”

God, he’s so elated that you’re seeing things his way. The way this makes him feel is almost too much to handle.

“I try so hard, darling, I truly do,” he says, both hands coming up to cup your cheeks.

“Please, Lucian,” you mumble desperately, “I need you tonight.”

He complies, shedding his long coat and draping it over your shoulders once you’ve stepped out of the tub. The chill of the air against your wet skin leaves your nipples hard and sensitive, and as he leads you to the bedroom, you hope he realizes just what it is you’re asking for. His fingers are a plentiful start, and you just know they’ll feel so good stuffed inside you, curling to hit all the right places, —but they’re nothing compared to the cock he’s stingily hidden away for all this time.

Tonight, you want him in all his glory in the glow of the lanterns on the walls. You want to strip him bare and gag on the length between his thighs, feel him twitch against the roof of your mouth, tease every vein that runs up his shaft. It’s not enough to grind against him while you’re half asleep or hump his clothed thigh until you’ve left his pants damp and your pussy sopping, just begging to be fucked by this man who might just love you more than he could ever fear any virus that lurks outside these walls.

“Don’t fret,” he tells you, though it sounds more like a command than a gesture to soothe any worries, “just lie back. I’ll be sure to give you. . . A proper examination.”

You could cum just hearing that.

With half your body pressed against the headboard and his coat nearly slipping off your body completely, he sets to work in his underclothes and mask. It’s by no means an uncommon sight, but there’s something distinct about him this late evening; the way his black attire contrasts so beautifully with the stark paleness of his skin and the mystery it shrouds him in that you’re just dying to sink your teeth into. Everything hidden beneath that cautious wardrobe and that long mask. . . You’ve gotta have it. It’s a necessity.

His fingers, ungloved, begin softly with your calves, tracing senseless lines.

“I’m not so fragile,” you remind him.

For as oblivious as he can be, Lucian takes the hint, and by the time he’s reached your thighs, he’s content to give them the same treatment as your throat.

The way he splits you apart is almost painfully clinical, a thumb on either side of your lips, peering through the eye holes of his mask to admire the way your folds glisten in the orange lantern light. A few prodding strokes leave you biting your lip again, body waning in anticipation for the moment he finally turns his hand over and sinks the longest of his fingers inside you, —slowly, but deliberately. It’s impossible to see his expression, but you hope his mouth hangs open a little at the way your cunt suckles on his finger, encouraging him to prod more and maybe stuff another few inside for you to grind against.

There’s something about the warmth of his fingers that gets you off almost in equal amounts to the way he moves. Another finger inside, and you whine, halfway to an orgasm from this alone.

He’s not particulary rough in his execution, but there’s a clean meticulousness in every movement that leaves every cell in your body craving more, begging for anything he can offer. Months upon months of wanting, of dropping hints, of hoping he’d catch on and finally see things your way, —and at last, you’ve made it. And now that you’re here, you’re content to simply lie still and let him have his way with you.

“Please don’t stop,” you beg, nearly choking on the words when the tips of his fingers brush just the right spot.

“Before you’re satisfied?” He sits forward a bit, resting his free hand on your stomach to press you down onto the bed. “Darling, I couldn’t fathom it.”

You will your upper body forward, grabbing for the hand on your stomach to move it up to your throat. He squeezes, scissoring the fingers inside you, watching closely as your body shakes and your eyes roll back a bit in ecstasy.

“I’ve tried,” he says to you suddenly. “I’ve tried so desperately to be gentle with you.”

You smile.

“I appreciate that,” you answer. “But I don’t want you to be gentle at the moment.”

“That’s a dangerous request, my love,” he warns.

God, you hope so.

You reach forward and grab at the beak of his mask, pulling it upward gently until it begins to slip off and reveal the handsome face underneath. Dark hair, dark eyes, but skin almost pale enough to be sickly, you meet his gaze just long enough to ask for permission, then lean in to kiss him on the mouth. It’s the first time, and it’s electric. He’s avoided this for months, —avoided your mouth, your unspoken pleas, all the passes you made for the sake of keeping himself at bay. But here you are now with two of his fingers stuffed inside you, his hand on your throat, and your lips slotted against his own.

“Please,” you murmur, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

And you can feel the restraints of his mind come unwound.

He’s no longer gentle in the way he fucks you silly with his fingers, hammering them over and over and over again into that delicious spot buried deep inside you, squeezing your throat hard enough to cut your breathing off. The way your pussy spasms as you cum is blissful, and he loves the way your arousal soaks his digits, loves the way your back arches, soundless moans spilling forth as he makes you orgasm.

“I fucking tried,” he says again.

It’s almost manic, so desperate and sort of pathetic in the kind of way that turns you on. This is the first time you’ve ever heard him curse, and it dawns on you that even the filthiest of words sound so unendingly elegant when they’re spoken by Lucian.

“I tried to be gentle. I tried to keep you safe here, —to shelter you from whatever forsaken wasteland remains out there,” he insists, his fingers still buried in your twitching cunt. “I just wanted to protect you.”

He lightens the grip on your throat as you lean in to kiss him again, cupping his face in your hands.

“You have,” you assure him.

“You take such good care of me, Lucian,” you mumble into his ear. “Let me show you how grateful I am.”

The fingers stuffed inside you slowly slip out, and reach for his hand, guiding them to your lips, taking his digits into your mouth to taste yourself on them. He watches with hunger and interest as you clean him with your tongue. He leans in to kiss you to get a taste of it himself, grasping your hair near the scalp and taking a fistful hard enough to make you gasp.

“I can’t let you leave,” he murmurs. “It’s not safe out there. When this pestilence has been subdued, I’ll do this all correctly. We can start from the beginning, and I’ll be a gentleman.”

“I look forward to it,” you answer softly.

“You’ll stay until then?” He inquires.

He’s clearly overreacting, but it’s hard to care when you just want him inside you. Lucian has seen death day in and day out, —so it’s no wonder it feels like it permeates everything around him. He just doesn’t want you to suffer such a fate, and you’re confident that you won’t, as long as he’s yours.

“Of course I will,” you answer.

It’s like something primal takes over. Suddenly his lips are on yours in a bruising kiss, and his hands are grasping roughly at your breasts, pushing you down onto the bed as he crawls between your legs. He pauses, hovering just above your dripping cunt, turning his head to sink his teeth into the meat of your thigh. It makes you squeal a bit, and he kisses the teethmarks he left behind as if in apology.

You can’t help but wonder how long he’s been yearning for this. It’s like every part of him is thrumming from the thrill of it all, and this man who has previously refused to even kiss you on the mouth is now stationed exactly where you want him, tongue lolling out to lick a solid stripe up your folds. He laps like a man starved, then spreads you apart with his thumbs to suck your clit mercilessly.

It’s good enough to make your vision go blurry, and you can’t seem to form proper words through the haze. Desperately, your fingers claw at the sheets of this mattress, and he moans against your hot cunt, sending a vibration rippling through your core that makes your back arch on instinct. You mumble something that comes out like gibberish, pussy convulsing against the flat of his tongue.

His arm comes round to press your hips down, forcing you to be still. It’s the kind of toruture you’re sure you’ll learn to live for. There’s only so much you can wriggle under his arm, which has a surprising amount of force despite his rather lanky stature.

From what little friction you manage as you attempt to grind against his tongue, you tip yourself over the edge and as the knot in your stomach unties for the second time tonight, he continues licking, lapping at the juices that spill forth.

He stands and reaches for the top button of his shirt, not bothering to wipe his face, chin and lips glistening with your aftermath. You watch him undress with lustful eyes, propping yourself up on your elbow, then slinking back against the headboard once again, resting your weary body against it. The quiver of your thighs doesn’t stop you from nudging at your swollen clit.

“I wanted to be a gentleman,” he comments, untucking the shirt from his pants and pulling the front open.

It’s not skin you haven’t seen before. In fact, you’ve seen every inch of him at one point or another; just never all at once, and now, you’re waiting with bated breath to see him completely exposed for your eyes only.

“I truly did. I wanted to give you comfort and security, —to love you as you deserve. And I knew from the moment I saw you that only I could give you exactly what you’ve always needed.”

You hum in acknowledgement as he continues to strip himself bare.

“But it’s so clear to me now that I’ve neglected you,” he continues. “This beautifully desperate display is all a result of my negligence. . . I failed to realize just how much you needed me like this. How much you needed the touch of a man. . .”

He sounds apologetic, but your eyes are fixated on his half-hard cock. The last time you saw it, he asked that you keep your mouth away; insisting it wasn’t sanitary to use it for such purposes, terrified that you might contract some sort of illness if you sucked his dick for the sheer enjoyment of doing so. This time, however, you have a feeling you’re well past that.

To test the waters, you let your hand fall away from your cunt, slipping off the side of the bed to kneel before him. He gazes down at you as you open your lips and let your tongue fall out, encouraging him to make what he will of it.

“My love,” he says, placing four fingers under your chin to rest his thumb against your tongue for a moment, “—I’ll make everything up to you. . .”

His free hand pumps his cock once, twice, thrice, —then he places it gently on the flat of your tongue, letting you feel the weight and the warmth of it. He sighs.

“Darling,” he groans, “ah. . .”

It takes very little for him to come close to cumming in your mouth, just a few minutes of sucking him off, listening to him moan, feeling him quiver at your touch. You hum with his member stuffed down your throat, and he cants his hips reflexively, an orgasm bubbling up beneath his skin.

Your non-dominant hand holds his cock steady while the other is stuck between your thighs, rubbing furiously at your clit, making you whimper along his shaft. When he notices, Lucian finds that wholly unacceptable and snatches you up to position you on the edge of the bed, relieving the pressure on your aching knees. You weren’t down there for long, but kneeling was hardly comfortable on the hard floor.

He spreads your thighs apart and smacks the pads of his fingers against your slit.

Whatever he’s doing, you’re sure you’ll enjoy it to the fullest, so you occupy yourself with his cock again from this new angle, bending awkwardly to mouth at the reddened tip. His fingers find their way inside you once more, working their delicate magic, brushing against all the right places. At this point, you’re more desperate for his dick to slip inside you like this, but you take what he offers in stride (and more of him into your mouth in the process.)

He’s vocal, and that’s utterly divine. His gravely moans and the pump of his fingers leave you cumming for a third time before his first orgasm arises, depositing a sizable amount of his seed into your mouth.

“I love you,” he huffs, —and if he were anyone else, you’d be certain it was just the oral sex talking, but no. . . Lucian wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it.

Of course, he’s made similar confessions over the months, and has certainly treated you like it long before he ever expressed it so directly, but still. . . It feels nice to hear it, if nothing else.

“I love you too,” you answer honestly, urging him closer with your arms wrapped around his neck. “I’m yours tonight, completely. . . If you’ll have me. . .”

“Oh, darling, don’t be foolish,” he remarks, kissing you deeply. “You’ve been mine since the moment we met.”

Your back to the cool sheets, he lingers over you now, his shadow looming over you so monstrously. There’s a stark flush of red on his face that has begun to spread down the length of his neck, and one of his hands finds its way to your breasts as the other smoothes across your thigh. The head of his cock kisses your sopping entrance, sending a series of chills from the top of your spine to the bottom.

His breath on your neck makes your chest tighten, and he finds your lips with his own again as he sinks inside you, filling you up.

“Lucian,” you whimper, helpless to his touch as he pauses, buried down to the hilt inside your cunt.

He presses a few gentle kisses to your throat, murmuring something about how nice it feels to be stuffed inside you. He feels your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his intrusion.

“You must understand by now,” he says, mumbling the words right next to your bitten earlobe. “Everything I do is for you.”

“I do,” you gasp slightly.

As he begins to move, your walls clench around him, and he exhales deeply against the junction of your neck and shoulder. You roll your hips to match his pace, but as he goes faster, that becomes fruitless. Eventually, you resign yourself to the fate of lying there against the pillows, speared on his cock, him making a mess of you as you moan uncontrollably.

This was everything you’d been hoping for and then some, like some erotic dream come to life. Lucian’s lips travel where they please, —stopping to peck at your jaw, then to suck on your throat. Your breathing is haggard, and he smooths a hand down your side, resting it against your hip for a moment.

“Just a little more,” he whispers, as if to be reassuring.

“Just look how stunning you are, angel,” he murmurs, “how pretty you look like this.”

He kisses you once more.

“You take this so well, like your body was made for me.”

You’re delirious enough to believe that might be the case.

His cock pounds a little harder, and he hits the perfect spot, tearing a desperate yelp from your throat. You’re overstimulated and weak, but your high is itching just under your skin, and you couldn’t bear to see it disappear.

“Please,” you whimper to him, completely at his mercy, “—please, I’m so close.”

He loves the desperation that clings to your voice. The hand on your hip travels to your clit, pressing roughly against the abused little button, making you jerk slightly. He rubs a few heavy circles against it, and you come undone, cunt spasming around his cock as he chases his own release inside you.

Lucian is sloppy near the end, which may just be the only time you’ve ever known him to not be perfectly calculated and precise. His breath hits your neck again, over and over as he huffs through the hunt, finally sinking his teeth in when he comes to a finish. His cum sits hot inside your cunt, and he catches his breath for a moment, head resting against your throat.

“I apologize,” he utters. “I hope that wasn’t too much for you.”

You exhale slowly, his cock still buried in your heat.

“Don’t apologize,” you murmur, “I enjoyed myself.”

You feel him smile against your neck.

“I’m glad, darling.”

For the first time, he sleeps next to you without clothing, letting you touch every part of him, tangling your limbs together. Your face buried in the crook of his neck, breath fanning softly against him, as close to sleep as you can manage without tumbling over the precipice, Lucian reaches for his long coat and drapes it over your body, holding you closer.

#oc #original character #plague doctor #original character smut #oc smut #oc x reader #yandere x reader #yandere smut #yandere x you #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere original character x reader #yandere oc smut #yandere original character smut #soft yandere

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dark-raven-feathers · 1 year

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I write this not from my office, but from the Lord's manor in which I have had to take up temporary residence. His symptoms are much worse than any others I have seen, and I gave his wife an egg white solution to feed him every noon, in order to clear his headache. In the meanwhile, tomorrow I will fetch my toads and leeches from my abode, as well as pay a quick visit to Patient two and Patient Three. For now I rest on the floor for the night. The Lord apologized as he did not have a space prepared, but I told him it was no matter. I have slept in far worse areas.

#doctor feathers #plaguesona #plague doctors #plague doctor #dark acadamia #My bed is being replaced irl so I am actually sleeping on the floor on a mattress until further notice #however #Doctor Feathers does not have a mattress #she is simply sitting on the floor in the corner of the Lord's sleeping quaters #leaning against the wall #and going to sleep #mask and all #she's slept in trees before so she doesn't mind #at least you don't have the constant danger of falling off in a room #literally imagine being a lil' village child getting up at dawn #and going outside and the first thing you see is bird doctor sleeping in one of your apple trees

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darklordofthesimp · 1 year

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Anything V (König x Reader)

The 5th instalment in the Anything-Verse

Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Like the characters?

Sunshine Masterlist || Saint Masterlist

Series Summary: A lack of information from the chain of command results in König mistaking you for an enemy sniper.

A/N: Ya’ll are in for a treat with this series. I just figured out the plot like 10 minutes ago hahaha

Category: Angst || Hurt/Comfort || Unrequited Pining || Tension

Warning: Graphic Language

You glared at the woman before you, fury simmering beneath your skin. You felt like you were on fire, you felt like you could commit heinous crimes- you knew that you could kill them.

“I understand that you may feel like this isn’t needed,” the stupid fuck soothed. “But therapy is a proven solution. I can help get you back up and running.”

Therapy.

Your fingers dug into the armrests.

“They told me this was training.” You were chewing on the words, jaw tight and eyes narrowed. Deep down you’d known that this was coming, you’d declined ‘help’ after the initial incident but now there was no hiding the darkness that plagued your mind. Everyone had seen it.

Everyone.

“This is training,” the doctor smiled. “Training of the mind.”

You visibly cringed. They’d made sure to give you the most disarming person they could find. Kind eyes, an easy smile and a relaxed posture. They looked vulnerable. If the doctor was the most fragile in the room, then it would encourage you to step out and spill your trauma with tears and snot bubbles. Not you.

You sneered, leaning forward to rest your arms on your knees. “Being chosen to be my therapist is a shit go, Doc.”

“Actually,” the corner of their lips curled upward. “This’ll piss you off more but I’m doing a friend a favour.”

You blinked, surprise snatching the next crude words from your tongue. The doctor leaned back into their chair, clicking the pen a couple of times as if emphasising a point. As you stared at them, they stared back, and you suddenly realised that maybe they weren’t as vulnerable as they seemed.

“Laswell?” You queried.

The therapist snorted softly. “Price.”

Your spine straightened, a deep sense of anger twisting violently within your chest.

Price.

“Ooh,” the doctor tutted softly, leaning forward in their seat. “Didn’t like that one, did you?”

You sneered at them, your eyes narrowed and your walls higher than ever. What did they know about what you liked and disliked? What did they know of your relationship with Price?

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you snapped, crossing your arms over your chest.

“If you had it your way, you wouldn’t talk at all,” the doctor frowned.

“Then take the fucking hint.”

Their gaze trailed over your body, taking in the way you leaned away from the conversation. You were an open book and no matter how aggressive the mask you wore was- you were readable. With a huff, the therapist tossed their notebook over their shoulder lazily. It clattered onto the bench behind them, scattering the miscellaneous items in its path.

“Alright, Birdy. Let’s go off the record then,” they gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “You’re shitty with Price.”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about him-”

“You feel like he’s betrayed you.”

You blinked, fingers trembling even though they were curled into fists. The overarching thought that had been plaguing you for weeks was picked apart by some random fucking doctor. The words were out, you weren’t the one that had said them but they were in the air anyway. It felt good to hear them aloud rather than the screaming thought over and over in the recesses of your mind.

“Yes.” The confirmation was bitter on your tongue. You waited for the doctor to shut you down, you waited for them to monologue about how your feelings were childish and unprofessional. They were providing you this service as a favour to the Captain, you could only assume that they were friends.

Instead, the therapist simply nodded. “I would too, Birdy.”

You loosed a breath that you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“What was your name again, Doc?” You rasped, eyes narrowing. They shifted in their seat, taken off guard by the sudden change in subject but willing to share nonetheless.

The doctor shot you a smile- genuine this time.

“They call me Saint.”

____

While you didn’t appreciate being ambushed with it, therapy hadn’t been as bad as you’d imagined. Your fingers clenched and unclenched in an attempt to release some tension as you walked.

Every day, you were required to present to the doctors office for a psych appointment.

Every day, Saint had picked your thoughts apart bit by bit.

Although you hadn’t intended to talk, you realized quickly that Saint didn’t just look disarming- they were disarming. There was no judgement as you spoke, not when you told them about your murderous nightmares and not when you told them that you’d wanted to beat down the new sniper.

They only nodded, explaining that it- surprisingly- was natural to feel like that after what you’d experienced.

You felt validated.

Less like a liability and more like a recovering victim.

Your thoughts stuttered to a halt as you laid eyes on the kitchen, the light spilling from the open doorway and out into the hall. You raised a brow at the sight, knowing that only one person would really be awake at this time of night.

Ghost.

The flutter in your chest caught you off guard, the thought of seeing Simon had you excited. It’d been a while since you’d both last spoken, a hand on the shoulder as he muttered a “see you soon,” and a “be safe.” All that, right before he boarded a plane with Sunshine in tow.

“Yeah,” the newest sniper had winked at you with a curved smile. “See you real soon, gorgeous.”

You hated them, you were sure of it. They were nauseatingly glib, each word rolling off their silver tongue with all the ease but no truth. You couldn’t believe anything they said, you’d be stupid if you did.

As you approached the kitchen slowly, you heard hushed voices. They were arguing- aggressive and quickly spoken.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Sunshine snapped, their words breathless. “For the rest of our time here, this is how you want it to be?”

From what you’d seen, the new sniper had a reputation for being self-posessed and controlled. They wanted to watch you unravel beneath their sentences, but in order for them to do that they’d have to be unphased by whatever’s thrown at them.

Right now, there was no sign of that person.

“What “I want it to be” is you doing your fucking job and me doing mine." The hostility in Simon's tone had you taken aback. You’d never heard him so aggressive towards a teammate and for a split moment, you felt bad for Sunshine.

“It was!” The sniper shouted, their exhaustion and frustration painstakingly clear.

“You were reckless.”

“I was saving you!”

“I don’t need you to save me!” Ghost finally snapped. The sound of something clattering followed by Sunshine’s sharp breath had you tense. “I don’t need anything from you.”

There was a soft touch against your shoulder and your heart stuttered in your chest. Fear electrified your body as you spun around. A hand pressed down firmly against your lips, suffocating the scream rising from your throat.

König’s eyes were narrowed, his head ducked so that he could meet your gaze head on. The look he gave you was accusatory and shame quickly flooded your cheeks. Your fingers came to rest shakily against his wrist, pushing weakly against his hold.

His brows pulled into a frown.

“Are you asking me to just let you fucking die?” Sunshine rasped, their seething voice reminding you of where you were. König’s eyes drifted from yours to over your shoulder aimlessly as he listened to their conversation.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ghost drawled. You could hear him struggling for control, the way he drew each breath like it was painful.

“What the fuck is wrong with you people?” The sniper exclaimed. “If it was Birdy instead of me today you wouldn’t have an issue with it-”

“But you’re not Birdy,” Ghost snapped, “are you?”

Silence flooded the space between you all.

You felt ashamed of yourself. You were somewhere you shouldn’t have been, you were listening to a conversation that you were never intended to hear. This was something personal, the hatred and electricity between Sunshine and Ghost forbidden for your understanding.

König must have come to the same conclusion. The man shot you a hard stare, his hands falling from your lips to grip your shoulders. He guided you backward quietly, trying to provide an escape that wouldn’t alert them to your presence.

“No, Sir,” Sunshine’s voice was faint now as you pulled away from the two. “I’m not Birdy.”

You knew then that something had changed. It was in their voice, it was in the air, it was in the venom of their words- it was a suffocating emotion that you knew too well.

They were hurt.

But, hurt breeds bitterness and there was nothing but hatred in Sunshine’s final words.

I’m not Birdy.

König sucked in a breath and you knew that he’d heard it as well. When he finally managed to pull you both through the doors of your dormitory unscathed, he let you go. There was no gentleness in his expression this time when he appraised you.

“What were you thinking?” He growled, running rough fingers through his hair. “That was wrong.”

“I know,” you whispered, shaken.

“You shouldn’t have been there,” König continued with a large step away from your quivering body. He was riled up and his anger stimulated your own. Who was he to lecture you?

“You shouldn’t have been there either,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

König shot you a stern look. “I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t find you eavesdropping, naseweis.”

You rolled your eyes, turning on your heel. While you weren’t falling apart at the sight of him anymore, it didn’t mean that you wanted to be around him. You still wanted nothing to do with König, no interaction, no contact- nothing.

“I don’t need you, of all people, lecturing me on being in the wrong place at the wrong time,” you threw over your shoulder as you walked. There was a huff from the man behind you, then the fall of his footsteps following in suit.

“Doesn’t the incident make me an expert on that?” König questioned from beside you, keeping pace as though it were a leisurely stroll. You glared up at him, forcing the growing rage clawing at your chest to stay caged.

“You think it’s funny?” You hissed. “Am I a fucking joke to you?”

“Of course not!” König’s voice hardened. You both rounded the corner towards your room, it felt like the quicker you moved the easier it was for him to keep up. Another infuriating feature that the Austrian possessed, you’d add it to the already mile-long list.

“Then why can’t you just leave me alone?” You spun on your heel, facing the beast head on. “It’s like you’re everywhere, König. I can’t escape you, I enter a room and you’re there. I turn a corner, you’re there. I go to sleep and there you fucking are.”

König raised a brow, leaning his shoulder against the frame beside him. “I’m not stalking you, Birdy. If that’s what you’re trying to imply.”

“Is that why you’re standing in my bedroom doorway?”

The man’s spine straightened as he took up his own weight, emerald gaze pinning you to your place. It was as though he were surprised, as though he was just now realising that he had been following you. Your chest was heaving as you glared up at him. You wanted him to deny it, to tell you that you were imagining it all- you wanted to be angry.

“You’re a worrying person,” König finally said. The words almost sounded like an admission, although of what you were unsure. You jaw tightened as you retreated another step back into the safety of your room.

“No,” you corrected, “you’re a worrying person.”

König sighed, letting the silence fall in between you for a beat. There was conflict across his expression before finally his eyes narrowed. He stepped into the room.

Your heart leapt into your throat.

“Do you think I want to hurt you?”

There it was.

It was the question that plagued you as you lay in bed every night, staring at your bedroom door. Or lack thereof, you should say. There was nothing on the hinges, not since König had kicked it down.

He’d thought you were in danger. You lay before him, unconscious and dreaming. He could have done anything, he could have finished the job.

But he didn’t.

König’s head tilted as he observed you, watching you struggle for an answer. His fingers lightly brushed against your forearm and you froze, eyes wide as you stared up at him. He was so tall, dominating every space he entered. He was a giant amongst men, a god.

“Do you think I want to hurt you, Birdy?” König said again. He didn’t lean down, didn’t drop down to your height this time. He wanted your answer, he wanted you to look at him and take him as he was- he wanted the truth.

“No,” you whispered.

The truth.

Your body trembled as though the room had dropped to subzero temperatures but your skin was on fire. Heat bloomed across your chest, racing the length of your spine, neck and cheeks.

König’s eyes softened and he swayed backward lazily, as though he were drunk fighting for his balance. Neither of you said anything for a long moment. He didn’t ask why you were still afraid, he knew that was an unfair question. He never expected you to be comfortable with his presence.

But the shift between you both was tangible.

“Am I right?” The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them, desperate and vulnerable. An offering, an olive branch an extension of trust.

Something washed over the man before you, something you’d never seen before. His gaze was ferocious, jade fire burning beneath those lashes as it scorched your skin. Determination tightened his jaw and his thumb brushed across the skin of your arm like a promise.

An unspoken response.

Yes.

Your breath left your chest as you took another step away, suffocating in his presence. König inhaled heavily, his hands falling back to rest at his sides.

“I still-” You began, twisting your fingers anxiously.

“I know.”

You still hadn’t forgiven him.

There was a long way to go, but now the path had changed. Rather than there being a straight road, shrouded in hatred, there was a fork. A split in the path that required a decision, one that you weren’t quite ready to make yet.

König cleared his throat, softening his stance with conscious effort. It was as if he remembered that he was meant to be disarming. Watching the huge man try to shrink himself for your comfort was surreal, nothing like what you’d imagined when you’d first laid eyes on him after your recovery.

Ghost had never made himself smaller for you when you came out of hospital. He was slower, gentler, as though dealing with a frightened animal- but he never pretended to be something that he was not.

“Do you think they heard us?” You changed the topic as your mind fell back to Ghost and Sunshine. “How would we explain that?”

König blinked, clearly glad for the break in intensity. He shifted backward, moving to make his escape as your interaction came to a close. For once, he was the one running from you.

“Wrong place, wrong time,” he muttered, an ironic smile playing at his lips. “They won’t have a hard time believing that given our history.”

The man offered you a nod, fingers tapping against the door with finality- his own farewell. You were glad that he hadn’t said ‘goodnight’, that he hadn’t bothered with niceties. You were not friends. Not allies.

You weren’t sure what you were.

When he disappeared around the door, his footsteps retreating down the hall, you finally let yourself relax. Jitters skittered across your body, the remnants of electricity from your confrontation buzzing beneath your skin.

Wrong place, wrong time.

The words struck a chord of discomfort within you.

They followed you through your night routine, plaguing you in the shower, lingering as you made a cup of tea, whispering sickness as you laid in bed. They made you nauseous, they made you dizzy, they were disconcerting.

Wrong place, wrong time.

The whole accident had been such a tragic coincidence, a monumental mistake. Almost impossible in an environment where communication is key, everything working in perfect tandem to ensure your demise.

Throughout the length of your military career, you’d always been taught to never take anything as chance. If a bush rustled beside you, there was a possibility that it was an animal- but also that it could be an enemy. If there was a light beneath a door, it could have been left on or there was someone waiting for you on the other side. You were taught not to trust coincidence.

The failure of comms, the false intel of a sniper on a roof, the unexpected of KorTac, the largest soldier of their team being sent to find you- all of it was a perfectly timed but tragic coincidence.

You tossed in your bed, trying to drown the thoughts from your crumbling mind. It seems you didn’t need a nightmare tonight to bring on terror. Your resolve began to slip, the sudden sense of dread gripping you by the throat.

Wrong place, wrong time.

You wanted to rake the thoughts from your brain with your bare fingers. You wanted to rip out the connection you’d made and go to sleep in bliss ignorance.

Wrong place, wrong time.

The way König had brought it up, the way he’d said it, maybe he was feeling it too. Maybe you weren’t as insane as you felt. Maybe your thoughts weren’t as unreliable as they seemed. You clenched your jaw, nails digging into the skin of your palm hoping that the pain would pull you back from the edge you teetered on.

Wrong place, wrong time.

Wrong for both you and König … but, as you lay staring at your missing door, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe it was all just right for somebody else.

#könig cod #konig x reader #könig x reader #könig #könig mw2 #könig modern warfare #konig call of duty #könig call of duty #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #call of duty x reader #cod mw2 x reader #cod x reader

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kaziwi · 8 months

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Heyyy, congratulations for the 100 followers 😍😍

I would like to ask for number 8 with Zoro, if that's okay. Thank you!!

Ugh i love Zoro sm, I hope you enjoy!!!

Link to Event

"I'll just stay behind."

Character(s): Zoro

WC: 727

CW: Sick fic, Zoro being a sweetie

It was cold....but also hot.....you wished your body would make up its mind already. Of course you were the first one on the ship to get the common Grandline Flu this year. But in all honestly you didn't mind being sick, the only issue was your crewmates avoiding you like the plague. Sickness spread easily on the ship, so no one wanted to take any chances. The only one who ever spent long periods of time with you in the infirmary was Chopper, who kept his distance and wore a mask to avoid getting sick. Other than him and Sanji dropping off your meals, you really didn't have any other company.

You didn't blame them, I mean you would do the same in their position, but thinking that didn't make you feel any better. Chopper said they all missed you dearly, but you wished you could hear it from then.

The Sunny had docked at an island earlier that morning, and now it was time for everyone to split up and stock up on supplies. The only issue was who was going to stay with you. Chopper had to run out and grab a few herbs only he could identify, so someone else would have to stay. Luckily for you, they were discussing this right in front of the thin infirmary door, so you could hear everything.

"I wish I could stay with Y/N swan, but I have to restock on food," Sanji said, dramatic sadness in his voice.

"Well I don't want to stay here!! I really don't want to get sick," Usopp pleaded.

"I thought the great captain Usopp didn't get sick?" Nami snickered at him as he rambled on to defend himself.

"I need to get cola so I can start some SUPERR repairs on the Sunny!!"

Everyone fought over who would stay, making you feel kinda sad. They really didn't want to stay with you?? Maybe you were a bit of a burden. Just before you could continue your negative thoughts, a voice caught your eye.

"I'll just stay behind."

The commotion stopped and you assumed everyone turned and stared at Zoro, but the shock didn't last long.

"Thanks Zoro-bro!"

"Yeah, thanks Zoro!!"

"Zoro!! Let me run you through what Y/N needs!!"

You couldn't help but laugh at Chopper's explanations, knowing Zoro wouldn't remember any of it. Slowly the commotion died down, and after a little Zoro entered your room.

"I'm assuming everyone else left?" You asked, not wanting to let him know you heard everything.

"Yeah, they won't be long, just restocking," Zoro said as he took Chopper's doctor chair and rolled it towards the side of the bed, sitting next to you. You then noticed that he wasn't wearing a mask, nor was he afraid to get close to you.

"Why aren't you wearing a mask? Aren't you afraid of catching what I have?"

"Eh, not really. I mean its a small ship, we're all gonna catch it eventually, so might as well catch it early."

You chuckled a little at his response...but you wondered why he of all people chose to stay behind...

"So...why did you stay behind? I mean, I'm assuming everyone else didn't want to cause they don't want to catch it...but why did you?" You asked after a bit of silence. He looked off to the side, and as he cleared his throat you swore you saw his cheeks turn red.

"Well...uh.." Zoro fumbled with his words a bit, which he never did, EVER, "I just didn't want you to be lonely...I know how annoying it can be stuck in the infirmary, and especially being sick and if someone else stayed they would keep their distance. And like I said I don't really care about getting sick so I didn't think there was any harm in staying."

It was cute, watching him ramble on, trying to give you a convincing explanation on while he volunteered to stay.

"Well thank you," you said, cutting him off, "It was a very nice gesture."

He almost looked like a tomato, his face turning red. You both talked for hours until everyone else came back. You were better in a few days, but that same day Zoro started showing symptoms. While everyone else again avoided Zoro, you stayed by his side, making sure his kindness was repaid.

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empresskylo · 9 months

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beneath the mask ✩ chapter 3 ⬅ch. 2

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠CHAPTER TAGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost. wc 2.5k. ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | i do not have a tag list.

𝐛𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

the following week involved you being the only medic on base and having to treat every soldier on your own; briefing sessions with soap; a few awkward run-ins with ghost; and a shit load of anxiety.

you couldn’t get over the fact that you were about to walk side by side with the most dangerous men in the world on the most important mission you’ve ever been on. soap was acting like it was no big deal—they do this kind of stuff all the time, he had said. you had to remind soap that you were new to this division and weren’t exactly a skilled killer like the rest of the men. you were used to helping wounded men when they were carted back to base, not being in on the action.

“soap,” you whined as the larger man refused to let you take a break from your current training match. “i wasn’t built for this,” you said dramatically, collapsing on the mats beneath you.

soap chuckled, his hands resting on his hips. “i’m just tryin’ to prepare ya. ghost isn’t gonna go so easy on you.”

“ghost?” you asked, sitting upright–a bit faster than someone who wasn’t constantly thinking about their lieutenant would.

soap stuck a hand out and grabbed yours, heaving you up to stand before him again.

“ghost insisted on makin’ sure we all met his standards.”

you knew this was about you and gaz specifically, even if he didn’t say it. these men were already the best of the best, that's how they got recruited into this task force. but gaz being recently hurt, and you not coming from a combat background, was probably plaguing his thoughts.

“oh, wonderful,” you said sarcastically. you were almost positive soap was oblivious to your weird dynamic with ghost, but you couldn’t be one hundred percent certain; soap’s perceptiveness could surprise you sometimes.

you downed your water and stretched a bit more waiting for your imminent doom.

gaz approached you, his arm outstretched over his head.

“how’s your hand?” you asked him.

gaz released his stretch with a satisfied grunt and then held up his now unbandaged hand, smiling.

“and your ribs?”

“still a bit sore. just glad they’re not broken.”

you smiled. “just don’t go too hard training today, okay?”

gaz mock saluted you. “yes, doctor.” you rolled your eyes.

gaz had pulled you into a sparring match, trying to get your reflexes to actually function properly for when you’d be out in the field with the men.

you growled in frustration as gaz got another killing blow lined up.

“dead. again,” he said with a laugh.

“glad you find my suffering entertaining.”

you felt your body tense and you knew that ghost had just strolled into the training room. you had a weird way of sensing whenever he was around. it was like he made the air thicker of any room he walked in to.

you tried to keep your focus on gaz. he grabbed your hands and helped you adjust your hand wraps that were starting to loosen around your knuckles. your eyes flickered over gaz’s shoulder and you spotted him.

his eyes were already on you and you felt your blood pressure drastically rise. you immediately looked back to gaz and tried to pay attention to what he was saying to you.

“ready to go again?” he asked when he decided your hands were wrapped properly. you nodded.

after what felt like an eternity, ghost appeared beside the two of you, observing as gaz was in the process of showing you a new defense move.

gaz reached around you with his foot, knocking you off balance and sending you colliding with the mat.

“jesus,” you mumbled, both amazed and annoyed with him.

gaz chuckled and reached out a hand to help you up. you were impressed at his composed and collected attitude knowing what was about to happen in a few days' time. you, personally, couldn’t get your heart to stop racing worrying about everything that might go wrong.

you ignored ghost’s eyes on you as gaz tried to demonstrate the move he just did once again.

you attempted everything he showed you, repairing the order of the stances in your head as you executed each one, and you sent him flying on his back.

“shit, nice job,” gaz praised.

you helped him up when a looming presence from behind you startled you.

“oh!” you jumped, looking up at ghost who was only inches from your chest. “hi, lt.”

ghost was wearing one of his thinner balaclavas again, paired with a long-sleeved black shirt–that disappointingly didn’t have its sleeves rolled up to show off his tattoos–and dark tactical pants. he was a new level of intimidating without all his gear on. you felt like your body was going to melt from the heat he was putting off.

“she’s never gonna learn like that,” he grunted out, directly his words at gaz but holding your gaze.

you knew gaz was letting you knock him on his ass, but how else would you understand the basics of the moves he was teaching you? if he blocked you and went on defense every time you went to try, you wouldn’t be able to learn anything. gaz had years of training on you.

gaz mumbled something about taking a break and you began to panic. shit.

“open your legs,” ghost demanded.

a sudden blaze of heat raced up your chest and to your face. your eyes must have turned to moons because ghost’s foot jutted out to kick between your own and widen your stance as if to tell you to get your head out of the gutter.

you adjusted your feet and felt gaz slip off behind the two of you.

just you and ghost now. great.

“your waist feeling okay?” you asked, pointing towards the area of his wound from the week prior.

he nodded. “good as new.”

“good. that’s good,” you said awkwardly.

you both looked at one another, your cheeks warming, before ghost cut you out of your daydream. “arms should always be at the ready.”

you lifted your own and did as he said, mirroring him, and taking on a solid but readying posture.

“now, try to hook your leg behind my own.”

you nodded, the heat from earlier subsided just to be replaced with the rushing sound of your heart beating in your ear. you prayed ghost didn’t have super hearing, but you wouldn’t put it past him.

you dipped down slightly and tried to get your leg to wrap behind ghost’s, aiming to knock him backward.

before your foot even made it where you wanted it to go, ghost had spun you around and sent you stumbling back.

“again,” he demanded.

you took in a breath before approaching back up to him and going at it again.

he blocked your attack and you tripped over his feet and fell to the mat.

“again.”

you felt the sweat bead on your forehead, out of both anger and exertion.

and again he knocked you back.

“this isn’t going to help!” you finally said, a scowl on your face.

“don’t like bein’ pushed? think any of those men out there will give a damn about that? think they’ll give a shit that you’re just a medic?”

you let out an irritated breath. “i just don’t think training me like this will get me anywhere.”

“oh, and how would you like t’be trained then?”

you stared at him in silence.

“should i let you tackle me to t’ground?” his voice was deeper than earlier, sending shivers up your spine. “is catering to your ego that important you’d risk your life?”

“this has nothing to do with my ego.” your voice felt faint as you struggled to come up with an argument. you were frustrated, sure. but he was right in a way. any bad guy you cross out in the field isn’t going to give a shit that you’re a medic and not a trained soldier. and you did not want to fucking die.

“no? then go again.”

you brushed off your pants and readied your stance, going at him again. in an agile ebbed movement, you went flying to the ground. again.

you propped yourself up on your elbows and glared at him. frustrated beyond belief, and exhausted from already training for hours today. you did something you wouldn’t have normally done if you weren’t so peeved off. you sprung to your feet and rushed into him. ghost caught your hand but you spun around behind him, making him grunt as your foot collided with the back of his knee.

he bent forward and you jumped onto his back. he had to release your hand in fear of choking himself out. ghost was so caught off guard that he sank to his knees. you caught your breath, still clinging to him. you may not have got him to go all the way down, but still, you managed something.

“now if you’ll–” ghost cut your words short, shifting his weight so you slid sideways and he grabbed your waist and sent you sprawling out before him. before your back hit the mat, you grabbed his shirt, yanking him downward with you. his hands caught himself on either side of your head, his hips between your legs, his torso almost touching yours as you breathed heavily.

ghost’s eyes bore into yours as he loomed over you. heat rushed to your face as you felt his hips pressing against your own, trapping you below his impressive weight. your hands were still tied up in his shirt, your heart racing out of your chest.

“that hurt,” you mumbled.

“it was supposed to.” his voice was far softer than you’ve ever heard it before as if you stole the breath right from his chest. goosebumps immediately covered your arms and you hoped to the gods that he didn’t notice.

you were at a loss for words as he held his position. “now how will you get out of this, pet?” he provoked.

devoid of logic, you bucked your hips up against him, trying to wrangle your way free. ghost essentially growled above you, sending fluttering vibrations through your chest. you tried to roll out from under him, and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he let you. your positions quickly changed as you used all your muscles to turn him on his back. you straddled him, heaving again at the amount of force you had to exert to move his body.

your hands were resting on his chest and you felt your entire body go hot. there was no way you were straddling ghost, sitting right above his belt, your hands pressed flat against him, and his hands… his hands loose on your hips, edging towards your thighs.

in pure embarrassment you quickly stumbled off of him, not even offering to give him a hand to stand back up.

you thought for sure he would call it a day, probably irritated at you getting so close. those were definitely not proper techniques you executed back there.

to your surprise, ghost grunted, stood, and mumbled, “again.”

you couldn’t help the displeased groan that left your lips. “ghost, please. i’ve been doing this all morning.”

he didn’t like the way his chest tightened momentarily at the sound of you begging him.

he could see the exhaustion on your face. in a sort of compromise, he wanted one more spar. he slid the knife from his holster on his thigh and caught it expertly in his fingers. “unarm me,” he demanded.

you looked at him with hesitation. “if ya unarm me, y’can be done for the day. i won't even fight back.”

something painful echoed in your chest. you just wanted to get away from him. why was he dragging out your time together? he didn’t even like you. he should just tell price they couldn’t risk taking you along on the mission.

you mentally groaned and slowly stepped closer. ghost readied his stance.

you darted to the left and he deftly blocked you.

then you ducked down, coming up on the side he held the weapon and his arm stopped yours. you grunted before slipping around him and shoving him back. he stumbled a few steps and you dodged his arms.

ghost spun to meet you, grabbing your wrist with his free hand, both of you stumbling so your back collided with the wall.

with heavy breaths, ghost pinned your arm beside your head. your other hand struggled, but you managed to grip his knife and fling it out of his hand, sending it rattling on the hard floor away from you two.

ghost’s hips were almost against yours, his body trapping you against the wall. your head clouded with so many unwanted thoughts about his chest pressed against your own. the way his body traced yours like a phantom.

“next time, try to hold on to the weapon you disarm. because now, you’re defenseless. and hate to break it to ya, but you against any man of my size, unarmed… you’re dead.”

your mouth hung open slightly as you caught your breath. you could feel ghost’s ungloved hands lingering by your waist. you nodded, unable to speak as you felt his fingers fluttering against your skin where your shirt began to ride up. it was almost like he was purposefully trying to touch you.

your eyes flickered down to where his hands were and ghost immediately backed away. he gave you one look over and went to pick up his knife.

“enough for today,” he grumbled, a tensing sense of aggravation filling the air.

you straightened your clothes out, walking back onto the mat. “so that’s it?”

ghost turned in a way that made it look like he was forcing his body to move. “need me t’tell you how good of a job you did? pat you on your back and tell ya you’re gonna be fine next week?”

you glared at him. “no. i just–”

“you won’t. you’re gonna get yourself killed out there.” you sucked in a sharp breath at his words. you watched as his eyes avoided your own. “be back here tomorrow to train more with soap.”

you nodded even though he wasn’t looking at you. he hesitated another moment, almost like he was debating on saying something else, but then he turned and left you alone.

you sank down onto the mat, sprawling out backward and breathing deeply. your body was sore and throbbing from all the collisions you took today.

fuck. you had one chance to prove to ghost you were capable. that price trusting you to come along was the right choice. but you just made a fool of yourself. and ghost thought you nothing more than a weak link in their unit. you were going to get them all killed.

you closed your eyes, a tear sliding down your sweat-stained cheeks.

chapter 4 ➡

#ghost #simon riley #smut #ghost cod #ghost x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod #ghost fanfic #simon riley fanfic #ghost call of duty #ghost angst #cod mw2 #cod fic #call of duty fanfic #mw2 fanfic #beneath the mask

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vixensbrainrotts · 4 months

Text

The one behind the mask

Content: Short imagine

Tropes: tattoo artist! reader, hairdresser! reader, vaguely gothic! reader, Draken is kind of obsessed with the reader here, but nothing really too deep

Warnings: some mention of scissors and tattoos (lmk if i missed anything)

Summary: Takemichi has to find out more about the past-you, so he decides to ask around the gang to see if anyone has any connections. To his luck, Draken deems him fit to meet you, and so Takemichi gets to experience your expertise first hand

Vixen’s two cents: This is such a random idea, idek where it came from but lmk if you like it or not. Also! Requests and asks are open, and if you’d like to be a moot (to perhaps proofread or triangulate ideas) pleaseeee feel free to message me!!!! Now enjoy

"She's the best at what she does, trust." Draken's voice left no room for argumentation, his gruff voice sealing the deal as he leans back into the couch behind him. He was on an endorphin high of sorts, his confidence boosted due to the fresh lineup he just got, the growing hair now cut shirt, his signature style refreshed.

Akkun frowned behind Takemichi a little, a bit disheartened by the 'threat' you posed to him and his future business. "So... She cuts hair and therefore she's under special gang-internal protection?"

Draken chuckles heartily and shakes his head. "No, no. More than that. She‘s the best tattoo artist i know too! Ask any guy who got a tattoo in the past three years who tatted it, and she's your answer. She does it well, too. I remember back when a guy wanted an impossible coverup for an ex's name- she made it work, right as rain! And there was an awful lot of ink to cover."

Takemichi didn't quite grasp why or how you achieved the status you unintentionally had in the gang, but it was vital information for his future, real-time version. When Naoto had asked him to research you a little closer in person, Takemichi had expected you to be another fierce gang leader- one who dons the same scary-looking plague mask as you in the future.

What he had not expected was to learn that you were apparently a hairdresser-tattoo artist fusion type thing. Why did you play such a big role in the future? Sure, he understood having a favorite barber, Akkun being the best example for that, but placing them in the closest circles of a highly criminal gang for exclusive trimming rights? That's a little far, no?

"You don't get it, do you?" Draken asked, his hands on his thighs, rubbing them as he rose to a stand in one movement. Takemichi flinched a little, a bit taken aback at how easily Draken would read him. "No, not really. I-" Before he could finish, he was interrupted.

"What's this about?" he was cut short by the other twin Dragon. "Mitsuya-kun!" Takemichi startled. "Y/n. He doesn't quite get why she's has the place she has here." Mistuya's eyes widened a sliver at Draken‘s words, and he threw an arm around Takemichi's shoulder. "You got any plans Hanagaki?" Takemichi shook his head no in response. "Good, 'cause we're givin' her a visit."

And with that, Takemichi's fate was sealed. Mitsuya and Draken pulled him along towards their bikes, Akkun tagging along behind him per Takemichi's request. The group settled onto their bikes and drove off, and Takemichi tried to keep track of the path from hither to thither, but lost track after the turns got too confusing.

After a while, both bikes came to a stop, pushing down the Kickstands in front of a grungy-looking little shop, the doors glazed in a matte cover, only leaving an outline that looked like a Plague-doctor's mask. Ah. There was a parallel he could draw. "Is this the place?" Akkun asked, his voice laced with a bitter touch of distaste, probably intimidated by your place in the hairdressing market.

"Yup! This is where dreams are made a reality!" Mituya spoke, his voice a lot livelier and genuine than usual. "She's gonna have a field day with you Mitchy." Draken snickers as they push open the doors to the shop, a little jingle playing in response.

"What's that supposed to mean-" Takemichi's voice died in his throat when his eyes fell on the interior. Dark, weird, gothic, wonderful. Those were the words that come to him t describe your shop. Kooky portraits, lacey details, and a million different shades of black were highlighted only by the mahogany of the front desk and the dimly glowing lamps and candles littered around the walls and surfaces.

There was a black bulletin wall with a few dozen sketches pinned to it, the title "Please let me put this on you" in the center of pictures of flowers, bugs, lace designs, birds, and many, many others that didn't fall into the eye too directly.

On your desk and on a shelf behind it laid a few skulls of animals Takemichi couldn't even begin to place, the only hint being the type of sharp, white teeth they did (or didn't) have.

There was a scent of something in the air, but Takemichi couldn't place that either. It was a pleasant mix of natural and synthetic, a unique mix that lingered in his nose and clouded his mind with a very welcomed sense of calm.

"Coming." An unexpectedly soft voice called. What however emerged from the corridor leading off to somewhere next to your desk, looked nothing like the voice Takemichi just heard. The guy was almost bigger than Draken and just about the same amount of bald, his face littered with piercings and clad in a style much too modern to fit the shop.

The guy didn't talk to them however, he only turned to the desk, pulled out a wallet, and started fidgeting with the bills. With his back turned his scalp was on display, an impressive image of a burning, hyperrealistic black and white skull faced the group. It was new, they could tell by the slightly red skin, and the shiny coat of a second skin placed carefully overtop. Takemichi held his breath. So that's what you do. Draken pointed a finger at the fresh tattoo and pulled his brows upwards for a moment, clearly impressed with how clean it looked.

Then a second pair of footsteps sounded from the same hallway, and this time Takemichi was sure it was you. Lo and behold your figure emerged, clad in something much more appropriate to the shop's aesthetic, black latex gloves still on. "Ah." you looked a little unimpressed when you caught sight of the group looming in your reception.

"Didn't I just get rid of you?" it was purely rhetorical, because the moment you passed them, you were tending to the guy standing at the desk, showing him a clipboard and then mumbling a price at which the guy nodded and passed the money, saying his thanks before bidding you a pleasant afternoon before leaving the shop, the door falling shut and the little jingle playing again.

"And to what do I owe the pleasure?" You ask, sorting the money into the register, separating the tips and putting them into a little box beside it. "Hi y/n." Draken started, grinning from ear to ear. "Hello, Ken. Speak. What do you want?" You didn't spare them a glance as you finished up and pulled the gloves, chucking them into a bin under the desk.

"Right, so, I've brought you someone in desperate need of your assessment." Draken finished finally, stepping to the side to reveal Takemichi in your line of sight, and it was as if you felt the shift, you looked up.

When your and his gaze locked, a shiver ran down his spine and he could feel sweat trickle down his nape. He gulped and shakily brought up a hand to send you a little wave. “Oh fuck.” You mumbled to yourself, eyes darting form his face to his hair and down to his face again. “Yeah alright thanks for the charity case.” Takemichi didn’t know whether to feel offended or not.

“It’s bad, isnt it?” Draken leaned over your desk and jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Takemichi. “Worse.” You replied curtly and then waved your hands at the group, ushering them to back up a little. You bustled your way to the hallway, waving a hand to them again. “Come then.”

You left the group a bit aloof, but after a few seconds of standing in silence Draken and Mitsuya started following you into the side rooms. Take Michu and Akkun shared a look before following cautiously, a little unsure of what to expect.

Once they entered a room you had already set up a chair in front of the biggest mirror Takemichi had ever seen, and were sorting out different tools and products on a tray in front of the mirror. Draken and Mitsuya had taken a set on a couch adjacent to the seat and were idly chatting about this and that to you in terms of the shop as well as a few questions regarding your previous client.

Idle chit-chat halted when you laid eyes on Takemichi and gestured for him to sit. “Well then, please sit.” Takemichi shares a brief look with Akkun again, who by now has taken seat in the grandfather armchair beside the couch the others were on. “Mkay..” he mumbles and sits stiffly.

“Relax!” You say as you come up behind him “You look like you’re about to shit yourself. I promise i wont stab you or anything.” Your face morphs into something that might resemble a smile before you grab his hair cautiously, carding your fingers through it, judgemental eyes scanning his hair. “Hmm Ken, when i said you should bring me your worst i didn’t really mean it.“ Ken laughs in response “You should know me by now, i dont make promises i cant keep!”

You roll your eyes a little “I would have appreciated a heads up if i knew that this is what you’re bringing me…” you pull the hair out of his face and tilt his head to different angles. “He has a good face with strong features, its just unfortunate how he’s decided to work with it.”. You speak as if he’s not in the room with you.

After a few moments of silence you release his head again and grab the scissors hanging from your belt pointing them at Takemichi through the mirror. “I know what i have to do with him.”

Mitsuya and Dranken whooped in response. You tell him about what kind of hair he has, how to treat his scalp, what colors and shades would (and wouldnt) suit him and how to style it properly.

By the time you’re done, you and him had agreed on a cooler, slightly darker shade of blonde as well as a more maintainable cut thats easier to style. Then you began unleashing tool after tool, product after product, and Takemichi thinks that this is the longest and simultaneously shortest hour he’s ever experienced.

When you finally deem your work as finished, you have him turned away from the big mirror in anticipation. “You ready?” You ask him with a slight smile on your face and grab the back of his chair, ready to spin him around. Before he answers, Takemichi looks over to the guys sitting on the couch.

Draken nods approvingly, “You’ve dont it again y/n, i cant believe it!”. Mitsuya wolf-whistles jokingly, “Damn Mitchy! Your girlfriends about to be real happy.” and Akkun’s mouth hangs open in pure admiration “How...? what…?” And thats all the approval he needs to turn nod at you, allowing you to turn him around.

For a second Takemichi wasn’t sure who was looking back at him through the mirror before he realized that it was his reflection, eyes just as wide as his felt, but the hair about a million times better than the last time he looked at it. All of a sudden he understood why the guys cared so much to keep you to themselves- you were a one in a million find.

“So.. What do you think” you ask, knowing well what the answer was. Takemichi wishes he could have answered but the words caught up in his throat, so he stayed open-mouthed like a fish out of water. “I think he likes it.” Draken answered for him and rose to a stand, the others following suit behind him. “We’re done here then.” You conclude and pull the cover off of Takemichi’s still frozen body.

“How much do i owe you?” Takemichi finally chokes out once Akkun had pulled him out of the seat and towards the shop’s front. You glance up at Takemichi and shake your head. “Nothing. I had enough fun fixing you, so perhaps just consider coming back when time’s due?” You walk behind the counter, checking something that looked like a schedule. “Now it was a pleasure doing business, but i have a client coming in for a sleeve in half an hour and i think i want a lunch break beforehand.”

“Thank you so much!” Takemichi says again before turning to the door, running a hand through his hair confidently. Akkun follows closely behind him, keen on inspecting the new cut from every angle, whilst Mitsuya throws a “We’ll leave you to it then!” Over his shoulder to you and leaves the little shop as well.

Takemichi is still too caught up in the bliss before he realizes that one of them is missing. “Wait!” He stops abruptly, “What about Draken?!” Akkun gasps in realization too and goes to turn around but is quickly stopped by Mitsuya who pulls the both of them along.

“Leave him to it, I think he’s getting lunch before his appointment so dont you worry about them.”

#tokyo rev x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #x reader #tokyo rev x you #tokrev #tokyo manji revengers #tr content #draken #draken x y/n #tokyo revengers fluff #tokyo rev #draken x reader #ken ryuuguji x reader #ken ryuguji #ken x reader #ken x you #ken x y/n

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cryptotheism · 10 months

Note

on the subject of plague doctor masks. did they have any actual medical purpose? (i mean itd make sense considering any face covering usually helps)

You gotta understand that "medical" meant a very different thing in 1500. Doctors didn't really know what caused the plague, but they knew that getting a plague victims disgusting plague fluids on your face and mouth was bad, and would probably give you the plague.

If anything, plague doctor masks did in fact cover the doctors face! They were usually also treated with wax, which helped keep fluids off. Additionally, they were usually buckled to the face, and lined with cloth that would have functioned like a rudimentary medical facemask.

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gatorbites-imagines · 4 months

Note

Apparently I have a twin now, so I'll call myself 'Crow Doctor'.

But can I request a Nightwing x Male Rogue Reader?

Basically, while Nightwing is fighting some other Rouges, he's hit with fear toxic or something and gets knocked out.

Reader being a bootleg medic of sorts, takes Nightwing to his hideout and patches him up. Taking care of him until he wakes up.

When he does, he figures out that Reader is a doctor who patches up and gives aid to the citizens of gotham that can't afford medical bills or insurance. and maybe after a bit, they start catching feelings for the other.

- Crow Doctor

Dick Grayson x Rogue Male Reader

Headcanons

Sorry this took a million years to write Crow, but I hope you enjoy it anyways :3c

Kinda took the rogue aspect and ran wild. Thought since you went by Crow Doctor, a plague doctor would be fun.

You were one of the newer Gotham Rogues, a next gen, as some would say. They called you Cadaver King, because of your start in the city, scattering corpses all over a specific area of the city, like you were marking your territory.

You wore something mildly inspired by plague doctors, only furthering your image as some kinda wacky insane doctor. No ones ever actually seen you carve people open for fun, but the rumors run rampant and keep normal criminals and gangs out of your territory.

Sure, bodies would still pile up at the borders of your territory as you slowly grow your area, and you have been thrown into Arkham more than once, but you always get out one way or another.

Unlike the other rogues, you are always able to stay out much longer, because you never just attack the public for no reason. You are most known for the cadavers found around the place stitched closed and looking like science experiments.

The bats quickly figure out that all the cadavers they find are criminals, people who do crime and hurt others just because they can, and never someone who steals or does crime because they have no other choice.

You get some respect from Red Hood for this reason, especially when he sees you targeting those that hurt children, using them in sick experiments and furthering your medical knowledge.

The Bats never figure out that under the surface, you are the backer to most smaller medical clinics around the city. The ones not run by Wayne at least. You are a monster, yes, but like all villains you have an origin story, and yours involves those you cared for not getting the medical help they needed, because they couldn’t afford it.

In your past, you would help anybody you could for free, finishing medical school top of your class. But your less than stellar past caused prejudice in many, and you found yourself used and abused by those above you in the food chain.

It didn’t help that you would steal to support those who couldn’t afford medical help themselves. What finally caused you to snap was getting caught stealing medicine, and instead of just getting you arrested, one of the top doctors in the hospital poured dangerous liquids all over you, scarring you for life and putting you in a constant state of torture.

Seeing so many innocent people die because of greed, and seeing your superior laughing as you writhe and wail in pain, is what breaks you. He ends up the first of your many cadavers, his body splayed out in his own operating theater.

Its only a very long time later that people discover just who’s doing all this killing, since so much death and murder happens around Gotham. It’s the fact that they have all been cut and stitched up professionally that clues the Gotham Police in on it being the same guy.

Then you start making a name for yourself, you start fighting the Bats, you target public figures, leaving their bodies hanging from their mansions or workplaces. All whilst wearing your plague doctor mask.

You have even done procedures on multiple of the bats over the years, never anything that could kill them, and it always ends up being stuff that helps them in the long run. They don’t know that though, they just think you are a psycho that likes to cut into people.

All the backstory aside, its this that leads to you hanging around in the shadows and observing as the Bats are fighting the latest Arkham escapees. Scarecrow has pulled himself into your territory, and whilst you like Jonathan, and have worked together many times, it still annoys you.

Seeing Nightwing go down because of fear toxin also makes your blood boil. Mainly because, unlike Jonathan who only seemed to care about fear, you were still a doctor at heart, and you knew how much fear toxin could harm the body, having treated many patients in the past.

That’s why you end up chasing Jonathan out of your territory, wielding different surgical tools and other blades on your person.

Returning to the rooftop with the passed out hero, you don’t even have to think about throwing him over your shoulder and bringing him to one of your many, many, medical studios around the city.

The only people who has more hideouts than you is probably the bats, and yours are definingly more medically equipped than theirs. You never know when youll find a patient, or how quickly they need treatment, so of course you and your lackeys have as many treatment areas as possible.

Theres not much you can do about fear toxin outside of giving Nightwing an antidote and giving him some oxygen to clear it out of his system faster. You stay nearby to observe him though as you work on patient reports.

Normally your lackeys stand for it, all lackeys having above average medical knowledge in general, but you like to check stuff over yourself, just in case. It’s a great way to spend time as you wait, and being productive during.

You have a lot of reports to answer from your lackeys during the night, as the other rogues being out means a lot of patients you need to help. Unlike other lackeys, yours don’t really wear uniforms, meaning they can sneak around without the bats knowing they’re yours.

The only thing that puts them out as yours, is the fact that they all always have medical equipment and first aid kits on their person. You honestly find it kinda funny how the Bats can never seem to figure out your ways, at least not fast enough, as you change up how you do things constantly.

As the night passes, with you waiting for Nightwing to wake up, you end up removing your outer layers. Shrugging off your heavy coat and gloves, even taking off your plague doctor mask. Underneath you wear a compression therapy mask most days, as the liquids the doctor threw on you left lifelong damage.

In the beginning you had been horrified and disgusted by your appearance, but over the years you had come to accept it as a part of yourself. You found out it had a tendency to make patients trust you more, as they knew you had been through something just as horrible as themselves, so you never tried to fix it with plastic surgery.

When Nightwing finally wakes up, you check on him, go through the basics, make sure he’s all there, before you shove him out of your studio. He doesn’t even have time to ask who you are, or what you are doing, or why you helped him.

Going back to the cave, he talks to the other Bats, and they are able to find the injection point where you injected the antidote to the fear toxin, and they can find clues to the treatment you gave him.

You owning an antidote means you are either connected to the Gotham Police, or, you are able to find it yourself, meaning you are a criminal. It puts you on their radar, both as Cadaver king, and as yourself.

The only one who would probably recognize you is Batman himself, since he’s always the one putting you in Arkham, but none of the others have ever seen your face.

Dick finds himself drawn to you in some way, and he ends up hanging out in the area you treated him, hoping to find you again.

Its only coincidence that he ends up in your territory again next time he’s really banged up from patrol and you find him. You are maskless again, compression mask on, as you scoff at his sorry state and drag him to the same studio you used last time.

It becomes a common occurrence, Dick running off to you to get treated. He even starts entering your studio when you are not there, and its only thanks to the sensors you have around the place that you know he’s there, since you don’t give him a way to contact you.

As time passes, he finds himself in your studio for the smallest cut or bruise, just because he wants to spend time with you, and you can’t find it in yourself to send him away since the acrobat has quadruple flipped his way into your heart.

The first time he sees your full face, covered in scars like it is, you can’t help but be gripped by fear that he will be disgusted by you. But instead, he just smiles and looks at you like you are the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Its only after you guys have been a thing for a while, that he discovers your rogue status. And it’s because he’s spending time in your studio again, when you come barreling in, in full rogue getup, carrying one of your lackeys who had a bad run-in with killer croc.

Dick just stands in the shadows and watches with wide eyes as you rip your mask off and get ready for surgery. He watches as you bark as your other lackeys to get them ready, and he watches as you save the lackeys life.

Somewhere inside Dick probably already knew who you were, how else would you have access to the kinda equipment Gotham’s biggest hospital struggled to get their hands on. He knows all you do for people, as you guys have talked about it before, and he can’t find it in himself to hate you for the fact that you target the worst scum of the earth and use them to further your knowledge.

Its only after you finish up with your lackeys that you look at him, a sad look in your eyes as you know you guys will need to talk.

Its ends with you two on the rooftop of the building, spending a long time just sitting and talking. Talking morals, personal codes, your past, your future, so on and so forth.

But instead of breaking up with you, Dick ends up pulling off his domino mask and telling you who he is before kissing you. You are both people with missions, and Bruce is the one with the no killing rule. The fact that your experiments have slowed down a lot over the years only helps.

You are great at keeping secrets, and you can never find it in yourself to expose Dicks identity no matter what.

You end up worming your way into Anti-hero status as Cadaver King, since it starts to become public knowledge that you have so many legal medical facilities all over town, and that all your lackeys know medical knowledge to help people.

Doesn’t stop you from hunting down corrupt doctors or those that use and manipulate the weak and desperate, but that’s just how it.

Imagine the Batfams reaction when Dick brings you to dinner at the manor for the first time. They know Dick is in a relationship, and has been for a while. Bruce almost chokes on his drink when Dick shows up with you on his arm though.

Most of the family will accept you though, especially with your anti-hero status. You probably end up getting along most with Jason though, since you guys already got along as Red Hood and Cadaver king.

Expect to become the entire batfams doctor though, taking some weight off of Alfreds shoulders. Even Alfred can get overwhelmed with how many of them there are. Ends up letting you get along well with Alfred though, so that’s a plus.

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homunculus-argument · 6 months

Text

[poking at the holes in the beak of my doctor's mask with my cane like I'm picking my nose]: Oh yeah, I can cure syphilis by getting you infected with the plague. Yeah no there's a whole delicate balance to it, your genitals can only handle one type of boils at a time, so if you get infected with something else that gives you pustules, they just cancel each other out. Yeah that's totally how it works. You'd be amazed how many things you can heal with essential boils.

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dfortrafalgar · 3 days

Text

I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

It's time.

Warnings: read chapter 1 for warnings.

Chapter 30

[Prev] [Next]

2:00 AM, May 12th

A sudden jolt ripped you from your relatively peaceful sleep at around 2:00 in the morning. Your body had been growing somewhat used to the Braxton Hicks contractions that seemed to plague you for a better part of the previous weeks.

This was not Braxton Hicks.

The pain seemed to start in your smile before radiating outward, almost reaching the tips of your toes and the pads of your fingers. You felt it deep in your core, a painful cramping, almost stretching sensation that made your stomach leap into your throat.

It was happening.

You swung your legs over the side of your bed and grabbed your phone. You had it planned out. Law was sleeping at the hospital in a call room. His surgery was today, at 8:00 AM. Your knees were shaking, barely holding your weight as another contraction began to pulse through you, making you lean back against your mattress and slowly sink to the ground. Your water hadn’t broken yet, and you were spotting the day before, but your doctor said that was normal.

You fucking hoped she was right.

[Ugh… hello?]

Your voice barely reached the phone you held to your ear. “Sh-Shachi… it’s happening.”

A sudden rustling and a pained-sounding grunt resonated through the speaker and the line went dead. You crawled across the floor to where your hospital bag was stored, your hand just barely reached one of the straps when another cramp ripped through your abdomen, making you squeak out a pained whimper.

You heard your apartment door burst open, probably startling your neighbors, and frantic footsteps ran across your home and to your room. The light in your bedroom flicked on, momentarily blinding you, and Shachi stood panting in the doorway.

“Penguin, I need some help over here!” he shouted, approaching you and taking one of your arms.

The second man sprinted into the room, helping Shachi haul you to your feet. With Penguin’s arms still supporting you upright, Shachi grabbed your heavy hospital bag and began a mad dash toward your door.

“I’m going to stay here with Bepo, alright?” Penguin muttered, sleep still heavy on his tongue as he helped you into the hallway and into the elevator.

You were wearing a ratty pair of house slippers and your usual pajamas, but you barely had time to think about your appearance when you could feel your stomach contracting with each movement. You had no idea what giving birth was like, but you were progressing fast. The only thing you could respond with was a weak nod, clenching your teeth. The walk from the ground floor to Shachi’s car in the front parking lot was a blur for you, the only thought in your mind being the immense pressure in your swollen belly. It was only going to get worse before it got better, and the thought made your palms more sweaty than they already were.

You were helped into the passenger seat of Shachi’s beat-up car, barely having time to register your anxieties about this hunk of metal taking you to the emergency room in the dead of night. Your hands involuntarily wrapped around your belly, trying in vain to soothe the pain that continued to throb within you.

“Good luck!” Penguin called as Shachi closed your door and sprinted to the other side of his car, almost throwing himself over the hood. The car rattled to life as he twisted the key in the ignition. He carefully maneuvered through the dark parking lot, out onto the main road, and you were off.

—

5:00 AM, May 12th

Law’s circulating nurse was holding a walkie talkie. It wasn’t often those were found in the operating prep room. The team was pensively getting ready, donning their gowns, following their glove procedures, and securing their masks and face shields when the static-filled sound of the receiver flooded the room.

[The helicopter is landing.]

The patient was in the prep room, still completely intubated, barely clinging to life. This operation was his and his family’s last hope at a somewhat normal life, free from tubes. Law closed his eyes and shuddered a deep breath in, then out, before placing his own mask on his face. A few hours ago in the stuffy call room he slept in, he was forced awake by a night terror of the mother whose son had passed away almost a year ago. Her screams still bounced around his head like a bell chime, loud, obnoxious, and utterly petrifying.

He thought about you sleeping at home.

“Have I received any calls?” He turned his attention toward his circulating nurse who had placed the walkie talkie down, another nurse helping him into his second pair of sterile rubber gloves.

She pulled his phone out of her pocket. Nothing. The only notification on his home screen was a text from the day before from you reading, ‘Good luck baby!!! I love you!!!!’ She shook her head, placing his phone in her back pocket.

“Don’t be surprised if we receive any calls during the operation, my wife is supposed to be giving birth in a week or so. It’s all hands on deck at home, but this operation is our top priority right now.” Law flexed his fingers under his gloves as he watched his staff bustle around the prep room, preparing all their instruments and materials before retreating into the primary OR to receive the patient from pre-op.

“Got it,” she replied, her voice low and patient.

Law hated that his priority wasn’t with you when you needed him around most. But in the face of the most important operation of his life, there wasn’t much he could do.

—

6:09 AM, May 12th

Shachi wasn’t allowed into the delivery room with you due to not being family. The only one who would be allowed was Law, and clearly, he wasn’t going to be available in quite a while. Shachi had tried to call him throughout your triage check-in, but his phone had gone straight to voicemail. No surprise to you, a man was getting his entire chest cavity replaced across the hospital.

Still… you missed him. A lot. It was certainly a bizarre feeling knowing that he was technically in the same building as you, but across the expansive hospital campus and a few floors down.

Your loneliness was far more palpable in your delivery room, however. The entire space seemed bland and boring, and you were already hooked up to more tubes than you were pleased with, which is to say, four tubes too many. You had a hose in your nose for extra oxygen, an IV drip in your arm, and two electrode patches on your chest monitoring your heart rate.

Your contractions had lessened somewhat in the time it took for you to arrive at the hospital, and according to the on-board delivery doctor who greeted you in the room, you weren’t even dilated. You still had a long way to go. You had barely eaten the breakfast that was brought to you, the buttered biscuit looked far too gray for a piece of bread, and you were effectively running off of bland applesauce and a small dosage of pain meds. They couldn’t give you any more until your active labor started, where you could then opt for an epidural.

But you saw that needle. You were even starting to question that.

The few contractions you felt throughout the morning were intense enough, and you were barely mustering up the courage to prepare yourself for what was surely to come later in the day. You were still holding out hope that your labor would progress naturally and that there would be no need for an emergency C-section, or any sort of emergency procedure at all.

Your body now had one job. It had failed all the others, but now that you finally had a successful pregnancy, there was only one job left to do.

Your dazed staring at the ceiling was interrupted when the doctor who admitted you re-entered your room. She had a calm smile on her face, slight bags under her eyes that displayed more of a long career in delivering babies than acute exhaustion, and the sight of her soft smile lines around her mouth immediately filled you with a sense of calm you had yet to feel all morning.

“Mrs. Trafalgar, how are you doing?” she asked politely, pulling up a chair and sitting by your bedside. One of her hands rested on yours, a gentle pat for reassurance. “I reviewed your patient history. I see your husband is the leading cardiothoracic surgeon with our hospital!”

The fact that she immediately jumped to singing your husband’s praises instead of rapidly addressing the two elephants in your patient charts that read ‘Spontaneous Abortions at 7 and 12 weeks’ brought a smile to your face. “He is. I’m sure you’ve already heard the news going on down there.”

She rubbed your hand again. It was then that you noticed she had her own wedding ring on her left hand. She looked like the kind of woman to have a sweet partner. “Indeed I did, it’s been the talk of the staff for months. Our hospital’s first, and probably only, dual cardiopulmonary transplant. Frankly, it’s an honor that your husband was chosen to perform the operation, there is no one better qualified than him.”

You picked your head up from the pillow that was supporting your neck. The bed you were laying in was tiled up so you were more sitting rather than stretched out. “Have you personally met him?” you asked, your eyes lighting up.

She nodded. “When he first got the position of lead surgeon, he was made to do a speech in front of the hospital staff to recognize his achievements.”

You remembered that day. While you couldn’t attend due to your work schedule, he had spent the two weeks prior agonizing over what he was going to say. He hated public speaking and everything involving it, so having to write a small speech was his worst nightmare. You weren’t even married yet. His reward for a successful conference was a steamy night in the bedroom with you, and as far as you knew, he did well enough that he came home and was immediately ripping his clothes off.

The doctor’s voice rattled you out of your daydream. “It is a shame that he can’t be here right now,” she sighed. “Hopefully your labor progresses slowly enough that he can be here for the actual birth.”

“I hope he’ll be here when they actually arrive,” you groaned. “He’ll never let himself get over it if he misses it.”

“And it would be unfortunate for you, too, dear. Don’t forget about you.” Another hand pat.

You grinned. She was right. Your husband might have been one of the country’s most accomplished surgeons and was currently about to undertake the most daunting procedure of his life, but right now, you were the one preparing to birth two babies.

—

8:43 AM, May 12th

Law gazed down through his face shield at the exposed chest cavity of the man under the sheet on the operating table. Multiple metal frames were holding his ribs open, his sternum sawed in half to expose the fragile, failing organs underneath. His heart somehow was displaying visible wear, almost like a machine in a factory would begin to rust. But both of his lungs were riddled with odd growths and morbid discoloration.

“Was it noted in his patient history that he has COPD?” Law asked, his voice displaying confusion rather than horror. The poor guy was already getting two new lungs, it’s not like that would change.

“I’m not sure it did, Doc,” one of the nurses across the room maintaining the organ cart replied. “Does he?”

The head anesthesiologist peered around his machines toward the open chest cavity. “Yeesh.”

“Okay, professionalism, people. Thank you for answering my question,” Law barked sternly, bringing his team back into strict focus.

The sound of the organ cart was filling the room with a foreign atmosphere. It wasn’t like organ transplants on their own were very common in their hospital, but to have the giant artificial box pretending to be a human body supplying a constant stream of donor blood and oxygen to a detached heart and lung trifecta was quite a shocking sight for most of the nurses. The heart itself was fully exposed, hoses connected to every valve. It was beating morbidly with each pass of blood, circulating a non-living machine. Some drops of blood from the exterior of the tissue trickled down the wet organ and collected in a small puddle at the bottom of the tray it was held on. Some of the team could barely even look at it.

The heart had to be transplanted first, due to the way he was cut open. They could replace the heart from the front, where his ribs were separated, but his lungs would have to be removed from the sides of his body, under the arms. The scar tissue on the man was going to be quite the sight in a few months.

The team was only about 45 minutes into this procedure.

Law’s shoulders were already sore.

—

10:00 AM, May 12th

Your phone was blowing up.

You had texted Ikkaku that you were admitted to the hospital and that your labor had begun, but was progressing slowly. You didn’t think she’d be able to keep it to herself, but the sheer speed in which she had informed your other close friends was almost dizzying. After only about 2 minutes, your phone began chiming with a near constant influx of messages from your friends and coworkers, all wishing you the best of luck with your delivery.

It was a weekday, afterall. Ikkaku probably sprung up from her chair and sprinted around the office like the boy who cried wolf.

When the doctor said your labor would be progressing slowly, she meant it. And you were already tired of it. Two in the morning was already far too early for the human body to be functioning, and you weren’t able to get a lick of sleep in the hospital bed you occupied. Each time your eyes fluttered closed, another contraction would ripple through your body and remind you of exactly where you were.

It had now been about eight hours since you were admitted.

Your cervix was 1 centimeter dilated, and your water had yet to break.

Nurses were constantly in and out checking on you and your condition, but conversation was rarely exchanged. Instead, most of your time was spent in silence, staring at the bland burgundy walls of the delivery room, the machines you were hooked up to to supply you with fluids and oxygen, and the door to the rest of the maternity ward.

The door you wished would open to reveal your excited husband running to be by your side.

“How are you doing, dear?” Your doctor popped her head in once more. She entered the room fully and pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

“Hanging in there,” you replied. You were embarrassed with how dejected you sounded. You didn’t intend to seem so… lonely.

The doctor positioned herself at the foot of her bed and gestured for you to maneuver your legs into the cold metal stirrups that connected at the end. The stirrups hurt your back enough as it was, and the weight of two babies against your spine did little to help, but you bared through it.

“You’re at about 3 centimeters now, you’re progressing very well!” she called, removing her head from between your legs. “In another few hours, you’ll almost be ready to go!”

Your heart panged with excitement at finally giving birth, but also extreme desperation.

Your contractions were progressively getting closer and closer together.

You wanted Law.

—

11:51 AM, May 12th

Law’s phone rang from the back pocket of the circulating nurse’s scrubs. The entire team let it go to voicemail. A human heart was being removed from an open chest cavity, clutched like a sacred, scarred treasure in the blood soaked hands of one of the surgical assistants, while the man was fully hooked up to the quadruple bypass machine. He now had a mechanical assistant serving as his heart and lungs while they retrieved the new ones. There was no time or energy to be spent on a phone call.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t be bringing your phone in for this operation, doc,” one of the nurses said. Law could hear the sarcastic grin from under the surgical mask.

“I thought about it, but I’d worry too much,” Law grumbled back, wiping his gloved hands on a sterile towel.

“You’re such a good husband,” the assistant anesthesiologist cooed from across the room. “I hope my husband is as attentive as you are one day.”

Law felt blood rush to his face. He kept his mouth shut while the organ box was wheeled over to the bedside.

—

12:10 PM, May 12th

[Hey, have you heard from Law at all? How are you doing?]

Shachi’s voice over the speaker of your cell phone was able to clear your mind somewhat. Your contractions were still even and decently spaced out, but you were growing more and more aware of every sudden shift in your body as the seconds ticked by. “No, and I probably won’t hear from him at all until tonight. The operation started only four hours ago, they probably haven’t even gotten to the lungs yet.”

[And you? How are you holding up?] The redhead reiterated his second question.

“I’m holding,” you muttered back. “Doctor said I’m still about 3 centimeters dilated, so it’ll still be a while before I actually start, you know, giving birth.”

[What does that mean? 3 centimeters dilated.]

“That’s how large the opening of my cervix is,” you clarified.

A long pause over the phone’s speaker followed. [What’s a cervix?]

You paused. “It’s… the entrance to the birth canal?”

Another pause.

“Shachi… you know where babies come from, right?” you asked, your contractions suddenly the least of your worries.

[I do!] His voice was defensive. [When a man loves a woman and all that shit. But what does a cervix have to do with any of that?]

“Have you…” your voice trailed off. “Have you and Penguin made out yet?”

[Oh, yeah. We made out, like, two nights ago. Why?]

You considered your questions answered.

—

1:00 PM, May 12th

The entire room was silent as Law worked, his deft, experienced fingers expertly sewing up even the smallest of blood vessels in the donor heart. It had been about five hours now since the start of the procedure, and everything was progressing as planned. Even faster, at that, much to Law’s delight. The entire team was working as one fluid unit, just as discussed for the months leading up. When the front of the man’s chest cavity was repaired, however, was when the trickiest part of the procedure would begin. The patient remained attached to the bypass machine as Law finished the final stitches on the aorta. It would still be a little longer before he could be fully removed.

The man was filled with tubes. Down his throat, down his stomach, in his chest, in his arms. It was an incredibly uncomfortable sight.

The assistants worked in tandem to close up the chest cavity, securing all of the muscle, bone, and erroneous tissue back into place. It was like putting together a very convoluted and high-risk jigsaw puzzle.

Now the lungs were next.

His phone rang again from the back pocket of the circulating nurse’s scrubs. Due to the small down time, she reached in and pulled it out, assessing the screen.

“It’s your friend, doctor,” she called.

“Text him to just tell you what’s up,” he asked back. His mind had become so focused on the operation that he barely had room to think about anything else.

Hi, this is Dr. Trafalgar’s circulating nurse! Is everything alright?

The three little dots indicating an incoming response appeared, then disappeared, then appeared, then disappeared again. After what felt like an eternity, an answer finally came up. A confusing one, at that.

Orca

Uhhhh idk how to relay this properly cus idrk whats happening, but tell him his wife is 3 centimeters dilated???

Oh god.

“Uhm…” she nervously called.

“What is it?” the stone-faced surgeon asked, his back to her as he assessed the organ transplant box that still contained two human lungs.

“Your wife is 3 centimeters dilated?”

You could’ve heard a pin drop.

—

1:15 PM, May 12th

[So I got handed over to that circulating nurse. She said she’d tell him but she obviously couldn’t do much more.]

Shachi had called you back after hanging up the first time, just to inform you that he had finally gotten through to Law, or at least, Law’s cell phone.

You sighed in relief. That was the most you could ask for. You were just happy that he’d be able to know. “Thank you, Shachi. You’re not still at the hospital, are you?”

[Nah, I’m getting ice cream. It’s hot as shit out.]

Lucky bastard.

—

2:30 PM, May 12th

Law had two sides. Analytical and focused, and the Protective Husband.

In the operating theater, those two sides were in a western-style duel against one another.

In front of him was a near-comatose man with the left side of his ribs cut open, a withered, diseased lung slowly being removed from his body. And on the complete opposite side of campus, two stories above him, you had begun labor.

And he wasn’t there.

“Doctor, I thought you said another week or so,” one of the female nurses asked, her voice both curious and concerned.

“That’s what I assumed,” he replied, his tone a bit snippy. No one could blame the poor guy. He was having babies.

“How far along is she, again?” another voice asked.

“35 weeks,” he replied, delicately slicing through a patch of diseased lung tissue.

“It’s premature?! Oh goodness–” One of the nurses began to freak out over the implication, but another colleague was quick to calm her down.

“With twins! They’re having twins, it’s alright,” the other nurse explained. “With twins, it’s far more common to be delivered somewhat prematurely. If the rest of the pregnancy was healthy, there’s no need to be alarmed.”

Law was inwardly thankful from his colleague’s explanation. If anything, she unintentionally lessened the tension in the theater by ten orders of magnitude, making it far easier for him to focus.

The harder he focused, the quicker this procedure got done. And the quicker he got done, the quicker he could run to your side.

—

4:00 PM, May 12th

It had been about 14 hours since your labor officially began, and you barely had a lick of sleep. The hospital lunch had not been much better than the hospital breakfast, and now you were dreading the hospital dinner.

It didn’t help that your contractions were now substantially closer together, and your cervix was now 6 centimeters dilated.

Law was now in surgery for about eight hours.

One of the evening shift nurses was in the room with you. She looked about your age.

You turned your attention toward her as she fixed another fluid drip onto your IV pole. “How long do you think a heart and lung transplant should take?” you blurted.

Your question clearly caught her off-guard. “Oh gosh, I mean… a single heart transplant is, like, six hours, right? Give or take?”

Your head flopped down onto your pillow. He was nowhere near close to being done.

—

5:30 PM, May 12th

The topic of relieving Law with another surgeon mid-operation was now floating around the theater. Despite being adamant that he refused to leave in the middle of a procedure, his fellow colleagues were determined to let him go. Maybe it was just the exhaustion getting to everyone. They had just now removed the left lung and were preparing its transplant for insertion, and they still had one more organ to go. He couldn’t leave.

“We’ll get this done a lot quicker if we all focus,” the surgeon demanded, insisting his staff return to their focused attitudes.

It was clear that everyone, despite performing their duties well and maintaining a smooth workflow, wanted Law to go see his wife.

One of the anesthesiologists was a mother to three, and was now being drilled with questions.

“How quickly did you dilate with your first?” one of the nurses asked.

It took a few moments for her to think about it. “I think I was in active labor for about 24 hours in total,” she replied. “It was loooong. But, I was also only carrying one, and I was 41 weeks pregnant, so he was quite big! I would imagine a 35 week twin birth might progress a bit quicker, since the babies aren’t quite as big as that.”

Great. Just what Law needed to hear.

His worst nightmare was flashing through his mind as he began to suture the transplant lung. You in crippling agony, screaming and crying with no support from the doctors or nurses, forced to give birth alone. What if you hemorrhage in the middle of delivery? What if the babies weren’t positioned properly? What if you passed out or suffered spontaneous cardiac arrest? What if one of the babies died during delivery? What if they both died? What if all of you died?

The assistant standing next to Law watched in awe as the surgeon, who clearly wasn’t thinking about the surgery, sutured arteries together with robotic precision.

—

7:05 PM, May 12th

You were quickly losing track of time.

8 centimeters dilated. The doctor told you that your body would know when you needed to push. And now, almost all the way there, with your room now flooded with staff preparing for your birth, you felt the need to push.

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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thedepthsoffandomminds · 3 months

Text

Episode one - the Yankee Dodge

Loved the the middle daughter oneshot.

can i request Jack Dawkins x Belle's older sister!Reader story (I have not seen any sister!reader) same thing as the oneshot instead of Belle being sick, the reader is. Reader is strong-willed, smart and stubborn as Belle, and Belle being a concerned sister to Reader, almost mothering her. Of course, Jack being an overprotective lover. I just want the story to stay the same way as the The Artful Dodger series is, just following the story only replacing Belle with Reader

A/n: I will do this as a long series following each episode per part. ❤️❤️

You follow your youngest sister into Belle's bedroom, Fanny jumped seeing her in the plague mask.

"Don't do that!" She gasped. You laugh from behind her.

"What?" Belle took the mask off and dropped it on her desk.

"Whatever that is." Fanny huffed, you passed behind her and slid onto the chaise lounge.

"You stormed in on me." Belle reminded her sister.

"What's that ungovernable stench?" Fanny scrunched up her nose. You started to lose interest in their conversation, a tightening of your chest took your attention.

"Your perfume?" Belle joked, "No, it's ether. The new Lancet reports the most extraordinary thing. You can give the patient ether, and they don't feel a thing. I mean, you can perform surgery without pain. It means we could finally help-" she had turned to face you finally seeing you clutch at your chest. Both of your younger sisters came darting to your side.

"y/n, what is it? Do you need a doctor?" Fanny scrambled.

"No, no I'm fine. I just need to lie down." You rest back against the couch and close your eyes. Belle reaches behind you to loosen your blouse and corset. You breathed slowly as Fanny once more tried to get Belle to meet a suitor. She had long given up with you, at six and twenty you were already considered a spinster.

The afternoon was spent much the same. Your mother insisted you take a small walk around the gardens. That would clear your lungs and head in her opinion. It only formed to make your legs ache if anything.

Soon after Fanny had you all standing outside the door waiting for the suitor she had found for Belle. The pompous dandy slid out of the carriage and started resiting awful poetry. You had to stifle my laugh.

You walked down the staircase that afternoon daydreaming to yourself.

"Belle?" You whisper. She shushes you and pulls you against the wall to listen. Your mother was talking about a surgeon, a navel man. Belle had that hopeful look in her eyes that always made you feel sad. She wanted so much to help you, had dedicated her life to finding a cure for you. Even when the numerous doctors told you it was nothing and you'd be healthy soon you both knew different. The strange pumping of your heart kept Belle's nose in the medical texts. A plan was forming in her mind, you could see it.

Your mother and father ushered you both into the parlour were Mr Smales was sat reading. Fanny followed you all in. Lady Jane all but shoved Belle to the chair beside Smales and he began reciting more poetry to her. He asked if she'd like to play the harp, little did he know that it was only you who played the harp amongst your sisters. Belle had once played the violin but it had been years since she had picked it up.

My sister huffed and marched across the room. Your mother stopping her.

"talk to him about hospitals." She hissed.

This finally peaked her interest.

"Come, we're going to see the hospital. I've never been, and I've always wanted to. We should take Y/n as a chaperone." She sent you a grin. You followed her out to the carriage with Smales tottering along behind you both.

"Belle, what are you playing at?" You whisper to her.

"I just want to look at it." She grinned once more

As we rode along Smales kept trying to talk with her.

"do you like to dance?" He asked.

"No." Belle's voice was flat.

"Croquet?"

"Snore."

"Fox hunting?"

"Very much, no!"

"Oh. Why?"

"It's mindless, barbaric, and cruel." You interject. Smales turns up his lips at you.

"What about you? Chemistry? Geology?" Belle asks.

"Oh, yes. With the maps." Smales said animatedly.

"No, the rocks, but close."

You hear the Carriage rider urging the horse.

" Anatomy?" Belle continued.

"Poetry?" She suggested in a tired tone.

"Yes!"

"Yes! Anyone other than yourself and Wordsworth?" She groaned.

"Such as?"

The Carriage Rider shouts for someone to Move aside, but you all feel the tell tail bumping of someone going under the carriage.

Both you and Belle are quick to jump out. A young boy is on the ground his leg broken open with the bone protruding from his skin. The poor lad was screaming. As Belle checked the wound you kneel behind him and place his head in your lap, attempting to comfort him.

"Help! We need a doctor!" Belle called out.

"Okay. Um, you're okay. You'll be all right. You're doing great." You hold the boy's hand.

"Coming through, coming through! Here." A tall, thin man came rushing up with a leather bag.

"Thank God. I've put a tourniquet on." Belle explained.

" It's not tight enough. I need something to tighten it with. Um... " he looked around, Charlie, the boy whimpered. The doctor put a hand on his face, his fingers brushing yours.

" It's all right. I'm gonna sort you right out."

"Can you fix it?" You ask.

"I'll need to amputate."

" What about Bircher's procedure to save it?" Belle pulled his attention

"Miss, please."

"M'lady." She corrected him.

"To do that, I would need to drill into his leg bones, and insert pegs to knit them back together again. He would die of shock and pain." The doctor explained hurriedly

"Not if you take the pain with ether." Belle said. You shot your eyes between them.

"The Yankee Dodge? That is unproven." He bit back at her. As they argue you quickly run to your driver and speak with him before going back to the doctor.

"lift him into the carriage, he cannot stay in the street." You command him. The doctor looks up at you and nods. He scoops Charlie into his arms and you help get the child into the carriage. Your sister climbs in after you both and the carriage pulled away. The pair continued to argue with each other as Charlie squirmed on your lap.

"for goodness sake, will both stop your squabbling. This child will not be losing his leg today. You are the surgeon we have heard about and as such I assume you will be able to do the operation." You say commandingly.

"the prof does not allow it." The doctor finally admitted.

"well, we aren't going to the hospital." You smile as the carriage pulls to a stop.

"Why? He doesn't have much time." He looked out the door, "What are we doing here, you ridiculous woman?"

" This is the Governor's residence." You say.

"Oh, God. You're the Governor's daughters aren't you."

"yes. Belle go in and make sure the way is cleared." You tell your sister. She nods and runs off to the house.

"This is completely arrogant of you both." The doctor growled. "I can't perform an operation here. I need surgical equipment."

You turn round to him, causing the doctor to retreat back toward the carriage.

"there is no need to threat, Doctor. My sister has all the supplies you could need." You say with a finger in the middle of his chest.

"oh, hello looks like we're good to go." Fagin said pointing behind you.

The doctor and Fagin grabbed the boy by his legs and arms, carrying him into the house. Belle had her arms full of her equipment. You can hear your father and his guests beginning to descend the staircase.

"There's no time. We're gonna have to do it here. Set him down." The Doctor said.

" What?" You and Belle said together.

"It's not ideal... Fagin, clear that table. It's all right, Charlie. Okay, all right. It's all right."

In a moment of panic you stepped away from the doctor and addressed your father's guests.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The entertainment. For our main event, I have a very special treat for you." You look over your shoulder at the trio, "Dr. Dawkins will perform an operation, never been done before. Where an inferior cowardly surgeon might just simply remove the leg, Dr. Dawkins will make a thousand years of history by trialling surgery with no pain. The Yankee Dodge!"

A murmur of adoration waved through the crowd. The Doctor's eyes locked with yours for a moment. You nodded to him and he began his work. Fagin, the older man with him, tiptoed away from you all, up the stairs. You step closer to the table stroking Charlie's hair as he whimpers again. Dawkins lent closer to you and Belle.

"If I get hanged for this I'll haunt your every waking moment. I'll be that face you see in your nightmares and trust me, you will only have nightmares."

You can't help but smile.

"Do shut up and ether the patient." Belle quips. You stay at Charlie's head letting your sister address the crowd.

"Watch closely, everyone. As Dr. Dawkins anaesthetises the boy, takes his pain..."

"You're fine." Dawkins reassured the boy.

" ...and then operates with no sensation." Belle had a flare for the dramatics you thought to yourself.

Holding the either mask in his hand Dawkins spoke once more to Charlie, "Now, just breathe. There, we go. That's it. Good lad. Right."

The operation began

Belle was able to find an ivory stick to use as the pin for the bones. You had to admit he was impressive in his work. The crowd oohed and ahhed at his every movement. When he was done and the wound stitched Dawkins reached up to Charlie's face, " Now, ladies and gentlemen, can we rouse him from living death? Charlie? Come on, Charlie. Charlie. Come on, Charlie. Come on. Charlie. Charlie. Come on, Charlie boy."

You were all beginning to panic, your eyes flicking to your father's disapproving face.

"Don't cut me, Doc! I need me leg!" Charlie called out. You released the breath you were holding and smiled at the Doctor.

There is a moment where the room is in awe, every man and woman there thought to congratulate the Doctor until one woman spoke up. Her ruby necklace had been stolen from around her neck. You sighed, knowing instantly what had become of it. Captain Gaines began searching people. Your chest tightened and you put a hand on the table to steady yourself. The Doctor took hold of your arm.

"You all right?" He asked his professional concern showing.

"Yeah. Yes, it's just the ether fumes. Take me upstairs?" You say leaning into him.

" I've got you." He says beginning to lead you away.

"All right. I'm sure you won't mind if I search you?" Gaines says to Dawkins.

Belle steps between them, "Captain Gaines, move aside. My sister is not well. Move aside."

You pant and rest more of your weight on Dawkins. Gains reluctantly stepped aside allowing Dawkins to escort you upstairs to your room. Belle hot on your heels.

"Are you well? Who's your doctor?" Dawkins asked once in your room.

"Prof." Belle answered.

"Has he ever examined you?" He helped you to sit in a chair.

"He's too scared of my father to get it wrong." You say, your hand is still in his. Dawkins glances back at Belle.

"Take off your dress. I need to listen to your back. Take off your dress."

Belle comes over to help you remove your clothing until you were in only your bloomers and chemise. She grabbed a stethoscope from your table and handed it to Dawkins. The doctor sat behind you on the lounge sofa, placing the cold metal to your back.

"Now, just breathe steady. Just breathe with me. In," his voice is low and soft, his breath fanning over the back of your neck, "And out. Good. Again. In. Out. Okay. Gonna come around the front. Once again. In. Good, and out. In. Out."

Belle frowned, she knew what he was hearing.

"You're a common thief. Shall I call Captain Gaines now or later?" You say glancing back at him.

Dawkins drops the stethoscopes "No. No, no. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." He runs to stop Belle from leaving the room, "Darius cheated me at cards. He's gonna take my hand if I don't pay him a ludicrous debt."

"Then pay him with your own money!" Belle argues.

"With what money? I get paid in pennies and thimbles." He is almost begging.

Footsteps can be heard down the corridor.

"You've got two options. I yell "guards" and you get hanged." You begin.

"Not ideal."

"Or you make my sister the first female surgeon and we keep your secret. That or the noose." The door knocks. "Well?"

" I'm thinking."

Part two soon.

@fandomfan-102

#fanfiction #jack dawkins x y/n #jack dawkins x reader #jack dawkins #the artful dodger x reader #the artful dodger #oliver twist #norbert fagin #fagin #lady belle

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