[papagoore25]

Masterlist and Info ✨

***Please read below before submitting a request***

Hii!! Thank you for checking out this silly page <3

***Requests: I’m open to requests at the moment! However I work full time so if I you send me a request, it might take me a little while to get around to it. Please be specific if you can when requesting something as it’ll make it easier for me to get your request right 🩷

I tend to bounce around a little between fandoms/characters. And as mentioned I work full time and am pretty busy, so if you send me an ask or a message and I don’t respond, do not fear, I will get around to it eventually!!!

Over time I might add or remove characters from the below list, so please check it before requesting 🩷

My tumblr masterlist is below, plus you can find more on my AO3!

Characters I’ll write for:

Robert Akers (Stranger Things)

Adam (Depraved 2019)

Wild Bill (American Primeval)

The Stockbroker (Hustlers 2019)

Father Paul (Midnight Mass)

Astarion (Baldurs Gate 3)

What I definitely won’t write: non-con, vomit, scat, furry, incest, age play. (If your request is around a specific kink or “taboo” topic other than these then I might have to review it before accepting it)

Masterlist:

Robert Akers (Stranger Things):

Lullaby: Akers is unaware that he has a guest spectating his nightly activity. (AKA Akers has dirty thoughts, but they might not all be his own)

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This) : (Part 2 of Lullaby) Akers wants to get some sleep, but his mind gets a very welcome visitor who wants to test something out (AKA Akers gets blown, but technically doesn’t)

Tear You Apart: Working alongside your husband had its benefits - but you would have never guessed that this would be one of them. (AKA Akers gets ridden while restrained, before he gets his own back)

The Lost Art of Keeping a Secret: Sneaking off to a motel room like this wasn't new to Akers. But sneaking off to a motel room with his superior, a quick visit made as a detour from their routine patrol, was definitely new. (AKA Akers tries out being a bottom and turns into a whimpering mess because of it)

As the World Falls Down (Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5): Having just recently moved back to Hawkins, you were never told much about everything going on. You knew something was up with your family, their friends, and especially with Hopper’s new adopted daughter El, but you were never told exactly what. One night, you arrive at the wrong place at the wrong time - and Dr Kay tasks Akers with finding out why. (AKA what starts as a side mission for Akers quickly turns into something else)

I Think We’re Alone Now (AKA As the World Falls Down part 3.5): Akers is aching and confused when he comes to, tied up and held captive, and he wonders just how hard he had hit his head once he notices you watching him from the corner of the dark and dingy trailer. (AKA the reader is present for Hopper’s interrogation, and when you’re left alone with Akers you end up attending to unfinished business.)

Physical (You’re So): Akers is leaving in the morning, but before he does he makes a proposition that you have no intention of refusing. (AKA Akers has a breeding kink)

Material Girl (Part 1) (Part 2) : Every man you had ever known had been happy to do whatever you asked, but not Akers. Akers took orders from his superiors, and his bosses, and definitely not from you. He likes to make sure that you don’t forget it. (AKA Akers doesn’t like to let you boss him around, though you like to do just that.)

Knocked Up: Akers is sometimes reckless, but careless mistakes turn out to sometimes be the best accidental decisions. (AKA Akers has a breeding kink but ends up actually knocking you up, and finds out how much he loves experiencing parenthood with you)

Hungry Like The Wolf: Akers hasn’t seen you in what feels for forever, and the distance has made him crave something that’s new to you. (AKA Akers is desperately horny and is dying to eat you out)

What Do They Know?: Akers always leaves Kay’s office with a red hot rage in his chest. There's one thing that never fails to relieve his frustration, and he becomes dead set on finding it as he walks through the halls of the eerie base. (AKA Akers pulls you into a quiet room for a quickie after Kay leaves him pissed)

Stargirl: Akers enjoys a lot of things about you, but he especially enjoys how big you make him feel. (AKA Akers loves it when you need him to reach the top shelf, but now he wants you to give him something good in return for it)

Puppy Love: Akers tells you all about his dreams of settling down with you and a big mean guard dog. You end up surprising him with something very, very different. (AKA Akers wants to someday own a mean bulldog, but you decide to get something a lot a little smaller)

Seeing Double: Akers doesn’t have the best eye for detail, and his lack of attention becomes his very own downfall. (AKA Akers bites off a little more than he can chew when he dates a pair of twins who he thinks are both the same woman called Mary)

Cinema: Akers takes you out to see a film, though he doesn’t plan on spending much time watching it. (AKA Akers can’t keep his hands off of you in the movie theater)

Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn’t’ve?): The last time Akers saw you, you were both 18 and fresh out of high school, and the crush he had on you was embarrassingly big. Now, a few years, shitty boyfriends, and fresh piercings later, he aims to right the wrongs of his stupid teenage self. (AKA Akers meets his high school crush for the first time in years, and decides he still likes you just as much as he did back then.)

Like A Virgin: Akers returns from a long deployment, and gratefully accepts an eager proposition you make on his first night home. (AKA you’ve been dating Akers for a while, and eventually decide to let him take your virginity after months of heavy petting.)

Wet Dream: (Part 3 of Lullaby) Battered, bruised, and burnt, Akers attempts to wash the hell of a day off of his skin. His nosy nightly visitor attempts to cheer him up in the best way she knows how. (AKA a moody Akers takes a late night shower after getting beaten by Hopper, and shower sex seems to help his frustration, though it leaves a lonely pit in its place.)

Superstition: Some days, Akers is far more sure than usual that he's slowly losing his mind. Is he going crazy, or is his house being haunted? That's something he's still trying to figure out. (AKA Akers doesn’t know you have powers much like the freak he hunted years ago, or that you have passed this onto your daughter.)

Army Dreamers: Finding yourself tangled up in Robert’s arms in the dark and dingy junkyard had served as a very effective distraction. Unfortunately, it had proven to be an extremely short-lived one. (AKA you find yourself bearing witness to the very last thing you expected, though it’s not entirely what it seems.)

Opposites Attract: A routine physical exam is just another part of every day in this lab. They’re never filled with very much excitement - until a brand new nurse sent in by the army makes them far more interesting. (AKA you’re very curious to know everything about this new nurse, and make it your mission to find out all about him - much to his very obvious annoyance)



Unconditional: Robert is never one to be very good at hiding emotions, but he certainly is one to insist they don’t exist. You take matters into your own hands to cheer him up and make him admit that he’s upset. (AKA an old friend won’t stop staring at the scars on Robert’s face, and he isn’t good at hiding his foul mood because of it. You decide to make him feel better, and show him some love in the hopes he might finally open up.)

Doctor, Doctor: Freshly home and forced on medical leave, Akers reluctantly begins to attend your clinic for some check ups. Reluctance turns to excitement when he begins to not so subtly flirty with his doctor, and you offer a reward in return for compliance. (AKA Akers hates attending the doctor almost as much as he hates taking his medication - until he discovers that his new doctor is his age, attractive, and eventually offers to give him something in return for him being compliant.)

Adam (Depraved 2019):

Scar Tissue: After what feels like an eternity of asking, Adam’s lonely wishes have finally come true. (AKA Henry gives in and makes Adam a companion)

Birds of a Feather: Running away from your creator had been easy. Figuring out what to do now was the hard part, until you meet another just like you. (AKA Adam unexpectedly finds a friend, or maybe more)

Let’s Go To Bed: (Part 2 of Scar Tissue) Adam had no idea what he was doing. He took comfort in the fact that neither did you. (AKA Adam’s first time having sex with you)

From Eden: (Part 2 of Birds of a Feather) Adam brings you to his home, and decides he wants to share it. (AKA you’re literally falling apart at the seams and you’re really bad at ping pong but Adam likes you anyway)

Real Love Baby (Part 3 of Birds of a Feather): Life with Adam has been sweet so far, but as Valentines Day rolls around, he decides to make it just a little bit sweeter. (AKA Adam is a sweetie who wants to give his girl the best first Valentines Day he can, including a homemade card and cake)

Mystified (Part 4 of Birds of a Feather): One late night movie leads to a very sudden realisation, and you and Adam decide to mark a day to make yourselves feel a little bit more human. (AKA Adam makes a plan for you to celebrate your made up birthdays together, and some lovely music helps you to finally pick a name.)

Beautiful Boy (Part 5 of Birds of a Feather): Every day with Adam brings new challenges, and you’re faced with the biggest one of all when you and Adam attempt to navigate life as new parents. (AKA an accidental pregnancy leads to the happiest surprise you could ever ask for)

The Stockbroker (Hustlers 2019)

Sexting: Your new favourite client decides to reach out on your only day off. (AKA the Stockbroker always sees you in the strip club and decides to get flirty with his texts, and you contemplate whether or not to do the same)

Expectations: Tonight is important. A night that could determine the trajectory of your modelling career for the foreseeable future. As prepared as you feel, it's the partner you have tagging along that makes you feel a little more nervous. (AKA The Stockbroker tags along to your very important modelling event, but when he leaves you embarrassed, you decide to have him beg for your forgiveness.)

Wild Bill Hickman (American Primeval):

Sanctified: When Bill invites you to spend the evening in his tent after the sun sets, you can’t help but feel you would be a fool to not do as you’re told. (AKA Bill is horny and hopes you are too, and ends up taking your virginity because of it)

Pushing It Down and Praying (Part 1): You never would have taken Wild Bill to be a jealous man, though you find him to be an intense one when you decide to get to know another man. (AKA Bill points out the way a man your age looks at you, and you decide to get to know him - much to Bill’s disapproval.)

Bedroom Hymns: Wild Bill can’t help but notice the shyness you take on around him. One late night he shows you how to give in to temptation, and to help indulge him of his while still keeping you pure. (AKA Bill takes notice of the crush you have on him, and uses your mouth to relieve his arousal.)

Lead Us Not Into Temptation: Bill believes that a good prayer and decent sleep may ward off the impure feelings festering in his head. He settles down for his nightly prayer and attempts to ignore the discomfort his trousers now provide, until he eventually finds he can ignore it no longer. (AKA your presence alone makes Bill horny and he decides to attempt to deal with it alone.)

For the Love of God: Bill is unsure whether your existence is a blessing or a curse. When you interrupt a personal act and offer to lend him a helping hand, he feels he would be a fool to not accept. (AKA Bill finds himself both jealous and aroused after seeing you speak to someone else, and takes off to deal with this feeling alone. Following him out to the woods sees you stumbling upon him doing exactly that.)

Dr Martin Brenner (Stranger Things: The First Shadow)

In The Still of the Night: Martin Brenner is a very dedicated man to his work. Too dedicated, it seems, to take much notice of his very own wife. (AKA you try to convince Brenner to come to bed, but he’s far too engrossed in his work to even notice you. A subsequent cold shoulder shows him just how you feel.)

Pain Relief: After an incident in the Hawkins Lab, Dr Brenner comes stumbling into your office, assuring you that he’s fine while too proud to admit that he’s searching for your assistance. It proves increasingly difficult to avoid tension while cleaning the wounds of the doctor you’ve been dating. (AKA seeking some shred of comfort, Dr Brenner comes to you after suffering some injuries from Henry, though he’s far too prideful to admit just how much he desires the help you can provide.)

Astarion (Baldur’s Gate 3):

Devil Like Me: A sudden blow in battle leaves Astarion wounded, and you kindly watch over him in an attempt to help. Even through the pain, Astarion still does his best to maintain his cocky act. (AKA Astarion gets injured and teases you/mocks the fact that you’re attempting to help before you show that you know him better than he thinks)

[papagoore25]

An ask for Bill to break up the Akers:

Bill having a religious crisis about falling head over heels for someone he should not want/does not want him. How and why that’s the case and what he does about it is up to you.

For the Love of God

Summary: Bill is unsure whether your existence is a blessing or a curse. When you interrupt a personal act and offer to lend him a helping hand, he feels he would be a fool to not accept. (AKA Bill finds himself both jealous and aroused after seeing you speak to someone else, and takes off to deal with this feeling alone. Following him out to the woods sees you stumbling upon him doing exactly that.)

Warnings: masturbation, Bill jerks off yet again, but this time reader interrupts him, handjob, blowjob, religious guilt, semi-public sex acts, regret, Bill has some religious pre horniness hesitation plus some religious post nut clarity (as per usual at this point)

Word Count: 4367

Notes: I really enjoy writing about this awful man for some reason

Anyways here’s Bill getting himself hot and bothered and having to run off to go deal with it, before ending up with some very welcome company...

Enjoy!!! 🩷

Bill’s long fingers tap an apprehensive rhythm on the table he has found himself sitting at. One foot joins along with it too. This dreary bar he has come to reluctantly call a regular spot is not the type of place he normally enjoys. It’s certainly not the type of place he likes to conduct any of his business in either, but he has found himself recently having to meet someone here for work far more often than he would like. 

Bill doesn’t drink. He can’t, with his faith, his devotion to the Lord. Enjoying a glass or two while he waits for his important person to arrive wouldn’t be the holy thing to do. 

So, in an attempt to pass the time instead, Bill normally finds himself curiously watching you. 

Sharp eyes fix themselves on you while you work behind the bar. Bill wonders just how many times he’s seen you here before - it doesn’t seem as though you ever get a day off, always tending to the many patrons while he watches from the corner. Watches and wonders and learns about you. It feels like every time he comes here, you’re standing behind the bar with a warm smile and a greeting, 

Watching you from this distance so often has had Bill become much more interested in you than he would like. Any interaction he has found himself having with you has been much more familiar every time, and this fact has only served to further his already guilty fascination. 

In the time since he first encountered you, in between his curiosity and his intrigue, Bill has gradually started to decide that he hates you. 

Well, he doesn’t hate you. Not exactly. He more so hates the way that your presence has started to leave him flustered, stuttering like a young fool when you so much as glance in his direction. He hates the way that watching you for too long forces his blood to course with such sin that it rushes to the more unseemly parts of his body. He passionately hates the way his more immoral thoughts can’t keep away at the sight of you, forcing him to question his faith and feel himself to be a fraud. 

And Bill really, really hates the fact that despite all of these feelings, there is no way he could ever possibly act on them. 

Bill is sure you must be a decent person. A very good and kind person even. Generous, friendly, warm and charismatic. Every patron in the bar seems to regard you like a friend. Some, like they hope you may become much more than just that. Those people bother Bill the most. 

However, despite all of your very clear strengths and virtues, Bill knows that he cannot allow himself to have you. 

You are not religious. The very first time Bill had spoken to you, that had become undoubtedly clear. You do not speak of god, you don’t so much as mention his name, nor do you praise him or pray to him in the way that a partner of Bill’s should. Having you by his side would be seen as wrong by so many around him. It would be seen as incorrect to those above him. 

But, despite this, Bill cannot stop your existence from festering in his mind. A poison filling his every thought, filling every idea with you. A poison he likes the taste of just a little bit too much. 

Even if he knows his desire is slowly starting to kill him, Bill can’t help but still allow himself to watch you while you work. It passes the time sufficiently - and even poison isn’t deadly in the smallest of doses. He does exactly that today, his full undivided attention fixed on you while he waits for his company. The quiet corner of the bar he often finds himself sat in allows the perfect vantage point. 

Watching you serving your patrons, idly chatting with busy hands while you serve them, Bill begins to wonder if he could convert you. To change your mind and turn your working hands to prayer rather than to pouring drinks. Would pestering you and convincing you to change to a god you seemingly don’t believe in be even more of a sin than just succumbing to his feelings and having you now? He wonders if you would be willing to learn his ways, to join his group, all just so that he can have you as his without feeling such guilt.  

The idea of doing so makes him feel selfish, but the thought of not ever actually having you makes him feel even worse. The idea of you being too unholy for him to ever make his own puts a very heavy damper on his already lowering mood. Bill knows himself well enough to know he is greedy - perhaps you are just another thing he wants to satisfy himself in having. 

But, no. Bill knows enough to understand that the burning feeling that lingers for far too long every time he leaves the bar is much more than simple need to fulfil his greed. 

After a long time of simply admiring you from this very comfortable distance, feeling his skin grow warm with both guilt and something more unseemly, Bill is taken aback when he sees a far too friendly patron approach you. He’s almost distraught when he sees the way the man begins to flirt. At least, from where Bill is positioned, it seems to be a much less innocent interaction than what he would like to see you allow. 

The sight drops his heart down to the floor, inspiring far more jealousy inside him than he would ever have expected to feel. 

Bill watches every move you make while you accept the man’s flirtations. He watches every twitch of your lips, every tilt of your head, and every sparkle that hits your eyes. Imagination angers his already bothered brain, and he can only assume what sort of sweet words the man before you must be offering. Bill watches until he simply cannot physically watch it anymore.

Bill’s favourite guilty pleasure, watching you from afar whilst tormenting himself with thoughts of somehow having you, has now been ruined by one dim man. 

A surge of rage shoots through every limb. With a huff and an angered impulse, Bill shoots up from his seat, long legs very quickly closing the distance between himself and the exit. He pays little mind to the stares his sudden burst receives. The colder air outside is a very vague relief against his burning skin, but the relief only lasts just a moment. 

So much of his body is deep in discomfort right now - his skin burns, white heat making his clothes feel far too hot despite the chilly air. The once loose collar of his shirt now feels as though it presses into his neck, and every time he swallows he feels the scratch of it against his throat. 

And his trousers, maybe worst of all, feel as though they could burst with the pressure slowly building up against the front of them. Somewhere behind the jealousy in his chest, within the adrenaline brought about by his very swift departure, a lingering arousal begins to pester him even more. 

He hadn’t realised until now just how terribly watching you all night had affected him. 

Home is much too far away for what Bill needs right now, and Bill is much too desperate to wait. His eyes fall upon a line of trees just behind the bar he just left, the beginning of miles of forest, and he begins to move towards it before he even properly thinks. Maybe the woodland will provide him some solitude. 

Head swimming with anger and simultaneously totally submerged in the beginnings of some filth, Bill’s feet keep stomping on the ground until he’s very sure he’s alone. Until he’s far enough away from everything, from you, that he’s certain no one could stumble across him here. 

When he finds the low bank of a very shallow river, Bill decides to station himself there. It’s just out of sight enough to offer him some tiny shred of privacy. What it doesn’t provide, and what would be impossible to find, is a form of cover to stop any higher up figure seeing his sinful deeds, but Bill is far too wrapped up in his storming thoughts of you to care for this right now. 

His boots sink ever so slightly into the damp ground beneath him while he settles himself here. He’s sure they’ll be muddy when he returns to the bar, but he’s even more sure that he really doesn’t care.

An anxious glance around the perimeter confirms to Bill that he’s alone. Finally finding comfort in this little bit of solitude gives him the confidence to allow a gloved hand to wander - creeping along his front, inching towards the steadily growing tent below his belt. Bill had already felt himself stir when he had left the bar, pushing against his trousers more and more the further he walked away from you, until it eventually became unbearable as it very much is right now.  

Some sense of regret is already seeping in, oozing in between the cracks in his impure imagination, but Bill can’t bring himself to even acknowledge it now. He casts any lingering guilt surrounding his faith far out of his mind in this moment. The feeling he gets when he finally rubs his hand over his bulge is far too good to even imagine regretting it yet. Whether it be stress relief, or to chase his arousal, he knows that freeing himself from his now painful trousers is just what he needs at this moment. 

When he does just that, grasping himself and feeling his cold black glove on his sinfully hot skin, Bill sighs harshly. The setting isn’t ideal, and neither is the availability of nothing but his lonely hand, but any form of relief is better than none right now. His eyes flutter closed at the feeling that the contact brings, and his mind can’t help but drift to the very object of his frustrations while he runs his palm along his sensitive skin. 

Bill thinks of taking you on the very bar you work on, lifting you up so your hips meet his own, indulging his desires and feeling you wrap yourself around him as soon as every other patron has departed. He pictures the way your legs and arms would encompass him, closing him in and pulling him as close as they possibly can towards his undoing. 

It doesn’t take long for Bill to become far too wrapped up in this idea to be even the slightest bit aware of his surroundings. Low groans and sighs escape his lips while he pleasures himself, and whilst deep in his own imagination, he doesn’t even register the sounds of familiar footsteps steadily approaching from behind. 

They’re far too near when Bill finally realises that he’s gotten himself some company. 

They’re unavoidably close once Bill hears your sweet voice call his name. 

Panicked eyes shoot open with a start. His fight or flight gives way to simply freezing, boots feeling stuck now in the damp ground beneath him, and his heart thumps harshly against his heaving chest. His movements still, hand still wrapped around himself though with some new hint of uncertainty, body frozen in fear now that he’s been joined by this unexpected company. 

The sight of you before him leaves Bill dumbfounded. He wishes the ground would swallow him up where he stands. Or, what feels more likely - that god would just drag him up to heaven or down to hell to deal with the things he’s just done, before he ever has to actually face the reality of it. 

He waits for you to scold him. To tell him that what he is doing is wrong, or terrible, or disgusting, or anything else that someone of faith would believe. Someone like him, but fortunately, very unlike you. 

Wide eyes stare at the way he holds himself in his hand. To his surprise, your expression is not one of horror, nor is it even any sort of shock - something in your eyes holds much more of an intrigue than anything else. 

Bill jumps when you eventually speak up. 

“You looked… you seemed unsettled when you left, so I was worried, and…” Your eyes still focus on his ever present arousal. Your head tilts, brows raising just a tad as though considering something unspoken. Bill can’t help but find his eyes landing on the way your throat moves as you swallow hard.  “Someone came into the bar looking for you. Told him I’d come find you.”

Still too frozen and too panicked to respond, Bill remains silently standing where he is. Coloured cheeks betray his weak attempt at keeping some sense of composure, and the feeling of him throbbing in his own hand disregards this concept completely. 

Bill is surprised to see you still standing there after a few moments. Even more shocking is the way you take a tentative step towards him, then another, before finding yourself so close in front of him that he could very easily reach out and touch you. 

If his faith had its way, Bill would be quickly stuffing himself into his trousers before making a hasty departure. 

Instead, he accepts your sudden closeness and stays just as he is.  

With little regard for the dirt that will soon dust your knees, you lower yourself slowly. Watchful eyes fixate on his face, searching every inch for any desire for you to halt your steady advance, but Bill cannot bring himself to even offer a vague hesitation. The object of his desire and the fantasies that had just consumed his mind is now lowering themselves to please him - Bill thinks he would be a fool to reject such an offer, even if the little shred of faith still lingering in the back of his mind tells him he will regret this later. 

An apprehension sees his still frozen limbs begin to tremble under your stare, uncertain as to what you intend to do, but eagerly awaiting it all the same. 

Before you go any further, you speak up just above a little whisper, face to face now with his hopeful cock. “Is this my fault?”

Uncertainty flutters in his chest. Bill’s face screws up, mind searching for an answer to your query. He stutters out a response eventually. “Y-your fault?”

A subtle nod while you watch him from below. “I don’t intend to sound arrogant, but - even a blind man would be a fool to not see the way you look at me, Bill.”

Already flush cheeks redden further. Bill’s collar feels all too tight once again. Like an idiot, he thought all along that hiding himself in the corner of the bar would stop you from seeing his longing gaze. His very often lustful gaze. It’s a surprise to hear these words spoken aloud, despite the fact he knows them to be fact. He’s known them to be fact for much longer than he would like to admit. 

Before he can even bring himself to address your truthful accusation, a soft skinned hand rises up to meet his still throbbing length, stopping his thoughts abruptly in their tracks. 

When your long awaited touch finally graces his skin, Bill feels for a moment that his knees may buckle. They feel a new weakness at the sight of you below him. Bill admires the way your lips part while you stare at your own hands surrounding his erection, and he swallows back a desperate sound when they start to pull him with a very steady rhythm. 

Every slow tug sends a ripple of pleasure through his veins, and it isn’t long before Bill finds himself pushing his hips forward to meet your grip. Your actions definitely aren’t those of someone with a strong faith. These aren’t the type of hands that find themselves praying every night. 

“You’ve done this before.”  

It comes as much more of a statement, or even an accusation, than a question. The way your grip pulls the air from his lungs is no beginners luck. 

A soft smile up towards him makes Bill’s heart skip a brief beat. “I don’t abide by your laws, Bill. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.”

Bill takes some comfort in knowing that he isn’t the first one to bring you to sin, and that he isn’t the only sinner present here. He beats down the jealousy threatening to claw up through his chest now that he knows he’s not your first. 

Learning this fact makes him even more eager to savour this - to enjoy you below him, and have you as his if for only this moment - because even in this satisfaction, Bill knows he can’t have you forever. Bill already knew you couldn’t be his. Your lack of faith had already sealed that option off for good, particularly now that he knows just how sinful you really are. 

Searching for even more closeness to truly savour this act, a gloved hand rises to run through your hair, and the way you lean ever so slightly into his touch warms his icy heart. He wonders how your body would lean against his hand if he was to touch it, to run his fingers down your sides or press the tips into your flesh, and the desperate sounds you may make begin to fill his flustered mind. Bill shoots down this idea as quickly as he can - as much as he adores the thought of taking this further, he doesn’t want to indulge himself too far. Sheer luck has gotten him this far already, enjoying you undisturbed out here all alone. Bill doesn’t want to test it for fear of it running out. 

The contact of his hand on your head pulls your attention up to him. Your eyes drag away from the already wet head of his cock, and up to meet the way he stares down at you. Bill’s knees only get weaker when your gaze meets his. He wishes now that he could remember forever the way you look up at him through your lashes. 

As though sensing the weakness taking over his limbs, you speak up, soft and sweet. “Is this alright?”

Bill wonders what sort of a question that even is. Is this alright? This is the furthest thing from alright - it’s both the corruption of his faithful ways, and the culmination of many of his dreams he once thought to be impossible manifesting right in front of him. 

“Yes- yes,” He repeats himself in a breathy whisper when you pull a little faster. Swallowing hard, he makes a poor attempt to collect his swirling thoughts. “It’s good. So good.”

Like a bumbling fool, Bill repeats the sentiment once or twice more below his breath. His already spinning mind becomes even more chaotic, pleasure blocking any form of sense or reason from breaking to the front. The only thing he can focus on right now is you - your presence, your touch, your generosity. 

As though your hands hadn’t been enough, you lean forward just a little to bring your mouth to meet him too. Bill can’t fight back the sound he makes when you wrap your lips around him. Worse still is the little look you give him before you do it. Innocent eyes, a sweet smile only for him, before pink lips wrap around to surround his tip. His knees really threaten to give way this time. 

He wonders how this moment can even be real. Maybe he had hit his head on the way out of the bar, or maybe he was still sound asleep. 

Some tiny shred of guilt tears through the pleasure to blame this euphoric relief on you - so many years of learning his faithful ways, now crumbling down to the ground around your knees. Did someone have it out for him, someone up above wanting to test him and tear him down with temptation? If you were simply a succubus sent here to draw him in, would he even realise it?

If you are but a demon, then Bill thinks that you’re doing a damn good job of posing as an angel. What a shame for sin to feel like this. Even heaven couldn’t possibly be as good as feeling this forever. Feeling you forever, warm and selfless while you make him feel pleasure like he’s never felt before.

If not a demon, then you definitely are an irredeemable sinner. That fact is certain. Bill had decided that already as soon as he saw you get down to your knees. Whatever hopes he once had of converting you to his very holy ways have now been well and truly quashed. 

Before long, Bill finds his hips pushing further into your warmth without him ever really telling them to. Chasing his release finds him rocking them gently into you, and he’s relieved to feel you taking him even deeper into your mouth the more he moves. 

The pearly gates seem an impossible destination for Bill now. But, the nearer you bring him to his steadily approaching release, Bill finds that he can’t even bring himself to care. Along with the warmth that your generous mouth provides, the introduction of your eager tongue flicking over his sensitive skin is enough to finally drive him mad. 

Once steady hips now lose whatever form of a rhythm they once had. Their pace becomes erratic, each movement bringing him even closer to his end. A still gloved hand tightens its hold within your hair. No matter how harshly he grips, or how hard his hips push, you don’t seem to mind. If anything, your low hums and fast tongue simply encourage it. 

Teetering on the edge of his orgasm has Bill wondering whether he even woke up at all this morning. If this is only a dream, then it might be the best one he’s ever had - and it certainly isn’t the first one to look very similar to this. It’s only when he feels your grip tightening once again that he’s reminded of just how real your presence below him is. 

When he reaches his peak, feeling your whole mouth around him while he spills himself into it, Bill cries out into the air with very little regard for anyone who may be near. He’s already too deep in his own sinful undoing to care for any witnesses, knowing that the only important one in heaven above has already seen this entire thing. 

Pleasure washes over every inch of his sweating skin. His grip is still tight while the last few drops of his spend spill into you, and your hold is still firm too. A satisfied sigh is the last pleasured sound to leave his lips when he finally finds himself well and truly done. 

Even when he does eventually begin to slowly come down, Bill can’t bring himself to form a single coherent thought. Whatever you have just done to him has turned him into thoughtless mush. Like you drained his whole mind dry. 

If you had been a succubus, then he guesses you would have disappeared like magic before his eyes the moment he finished, taking his tainted soul along with you. 

But, much to both his dissatisfaction and his relief, your human existence before him offers him some shred of comfort. It also forces him to acknowledge the fact of what he’s just done. 

Bill comes back into reality when he feels you move away. He hadn’t realised he had been gradually softening within your hold. Much to his dismay, he becomes wholly aware of it when he looks down at you once again. The minute your body pulls away from his own, the reality of this event gradually begins to hit him. Weighted guilt floods through his body, skin tingling and mind swirling as he realises what he’s just done. 

Despite a new ache slowly festering in his chest, Bill longs to pull you up to meet him. His lips crave your own, and his body desires yours pressed tightly against it. Hesitant arms would do anything to wrap themselves around your entire form. 

But, with the hints of regret already trickling in, Bill very reluctantly refrains. He knows he has some choice now - to do as his body craves to do, and continue the demise of his faith, or to follow his heavenly mind and push your sinful self far away forevermore. 

“That man,” Snapping him from his thoughts, Bill’s tired eyes land on you. They regard you with much less warmth than they had done when his cock had been in your mouth only moments before. Your voice is suddenly more timid now that the sinful deed is over with. A step back towards the direction you had come from, and a newly shy glance up at his eyes. “He was waiting for you in the bar when I left. I'm sure he’ll be growing impatient now.”

Remembering his business, Bill gives you a curt nod of vague acknowledgement. He mutters something about how he’ll follow along in a moment. He won’t - instead, once you leave, he’ll head straight in the direction of home to try to deal with his actions and cope with his brand new sin. 

When you bid him farewell and start in the direction of the bar, you do little to hide the disappointment you now feel. Bill knows that he is cold. He knows that his regret is now undeniably obvious. However, he’s too wrapped up in his own head now to care. 

Bill begins to tally up just how many prayers he will need to say tonight to grant him any small shot at earning some forgiveness. Despite this, Bill knows it won’t be long before he finds himself in your bar to seek the same satisfaction once again, hoping for you to take the lead again then just as you had done now. 

[papagoore25]

partially inspired by the fic you wrote about Akers being a nurse how about the reverse? Like a nurse or doctor helping him recover after everything that’s happened to him, to which he may be very resistant to.

Maybe something about him refusing to take his pain medication so he has to get more or less gently coaxed into taking them through a promise of a reward or something along those lines.

Doctor, Doctor

Summary: Freshly home and forced on medical leave, Akers reluctantly begins to attend your clinic for some check ups. Reluctance turns to excitement when he begins to not so subtly flirty with his doctor, and you offer a reward in return for compliance. (AKA Akers hates attending the doctor almost as much as he hates taking his medication - until he discovers that his new doctor is his age, attractive, and eventually offers to give him something in return for him being compliant.)

Warnings: injuries, scars, wounds, occasional potentially inaccurate medical talk, medication, slight angst?, this is a silly little fic in which Akers gets slightly rage baited once or twice but has a happy ending

Word Count: 4700

Notes: in this fic we’re going to pretend that Akers is totally alive and well (maybe not totally well) after the events of ST5. :)))

This is broken up into a couple of little meetings in which Akers is an idiot but loveable all the same (tbh, as per usual)

Enjoy!!! 🩷

The first time you met Akers, it wasn’t long after he had been very reluctantly put on special leave.  

You had been assigned to monitor his medication and to keep an eye on him while he was both mentally and physically healing. His actual first check up had been a no show. In this type of work, this is not uncommon, and normally excusable. People forget these things all the time - especially those like him who had just suffered something significant. However, something about this case gives you a gut feeling that the ghosting had been a little more deliberate. 

The full details of the incident that ended up putting this soldier on leave were never totally disclosed to you. All you know about are the injuries sustained from it. 

Over the span of 72 hours, the lieutenant had gone through hell. First, a bad hit to the head, knocking him out cold and causing head trauma. Then, an acid vial across the face, causing a painful burn and severe scarring. Finally, as though none of that had been enough, a bullet to the head that was meant for his brain, but very narrowly missed. 

The shot had gone straight through his chin, barely missing anything vital before exiting through the middle of his cheek. Lucky to be alive - even luckier to be functioning, although with a decent list of problems, and you can fairly safely assume that not all of them are physical. 

The lieutenant’s file tells you that a long list of medications prescribed before his departure from the barracks are seemingly keeping him going. By the time he comes through your clinic’s door, he’s already on quite the cocktail - whoever had seen him at the base had put him on pain meds, sleep meds, antibiotics, and all of it is topped off with just a little bit of Xanax for good measure.  

Whatever way he presents, and whatever issues he brings to you during your check ups, you can already tell from the paperwork alone that this case is going to prove to be an interesting one. 

When you enter the room the first time, Akers is not so eagerly awaiting your arrival. A quick glance lets you take in an image not unlike one of a toddler sulking, only this toddler is a couple of feet too tall for the moody face to be considered cute. His eyes fixate on what must be a very interesting spot on the floor, thin lips press themselves in a pout, and long arms fold tightly in front of his chest. A nervous foot taps a hasty beat on the floor. 

Akers looks grumpy, lips turned down and whole body defeated, until his attention lands on you. 

The moment he sees you, his back straightens up, and his chest not so subtly puffs out. Eyes quite obviously scan your face before quickly trailing down your figure. He seems surprised to find that his assessment is being done by someone not so far off of his own age. The once moody toddler quickly transforms before you into a self-assured young man, a sudden burst of energy hitting the body of the 30 something year old. 

This quickly dies back down in defeat when you begin to move through the routine motions of the check up. 

A polite smile in his direction, a professional introduction, and some very idle chit chat that doesn’t get many riveting responses while you prepare your medical equipment. White gloves get pulled on carefully while you ask him some initial standard questions, all of his answers proving short and not so sweet. 

Moving on to assess his wounds proves to be far more interesting to you than his forced out chat. 

Your observations find a mark of a semi-healed up entry hole under his chin and a much more initially obvious site of an exit hole on his upper cheek - permanent reminders of the shot that nearly took him.

Akers had insisted during your initial assessment questions that his wounds were just fine - a little bit of reddening around them makes you question his word, and makes you wonder if he’s even bothering to take the many medications prescribed. 

Another severe wound on the side of his head gets a check over too, though this one seems to be healing a little better. The acid had burnt his skin badly from his jaw, across the cheek, and some of his scalp, taking the hair on that side with it. It’s a shocking sight at first - though definitely no worse than some other injuries you’ve witnessed in this work - but as long as it keeps healing the way it does then you’re not going to be overly worried about it. 

There’s a worried flash in his eyes when you begin to inspect the marks. It’s a one you’ve grown used to spotting in the faces of your patients, and you now pick up on it very easily - the people you see are normally very used to being on the receiving end of judgement or quizzical stares due to the injuries they’ve sustained.

Akers seems no different, his eyes trained on you while you go about your examination, and when you eventually finish it he breathes a not so subtle sigh of relief. As though he had been expecting you to pass some kind of comment, or simply look at him funny because of his new appearance, his shoulders relax just a tad when your attention leaves his wounds. 

Sometimes it surprises you to see someone like him present as so quietly insecure - someone arguably very handsome, and with a tall, strong stature should have no shortage of confidence. With your work, however, you’ve learned just how quickly that trauma such as what he’s sustained can change a person, and you wonder what the Akers before the incident was like. 

This thought is one you decide to dwell on another time. Moving through the standard consultation questions, it becomes very quickly apparent to you that his word isn’t one you can totally go by when it comes to assessing his state. 

“How’s the pain?” 

“Fine.”

The redness around his injuries tells you very differently. 

“How’s your sleep?”

“Fine.”

Navy blue circles surrounding his lighter eyes give this away as a lie. 

“And your mood?”

“Great.”

Avoidant eyes and quiet responses make this out to be untrue. 

By the time you round up the appointment, you’ve found out very little new information other than what’s already on his file, and you’ve gotten little to no insight into how the patient is actually doing. The only things you’ve picked up on have been learned through the observations of your trained eyes and ears. 

Still, the information you have gotten should be enough to decide on the plan until your next appointment, even if it is the bare minimum. 

“Alright, Lieutenant. That should be all for today. I want you to continue taking everything as normal, but I’m going to up your sleep medication, because-“

“I told you my sleep’s-“

“Fine, I know. But that wound is still taking a little longer than I’d like to heal, so I want you to get some more rest. I’ll write you a script to keep you going until your next appointment.”

A slightly defeated look falls upon him at this, but he doesn’t argue much further. A slump in his shoulders tells you that he knows you’ve seen through his multitude of lies. 

Akers exits the room pretty quickly when you hand him the page with his prescription, a half arsed goodbye muttered through his teeth, and it’s initially difficult to tell whether you’ll even see him again. A small part of you actually hopes that you do. 

It’s a surprise to you when the receptionist informs you that he had approached her to schedule his next check up before ever leaving the clinic. 

And it’s even more of a surprise to find that he had been very specific when asking her to ensure that his next check up would be with you. 

***

Over a number of weeks, Akers becomes a relatively regular client through your door. 

And, during that time, he very gradually becomes one of your favourites. 

There’s something oddly likeable about the big grump who sits before you. Even on the days when he barely nods his head along to your questions, it’s clear over time that he makes just the slightest bit more of an effort to try to actually answer them. He becomes more likeable the more times you see him, and the more he opens up you find yourself tempted to too. 

One very endearing trait of his is just how often he makes pretty poor attempts at sweet talking you. 

The nervousness that had engulfed him in your first meeting seems to slowly creep away the more frequently you see him. That hesitant spark still lingers in his eyes whenever you pay attention to his wounds, though he never seems quite as uncomfortable as he had been that first day. A more confident air surrounds him, and an even more cocky one is woven through his words, especially when he begins to spit out the much more flirty ones. 

It starts with subtle comments. 

“You’ve got soft hands, doc. Really gentle.” During a blood test. 

“Room smells good today. You wearing something new?” When you enter the room. 

“Nice shirt, doc. That colour looks real good on you.” On one occasion, when you arrive wearing what you think may be the exact same thing as always. 

The compliments definitely aren’t subtle, though you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy them. 

The way he behaves as he grows more comfortable around you makes you wonder whether his cockiness may be a front for the hidden insecurity you had gotten only a glimpse of during your very first meeting. With any other patient, the obvious attraction and stupid comments may make you uncomfortable- but you’ve found that you’ve developed a little sweet spot for Akers. At the very least, his actions are definitely charming, even if not always in the way that he intends. At most, they find you turning your back to him to write your notes while hiding a blush. 

The more often you see him, the more frequent and obvious the flirting gets, until one day it finally reaches a peak while you’re busy writing an update in his file.

“So… I was thinking…” The lieutenant’s legs swing from the examination table despite his height. “You seeing anyone, doc?”

This question makes you stop your writing, and you stare blankly at the page while you process it. The question feels like a very, very loaded one, with a very clear objective. 

“Why do you ask?”

A shrug, and a tilt of his head while he stares at you. “Curious. Haven’t seen a ring on your finger.”

“Wouldn’t be sanitary to wear one.” An instant look of defeat hits his face. The purpose behind his questioning begins to seem even more clear.  “But, no. I’m not.”

His features perk up at this, and a cocky smile returns to his lips. “That’s a relief. ‘Cause I was thinking, you know… You’ve been taking good care of me. Maybe I could take you out to dinner some time in return?”

You’re very suddenly tempted to ask whether he feels that the head injury sustained in Hawkins still affects him. Reluctantly, you refrain. 

An initial thought hits you, to bite back and tell him that it’s very literally your job to take good care of him. Then, after quickly resisting this, you start wondering whether it would be all that bad of an idea. The personal, human side of you finds that it quite likes the idea of going out for dinner with the big tall soldier. 

The professional part of you swiftly rises up to shoot this down. 

“I’m flattered, lieutenant, but… I’m not sure if that would be appropriate.”

His eyes narrow slightly, as though this had been the very last answer he had expected. “Why not?”

“You’re my patient.”

“So?”

“So, I’m not sure my superiors would take too kindly to me dating my own patient..”

He huffs, but his usual put on confidence returns with an exaggerated pout. “You’re really breaking my heart here, doc.”

It irritates you that you find this fact to be breaking your own heart, too. In any other circumstances you think you would have said yes to his invite a hundred times over. But instead of letting him know this, you keep up your own fake exterior. 

Though disappointed in your own rejection of his advance, you chose to brush it off light heartedly. “Keep talking like that and I’ll have the other doctor check you next time.”

For a moment, he considers this idea. “Is the other doctor cute too?”

Your head tilts down to stare at your notes for a moment, not so subtly hiding a blush. 

“The other doctor is old, short, and balding. So yes, if that’s your thing.”

Akers frowns, almost recoiling at the thought. His eyes move not so subtly up and down your frame. “No… old and balding is definitely not my thing.”

“Well…” A certain person comes to mind.  A one you vaguely and barely personally knew from some previous work, a one you know slightly better from horror stories passed around by colleagues, and a one you have a very strong feeling Akers may not like. Though he’s never said her name, you do vaguely remember a mention or two of the old bitch he used to work under. You have to fight to not laugh before you even begin. “There is another doctor you might like.”

This takes his interest, and he smirks. “Oh yeah?”

“She’s a little older than you, but… very smart. Kind of bossy, but I get the sense you’d like that.” His smirk widens into a smile, and he raises his brows. “Little bit mean, too. But I’m sure that’s nothing you can’t handle.”

Akers looks more smug by the second. “Sounds like my kind of girl.” 

“I thought so. Do you want me to schedule your next check up with her?”

You don’t mention the fact that scheduling his next check up with anyone else would leave you a little more free to accept that dinner date. You also don’t mention that, as far as this practice is concerned, this other female doctor may as well not exist. Someone like her likely wouldn’t be caught dead working in a regular doctors surgery. 

“Huh… I dunno, how come I’ve never gotten to see her?”

“Oh you used to see her all the time, Lieutenant.”

“Really? Huh… well, what’s her name?”

“Dr Kay.”

As though struck in the gut, his entire face drops and his demeanor changes, skin turning white as a sheet. Then, his complexion becomes strikingly red, an embarrassment creeping up through him.

For just one brief second, you even think he looks as though he could vomit.  

“Nah… nevermind. I think I’ll stick with you.”

The rest of the consultation goes ahead very standardly. The usual check ups - all pretty normal, and within the expected ranges - followed up by the one question he always dreads the most. 

Settling down to finish his notes at your desk, you prepare yourself to ask him the one thing you know for sure that he won’t tell the truth about. “Have you been taking your medications?”

Casting his eyes away from yours, he swallows hard with a very quick nod. “Sure I have.” 

“Regularly?”

A far longer pause than a compliant man should need. Then, a small shrug. “Most of the time.”

Looking up from your desk, a disapproving frown in his direction makes him gulp. “Those wounds aren’t going to heal themselves, Lieutenant. If you had been taking your pills as prescribed then they would almost be healed already.”

Akers takes on the look of a poor dog kicked down by its owner. If he had a tail, it would be stuck firmly between his legs. “I forget to take them sometimes.”

Something about this feels like it may be another white lie, but you don’t bother to call it out. The sorry sight before you provokes a little too much guilt in you for you to even want to try. 

A thought crosses your mind. Akers has already made it more than obvious that he’s taken a liking to you, and you would be lying if you said that you hadn’t gradually started to return that feeling. You start to wonder whether it would be unethical to use that to your advantage - but then again, allowing your patient to be careless about his prescription may be even worse. 

“Tell you what.” Setting down your pen, you turn to face him fully with a small smile. You take a moment before continuing to carefully consider your wording. “If you’ve started taking your medications properly by the next time I see you, then… my answer will be a yes.”

“A yes?” Quizzical eyes stare down at you, and you’re unsure whether he’s already forgotten his invitation, or is just in disbelief that you’re accepting it. 

“A yes. To dinner.” 

For the first time since you’ve started treating him, Akers looks bright. In a way his features almost suddenly look healthy. His entire face shifts into something much happier. 

“Alright, doc.” A slow nod, eyes taking in your features even more now that he knows you may end up being his date. “Challenge accepted.”  

***

The next check up rolls around in no time. When it does, you’re a bit genuinely taken aback to see Akers looking the healthiest you’ve ever seen him. 

Every one of his wounds have started to heal quite nicely. The rings around his eyes have vanished, no longer bordering on a deep navy blue. Even his general appearance is tidier, cleaner, better taken care of than before. 

And Akers himself, proud as punch while he sits before you, seems to be very well aware of it all.

“Been taking my meds.”

Blurted out like a proud child within a second of you entering the room. The grin on his face as he looks at you makes him seem like butter wouldn’t melt. You’re sure that butter would in fact sizzle in this soldier’s mouth. 

With a very polite smile, you move to prepare your equipment, and mentally begin to accept that it seems that you’ll be going on a date after all. 

Still - despite the outcome being obvious, teasing him a little further before you reach it won’t hurt. 

“That’s good to hear, lieutenant.”

Moving over to him to begin a physical check sees you offering him a very small nod in acknowledgment of his words. This serves to dampen his excitement, a small falter evident in his grin, though he picks the corners of his lips back up in no time. He swallows hard before he continues his mission. 

“You know what that means?”

“Mhmm.” Delicate fingers begin to inspect his wounds, prodding carefully at the skin around them while you note their status. Admittedly, they look much more healed - Akers isn’t lying this time around, and he truly has bothered to take his medication. “Means that you’ve been taking your meds like I asked. These wounds look good.”

This time, his grin doesn’t just falter - it turns into a full on frown. 

“Sure I have. Just like you told me, doc. You know what that means?” Like a parrot, Akers repeats his previous question persistently. His jaw tenses while he impatiently awaits your response. 

“Sure I do.” 

“So…” A silence follows, as though he expects you to fill it. You know exactly what he wants you to say - but you want him to say it. After suffering the quiet for maybe a moment too long, Akers finally finishes his sentence. “When can I take you out?”

“Where are you planning to take me?”

Diverting the question leaves him taken aback, as though he hadn’t expected you to follow along so easily after your initial avoidance. 

“Well… I dunno what you like. There’s a couple good restaurants, a decent Italian if you're into that. Or…” Something sparkles in his eyes before he continues. A hopefully glint he seems unsure that he should follow. Regardless, he does follow whatever idea it is that had popped up in his head, sitting up a little straighter before he makes his next suggestion. “Could always just go to my pla-“

“Italian sounds good.”

Akers shoots you a look, knowing damn well that you’ve cut him off on purpose, but it’s quickly replaced by a relief when he realises that this confirms that your promise still stands. 

“What about Friday night?”

This time, a genuine blockade. “I work late on Fridays.”

Akers throws his hands up at this. Patience certainly doesn’t seem his strong suit, and you appear to be wearing it thin with your playful evasion. With a small huff, he continues on. “Didn’t know they had a class on being a tease in medical school. When are you free?”

Giving one last look at the skin of the side of his head, you quietly hum as you think. “Saturday. I’m off all day, if that works for you.”

A part of your brain does wander slightly, a thought occurring that Akers very likely would be free any night. With his current status, off work and recovering slowly, it’s likely that he’s taking things easy. 

Or at least, as his doctor, you sure hope he’s taking things easy. 

“Saturday is good for me.” Akers answers quickly, not even taking a moment to consider any clashes in his calendar. This just solidifies your theory that there very likely are none. Maybe your superiors would be a little less upset at you going out on a date with your very own patient, if that date had something to do with keeping the client active and healthy. 

“Well,” You lock eyes with him, giving him a small smile while trying to hide a very genuine excitement  rising up in you. Akers doesn’t seem sure whether he should stare at your eyes or your mouth while you look at him, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips while his gaze starts to wander. If he acts like this while sitting in your examination table, then god only knows what he’ll be like on a very real date. “Saturday it is.”

***

Akers isn’t the most romantic man, nor is he the most gentlemanly, but you manage to make it out to a real restaurant for dinner all the same. 

The date is relatively textbook - Italian restaurant, nice meal, good conversation. Akers doesn’t arrive with flowers, or even a box of cheap chocolates, but he does arrive with that very particular charm he holds that makes you both forgive and forget his empty handed arrival. 

Finding yourself outside of the clinical setting allows you to finally relax and open up a little more to the lieutenant, and he eagerly laps up every shred of information you offer up about yourself. Having been so used to being the one letting you know about all of his woes and personal troubles, Akers is happy to finally know just the slightest bit more about you for a change, and especially when the conversation leans into topics that are a little more personal. 

Continuing the traditional theme of the date, Akers in his apparently gentlemanly ways pays the bill in full, and very politely offers to walk you back home. 

Although, not so gentlemanly is the lingering sense that there’s something a little extra on his mind once you get to your door. 

“You gonna invite me in…?”

There’s no questioning the suggestion behind the statement. Akers stands close to you, towering above you at your front door - not too close to be pushy, but near enough to be much more than just friendly. He stares down at you with an optimistic smirk, hands in his pockets and eyes trained on only you. 

“You’ve got a check up on Tuesday, Lieutenant. I’ll see you then.” A slow step back towards your door see you widening the distance between you both by barely a few inches. Within that space lies a very clear reluctance for either of you to leave. You’re not opposed to the idea of bringing him inside - if anything, you’d very much enjoy it, and it’s definitely crossed your mind - but you have your suspicions that his medication taking may become a little less consistent if you give him too many rewards so soon. 

Akers bites his bottom lip gently while he watches you reach for your door handle. His feet shuffle a little where he stands on your front step, his shoulders slumping just a little, and the hands shoved into his pockets suddenly seem more awkward. It doesn’t look like the normal disappointment of a man shot down just as he thought he was about to get some. Instead, there’s a different anxiety attached to the shift in his mood.

But, Akers puts on a brave face and smiles at you still. “You trying to make sure I turn up to the clinic again?”

A reassuring smile from you warms up his face a little more. “Can’t plan a second date if you don’t.”

This shifts his mood to something a fraction more hopeful. His brows shoot up at your blatant eagerness, though the way his lips stretch into a smile makes it clear that he’s definitely not going to complain about it, and that it’s very much returned. 

Maybe it’s the low lighting, but you’re sure you even notice him sporting a little blush. 

“Guess I’ll be coming to see you again then, doc.” 

“I’ll be looking forward to your check up.” A sweet and very genuine smile his way makes the colour of his cheeks blossom. “And keep taking your meds in the meantime.”

With his confidence back in full force, Akers cocks his head to one side, still smiling with his eyes fixed on you. “Well, what if I don’t?”

“If you don’t keep taking them yourself…” The first idea that comes to your head is a little more lewd than what you intend to offer him this soon, and you brush the thought off quickly, despite knowing the flirty soldier would very eagerly accept any less than decent invitations. “Well, I might have to try a little harder to make sure you do.”

“Huh… sounds like you just want to see me a little more often.” Cocky as ever, Akers towers over you, body not so subtly leaning closer towards yours.  

You don’t shy away from the closeness, but you do offer a casual shrug. “Ensuring my patients keep up with their treatment is just part of my job.”

Akers frowns, then stands up just a little straighter. It’s not difficult to tell that he hates when the professional in you comes out. “And how do you plan to do that?”

An innocent smile, and a less than innocent sparkle to your eye. “Just means I might have to start making home visits.”

This certainly satisfies him far more than your previous answer. 

By the time you wave him off while he walks down your path, you find yourself to be sporting your own red hue across your cheeks. A blush covers your skin, and not just from the wine you enjoyed at dinner - instead, it’s from the realization that what you have with this moody army man might be a very good thing after all.

Sunday morning rolls around, and a very small part of you regrets not inviting him in when you find yourself wondering what it would have been like to have woken up next to him. 

Monday morning, and you find yourself still wondering the exact same thing. 

Tuesday morning, to very little surprise, Akers shows up right on time to his early check up. 

Although this time, he very eagerly tells you that he hasn’t been taking his meds. 

[allsonargent]

Kate O'Flynn as Patricia Moyer in WIDOW'S BAY (2026—)

[hellboundhorrormovielover]

Twoooo nickels

[papagoore25]

hello hello!! I know we have discussed at length akers feeling crappy about how he looks because of his scars but I personally think that just means we get to body worship him to make him feel better and it's something I think about at length actually. and personally I think you should too. 👀

Unconditional

Summary: Robert is never one to be very good at hiding emotions, but he certainly is one to insist they don’t exist. You take matters into your own hands to cheer him up and make him admit that he’s upset. (AKA an old friend won’t stop staring at the scars on Robert’s face, and he isn’t good at hiding his foul mood because of it. You decide to make him feel better, and show him some love in the hopes he might finally open up.)

Warnings: mentions of scars, mentions of injury, body worship, smut, handjob, Akers being a grumpy shit, lots of soft kisses and touches, hurt/comfort possibly?, maybe even slight fluff?, maybe even some angst too, Akers receives quite a bit of love and praise from his partner, Akers opens up and tells you stories about his scars

Word Count: 4805

Notes: I love absolutely anything to do with Akers and his scars. And I mean, he somehow got hotter after getting that acid thrown across his face, so…

This fic is a slightly slow and (hopefully) kind of tender one, comprised mostly of reader being gentle with Akers.

Enjoy!!! 🩷

Bumping into an old friend at the bar proved to be a less pleasant reunion than expected. 

Whoever he was, his face had lit up upon seeing Robert standing before him. You had only found yourselves in the rundown bar to have a little drink or maybe two, and Robert had happened upon the man sitting up on a bar stool with a beer bottle in hand. 

As kindly and warmly as the man had spoken, reminiscing and laughing over memories from long before you were ever in the picture, there was no mistaking the way his eyes couldn’t help but drift to Robert’s scar. Granted, it’s difficult to miss - but the way he kept on curiously staring at it, even while he spoke about some distant childhood memories, proved to bother Robert far more than he would ever willingly admit. Even when he tried to keep up his friendly conversation it was easy for you to see the way his jaw ticked. 

When that friend departed and wished you both a good night, it left you with the impossible task of trying to calm the soldier’s nerves. Or, to have him admit that he’s even bothered in the first place. Robert is never one to be very good at hiding emotions, but he certainly is one to insist they don’t exist. 

A silence fell over him while he finished his last drink, eyes a million miles away every time you attempted to speak to him, and when you finally dragged him out of the bar the situation didn’t prove to be much better. Even after getting home, Robert doesn’t quite meet your eyes, always looking away or just past you. 

By the time you find yourselves in bed, Robert still barely speaks. A long arm is thrown around you while he lays on his back, but it’s done so lazily, as though out of a duty to hold you close before you sleep. 

Robert isn’t one to want to address his emotions. You, however, want nothing more than to do exactly that. A delicate hand against his face attempts to pull his stare towards you, but even when you turn his head in your direction, his eyes are still cast down. 

“Robert?” Your voice is low. He barely hums in acknowledgment, and still doesn’t look your way. 

You decide that you’ll have to use more than just words to get him to confess. With one hand resting flat against the skin of Robert’s stomach, you begin to pay your partner some much more direct attention.  

First, you kiss his forehead. Soft lips press to the skin carefully as though afraid he may crumble if you touch him too hard. The hand already on his face moves to cup his cheek, thumb gently stroking the damaged skin on the very side he hates the most. You know your hand’s presence there is not always a very welcome one. Below your touch is lined and scarred skin that you’ve grown to love, while he’s learned to resent it. It would be difficult to miss the way he tenses as your thumb runs over the grooves of his scars, and you can’t ignore the way he flinches when you move to kiss the weathered skin. 

Shifting down just a little finds you nuzzling into the side of his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there before you speak. The way your words vibrate against his throat makes him shudder. You can feel a low hum when you press your lips to it once more. 

“Why are you upset?”

Robert freezes at this query. It’s not difficult to tell that he had been expecting very different words to come out of you. The bob of his Adam’s apple near your mouth indicates a lingering frustration in him. 

“M’not upset.”

He says it quietly, but sternly, and it’s difficult to tell whether he says it to answer your question or to convince himself of it being a fact. 

You roll your eyes, though you know he can’t see it. Moving another few inches south finds your mouth grazing along his collarbone, hand still resting flat against his lean stomach. 

“You’re not a good liar.”

A drift to the side, and you kiss along his shoulder. Glancing up shows you that he’s watching you as you move, though you can’t quite read the expression on his tired features, and glancing down shows that his body is enjoying what you do. 

“I’m not-“

When the hand on his stomach moves further to lightly cup his bulge, Robert cuts himself off with a gasp. It doesn’t take too much to get him going - he’s already half hard and straining against his underwear just from your closeness and your lips. His breath hitches in his throat when you push down just the slightest bit harder, and he groans in protest when you withdraw the pressure completely. 

“Why are you upset?”

He sighs loudly before he continues. 

“I’m…” He swallows hard again. Robert is many things - good with his words when it comes to emotions is definitely not one of them, but in this brief moment of silence, you think you may actually be finally getting somewhere with him. It’s a very short lived hope. “I’m not. I’m not upset.”

Crossing from his shoulder to the middle of his chest, you feel the vague feeling of his heartbeat below your lips. It already thuds, and picks up quickly when you glance up at him once again. 

“Well then why are you angry?”

Staring up at him through your lashes while continuing your probe leaves him more nervous than he’d like you to believe, but you can easily feel it peeking out from within him. He doesn’t meet your eye when he responds. 

“What are you talking about?”

“Since we left the bar. Since you spoke to that guy. Something's been wrong.”

“I dunno what you're talking about.”

It’s painfully obvious that Robert knows exactly what you’re talking about, and you’re unsure as to whether it’s his pride or his ego that keeps him quiet the most. 

The hand that had provided his short lived pleasure begins to move around his front, gliding tenderly to explore the ridges of muscles and bumps of old scars. There’s a few notable ones, from years in the military and god knows what else, but you’re so used to them now that you stopped taking any notice some time ago. Tonight, you decide to make an effort to take them all in. 

The presence of these marks on his skin have always left you wondering why the ones on his face bother him so much when he already had so many to begin with. The visibility, you could understand, but his body doesn’t tense as you touch the other scars as it does when you kiss his burnt face. 

You take your time in memorising the feel of the lines that you find, lips still moving across his chest as you do it. A particularly noticeable one along his ribs makes you pause. You stop kissing along his front, and pull back just enough to eye up the raised skin your fingers have found.  

“Where did you get that one?”

“I- Uh… I don’t know.” 

Your eyes look up to find his again, and you can practically hear the way his heart rate picks up. Whatever incident gave him this scar is evidently a one he’s not proud of. 

“You’re still not a good liar, Robert. That hasn’t changed in the last five minutes.”

He closes his eyes with a slight huff. “I was… look, I was young. It’s stupid.”

“Now I'm even more curious.” 

“It’s stupid.” You can almost feel him squirm in your expectant silence. “It’s just dumb army shit.”

“And I’m still curious.”

“Fuck- okay, fine.” One of his large hands covers his face, hiding his reddening cheeks. “It’s from when I started in the army. We did a lot of stupid shit.”

You tilt your head slightly. “Go on”

“We, uh… we all got pretty drunk, one night..” His words are slightly muffled with the way he speaks them through his hand. You hold your breath while you await the rest of his story. “We were just fucking around and doing dumb shit, bored out of our fucking minds. Some idiot had a bright idea to throw knives for fun, even set up a shitty target and made it a contest. Don’t even remember what the winner was supposed to get… ” 

Robert trails off. It’s hard to tell whether he’s finding it hard to continue the story, or just hard to even remember it. 

Your fingers still skim along the line while you wait. “And? What about the scar?”

“Like I said, we were drunk. We were probably all about as stupid as each other. I got up to go get my knife back, and one of the other guys had the bright idea of taking his turn while I was standing right there in front of the target. Got a clean cut straight across my side.”

“Shit- did it hurt?”

“Don’t really remember it even happening. Just remember waking up with a killer headache and a sore side.” Then a laugh that feels out of place in this story. The memory clearly doesn’t bother him as much as it should, other than maybe just leaving him a little embarrassed. “Was probably my fault anyway for standing there.”

“That’s… definitely not your fault, Robert.” 

This statement doesn’t get any response, other than a slight shift of his broad shoulders. He clearly has his mind set on remembering this incident far more light heartedly than you feel he should. That, or this topic would broach a vulnerability he’s not quite ready to unpack. 

You only allow yourself to mull over this for a moment, before putting your mind back on your mission - if he’s already this willing to share stories, then maybe a little more affection will finally make him open up just as you wish. 

A gentle brush of your lips along the scar before you move away from it completely. Your hands slip down his sides until they reach the hem of his underwear. Sliding his boxers off of his hips is only another element to your tease. When you pull his underwear fully off and return to your position, his arms reach out for you instinctively. You smile up at him sweetly while pushing them back down to his sides. You don’t intend to give in to him just yet, to allow him to embrace you or take you or pull you in, having not yet gotten the information you’re seeking. 

Now that he’s bare, you notice his cock bobbing over his stomach, throbbing in anticipation of your next careful move. It's one he’ll have to be patient for, however. A hopeful glint in his eyes tempts you to just give up and envelop him now, but you resist this - you’re not quite done with your wandering attention yet. 

You ignore the obvious and instead kiss his hips, deciding to cross over and give each side some little attention, face passing only inches from his very evident arousal. A part of you still craves the feeling of it pushing past your lips, to take him and give him his pleasure while the salty precum hits your tongue. On a normal night you may even do just that - to cut the worship off here, and stop your continued teasing - but you have much more you want to get out of him tonight before you can do so. 

Tender hands spread his legs a little wider as you move down between them, and you find your lips drawn to the inside of his thigh. You kiss down along it, softly and lightly, dusting your lips along his skin as you gradually go lower. 

When you meet a short scar halfway down his quads, you become curious once again. 

“What about this one?”

Soft fingers tap the skin beside the scar you’ve found. His darkened eyes still watch your every move. As you stare up at him from where you are, it’s easy to see how hard he’s already gotten, but you make an effort to look past his eagerness and straight up to his face.

When he glances to the mark you’re now tracing with light fingertips, his brows furrow. 

“Haven’t I told you that story?”

You shake your head, and his lips turn down. Not in any upset, but more so in a genuine confusion. Then, he shrugs before he starts to speak. With the relaxed way in which he addresses you now, you expect the story to be lighthearted. It proves to be anything but. 

“Have had that one for a long time. Got it back in Nam. Must have been my first year there I guess.” For a moment he pauses, deciding his next words in the silence of the warm room. Still, he looks unfazed, making the rest of his story even more shocking. “Got caught off guard and got a knife to the leg. Bled pretty bad, for a while. Dunno how I even made it.”

Wide eyes stare back back up at him in horror. The way he speaks so casually of such a terrible thing shocks you, and the fact he even went through this makes your heart sink. 

“Jesus, Robert. That’s…”

Another casual shrug. “It’s fine.”

Robert insists that many things are fine when they clearly aren’t. What strikes you about this occasion is that this time, he very genuinely seems to believe it. 

One of his hands moves to run through your hair while you scan his face, slowly combing through the strands before resting on the side of your head. You lean eagerly into his touch. 

A worry and a concern for him finds you biting your lip, though his touch at least serves as some comfort. “Did you lose much blood?”

“Lots of it.” 

“Jesus.” 

Yet another shrug, this time joined by a small smile. His thumb rubs a line where it rests beside your ear. 

“Like I said, it’s fine. I mean, I’m glad I didn’t die and all that… aside from the obvious reasons. Would have been embarrassing to die a virgin.”

“That was your main concern?”

“One of them.”

He quickly picks up on your dumbfounded expression, and races to defend himself with a grin. 

“What? I must have been about 18. Not much else on my mind at the time.”

You just shake your head in response to this fact. An even heavier worry than before fills your chest, but you decide to continue all the same. If the way he’s gradually opening up to you now is anything to go by then maybe you’re on track to get him to admit his foul mood after all. 

Reversing your trail finds you returning back up towards his chest, his hand moving now to press softly against your back. You still ignore the way his eager cock throbs. Your mouth doesn’t leave his skin, open and wet and gradually making its way up his abdomen while occasionally being joined by your tongue. He always likes when it darts out against his skin. 

Lifting yourself to finally straddle his hips leaves him looking hopeful. Robert gazes up at you, evidently eager with lips parted and eyes glued to you. His hips shift slightly below you, pressing up in search of some friction, but you keep his target just out of his reach. It doesn’t please him when his rocking hips return to their position on the bed with nothing. He expects much more than what you give at this moment. 

Soft fingers trail down along one of his arms, taking in the contours of the strong bicep, tracing the veins on his forearm as you go. You glide over a small scar on the inside of it, a tiny white line you already know the origin of - a sporting injury from when he was a kid. A line with much less gravity than the others decorating his skin. All the while, his eyes still are trained on only you. 

Reaching his hand, you lift it to bring it to your face, your lips pressing to his calloused palm. From there, your trail continues up his fingers, until you finally reach the tips. Your mouth slowly surrounds one pointed one, wet and warm as it glides down along the length of it, and his hips once again push up to chase some ounce of pleasure while you do it. Still, you don’t allow him any real satisfaction just yet. 

When you reach the base of his finger you find yet another mysterious scar, lips passing over it while they take his digit in. He hums quietly when your lips meet the base. Coming back up sees Robert’s eyes close, mouth falling open when your tongue swirls around the tip, before you pull yourself away once again. 

“Where did that one come from?”

He blinks quickly, having lost his focus a little with the pleasure. “Huh?”

“On your finger” Quiet voice carries to him easily in the silent room. The only sounds are those of the two of you breathing. 

At this, Robert shakes his head with a crooked smile as though remembering some fond memory. “Five finger fillet.”

“Five- what?”

“Five finger fillet.” He raises his brow like it’s obvious. “It’s a knife game. We got bored pretty often in the army.”

“Did you do anything in the army other than play with knives?”

Robert laughs at this. “Didn’t have much other entertainment I guess.”

When you eventually let his arm fall back down onto the bed, it doesn’t stay there for long. Both hands snake up along your thighs to rest on them while he stares up at you expectantly. His hips shift yet again in search of any ounce of stimulation they can find. 

This time, you decide to allow him some of it. 

One of your hands falls down to finally wrap around him. It’s very easy to tell he’s been waiting for this, by the way his mouth falls open while rough fingertips press into your thighs. You indulge him in the feeling for just a little while, your hold on him loose while he ruts up to his own rhythm. 

But, still not giving up, you prepare to steer away from the one thing he clearly wants in favour of continuing your interrogation. Hearing stories of his scars has led you back to thinking about the one that started you on this endeavour. 

If he’s not going to give you what you want, then you have no qualms in denying him his desire too. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

His entire demeanour shifts immediately. The question catches him totally off guard, mouth snapping closed and body stilling beneath you. A once hopeful spark in his eyes dims quickly, and his face falls slightly. Robert clears his throat and presses his lips thinly together. 

“There’s nothing-“

“Okay.” Suddenly you loosen your grip, then let go of him completely. You sit back a little further so his hips can’t possibly find yours. “If you say so.” 

Needy hands reach out to you quickly, but you avoid his grasp. 

“No! I’m just…” His eyes drop down to his stomach, where his arousal still stands. In the dim room, you could swear that you notice him blushing. “Could you just do that again?” 

“Do what?”

“Touch me again.” Robert swallows hard in your silent stare. Just like many of his other emotions, he is far more desperate at this moment than he would probably like you to believe. “Please.”

Shaking your head quickly, you lean back just a little bit more. “Not until I know what’s wrong with you.”

Robert groans and rolls his eyes, as though in disbelief that you actually want him to speak. Still, you persevere until your stubbornness overtakes his. 

“Fuck- fine.” A heavy sigh while his eyes stare up at the ceiling, apple bobbing on his throat. It intrigues you, to have spent your evening hearing about all of his other scars, but to still have to drag any slight conversation about this one out of him. “It’s this…” A hand rises to gesture to his face. “This fucking thing.”

Playing dumb has been his favourite response of the night, so you decide to return it, but not without rewarding him slightly by resting one of your hands on his hip. He glances down at the site of your soft touch. “I don’t see anything wrong with your face.”

Yet another loud huff. “No, not just my face. You know what I mean.” 

“Not sure I do.”

“Oh for-“ His jaw tenses, and eyes squeeze shut. He raises another hand, this time much more specifically gesturing to the scars on his face. “This fucking thing. Sometimes, I almost forget just how it looks. But then people stare.”    

Soft eyes fall on his scar with a warmth. You creep your hand just an inch closer to his persistent hardness. “I stare at you all the time. You don’t get this upset about it.”

“You’re not - you don't stare at me like other people do.” Leaving a gap that prompts him to continue forces him to fill it. “Like that guy in the bar. I’ve known that guy half my fucking life. Did you see the way he stared? Like he was fucking disgusted.”

Another inch closer to his cock, and you shuffle your hips slightly closer to his too.  

You still stare down at him, now with a much softer expression, while the feather light touch of one of your fingers tracing circles on his hip makes his breath catch. “He wasn’t disgusted, love. It was just… new. You didn’t have it the last time you saw him.”

Tired eyes are trained now on your steadily approaching hand. He doesn’t pretend to ignore the way it slowly gets closer to where he wants it.  

“Spent so long chasing a freak, now I fucking am one.”

You would reprimand such a deprecating statement more harshly or bluntly if it wasn’t for the way he’s finally opening up to you. “Robert. You’re not a freak.” 

“Then what the fuck am I?”

His face falls a little after he says this, and you wonder whether he had meant for the response to sound so snappy, or if it’s simply a result of his frustration. A tension in his body, starting from his insecurity and joined by the gradually burning need built from your touch. 

“You’re a lot of things, Robert. A freak isn’t one of them.”

When this is met with silence, you take it as an improvement from his usual smart comebacks. 

Wrapping your hand around him again has him instantly rising his hips to meet your long awaited hold. A low groan is let out in relief. Leaning down, you find your front slightly closer to his. 

You bring your free hand down to rest on his chest, before moving it upwards with an achingly slow pace. When the fingers delicately brush over his neck, he squirms underneath you, and a very badly hidden gasp leaves his mouth. 

Slow strokes keep his attention on you while your hand creeps up closer to his jaw, not giving him quite as much pleasure as he would like just yet, but just enough to keep his focus. 

“I know you don’t like this scar.” One of your fingers meets the edge of the one he hates the most, just barely touching the start of the damaged skin before moving down to press flat against the bed and support yourself. “I do.”

His brows furrow, and in the low light you think his eyes almost look wet. You decide that giving him just a little more attention might help to make him feel even better. 

Soft lips meet his chest while your hand continues its slow and steady rhythm. They trace the same path as you had only moments ago, passing over his collarbone and up along his neck, until eventually they end up just below his ear, where a little line of his burn begins. 

“I remember when you first came home with this. You wouldn’t even let me look at you.” You drop down to a whisper, and you notice the way he swallows hard while your breath hits the damaged skin. “It made me so fucking sad to see you so upset, because I thought you looked so beautiful. You still do.”

No response, but you can sense there’s something on the tip of his tongue that he’s not spitting out. Maybe he’s holding on to a fear that you’ll stop your affection again if he objects. This time, you don’t deny him of his pleasure, now that he’s finally opened up and revealed his insecurity. A gnawing feeling claws in your chest at the idea of just how much he hates his new looks. 

At this thought, you double down on your adoration. 

“I remember you telling me that it makes you ugly. There’s not a single thing about you that’s ugly, Robert.” Your lips move north, beginning to tentatively kiss the side of his face, and he doesn’t flinch like he normally does at the contact there. Instead, your ear catches the sound of a very quiet whimper that he normally never gives. His eyes flutter closed as you whisper against his burnt skin, your pace still steady as he begins to get closer. “Nothing. I promise.”

Robert barely hums to acknowledge this statement, but you take is as better than his normal denial. Whispers of praise linger in the air while you continue to kiss his face. 

When he still doesn’t move away from your mouth, you start pressing wetter kisses up his cheek. Your hand tightens around him while you worship the damaged skin, and you can only hope that your objective of making him feel better about it is working. 

By the time desperate whispers start to fall out of his mouth about just how close he is, your lips are dancing erratically on the skin he once would barely let you touch. His breathy moans and bucking hips are sign enough of his imminent orgasm, and after only another moment, his head falls back into the pillow with a low groan. Robert’s eyes are screwed shut while you continue your devotion. Your mouth is softer now on his cheek while he spills out all over his stomach, spend dripping down over the fingers of your hand where it holds his throbbing cock. 

For a moment as he comes down from his high, the room falls almost totally silent. In this peaceful pause, you begin to wonder if anyone has ever taken care of him just like this. 

An adoring heart so full of love and adoration may be just what the soldier needs to help him finally come to terms with himself. 

Once more, you press your lips to the side of his face, savouring the kiss before pushing yourself away. Lifting your head to take his features in reveals a very drained Robert. When he opens his eyes to look up at you again, you find them still a little wet, but you know this is something he definitely won’t want to address. You decide that you’ve already gotten enough out of your emotional soldier for one night. 

A delicate touch to his face, and a light kiss to his parted lips before you get up to find a cloth. You take some time to take care of him further, cleaning him up carefully, and his drooping eyes take you in the entire time you do.  

When you settle in beside him, you can sense that he’s exhausted. His arms wrap around you in a very tight embrace. Your head presses to his chest, his heartbeat still thumping loudly below your ear, and you nestle in beside him comfortably. 

“Do you have any scars?”

It surprises you to hear him speak up, expecting him to be just about ready to pass out. You think over his question for a moment while you mentally map out your own marks. 

“Sure I do.”

A kiss to the top of your head. “Tell me about them.”

“I can promise you Robert, they’re not nearly as interesting as yours.”

His arms pull you in closer, and he mumbles against your hair. “I’m curious.”

“Okay… well, I’ve got a faint one on my knee. That’s from one time I fell as a kid, and…”

You recount your little story quietly, and find yourself drifting off along with Robert, who has very softly started to snore. 

[papagoore25]

rogue bill request because I adore this awful ass man. how about bill just having an nice chaste evening of prayer after a long day but his mind keeps wandering to the reader and he has to uh… relieve himself… whilst also pleading for the lord to forgive him for it 👁️👁️

Lead Us Not Into Temptation

Summary: Bill believes that a good prayer and decent sleep may ward off the impure feelings festering in his head. He settles down for his nightly prayer and attempts to ignore the discomfort his trousers now provide, until he eventually finds he can ignore it no longer. (AKA your presence alone makes Bill horny and he decides to attempt to deal with it alone.)

Warnings: religion, religious guilt, prayer, masturbation, wanking and praying is a warning in itself ngl, no sex happens but horny thoughts are described in relative detail, gonna tag this as priest kink even though Bill isn’t exactly a priest but still it’s a religious man going through it

Word Count: 2010

Notes: If there was ever a fic to seal my place in hell, this is honestly probably it.

I feel completely and utterly totally normal about the concept of Bill doing what he is about to do in this fic… I swear (no I don’t)

Anyways if you don’t want to read about a religious man getting himself off to the thought of you… look away now.

Enjoy!!! 🩷

Spending too much time around you recently has seen Bill becoming quite consistently hot under the collar. 

Even when you behave in a way that’s nothing more than kind and innocent, Bill can’t help but be drawn to you. In some ways, his feelings towards you are sweet - in others, they all seem far less than pure. 

There are a multitude of things that have caused you to be rooted well in Bill’s mind. The way you look up at him when he speaks to you, pretty eyes so bright and eager to hear whatever it is he has to say. The way you seem to always care for him, and know just what he requires - not many around this camp would concern themselves with his basic needs and simple desires in the way you do. Another favourite thing of his is the way your soft voice calls for him across the camp when you seek him out. 

Oh, how he would love to hear his name fall from those lips forevermore. 

One day, Bill grows particularly bothered by your lovely presence. A hot summer day sees sweat collecting on your brow while you tend to things around the camp, and a dusting of pink on your cheeks pulls Bill in as though you are a magnet made only for him. Like he is a dim witted fish, and you are the bait he so foolishly falls for. So oddly endearing in the way the warm hue makes you look. It could be a blush, or even a sunburn - either way, it leads his silly mind to other ways in which he could see that tint appear on your skin.  

When the sight of you sweating and red faced under the summer sun ends up dragging his thoughts somewhere much darker, he has to force himself to tear his attention away from the pretty view you’ve become. It’s not lost on him that his feelings towards you are less than totally pure, but it’s not often that he does such a terrible job of beating them back down as they arise. Maybe the heat of the sun is turning his brain to mush, or perhaps it’s simply just you. 

After what feels like too long spent admiring your existence, and enjoying what small bits of your friendly company he gets the opportunity to indulge in, Bill concludes that it would be best if he retired to his tent. The sky is turning as pink as your blush, and his own skin heats the longer he watches you, leaving Bill with a foolish hope that parting ways for the evening may help to ward off the impure feelings festering under his skin. 

Bill leaves to settle in his tent for the night, and by the time he does so he finds his judgment clouded and mind swallowed by such improper ideas, that the only solution he can think of is to put himself to bed and attempt to sleep it off. He can’t seem to pull his mind up from the gutter no matter how badly he tries and he stupidly hopes that his normal routine may fix that. 

When he settles down for prayer, Bill decides to ignore the discomfort his trousers now provide. It’s not only the heat that makes the fabric cling to his skin. He pretends he doesn’t notice the way he feels himself pushing against the front of them, sinful blood rushing down below his belt, and opts instead to continue his routine. He attempts to exercise some shred of restraint, holding on to that hope that some prayer and some rest may rid him of this sensation. 

Finding himself at his bedside on his knees is a normal part of every night before he sleeps, but tonight, his prayers become disrupted. Thoughts of you keep infiltrating his mind like some devil attempting to hijack him. 

“Our father, who art in-“

Sweet eyes staring up at him. A kind smile on plump pink lips. 

Bill worries that he lacks even more willpower than he had once thought.  

“Heaven. Hallowed be thy-“

The hug of a dress on curved hips. Soft cheeks turning pink under the high summer sun. 

Bill clears his throat, and attempts to shove such distracting thoughts out of his head, ignoring the way his once comfortable trousers now feel almost too restrictive to bear.  

“Name. Thy kingdom come-“

Kind words spoken only to him. A sudden idea of more sinful words falling from your lips, totally impure sounds being drawn from within you while you plead for his touch. 

So engrossed in these thoughts, so willing to allow his lust to take over, Bill’s body seeks some satisfaction before his brain ever decides to. Pressing his front against the bed draws a deep moan from his chest, and does very little to relieve the ache building in his abdomen. If anything, it only intensifies the longing growing in his chest, and the sinful desire coursing through his blood. 

“Thy will be done-“ 

His fingers tangled up in your hair, your mouth on his skin. The push of his body towards you while you whine. Desperate whimpers while you beg for more of him. 

A gentle roll of his hips towards the bed in search of even more sinful friction, stoking the hellish pleasure starting to linger below his belt. 

In an attempt to clear his head from impure ideas and perhaps seek some little forgiveness, Bill continues his hopeless prayer. 

“On earth as it is in heaven.”

The feeling of your body below his. The relief of pushing inside and feeling you around him, walls and legs closing him in. 

His hands part, moving away from their prayerful position, instead favouring the idea of travelling slowly down his front. 

“Give us this day-“

His hands hesitate as they reach his middle. He wonders if it would be so bad to continue, when his body already betrays his devotion, and already rejects his faith in this moment in favour of his filthy imagination. Bill speculates that perhaps some damage is already done, his wrongdoings already noted by God, though he also knows he doesn’t think straight through his desire. 

“Our daily bread-“

A deep breath. Hands still stuck. Minute by minute, Bill becomes much more aware of the way his trousers now pain him. 

“And forgive me- forgive us our trespasses,"

Your wetness, your warmth, your tightness. 

One hand slowly sinks further, reaching his waistband before hovering there with an uncertainty. It begins to be a struggle to continue his prayer. 

“As we forgive those who trespass against us,” 

The eager but hesitant hand creeps lower. His perverse mind won’t allow itself to stray away from the one thing it dwells on. Would he even be able to sleep in the state he’s now in?

“And lead us not into…” Bill swallows hard before he continues. Saying such a prayer makes him feel like some form of fraud. “Temptation,”

The way your skin would feel whilst bare against his. The sweat glistening as he ruts towards release. 

That large hand finally grazes over the tight front of his trousers, and his eyes flutter closed instantly. His mouth falls open with a groan, and his tongue darts out to wet the parted lips. 

“But deliver us from evil.”

Both hands slip his trousers down his hips quickly, far less patient now that his prayer has come to an end. 

“Amen.”

Bill almost buckles with the relief he feels once he finally wraps his hand around himself. His cock already leaks, aching and throbbing and dying for some touch. Some touch, but not his own - his body yearns for yours.  

For now, however, his own hand will just have to do.

His head falls back while his grip surrounds himself, and he hums quietly when he slowly begins to stroke the sensitive skin. His pace is slow, and though his entire body aches for more, he forces himself to make some slight effort to make the enjoyment last. 

Gentle hands turning rough as they hold onto him, soft fingers pressing into his skin and tugging harshly at his hair while he continues to take you as his. 

Making the moment last doesn’t end up working for very long at all. The moment he thinks of your normally delicate touch turning needy on his skin, your hands pulling at his hair while he splits you in two, he can’t help but let out a much louder moan than he truly plans to. 

Your front flush against his. Your chest pressed tightly to him, limbs trembling with excitement as they pull him in close. Even being inside you like this could never feel close enough. 

Bill’s knees are growing stiff from his position on the hard floor, but very little could force him to care at this moment. One hand grips so tightly to the bedsheet in front of him that the skin of his knuckles turns white. His hips practically move on their own, rocking into his grip and matching his fist’s pace as it drags him closer to his end. With his eyes closed and hand wrapped tight, he can practically feel your heat around him. 

His name rolling off your tongue, falling loosely from your lips along with curses and moans. Sweet music to his ears while he begins to near his end within you. 

If he could crawl to your tent right now he likely would. A fool, a sinner, a pervert - which one you would believe him to be, he dreads to think - his only thoughts being the ways in which he wants to hear and feel your pleasure.  An idea occurs to him, and he wonders whether he would find you behaving in a similar manner to him. If he was to call to your bed, would you be laying with legs open, desperate for his presence just as he is for yours? 

The thought of your soft hands busy between your thighs while he fills your mind just as you fill his pushes him very suddenly closer to his release. 

The feeling of his whole spend spilling inside of you, a piece of him deep within your heat, an unspoken way in which he aches to mark you as his. 

Bills hips stutter, hand’s rhythm faltering before eventually stilling completely. One last sinful sound leaves his parted lips before the pleasure finally dies down. He allows himself a few short moments of pause while he attempts to catch his breath. With his high now reached, Bill opens his eyes reluctantly, not fully wanting to face the reality of the very situation he’s put himself in. 

The sight of wasted spend before him while he slowly begins to soften leaves him feeling empty in far more ways than one. 

When Bill finally gets to bed, the thoughts that had filled his mind still dwell in it. They still pester him, his attempt at relieving them still not satisfying him fully. Maybe he will never be satisfied until he gets to have you in the ways he dreams of. Another feeling joins his unholy thoughts - an embarrassment has set in, now that he’s come down from his peak. Relief makes way for regret now that his arousal has been spilled.

He finds himself whispering prayers and hopes of salvation and forgiveness as he tries to drift off. The heat of the day still lingers in his tent, but it isn’t the only thing that makes his body sweat. The shame of his act woven with a still present desire to have you filling the rest of the space in his very lonely bed leaves a gnawing sensation in his chest. If only his mind would stop being so totally stuck on you, then maybe he wouldn’t feel this filth. 

But even Bill knows better - no matter how much he begs the one above to save him from sin, it’s only a matter of days before he finds himself repeating this night once again. 

[papagoore25]

Random note but:

If you feel like you’ve been waiting a strangely long time for a request, Tumblr is potentially deleting some that are coming into my inbox 😭

So if you’re waiting on a request and I haven’t done it, please let me know. My inbox was empty last night so if you’re waiting on something, I’m not ignoring it - I just don’t know it exists 🫣

[papagoore25]

PLEASE WRITE MORE DR BRENNER PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU iNeed hikm

Pain Relief

Summary: After an incident in the Hawkins Lab, Dr Brenner comes stumbling into your office, assuring you that he’s fine while too proud to admit that he’s searching for your assistance. It proves increasingly difficult to avoid tension while cleaning the wounds of the doctor you’ve been dating. (AKA seeking some shred of comfort, Dr Brenner comes to you after suffering some injuries from Henry, though he’s far too prideful to admit just how much he desires the help you can provide.)

Warnings: smut, mentions of blood and injury, tension, dry humping, unsafe sex, riding, creampie, semi public sex

Word Count: 6279

Notes: I was so happy to get this ask because this man has me in an absolute chokehold still. Like my last fic, this was written specifically with Alex Breaux Brenner in mind, but you can picture any version of Brenner you like.

Also I’m not sure of the logistics of having sex like this on a standard desk chair, but anyways…

Fic takes place more or less immediately after Brenner gets thrown through the roof in that one scene 🥲

Enjoy!!! 🩷

Working in Hawkins Lab rarely sees a day come and go without some form of excitement, and normally never any of the good kind. You’re grateful at times to not be up front dealing with the worst of it. 

Most days, you prefer to situate yourself in a quiet office, happily tending to whatever admin work may need to be dealt with. Paperwork feels endless, though you’d rather deal with this than whatever experimentation Dr Brenner has put his foot into. Just reading the files and hearing his retellings of the fascinating boy he’s been studying has been enough thrill for you. 

You’ve been involved enough with the doctor over the past couple of months to have heard plenty of stories. More involved that any of the other staff have the privilege of being. In the time you’ve known him, and even within the time you’ve been seeing him, he’s been nothing short of mannerly. Not once so far has he stepped over the line, keeping his distance and remaining professional at work, and even when alone your activities have always stayed very appropriate. Nothing more than short kisses and gentle touches up to this point. 

Dr Brenner is confident, and seems to always have his wits about him - though this demeanor slips up sometimes when you look up at him in a certain sweet way while he talks to you in the lab. Even so, he remains ever the professional at work, though you do sense his attention being drawn away from his tasks and to you much more often than it maybe should be. In this sense, you sometimes think that getting your work done may be easier the further you are from him, finding each other's presence to very often be a distracting one. 

Today, like many days, you’ve found a quiet office away from the busiest areas to allow yourself to work in peace. The hours pass quickly. 

You’re so deep in your work that you don’t notice a commotion start up at some point somewhere in the lab, until the very person at the centre of it comes bursting straight through your office door. 

The door flies open with such force that you worry it may break off of the hinges totally. The suddenness gives you a start, making you jump and pulling your attention instantly away from the paperwork in front of you. 

The sight takes you a moment to adjust to. 

A slightly hunched over Dr Brenner appears before you. His usually proud shoulders are slumped, and he visibly winces with each step in your direction while a large hand presses flat against his side. He stares you down with wide eyes and chest heaving, as though still processing whatever the hell it is that’s going on. 

The blood on his face startles you when you see it, having not fully registered it within the first few moments following his very sudden arrival. A slash across his nose begins to bleed, crimson gathering on his cheeks and some on his forehead too. 

“The boy-“ before you can even ask about the incident, Dr Brenner blinks quickly and begins to make an attempt to stand straight. He pats down his suit, as though trying to make himself look presentable. The blood adorning his features certainly doesn’t help him to do so. “He’s gone. It worked, he’s-”

“Dr Brenner, you’re injured, I-“ He looks briefly taken aback by his title coming from you. Though used to calling him by his first name on the outside, addressing him correctly whilst working inside the lab allows you to preserve some shred of a professional relationship, and you try to do so when you can. You focus your thoughts on his injuries - the more you look at his face, the more blood you notice. Swirling thoughts present endless possibilities as to what may have caused it. “Your face. Please, allow me to clean you up?”

“No.” The self assured doctor is short and stern in his answer. “I’m alright, that’s not necessary.” 

This statement is very evidently a lie. You’re surprised he even expects you to believe it, and it makes you wonder why he’s even arrived to your office in the first place. 

“But you’re bleeding-“

“I’m fine. I just…” He looks away for just a moment, before clearing his throat. An attempt to straighten himself sees him sucking in a sharp breath before returning to the way he was. “The boy was… violent. I thought I’d better check the rooms before I continue onwards.”

You assume that the boy had something to do with the way Dr Brenner is now acting. You also begin to assume that his sudden arrival in front of you has very little to do with the violence, and much more to do with him seeking his own comfort away from it, even if he’s far too proud to admit it.  

As though reaffirming this thought, he takes another few small steps towards you. There’s something in his eyes at first that you don’t quite recognise, until it shifts into a hesitation that stops him in his tracks. An awkward moment of silence sees you scanning his face for a clue that doesn’t come. 

You notice him swallowing hard when you try to bridge the gap towards him, one small step bringing you closer, though you do so cautiously. Something about him seems flighty. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes I’m… I’m fine.” A small nod with lips pressed tightly. “Well, everything seems okay here. I’d best get going…”

Like a sudden case of cold feet has hit him, Dr Brenner starts moving back towards the door before he’s even finished his sentence, although his injured gait betrays his confidence. He doesn’t make it far before his shoulders hunch once again, and thin lips press hard together. It’s evident that he’s far more hurt than he wants you to believe. 

“Really, it would be better if you allowed me to check you.” You shove down a selfish thought about such an act allowing you to be close to him. This doesn’t seem the time to be thinking so inappropriately. 

With a shake of his head, he continues, not even looking your way as he limps towards the exit. Determination was always a very evident trait in him, and a one you’re sure had helped to get him so far in his role. Determination, though, seems to be the best friend of stubbornness in Brenner’s world. 

Your own stubbornness prevails, and you take quick steps to block his way to the exit. Your shorter body stands in his way of it. Though a certain intimidation comes with the way the man towers over you with his eyes narrowed, you’re far too focused on getting him clean to care. Especially since he seems far too prideful to admit that he requires it. 

“Dr Brenner, I insist you must take a seat. Trailing blood around the lab will do no good for anyone.” 

It seems your stern words take his attention. He stares down at you with brows raised, before nodding slowly. His tensed up jaw relaxes only slightly. 

“I suppose you might be right…” he doesn’t quite meet your eye while he admits his defeat. “Don’t want to let myself be known as a walking biohazard.”

Satisfied to have won this battle, you offer him a small smile before moving towards your desk. Dr Brenner is still slow in his movements, and there’s a hint of reluctance in the way he follows behind you, though he does so all the same. 

You pull the chair out from your desk, gesturing for him to sit on it to allow you to begin your treatment. Stepping back to give him room to sit himself down allows you to analyse him as he does so, and you let yourself lean back slightly against the desk while you attempt to deduce some form of a diagnosis from his staggered movements. 

Now that he’s settled and sat, you find a clean tissue nearby and begin to go about your work quietly. Your first priority is to remove all of the blood and to assess how badly he’s injured. Some time passes in silence while you dab the tissue slowly on his skin in an attempt to clean up his wounds. With your own gaze fixed on them, you don’t initially notice the way his stare is fixed to you. It takes some time to even see it in your peripheral vision. 

When you do meet his gaze, there’s a grateful glint in his eye, and a slight softness to his face while he watches you work. It’s as though there’s some appreciation on his mind that he can’t quite articulate now. When he speaks up and addresses you, there’s a tender edge to it, though he still sounds somehow professional. 

“So helpful, for you to do this. Thoughtful. Very kind.” Brenner speaks as though diagnosing you with these words. You can almost picture him writing the description on paper - while they’re complimentary, there’s still something analytical in them that feels as though you are but another one of his tests. 

With the way his eyes begin to scan further down from your face, down to your collarbone now exposed beneath your blouse from being bent down to clean him, you certainly feel as though you are under examination. 

A sharp breath hitches in your throat when his curious stare doesn’t let up. Whilst not totally opposed to his wandering eyes, the intention behind them leaves you confused given the current situation, and your hand hesitates over the skin of his face. 

“Dr Brenner, I-“ The doctor pulls his gaze away swiftly as though remembering himself. A sudden awakening or realisation of where you are. “I really must get your wounds cleaned up.” 

“Of course. Excuse me, my mind is… elsewhere,” Dr Brenner adjusts his seat, swallowing hard as he does so. “Please. Continue.”

Just as instructed, your now uncertain hand returns to its work, patting the skin of his pale face carefully. 

When you’ve finally cleaned up the last of his blood, you set the tissue aside and stand back just a little to inspect him once again. Taking his face in your hands gently allows you to turn it slowly to each side, eyes scanning every inch of it as you do so to ensure you haven’t missed a single spot. You don’t miss the way that his eyes follow you even as his head moves. You opt to ignore this stare in favour of keeping some shred of composure while you hold him like this, but a niggling feeling in the back or your mind of wanting to give in to this tension still remains. 

Eventually, you release your grip, and find that you instantly miss the warmth of his skin against your own. A deep breath to compose yourself before speaking up factually. “They don’t seem too deep. They shouldn’t take too long to heal.”

Even after letting your hands fall to your side, you find your feet stuck where they are, and your eyes remain glued to him. His seem totally fixated on you. 

A thought strikes you, that in the privacy of this quiet office, there shouldn’t be anything stopping you from wanting to address this subtle tension. That thought leads on to a hope for him to act on it. A small part of you begins to wish for him to close this awkward gap. To make the first move. To actually fulfill whatever desire seems to be lingering behind his eyes, and behind his words and movements, something sitting on the tip of his tongue that he’s just the slightest bit too prideful to admit. 

The privacy and proximity both give you some form of confidence, and after locking eyes for so long you can’t help but bite the bullet in this moment. Without you fully expecting it to, your body leans forward, slowly bringing your face closer to his as though acting on its own. Like a magnet pulls you closer and closer to the man staring up at you from his seat below you. Time crawls while you move, and a reluctance still lingers in your mind, making you wish that he would just pull you down and get this initial awkwardness over with. It’s not as though you haven’t kissed the doctor's lips before - but doing so in the office and totally derailing your professional boundary feels that little bit more daring. 

Your breath catches when you finally notice him move. When he does lean forward in an effort to bridge the final gap, his face comes only inches from yours before his approach is cut off with a sharp hiss, features contorting in a brand new pain. The suddenness startles you and makes you jump back. 

“Y-you’re hurt.” You stutter the words out through a newfound nervousness, a sudden realisation hitting as to what was about to happen, cheeks flaming hot when you stand up straight once again. You attempt to swallow down the arousal now clawing up through your system. Wiping your sweaty palms along your skirt, you swallow hard before continuing. “You’ve hurt yourself badly.”

Whatever want had started to spark in his eyes is replaced now with a pained glint. One of his hands is back now on his side, pressed flat against his ribs, evidently rushing to the site of the pain. He clears his throat quietly, not quite meeting your eyes when he responds. “It seems like I have.”

Slowly, you nod. “Can I take a look?”

There’s a few moments of silence before Dr Brenner gives a small nod. With a slight shrug he begins to remove his outer layers, discarding his coat before moving to undo his tie and work on the buttons of his vest. It takes some strength to not stare too perversely at the way his fingers do it. Out of some attempt at respect, you look away for a moment when he moves to unbutton his shirt. 

When you do turn back to face him, his shirt is undone though it still sits loosely on his shoulders, and he has pulled it apart enough to allow you to get a good view of his skin. It’s the first time you’ve been able to fully see his bare chest, having not gone much further than an innocent kiss or a suggestive placement of a hand at this point of your relationship, and you allow yourself just a moment of an indulgent ogle. Tunnel vision on the faintly suggestive lines of lean muscle along his stomach stops you from even noticing his injury at first. The view makes your skin heat up. After a moment you realise his eyes are boring into you, and this fact stokes the fire already burning on your cheeks. You force yourself to resist a longer look and to pay attention to the task at hand. 

Your eyes widen when they finally meet his injured side. It had been obvious that he was in pain, though you’re still surprised to see the intensity of the physical evidence. The pale skin along one side of his rib cage has already started to bruise, dark shades blossoming along his flank.  

Shuffling closer, you raise both hands to touch the dark skin, but not before glancing briefly at his face in search of approval. Once he nods, you trail your fingers carefully along the damaged area, feeling along his rib cage while he watches. Though you try to be delicate in your investigations, every prod at the tender skin leaves him tensing.

Another brief flick up to his face tells you that he’s not watching your work - rather, he’s watching your face, and the way you look while you inspect him.  

After returning to your task for a few moments, you’re too lost in your assessment to notice the rise of his hand that rests closest to you, but you become very aware of it when you jump at the feeling of a cold knuckle against your knee. For a moment you wonder if the touch is accidental, a result of your movement and the way his arm rests down along his side as he sits, but this theory is disproven when it stays there. 

The theory is thrown completely out of the window when you feel it begin to move. 

A knuckle grazes along your leg as he slowly moves it up, skirt going along with the ascent, steadily and methodically tracing a line up towards your already aching heat. You shiver at the feeling of a chill hitting your newly bare legs. 

A part of you still wonders if this may be an idle action, the doctor too deep in thought to truly register his own movements, though the way half lidded eyes have started to follow the path of his hand shows he’s very aware of it. Whilst certainly not opposed to his wandering touch, the time and place where he is acting on his desire to explore has you baffled. You wonder if you may have been right to assume he has come to you seeking personal comfort after all. 

The digits move higher, slowing their pace only inches from the junction of your thigh, and when they freeze in place you let out a deep breath you hadn’t realised you were holding. This pulls his attention back to your reddening face. 

“Dr Brenner?” It’s spoken more feebly than you had hoped. The tremble in your tone is evident. A mixture of uncertainty and a very steadily blossoming arousal. 

“Hm?” Hummed so sweetly, so innocently, as though unaware of what you may be alluding to. 

“Do you…” another shake in your speech. It takes a large amount of discipline to will your mind to remain on your task. “Do you want me to continue to check your injuries?”

“Continue.” A smirk pulls his lips up. “Don’t let my wandering distract you.”

Darkened eyes cast themselves away from your evidently embarrassed features and back to his act. You stiffen as the hand moves further, the climb still so slow, and your eyes flutter when you feel a knuckle brush against the spot where your thigh meets the hem of your knickers. The longer they rest in their position so close to your sensitive heat, the more maddening the wait becomes. It grows gradually more difficult to fight back the urge to push your hungry hips forward in order to press yourself against his hand in search of any slight friction you can find. 

Before your excitement can even truly begin, he withdraws this touch. Though your will is strong, it proves impossible to stop a quiet whine from escaping you at the feeling. The sound only pulls the corners of his lips up higher as shadowed eyes flick to your face for a moment. There’s a wickedness behind them that only pushes your desperation more. Now, he moves his hand instead to the back of your thigh, long fingers stretching across the skin with his palm pressed against it. It’s a comfortable hold on your leg. A much more comfortable and intimate hold than could be deemed professional in any sort of context. 

It takes a lot of power to ignore this new touch, along with the frustration building up in your body at just how close he came to touching your more sensitive parts. 

“I-It’s definitely injured…” Focusing as much as you can on his injury, your voice is low while you debate the diagnosis, and you mentally scold yourself for stating the very obvious. Whilst he’s certainly restrained in his movements, he doesn’t seem to be damaged enough for anything serious to have snapped. “Though not overly swollen. It doesn’t seem like anything is broken.”

There’s a silence while you give one last check over his side. His jaw seems tense, and when you poke at a particularly sensitive spot of his rib, the hold on your leg tightens slightly with a wince. Short nails dig ever so slightly into the skin just below your arse. 

When this action makes you gasp, he mutters out an apology with a sigh.

Brushing off the very tense feeling that’s filling your bones, you lean back just a little to address him properly with your final medical suggestion. The hold on your leg still keeps your feet in place. “It’s best that you get some rest. Do you want something for the pain?”

Dr Brenner tilts his head at this, considering your question, though doesn’t initially respond. The silence makes you feel awkward. His only real acknowledgment of you is a brief flick of his eyes to your own. 

Then, without a word, the hand holding you pulls you in just slightly. It forces your feet to shuffle a few timid inches closer to his long legs. Another pull, and you find your knees brushing against them. 

As though you’re not close enough already, his free hand suddenly comes to roughly pull at your other untouched thigh, dragging the limb over across his own and bringing you to settle into a straddle on his lap. The action brings a deep crimson fire up your cheeks, happening so swiftly and unexpectedly but certainly not unwantedly. 

Timid hands fiddle with each other in front of you. Having been busy only moments before, you’re now uncertain as to what you should even do with them. You allow yourself a curious glance down at his still bare chest, then back up again to his face when he begins to speak. 

“No…” At first you don’t register that he’s finally answering your query, but then he continues. “No, no. I should be alright for now.”

A firm hand still on your thigh keeps you in place on his lap while the other finds your hair. Long fingers tangle through it on the back of your head, a tingle going down through your spine at the feeling, and for a moment he just looks at you - stares up at you expectantly, as though awaiting any potential objection - before pulling your face down to meet him. His lips meet yours initially hesitantly, before the hand in your hair brings you even closer to deepen the kiss. 

It takes you a moment to adjust to it - you never would have expected that simply healing his injuries could ever lead up to something like this - but it’s absolutely not an unwelcome act. Nervous hands find his shoulders slowly, holding gently and steadying yourself better in his lap, and he responds to your grip with a tightening of his. Now that your touch has given him a green light he pulls you closer swiftly. Your front moves towards his own, and this closer proximity finds you hovering just over his bulge. An awareness of your position makes you feel hot between the legs, but a hesitation stops you from settling down and allowing that heat to meet him. 

You don’t stay like that for long - Dr Brenner raises his hips an inch to meet yours, allowing his bulge to push up against you. It’s a relief, a long awaited desire now fulfilled, to feel this movement against your sensitive spot. You use little effort to stop the quiet moan that escapes against your mouth. A low hum from him conveys his equally relieved approval. 

With this little bit of encouragement, you find you can’t help but push down just a little bit harder. 

Your fingers press into his shoulders while you rock your hips, small movements giving you just enough pleasure to feel a spark start up low in your stomach, and his grip on you tightens when you move just the slightest bit quicker. He rests his own hips once yours pick up just enough to have you both feeling the friction. It wouldn’t take much investigation for you to know that you’re already wet from this act. With such a desire burning for him, it hasn’t taken much for you to turn into putty in his lap. 

Dr Brenner doesn’t let you go until he absolutely has to. By the time he does, your chests both heave, the sound of pants filling the room while your eyes lock once again. There’s a faint redness to his cheeks that you don’t believe you’ve ever noticed before - it’s unlike him to be anything less than cool and composed. 

Just as you’ve managed to catch your breath Dr Brenner shifts slightly, eyes trailing down and landing on the spot where both of your bodies meet. A smirk tugs at his lips when his gaze reaches the area of your arousal. 

“You’re eager.” He states it as a fact, like some scientific finding, eyes glued to the spot where his covered erection meets your heat. Looking down to follow his gaze, you see you’ve already left a very obvious wet stain on his navy suit. 

The sight sends you into a very mild panic - it prompts you to push yourself up in embarrassment, stuttering an apology while attempting to break the contact and wanting to avoid any further marking, though this isn’t something he seems to be pleased with. Both hands grab your hips roughly to bring you back down into the same position on his lap.  

“Don’t be shy,” he tilts his head, staring at you with a mockingly innocent smile. “I don’t mind it. Keep going.”

“But, your suit, Dr Brenner-“

“It’s fine. Keep going.” His gaze remains glued to you. His already harsh grip roughens, large hands pulling you to help to continue your pace. “And please just call me Martin. We’ve already thrown professionalism far out the window.”

Normally, you might second guess this, and would be tempted to retreat in embarrassment over the very obvious effect the doctor is having on you. This, however, just feels far too good to run away from. After a moment of thought, you ease yourself back down once again, gradually allowing yourself to grind softly and just the vaguest bit hesitantly against him. 

This obedience seems to please him - his eyes flash with something darker, head tilting back with a relieved sigh at the return of your pressure, and he sits back very slightly to watch you while you begin to chase your satisfaction. The way his eyes seem to analyse your features brings a hint of shyness back to you, but it’s forgotten very quickly when his own hips move to rut up against you. They don’t do so for long - unable to move too hastily with his current injured state - though just that brief added stimulation is enough to erase the embarrassment from your mind. You pick up a steady rhythm, and can’t help but let your sounds of pleasure fall out into the room while you move on his clothed erection. 

Martin stays as he is, hands still guiding your eager hips while his eyes stay fixated on your face, his own lips parted with a look of awe and pleasure. The pressure of you pushing against his erection isn’t quite enough to get him to his finish, but the way he looks along with an occasional quiet grunt tells you it feels good all the same. 

Even if it was enough to bring him up to his own peak, Martin finds himself in this moment to be less focused on his own excitement, and far more interested in watching the ways in which your body reacts to yours. 

After allowing you to grind against his bulge a little bit longer, getting you dangerously close to falling over the edge of your pleasure, he freezes his hands on your hips to hold them in place and stop your frantic movements. At first you open your mouth to instinctively start to protest, until one hand leaves your hips to dive down between you legs, and your eyes widen when you feel it graze along the folds there. 

“Sorry for the… interruption.” Long fingers move your underwear aside swiftly, before running along your already dripping heat, his breath catching in his throat at the feeling. This newly direct touch draws out a quiet whimper from you that seems to leave him satisfied. “I just want to see exactly how I make you feel.”

For a moment he enjoys the sight of his own hand between your legs. Long fingers stroke you gently, moving slowly and almost teasingly as though testing you, and the soft noises you make at his mercy leave him enthralled. 

Another protesting whine leaves your lips when he abruptly removes his hand. Before you can even begin to complain, the sound of a zipper being undone leaves you holding your tongue, the realisation quickly dawning on you of what his next move will be. You’re suddenly much less annoyed at the current lack of stimulation you’re receiving. 

When he pulls himself free, already hard and leaking just a little, you can’t help but find your stare drawn to the way he looks in his own hand. You notice your slick still glistens on his fingers. Martin runs his hand along himself to spread it along the veiny skin with a gasp, and the sight of your wetness on his cock leaves you aching to feel it in any way you can. Your lips part while your eyes fixate on it. If he’s staring up at you, as he usually does, you’re far too enamoured by his now wet cock to notice it. 

Then, after only a moment of allowing you to enjoy this sight, he moves himself to line up with you and prepares to finally allow you to feel him just as you wished. 

It doesn’t take much for Martin to push himself in - the very kind doctor knows enough about anatomy to have prepared you very well, to the point that him filling you almost feels more like a long awaited relief than an outright intense pleasure. Sounds of pleasure fill the room as you lower yourself inch by inch, paying little regard to your location in the lab, and even less regard to the fact that anyone could be on the other side of the office door.  An initial pressure gives way to a very satisfying full feeling the further he enters you. 

It’s a tender moment, once you finally relax into his lap with him buried deep inside you. A first, and definitely not a last, having not gotten as far as even to see each other nude before now. Of all of the places you would have imagined he would have first taken you, the lab would have been high on your list of wild fantasies, though very low on your list of realistic possibilities. 

You begin to crave more after adjusting for just a moment. Holding tightly still to his shoulders, you slowly begin to ride him in the chair, enjoying the feeling of being so much closer to him now than ever before. 

It seems like he enjoys admiring you while you move. Half lidded eyes track the steady rise and fall of your hips before moving slowly upwards. Rather than enjoy the view of you sinking down around him over and over, he finds himself gazing once again at your ever changing face. 

His gaze is observant, and almost analytical, as though studying your expression while he starts to see you come undone. His eyes dart to each and every shift in your features, brows furrowed slightly like he’s mentally noting every change - the twitch of your lips, the way your eyes flutter closed, the way your face screws up. It’s as though he wants to assess the way each movement makes you feel. 

Maybe it’s even an attempt to memorise your favourite sensations for another future meeting. 

You can’t help but feel flattered by the way he seems so focused on you, as well as just the slightest bit shy, but the latter feeling evaporates when your pleasure begins to build. 

Another curiosity seems to occur to him while you ride him, the curious doctor always looking for more information. One hand moves up, beginning to quickly unbutton your blouse while trying his best to not pop the buttons off in his rush, a task made more difficult when you begin to pick up your pace with a quiet whine. His own hand hardly stays steady with the way his own satisfaction slowly mounts. Once open just enough, he slips the blouse down your shoulders, leaving your front mostly bare. Pulling your breasts free has him wetting his lips while admiring the view.

“Such a pretty sight…” you barely hear it when he whispers it, too wrapped up in your own pleasure to fully register it. 

It’s easy to get lost in the sensation of him in you, and to admire the way he looks underneath you, and it isn’t long before your movements become just a little more jagged. A tingle spreads from your stomach and you chase that feeling with your movements, sensing now that you’re getting closer to your finish, and by the way his groans grow louder it seems that he may be near that end too. 

When Martin notices you getting close, the tips of his fingers press harsher into your hips, his own sounds of pleasure becoming a little less controlled. He ruts up against you as well as he can with his damaged body, movements now rougher while he chases his own high within you. Your desperate sounds spur him on. 

“That’s it, come on -“ he cuts himself off with a low hum up his throat when you rock your hips a little more. “Follow that feeling, finish this pleasure for me.”

One of his hands finally rises to touch your breasts, having enjoyed the sight of them in his face for so long, fingers carefully flicking over a sensitive nipple while you ride him. This one little action derails you entirely - the heat in your stomach swells up into an explosion, pleasure rushing through every inch of your body with a moan while you begin to finally ride out your finish. 

Those same attentive eyes remain focused on only you now as you finally reach your peak. 

The intensity of your orgasm makes you buckle, forcing you to bend and bury your face into his neck to stifle your moans. The hands that had been on his shoulders move up to grip onto his hair, and he inhales sharply when you accidentally pull at it slightly. At this sudden embrace, long fingers move from your hip to spread across the small of your back to pull you closer, bringing your own body flush against his while you whine against his skin. He continues to rut through your orgasm, even through his own pain, his thrusts senseless and moans verging on desperate before eventually he stills completely with a loud groan beside your ear.

You allow yourself a moment of rest like this while totally breathless. His hand that had been on your breast moves to wrap around your middle, and the other moves to join it and pull you into a tight embrace. You enjoy it, to be so close and so intimate with him, and the thought of ever having to move yourself away from him leaves you already feeling a preemptive emptiness. 

When you do eventually push yourself up to look down at him again, his appearance is an almost satisfying one. You’ve never seen him look so disheveled. His unbuttoned shirt barely hangs off of his shoulders. Normally neatly combed hair is rough and tousled from your hands. If his appearance wasn’t already enough evidence of the act he just engaged in, his heaving chest and pink cheeks would make it obvious enough. 

You take some mild satisfaction in knowing that you’re the reason for his undoing. 

Gradually, your body begins to relax, coming down slowly from your high while he holds you. Those analytical eyes still watch you, still studying your expressions while you gaze down at him. You’re too tired and satisfied now to take on any shyness from his stare. 

Without the sounds of your pleasure filling the room, you suddenly feel much more aware of your location. When your ears pick up the normal background noise of the lab out in the hallway, the reality of this situation begins to register. The reality suddenly hits, the scene you’ve found yourself in, sitting in the doctor’s lap while the rest of the lab’s work continues outside the office door. Your colleagues walking the halls and working hard while Dr Brenner softens inside you, his warm spend still filling you. 

Martin doesn’t seem nearly as fazed by this as you do. His head cocks to the side as tired eyes take in your suddenly worried expression, but then he wraps his hold tighter to pull you down to rest against him once again. Taking your lips into a much more tender kiss than before, he hums quietly. He does tense slightly when you lean against his body, the pain relief of his pleasure gone now that his orgasm has totally finished, but he enjoys the warmth or your skin against his own and the feeling of your mouth on his all the same. 

You allow yourself to just enjoy this tender moment, and to worry about everything else later. You’re unsure how much time passes while you’re tangled up like this. At some point, it strikes you that neither of you even attempted to lock the office door. 

[tildren]

real cinema is richard e. grant playing a dramatic vampire aristocrat named frederick sackville-bagg in the little vampire (2000)

[eurydicesforgiveness]

I am once again thinking about how hot Richard E. Grant is in this movie. I thought so as a child and I stand by it as an adult

[papagoore25]

Is it possible for you to do something for the Stockbroker with a model gf? (Up to you if you wanna include smut)

Expectations

Summary: Tonight is important. A night that could determine the trajectory of your modelling career for the foreseeable future. As prepared as you feel, it's the partner you have tagging along that makes you feel a little more nervous. (AKA The Stockbroker tags along to your very important modelling event, but when he leaves you embarrassed, you decide to have him beg for your forgiveness.)

Warnings: light smut, toxic relationship, mentions of alcohol and drug use, arguing, light dom/sub undertones, submissive man, begging, whining and whimpering, The Stockbroker acts like an asshole and ends up getting humbled for it

Word Count: 6294

Notes: Thank you so so much for requesting something for this man - I hate him so much but he’s still so hot and I lowkey love him so I felt the need to humble him here.

Title is what is is because I had the Olivia Rodrigo song stuck in my head (very specifically the first verse) while thinking about this horrible man lol

I decided to include very light smut (because I think this man is an overly sexual manchild) though it’s nothing very explicit.

Enjoy!!! 🩷🩷🩷

It feels as though you've checked your appearance a hundred times before you finally feel ready to head out the door. 

Tonight is important. Crucial. A night that could determine the trajectory of your career for the foreseeable future. An 'informal' mixer in a fancy rooftop bar that's anything but casual. An evening with already established models and high-up representatives, significant individuals in your very favourite fashion brands, talking and socialising and pretending you're not scared to death of what they think. Networking disguised as a very friendly social event, disguised just about as well as the big bad wolf dressed as grandma. 

Through the nerves, you can at least recognise how prepared you are, and the effort you've put in - you know everything about the people who will be in attendance. Your hair is freshly done, makeup too, and the outfit your Wall Street boyfriend bought you is anything but cheap. 

As prepared as you feel, it's the partner you have tagging along that makes you feel a little more worried. It isn't unlike him to think with everything else but his brain, and a worry starts gnawing at your chest as you think over his typical behaviour, cocky and arrogant, particularly when there's any kind of alcohol involved. 

Shoving this thought down, you give one final little check in the mirror before you make your way out to the living room. 

Your plus one is waiting on the couch when you enter, head cocked in your direction already, having seemingly heard your heels approaching on his hardwood floor. He's dressed neatly in a crisp white shirt and trousers, shiny new Rolex on his wrist not so subtly showing off his wealth. At least his dress sense is one thing you won't have to worry about. You hope he likes the way the dress looks, considering it was his money that bought it. 

It doesn't take long to find the answer to this as you get closer.  

He rises from his seat and lowers his eyes to scan your figure, brows raising with a very approving hum. Large hands find your hips to pull you closer towards him. 

"Very nice." He stares at your lips. You settle into his hold, both of your hands coming up to rest against his chest.  "Are you trying to make a good impression, or just turn them on?"

Batting your long lashes up at him doesn't have a very strong effect when he's not even looking at them. His gaze is far more focused somewhere lower, darting between your mouth and your chest. You smile at him sweetly. "Good impression, I hope."

"I hope so too." One hand moves to squeeze your ass through the fabric of your dress. The suddenness makes you gasp quickly in surprise, and he smiles widely at the sound. "Don't need you turning everyone else on too."

Leaning down, his lips press to your temple, then lower to start along your jaw. 

"You think we can spare a few minutes?" Both hands move down now to your arse, giving it an even harder squeeze, and he groans quietly when he pulls you even tighter against him. "You just look so good..."

The closeness along with the way his lips dust your skin does begin to tempt you, though you ignore the warm feeling it brings up. You put a little pressure against his chest as a signal to stop his advances. 

"Not if we ever want to actually get to the event." He chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek before pulling back to stare down at you again. "Come on, we're already late as it is."

"Mmm, you'd rather go out than spend the night with me?" His head tilts while he speaks, eyes half lidded as they fixate themselves on your lips. Then finally he meets your stare with a pout. "How am I supposed to resist you all night? My girlfriend, the supermodel." 

"Shush!" A blush creeps up to your cheeks, and you're suddenly grateful for your foundation. "Wait and see how tonight goes before you start calling me that."

For a moment, he just watches you, not bothering to respond. The grip he has on you is far from gentle, and there's a smugness on his face as he takes your features in. 

Nervous hands move along his chest to smooth the fabric of his shirt underneath them, and you try to ignore just how clammy your palms feel. The nerves you had been trying to fight down are slowly getting the better of you. The arousal he had started to cause you certainly doesn't help. 

"Just... behave, tonight." A snort and a roll of his eyes. He often likes to act as though he is unaware of his own bad behaviour, as though ignorant to how annoying he becomes once any substances hit his system. "Please?"

Another roll of his eyes, but then a slow nod. After a moment of very careful consideration, the only response is a low "mhmm". His gaze drops down to your mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips before both hands pull you in even closer to press your body against his own. 

Before his lips can reach yours, you give another light push against his chest, raising a brow when he reluctantly meets your eyes. It takes him a second to realise that you're waiting on a response. 

"Yeah, sure." You let you a deep sigh of relief at this answer, though it's slightly short lived when you feel one hand move to toy gently with the hem of your dress. "As long as I get to take this off of you later."

Barely an agreement, but better than none at all. 

Another sigh and a playful shove against his shoulder before you move to grab the last of your things. He follows very close behind, hands still touching you whenever they can, still eager to have some form of a hold on you still even as you head out the door. 

***

For most of the evening, it really does seem as though he is making a very real attempt to behave. 

A subtly possessive hold around your waist all night shows off to the entire club that you're his, though it never moves any lower than the small of your back. A respectful improvement from his end. On a normal night either one or both hands would have already ended up on your arse countless times without a care for who may see before you had even finished your first drink. 

He buys only the finest of everything - a glass of top shelf whiskey doesn't leave his hand all night, and a glass of the best wine on offer is never empty in yours. It feels as though he wants the whole place to see the casual way in which he splashes his cash, along with the way his pretty model lingers by his side. Some quiet assertion of dominance to a crowd who you're supposed to be the one trying to impress. 

Every conversation he has while you remain tucked into his side seems polite. Normal introductions, casual chit chat, and for a while his newly mature presence almost makes you feel at ease. Even when talking to the most important representatives, he never sets a single foot out of line, and even makes sure to talk highly of you while he does it.

While you do briefly consider the idea of reminding him that it's you who should be doing the socialising while he trails behind, you quickly decide that doing so may derail his well mannered act. Correcting his attempts to be polite may throw him straight into a tantrum and, aside from his usual show-off nature, he really does seem to be making an effort tonight. Even his usually wandering eyes remain respectful around the most beautiful women in the room. If anything, he pays even more attention to you when he sees them. It's almost suspicious to see him keeping so in line. 

Not at all like his usual self.

The first time he leaves your side all night is to go to the bathroom, excusing himself quietly while you speak to a pair of vaguely familiar models. The exchange isn't exactly riveting, and you don't blame him for wanting to miss it - your input in it even in his absence proves to be minimal. While these people aren't exactly rude, they're just not very exciting to talk to. You dread to think that you may have to get used to this sort of mixing if you do want to make it any higher in this industry. 

In his absence, you tune out for a moment and let your thoughts drift away from the dullness, mind dwelling on your plus one's surprisingly good manners. You begin to think over the many ways you could reward him once you get home. Behaving this well has surely earned him a bit of a treat. Your mind begins to wander, mulling over the ways you could make him feel good, though you know exactly what sort of things he'll want - all of them involving your dress being ripped off the moment you step inside your front door. 

"Your boyfriend seems nice." One of the girls in front of you speaks up, pulling your attention reluctantly back to her. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger while she smiles at you politely. 

"And cute." Adds the other, earning her a giggle from the first girl while she stares in the direction he went. 

For this, you're relieved by his absence - hearing two beautiful models compliment him so sweetly would certain swell up his ego. 

"Yeah, he's..." you look down to the now empty wine glass in your hand, having thrown back the last drop in his absence, and think over how to continue. You don't feel nice is the right word for him. Something like arrogant, materialistic, or vain would be a much better fit. "He's cool."

The two before you share a brief look you don't quite recognise before turning back to the very dull chat again. 

After a long few minutes, your boyfriend finally returns. At first you feel a relief upon seeing him approach - hoping he may be coming to save you from the mind numbing you're enduring - but when he makes his way over, this brief sensation of safety is quickly shattered. 

Something about him seems very different. His head is suddenly held much higher, though his gaze on you goes lower. His hands do too, and when he reaches your side you're surprised to feel one just the slightest bit too low on your back to be decent. Something is off about him, though it's hard to tell what - it's not just the energy of someone who's had a few too many drinks, nor is it the warmth of a partner excited to see you. The women in front of you seem totally unbothered by his sudden change, even if both pairs of eyes are now trained on him. 

When you finally turn to look up at him closely, a tiny touch of white powder on his nose lets you know exactly what his problem is. 

"What the..." you barely say it out loud, too surprised at the sight to even know where to start. 

Your blood boils, having finally felt at ease with the very respectable act he had kept up all night. Good things never do last too long. 

Now it's your turn to excuse the both of you from the mundane conversation, politely dipping out even though your mouth feels ready to spit fire, and a tight hand on his arm pulls him just out of earshot. 

"Jesus, are you-" Only a few steps into your attempted departure, a hand on your ass now that you're a little more alone makes you jump. "Are you high?"

He snaps his free hand up to wipe his nose with the back of it, and he instantly shifts into a much more defensive demeanour. 

"So what if I am?"     

Your stomach turns at his snappy response. You bring a hand to his chest, pushing him away with a shove. The corners of his lips turn down at the action. 

"You're high? Tonight?"

Rather than take a hint, his hand finds your hip to pull you close once again.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine. I'm fine."

You know he's fine, but you're certainly not. Your head begins to hurt. It would be hard to measure just how much time you've spent telling him exactly how important this event is to you, yet he has still decided to act on stupid impulse instead of behaving for once in his life. 

"You do know what tonight is, right?" He frowns while you speak. "You are aware of who these people are, right?"

"Of course, I'm not stupid." You're beginning to doubt this fact.

He leans in closer, and the only thing you can smell is the whiskey on his breath. With that and the coke you can tell he just snorted, you dread to think how he'll be acting when he reaches his peak. 

The way you pull back as he leans down is far from subtle. 

"Hey, don't be like that." Another squeeze of his hand on your side, and you pull back even further. "I met some friends in the bathroom, what was I supposed to do, say no?"

"Yes!" The idea of his actions even being a possibility is something you're having a very hard time processing, and the fact of them being reality is just downright unbelievable. "You could have easily said no!"

Even after your earlier warning, he seems as though he could no longer care any less about the importance of this evening. His priorities lay more with having his fun with his friends and, judging by the way his hand still squeezes your hip, having his fun with you. 

"Come on baby - there's a real quiet corner over there, why don't we go and have some fun?"

A knife twists further in your gut the longer he touches you. Normally, in this late hour, in a club when you've both had a little too much, you ache for his touch. You seek it out desperately without a care for whoever may be watching. Without any care other than whatever arousal his groping brings up. But tonight, when you have the audience you know you have, and the lack of substance in your system like the ones he has?

Tonight, his touch brings up nothing but bile in your throat. 

You push his greedy hand away roughly, stepping back and staring up at him in disgust. "Are you joking? You want to sneak off here?!"

"Don't be like that!" Lips pout in a plea, and he steps forward to close the new gap. "Don’t be such a tease! You just look so hot, how am I supposed to resist you? This dress makes you look so fucking-"

A hand moving the hem of your dress up to cup the bare skin of your ass proves to be your final straw. 

"Ugh- Jesus, I'm going home-"

"Oh come on," it's hard to tell if his words are dragged out on purpose, or slurred in his state, but the desperation starting to seep from them is undeniable. You've already taken a step back before he continues, hands scrambling to fix your dress that he seems to so desperately want off. "Don't act like you don't wanna. Come on, come feel how hard I-"

"I'm going home."

You turn to make your exit. You're not even entirely sure where the way out is, but all you're concerned with right now is getting yourself very far away from him, and further from the prying eyes of the very people you had come out here to impress. 

It feels stupid to glance up as you pass them, but you do so anyway, eyes scanning the crowd and holding on to some tiny shred of hope that they may not even be looking. Sure enough, they seem to have seen the whole thing - a dozen sets of eyes are locked onto you in various shades of confusion, shock, and disgust. Each one you see is an extra sting to your already burning eyes, so you twist your head away from their surveillance, continuing on your unknown path. A harsh bite down on your bottom lip isn't enough to stop the salty water that breaks through to start spilling from your eyes. 

A familiar voice pipes up from far behind you, reminding you of the very person you're attempting to get away from, and the very one causing this hurt in the first place. 

"Baby, I was kidding, I-"

Though he begins to call after you, it doesn't take long for you to lose him in the crowd. 

***

The next morning, the first thing you become aware of upon waking is just how badly your head hurts. It throbs. Initially, you wonder if you may just be hungover, until your memories click. It doesn't take long to remember your swift departure from your event, and the tears that flowed all night because of it. An ache restarts in your chest while you think of it. 

The second thing you become aware of is the string of desperate texts your boyfriend decided to leave you to wake up with. 

2.32am

Where did u go?

At that hour, you were probably still up crying into your pillow. 

2.46am

Where are uuuu

3.01am

Cpme on baby whrre r u

3.15am

Whwrr u. go

3.40am

Gon hpme 

By this time you had finally knocked out with exhaustion. 

3.50am

U awwke ???

4.02am

Nwed u 

R u up

Nred u soo bsd 

Ever the romantic, as though his cock had typed the messages for him. 

5.25am

R u aqake???

Then, one final text this morning. 

11.16am

Morning baby, missed u last night 

The thought strikes you that the only thing he likely missed was one of your holes.  

Glancing at the time lets you know it's already been a half hour since that last text. You've slept in much later than you expected, seemingly worn down from the stress this whole situation has caused you. 

When you turn your attention back to the chat, your fingers hover over the screen with a heavy hesitation. How are you even supposed to respond to any or this? You can't just message him back and pretend that none of it ever happened, and you don't even know where to start when it comes to getting your feelings out over text. 

Instead, you opt to set down your phone and ignore the situation completely, even if only for a little while, hoping that your lack of response will convey your mood sufficiently. No part of you can be bothered with wasting the energy in explaining his wrongs to him right now, especially knowing he'll probably just argue back anyway.

That, and your head still throbs too hard to even begin to try to process it just yet. 

With every intention to ignore his existence and enjoy your free time alone, you eventually rise from your bed to force yourself into a shower. At least trying to freshen yourself up might make you feel a little bit better. 

Once washed and dressed in the most comfortable shorts and t shirt you could find, you're just beginning to enjoy your peaceful afternoon when a knock at your front door soon disrupts this. It doesn't take long to guess who may be on the other side. 

Opening the door reveals a scene like one from a romantic movie - there he is, standing with a large rose bouquet in one hand, and a sizeable designer gift bag in the other. The man himself is not the most romantic looking however, save for his smart shirt and dress pants - the rings under his eyes betray his late night partying. 

You're tempted to slam the door straight in his face, feeling that doing so would be much easier than having to deal with him, until he steps slightly forward to fill the entrance. 

"Hey, baby," The sweetness seeping from his words is almost sickening. It takes some power to resist the urge to roll your eyes at his greeting. "I missed you last night. Can I come in?"

Wordlessly and reluctantly, you take a step back to allow him to do just that. 

"These are for you." Both hands stretch to move the gifts in your direction. The smile still sitting comfortably on his lips only pisses you off further. 

"What is this?"

His smile briefly falters before he pulls it up again with a casual shrug, as though nothing about this is out of the ordinary. 

"These are gifts."

"No, I mean... this. This whole display." He doesn't seem to pick up on your disapproval of his arrival. "Are you just going to act like nothing happened?"

His brow furrows, and his jaw ticks. "What do you mean?"

A part of you begins to wonder whether the coke may have wiped his memory, or if he really does think you're stupid enough to not be upset. Shifting where you stand, you cross your arms in front of your chest and try to push down a steadily growing rage. 

"Last night? The way you acted?"

Another shrug in response to this makes you wonder if he's actually just doing this to piss you off further. Whether he can remember the night or not, you decide to do him a favour and remind him of it. 

"You acted like an idiot. You made me look like an idiot. Do you know how important those people were?" This doesn't seem to register with him. "My entire career might have depended on last night!"

"Oh baby come on! It wasn't that bad..."

It feels pointless to even put effort into giving this a response. You snatch the items quickly from his hands, not bothering to even mutter a half arsed thanks, before turning to take the few steps needed to place them both on your kitchen counter. Even as you move you can feel him follow closely behind. 

You try to ignore his presence, though your attempt proves to be fruitless - within a second of your hands being free, he's on you, long arms snaking around your middle, face pressing into your hair. 

And as is very often the case, he's already hard. 

"Ok I get it, I fucked up. Let me show you how sorry I am," his voice is low, gravely, and you're sure he means for it to be seductive. Given the situation it only serves to piss you off more. He ruts against you with a groan, arms wrapping tighter around you. "Let me make it up to you. I'll make you feel good."

Shifting to loosen his grip, you notice his hips still gently moving. "You can't just fuck me and expect everything to be alright."

He moves to press his wet lips to your neck. The feeling makes you freeze, doing anything except for arousing you in the way he seems to wish. He speaks in a low hum against you skin. "It'll make you feel better."

"No way. Seeing you begging on your knees would make me feel better than that."

Though the words are meant to be mocking, they plant a slowly spreading seed in your mind. A one you don't bother to shake out. 

There's a long pause, as though he's having to think hard about what to say. It feels as though this is the first time he's ever had to make an attempt at a real apology. It probably is. 

Eventually, his grip loosens more, though only slightly. "I said I'm sorry."

"You don't seem that sorry." Twisting out of his arms brings some relief to your tensed up limbs. His expression is much less warm now that you face him once again. 

"What, have I not apologised enough? You want me to take back what I bought you?"

"Buying things doesn't mean-"

"Jesus, can't you just fucking let it go!" 

The moment he snaps, your face shifts. Mild annoyance turns into something in between disbelief and anger. Eyes narrow, staring up at him with a glare that would slice him in two if it could. 

Whatever attempt you had been making to restrain yourself goes flying out the window now that he's chosen blatant disrespect. 

"Let me guess, you didn't get your dick wet last night, and you wanna get it wet now?" A moment passes before he shrugs. This only fuels your fire further. "Yeah, as if you're getting it wet now. Go home."

Tired features screw up in disgust. "Jesus, if I knew you were gonna be like this, I would have just gone home with those other girls."

A dagger straight into the chest. Your mind flicks back to the model who had told you he was cute, and your mouth feels suddenly dry as you remember her eyes trained in him. 

"Excuse me?"

"Those two girls. You're telling me you didn't notice how bad they fucking wanted me? They barely even looked at you the entire time we talked to them." Something about the way he speaks feels slightly boastful, like he enjoys the way his apparent popularity must hurt you. The memory of one girl giggling and twirling her hair flashes into your mind. "They were all fucking over me after you ran off, but I was too worried about you to even entertain it." 

While you can't prove whether what he's saying is even true, the idea of it alone makes your gut begin to twist. If you weren't already so pissed off, then the way he is trying to paint himself  as such a loyal, caring boyfriend would certainly do the trick. 

While he's never exactly been the most kind partner, it surprises you that he would start going quite as low as this. There's almost a smug energy surrounding him as he sees the way his words affect you. 

"Yeah, maybe you should have just fucked them." You spit the words out, fists balling up in an attempt to hold back what little bit of rage you can. He doesn't appear too pleased by the fact that his sob story hasn't worked. "Now go, and get the hell out of my apartment."

"For fucks sake, I didn't mean-"

"Just fucking go!"

If the neighbours can hear you, you certainly don't care. Even he looks shocked at the way you've just shouted. Both hands raise to his side in some form of surrender, eyes widen, and his face falls into something a little softer than before. 

"Fine..."

Slowly, he backs away, hands still raised as though waiting for more verbal bullets to fire in his direction. When eventually they don't come, he lowers his hands and pouts, head tilting downwards and eyes dropping to the floor. In his mind, the expression probably reflects a man deeply sorrowful - in yours, it just looks like an idiot who hasn't gotten his way. 

Though you're sure his expression is an attempt to garner some form of sympathy, it only ends up stirring something else. The roots of the previously planted seeds begin to spread through your thoughts, and the idea of making him show just how sorry he is becomes even more appealing. 

Although he's not yet forgiven, you decide you can make the most of his naturally needy nature before deciding whether his apologies can be accepted. 

When his hand reaches for the door, moving to turn the handle and exit as you've just instructed, you impulsively decide to give him one more chance. 

"Wait..." A heat creeps up your cheeks as you mull over how to do this, and how to even approach the concept in the first place. "You said you want to show that you're sorry?"

This perks him up. A smile tugs at his lips, clearly assuming that you've decided to finally let him get his dick wet after all, and he lets go of the handle to turn to face you now fully. It's unfortunate for him that his hopes are about to come crashing straight down. A nod, and a very low "Yeah?"

"I could forgive you..." Tensed up shoulders relax, and he takes a slow step towards you. Hungry eyes eye up your frame. "If you ask me to."

This stops him in his tracks. "I... did, though." 

"No. You asked to fuck me." 

His lips press tight, and you can almost see the gears turning behind his eyes as he tries to understand. "Okay... well, forgive me, then?"

Initially you don't respond. A glance down below his belt makes you aware his arousal hasn't yet died down, the outline of it blatantly obvious through the fabric of his pants, and when you meet his eyes he seems almost proud of it. Like he enjoys you knowing he's turned on, or just enjoys the fact that you even bothered to look down there in the first place.  

Anticipation sees his eyes brighten as you slowly step towards him. They're glued to you, trained on your every move, and he swallows hard as you get closer and closer. When you finally reach him, another glance down shows you that he's gotten even harder, and you're sure you even see it throbbing through his clothes. 

His breath catches in his throat when you press a palm gently to his bulge. 

"You want me to forgive you?" He nods so quickly you think his head may fall off, pride suddenly forgotten, eyes so full with desperation and a quiet plea for more. Pressing harder draws out a breath, and even harder again brings a whimper. Hips push into your touch, and for a moment you indulge his steady rhythm against your hand. "Beg for it."

His movements still.

"What?"

"Beg me to forgive you."

"That would be embarrassing."

Pulling your hand away and stepping back results in a very desperate whine from him, hips bucking forward once in an attempt to chase your touch and cease the absence of pressure. 

"Oh you care about being embarrassed? Did you not care about embarrassing me last night?"

"No, I- yes, of course I cared." He tries to close the gap between you but you widen it even more. "I'm sorry!"

"I don't believe you."

"Listen, I don't know what more I can do to convince you. What do you want me to do, get down on my fucking knees or some shit?"

This sparks an idea. Wetting your lips, you give him a small smile for the first time since last night. 

"Sure."

His face drops, clearly not expecting you to take him up on his unserious offer. Tired features twist into a confusion, mouth opening quickly before shutting closed even quicker, and something about seeing this change in him sparks a newfound confidence within you. 

"But I already said I'm sorry." 

"Show me that you are."

He seems desperate to find something else to say, any other possible way to express his apparent sorrow. Watching his panicked eyes flick down to the floor gives you a little ounce of hope, before a defeated look fills his face when he finally decides to do as you ask. 

Long legs lower his body to the hard floor slowly, as though waiting for you to change your mind the whole way down, and then a disappointment becomes clear in him when you don't. Once settled on his knees, tired eyes stare up at you in desperation from where he kneels at your feet. You're sure his hangover probably has his head throbbing, and you would be lying if you said he didn't deserve it. 

Moving closer towards him, you tilt your head as you admire the way he looks below you. There's something strangely enticing about seeing him complying to your request.  

"Bet you wish you had just fucked one of those other girls after all, huh?"

A large hand rises and cups the back of your thigh softly as he begins to beg. 

"Baby, please, I told you I'm sorry!" His face reddens as he speaks, eyes not quite meeting yours. Apologising so profusely clearly doesn't come naturally to him. 

Your hand reaches out, and he eagerly leans towards your touch instantly. Long, pointed nails lightly scratch the skin of his scalp, palm pressing to the top of his head while your fingers stretch out. 

"Are you really?"

The whimper that falls from him as your nails continue to move on his skin is a desperate one. Underneath your hand you feel him shudder. It's clear that he's feeling starved of your touch after spending the night alone. His eyes flutter closed, lips parted as you begin to slowly massage his scalp with your nails, and the hand on your leg grips it harder.

"Y-yes." Even with a stutter, he does sound a little more sure. "Just let it go, please."

Another soft whimper falls from him. It sparks a curiosity in you, wondering now just how much he really is enjoying this embarrassment. Glancing down into the gap between you offers up a very desperate scene - while he stares up at you, his free hand has moved to palm his still hard cock through his pants. His hips rock ever so slightly against the hand in an attempt to further his own pleasure.

The view from up here warms your belly even more than you ever could have expected it would. 

When your hand moves away from his scalp, his eyes shoot open, and a quiet whine of protest shows his disappointment. This is short lived once you move it to cup his cheek. The action draws out a quiet hum from him as he lets himself lean into your touch, large eyes staring up at you with a silent plea for forgiveness. 

Like this, he looks pretty. Almost innocent. Like butter wouldn't melt.

You don't allow him to enjoy this peaceful moment for too long. Pulling away, you step back to put a bit more space in between you, loosening your leg from his touch. He makes a move as though he may follow, but one swift icy glare his way tells him to stay right where he is.

Admiring him from just a couple of steps back allows you a moment to think over your next course of action, the options in mind starting to feel seemingly limitless. It also allows you to see just how painfully his erection now presses against the fabric of his pants. He has little shame in continuing his slow stroking, long fingers gliding over his clothed bulge, and a very strong desire fills his eyes while he stares up at you. 

The idea of giving into his want does pop up, though only briefly. The needy sight before you is new, but not a one you dislike, and you indulge in it like a voyeur for just a little longer than originally intended. It stirs an arousal deep down within your core. 

The thought of denying his desire only stirs it even more. 

"Does this turn you on?" A mocking sweetness oozes from your words. You see a brief flicker of uncertainty, then a quickly rising shame that makes his eyes dart down to the floor, as though he's just been snapped out of a trance. "To beg on your knees like this?"

He doesn't respond, though the way his jaw tenses and Adam's apple bobs indicates a very embarrassed yes. It's as though he doesn't quite want to admit his enjoyment. 

"I guess I'll accept your apology then."

Eyes snap up to finally meet yours, his entire face brightening with a mix of both shock and honest relief. For a moment he just stares, unsure of how to respond, but then he breaks out into a grin. "Really?"

A deliberately drawn out moment of contemplation only teases him even further. "Sure."

"Oh baby, you don't know how happy that makes me." He very quickly rises, coming to his feet while briefly rubbing his seemingly sore knees. An arm extends to finally touch you, aching for any part of your skin, but yet another step back sees you widening the distance even more. 

"I still want you to go, though."

What flickers in his eyes can only be described as genuine fire - having felt the relief of you finally lowering your guard and accepting his pleas, he now seems even more embarrassed than he was when he was begging at your feet. His eyes narrow as he stares straight down at you, piercing through your own with a very real anger. 

"Are you fucking kidding?" It's a hiss through gritted teeth. At this stage he's seemingly seething. 

"Yeah, I think it's better if you do." 

His mouth clamps shut, jaw tensing harshly while his face screws up. Large hands are thrown up in defeat before he spins, practically pulling the door off of its hinges with the force with which he opens it. There's not even a mutter of a goodbye before he slams it hard behind him. 

You'd be lying if you said you were very sorry to see him go. If anything, you're merely relieved to finally have the day back to yourself. 

Even with such anger spilling out of him, you know full well that it'll only take a couple of hours until he's sliding into your messages once again, as though the entire last 24 hours had never happened.

[savaggeland-deactivated20240929]

Homelander may be a 10/10, but Antony Starr off-camera with the same fucking hairstyle is a 1,000,000/10

[papagoore25]

its ur girl im back with another request since Alex still has a hold on me

would you be able to write about nurse akers x subject reader(which doesnt work out)? He was like an army one when he was young and worked for doctor brenner

Opposites Attract

Summary: A routine physical exam is just another part of every day in this lab. They’re never filled with very much excitement - until a brand new nurse sent in by the army makes them far more interesting. (AKA you’re very curious to know everything about this new nurse, and make it your mission to find out all about him - much to his very obvious annoyance)

Warning: medical stuff, blood tests, physical examinations, reader is one of Brenner’s subjects (but is way over 18), slight angst if you squint, reader has a crush, reader is extremely nosy, and it makes Akers very grumpy, swearing

Word Count: 6253

Notes: I’m sorry this took me so long!! Life has been busy.

This fic is broken up into a few separate times that they meet. Akers is quiet and stubborn, and reader is nosy and wants to know everything about this handsome new nurse.

Enjoy!!! 🩷

A routine physical exam is just another part of every day in this lab. 

The same time, the same tests, the same staff. Each one always somehow colder and less of a friendly face than the last. None ever very interested in your attempts at conversation - being in the lab is lonely, spare for Henry. And as close as you are to him, being of a similar age and harnessing the same type of capabilities, you often think another friend may be nice. The nurses never prove to be any sort of suitable companions, though.

Until today. Today turns out to be the beginning of something different. 

At first, you take very little notice of the nurse who enters the room for your exams. Initially you don’t even bother to look up from the examination table to check who it is. You do notice that he’s tall and male, but you don’t get quite a good enough look at him at first to fully register him as being someone different. 

When you do, though, it’s a very pleasant surprise. 

Eyeing the way he pulls on his white gloves, you try to remember whether you’ve ever seen this one before. His neat hair and young complexion stand out, and his appearance is certainly different to any of the other nurses you normally see. You’re sure you would remember if someone like him had come to do the poking and prodding and testing before. 

It's been a very long time since you've seen anyone like him. 

This man is not unlike Dr Brenner in his features. He's got the height of the older man too, and it makes you wonder whether Brenner may have been handsome once just like this man before you. Maybe when he was younger, more inexperienced. Less desensitised. 

The nurse before you certainly is attractive. It's not often that you get to see someone who is, and especially someone not too far your senior. A curious gaze takes in his pale features, and you wonder if he even notices your prying stare with the way his own eyes are focused on his work. You can’t help but keep your watch trained on him throughout each test. The nurses around here never normally look like that.

Once finished, his large eyes scan the page on his clipboard, and he begins to scribble the routine notes of today’s procedures. Knowing he’s probably getting set to leave, you take the opportunity to begin an eager interrogation. 

"You're new."

The nurse barely registers this, absentmindedly nodding as he makes his notes. You continue to stare. Thin lips press firmly in a line as he writes, and your mind drifts away as you consider them. It's been some time since you've even seen a man with a face worth considering, and the boredom you now face as he ignores you allows your thoughts to wander. 

Your mind drifts to old things, almost forgotten things, far from the cold sterile room and back to a time before you ever knew of daily examinations and nurses. Memories of high school, schoolgirl crushes and whispers and giggles, things from before you became a spectacle to be gawked at. 

Or at least, before science had confirmed you to be an object to be gawked at. 

The new man in front of you doesn't strike you as the type who would have gone the path of medicine, so his purpose here intrigues you. He reminds you much more of the tall strong athletes who were worshipped by half of the school. The other half either loathed them, or envied them - and you normally fell somewhere between those two. Echoes of teasing start to fill your mind. The memory of being called a "freak" by people just like him bounce around it.  

Still, such a terrible association doesn't stop you from admiring him superficially. 

You pull your mind from old teenage angst and force it back into the room, suddenly aware that the man still has not spoken. It's not unusual for the staff to not engage in idle chat, though the lack of an answer frustrates you regardless given him being a newcomer. 

"You're new." You repeat yourself, louder and a little more coldly this time. The icy tone pulls his attention to you, locking eyes for the first time since he entered the room. For a moment he just stares, before blinking quickly and turning his head back to his work. He doesn't seem to have much interest in your attempt at conversation. 

"Yeah. I am."

"Haven't they got enough nurses already?"

The man shrugs, broad shoulders shifting under his white coat. He swallows as though trying to fight back a snappy answer. "Guess they needed another one."

The lack of clarity only bothers you further. Your eyes trail down his face, down to the crisp white fabric of his uniform, fitting nicely on his straight shoulders. Definitely those of a star footballer in his day. Curiously, your eyes travel further, and it's then that you take notice of a name tag on his chest. 

"Akers." You muse over the name for a moment, debating the sound of it in your head. "Funny name. Reminds me of acorns." His still stern face doesn't seem too amused by your comparison. Though stern, it's fresh, and it's youthful, much more youthful than many of the other staff - a lack of lines raises another question for you. "How old are you?"

The silence only grows inside the room. The only change is a slight tense in his jaw. By now, you're used to your nosiness pushing buttons, should you be in the mood to press them. Even Henry sometimes snaps back at your seemingly endless questions. 

You begin to watch the way Akers's hands write on his clipboard, and can't help but take notice of the long digits holding his pen. Long, slim, and presumably skilled pale digits. At some point, he brings one to his tongue to lightly wet it before flicking over to another page, and the action makes you shift where you sit. Wandering thoughts start up before you shake them away sternly. 

It seems a few minutes in the presence of a fresh face is enough to leave your skin feeling hot. Especially a very fresh, very appealing face. 

In an attempt to distract yourself from more inappropriate things, you turn your attention to the subject of his scribbling. 

"What are you writing about?"

The answer is very likely an obvious one, considering the question has come from its very subject. Still, there's a curious part of you that wants to know what exactly it is that these people observe about you. Would they take note of only your vitals, or is there some description of the interaction too?

You dread to think what his description of your inquisition may look like. Typically you would care very little for what may be a staff member's personal opinion, though the newcomer has you more conscious. In fact, you would much rather know what his description of your appearance may look like. 

This thought gets quickly thrown out of your head along with the others, and you instead turn your focus back to his work. At this point, you're not even sure what it is that he could possibly still be writing. There's still no answer while he seemingly scribbles a novel onto the paper. 

The prolonged wait for a response only irritates you further. 

"You look young. Are you even qualified?"

Yet another shrug, though this time the vow of silence is finally broken. "Qualified enough."

You're not sure what enough means. Maybe enough has some correlation to the bruising beginning on your arms due to his rough attempt at a blood test. A lack of experience resulting in a clumsy extraction. 

You're still too stuck on finding out the man's age to dwell too long on this. "You've got my age on file. Why can't I know yours?" 

"Not allowed to give it out."

You're not sure that's true. You make a mental note to ask Henry should you get the chance to. "Are you even much older than me?"

"Sure I am." 

"How much older?"

Another silence. Time to change the angle, or at least attempt to do so. A glance down his frame reminds you of another curiosity. 

"Are you a footballer?" 

To you, the question makes sense - he certainly has the appearance of one, or at least of someone who would have made a good one. To this young nurse, the random nature of the question makes him snort. 

"Maybe." Then, a pause in his writing. A tilt of his head. A slight tug to one corner of his mouth. His expression turns slightly brighter, like this is finally a topic he would consider to be of interest. For a brief moment he appears to be considering actually speaking more than just a few syllables, before ultimately deciding the topic is harmless enough. "Used to be, before the army. No time for it now."

You sit up a little straighter, suddenly even more interested in this new arrival. The army. All of the prying you've done, and a question about football is what makes him finally reveal a minuscule snippet of who he is. 

"You're in the army?" Then, yet another curiosity strikes your excited mind, though a much more morbid one. A one of a dark nature which you take little notice of, considering the way Dr Brenner's experiments have desensitised you, and the way Henry's own past has failed to faze you. "Have you killed people?"

Briefly warm features turn back to the old stern ones once again. One long deep sigh before he turns back to the novel you're sure he's writing with a mumble of irritated clarification. "I'm an army nurse."

"An army nurse." You repeat his words slowly, sounding out the title. The occupation isn't entirely familiar to you. "So, do you-"

"We're finished for today." His clipboard is flung down on the table with much more force than you hope he truly intended, and the abruptness makes you flinch. This fact doesn't seem to bother him - he barely registers the way in which he startled you, instead moving to the landline hanging on the wall, large hand grabbing it while a low voice informs the person on the other end that the session is over. 

Whatever army training he received clearly hadn't taught him manners. The coldness in his action only reminds you further of the footballer boys you knew back in high school, though you're given little time to dwell on this before receiving a routine escort out of the examination room. 

***

A number of weeks pass until you see the new nurse again. 

In that time, you find yourself mulling over that initial interaction. In quiet moments you replay it. The way he acted, ignoring you almost totally until something he deemed to be of actual interest came up. It’s ironic that even with his rudeness, he provided you with more conversation that you normally get from any of the other nurses in the space of a week. 

You also can’t help but think back to the way his strong shoulders filled out his lab coat nicely, or how his long digits moved as he worked, but you don’t allow yourself to dwell on these thoughts for too long. Both in order to avoid the way the memory heats your skin, and to not give any ammunition to any nosy mind readers around the lab. 

But the more you push it down, the worse it gets. Every day you hope he may be your nurse again, and every day brings a disappointment that makes you ache. It’s hard to tell whether it’s due to a nosy need for more information, or due to a festering crush. Something about his stature and stubborn nature has left you hungry for more. 

There’s a fizzy feeling in your chest when the day finally comes for him to examine you once again. It comes without warning, many weeks after your first meeting, and you can’t hide a small smile when he’s the one to walk in the door. The only acknowledgement he gives you is a thin-lipped smile, more in the general direction of the examination table you find yourself on rather than really at you, and even without reading any minds you can tell that it's forced. He only locks eyes with you briefly before turning straight to his work.

Clearly, he is in no mood for conversation again today. You, however, are, and intend to make it. 

"Nice to see you again."

You speak up while he gathers his equipment. White gloves are pulled on as he meets your words with nothing but a quiet mhmm, with no attempt to turn around and acknowledge you fully. You try to squash down the mild feeling of rejection. 

Last time, pushing and prodding eventually got you some snippets of information. It took some time for him to warm up. You hope to discover even more this time around. 

"Mr Army Nurse? Did you hear me?"

Silence. 

"Footballer. Are you going to speak to me today?"

Nothing. 

"Acorns?"

At this he whips around, one brow raised with his mouth shut tight. Cold eyes stare at you with an irritated glare. 

Clearly, he doesn't seem a fan of your very endearing nickname. 

A quiet huff sees him turning back to the table before him, checking his tools and preparing them for your tests. You watch as long fingers fiddle with the items, and with his back turned, you indulge yourself a little more in your ogling. Doing so leaves you far too distracted to notice him muttering some curse low under his breath. 

Judging from his mood, you wonder if he dreaded having to come to see you again. He seems to be gathering his items quickly as though wanting to get this done with. This thought doesn't halt your curiosity in the slightest. 

"You've been gone for weeks."

This stills his rushed movements. His back is still hunched while both hands now press flat down on the table, fingertips pushing firmly against the surface as though trying to press down his frustration. 

"I don't work here." He doesn't move from his position as he speaks, nor does he turn his head to address you. "Army just has me filling in."

Slowly, you nod. You suppose it makes sense. The lab has been increasingly busy, with some of the children in it becoming increasingly strong.

"But why this lab? It's so..." your words fail you, trailing off as you attempt to conjure them. Despite spending a good chunk of your life in the place, it's still difficult to even describe it or its purpose. 

A part of you hopes he may finish this sentence for you, though of course no continuation comes. Yet another long pause makes you aware that you'll have to do it yourself. 

"You know, since we're all... we all have..." his head tilts as you speak. A thought dawns on you, that maybe his position as a very occasional worker caused them to tell him very little of the building's purpose. "What is this lab for?"

"I don't know." His answer seems like a genuine one. Finally he turns to face you, though only to begin your physical checks. By the look of his tools he seems to be beginning with a blood test. "I get brought in to take blood and do exams. Basic nurse stuff. They don't tell me much."

Nodding slowly, you let this thought settle for a moment in your mind. The lab is clearly trying to hide its true purpose. You wonder why they haven’t told him a thing - you could control your powers just fine, holding age and experience on your side, but what if one of the children lashed out? The regular nurses know exactly what their powers are, and know that signing up for this work is dangerous. The poor army nurse was forced into this place without even a proper warning against its residents.  

You decide that’s not something for you to get bogged down about, though the thought unsettles you all the same. 

The feeling of cold gloves on your forearm brings you back into the room. You watch as he tries to find the right spot, long fingers trailing along your skin a few times in an attempt to find the vein, though it takes him far longer than it should. There’s something oddly endearing about his inability to manage what you feel should be basic. At this point, having seen the procedure done so many times, you reckon you could conduct your own blood tests if you had to. 

After a minute of pale digits tapping along your skin, you decide it may be best to speak up before he begins his clueless stabbing.

"This," you point to a spot on your forearm that you now know off by heart. "Is where they normally put it. You took a while to find it last time."

A low unintelligible grumble is all you hear as he starts prodding at your arm again. It's hard to say how many needles you've had jabbed into your skin at this point. Some of the staff are gentle, with delicate, skilled hands and quick, painless insertions. The rest are rough and prod at your skin like a pin cushion. 

Akers seemed much more like the latter during his last attempt to draw blood. You don’t intend to be left with quite as many bruises this time. 

Sure enough, he finds the vein much easier after forgoing his pride in order to take your instruction. 

“Have you done many blood tests before?”

It strikes you that it may sound rude to ask this, but it’s a very genuine curiosity. You’re not sure what training goes into becoming a nurse, less sure of what goes into becoming an army one, and even less so of what exactly is the difference. 

This finally garners an answer, although a very defensive one. “Sure I have.”

You bite back a smart remark about how you find that hard to believe. A part of you also considers the possibility of offering an apology for your assumption, though you’re not sure it’s something he would hold much regard for. 

Instead, you opt to keep the questions flowing as he continues to draw your blood. 

“If you’re in the army, then why are you… here?”

He stays seated where he is, large body dwarfing the small stool he’s found himself perched on, and meets your eyes with a raised brow and a shrug. “Told you. Don’t know.”

“No, I mean… why aren’t you out somewhere else. Somewhere, I don’t know…”

“Somewhere where there’s a fight?”

You nod, and he scoffs. 

“Wish I knew.” It’s a quiet mumble. You take note of the spite in his words. This certainly doesn’t seem to be the type of place he had dreamed of ending up. 

“They don’t tell you why they put you here?” A short shake of his head. Frowning, you tilt your own. "Is this what you really want to do?" 

This time, there's a pause in his movements. His eyes flick up to yours before he forces them straight back down to the task at hand, removing the needle and dabbing at the dot of blood that forms on your skin. He busies himself with sorting a vial. 

You don't think he intends to respond for a moment, until another shake of his head comes with a very quiet "no". This hesitation intrigues you, and makes you wonder whether you may have stabbed a sore spot. 

"What do you want to do?"

His brows pull together tightly in the silence that follows. His reluctance to provide any form of an answer only makes you more curious. 

Though you feel as though you may as well be talking to the wall, you continue. 

"Do you want to fight? In the army?"

This is met with a shrug. In the way his shoulders shift, you sense he is trying to act more nonchalant than he feels. Finally he speaks. 

"Wouldn't mind it."

Why he would even want to fight is something you don't understand. 

You suppose he has the right personality for it - quiet and seemingly stubborn. Someone who even an expert would find it difficult to get any form of information out of. 

With that and the way he takes blood tests as though he's stabbing a fearsome foe, you think maybe the front lines may be the very place for him after all. More suited to such rough and careless fingers. 

"You would make a good soldier. Very stern. Very..." He raises a brow as you ponder your next words. Moving closer, his hand presses to your arm again when he notices another drop of blood form, dabbing your gradually heating skin gently. Allowing your eyes to lower and watch him work forces you to take a deep breath before you speak. Even if the digits are concealed by his gloves. "Very strong."

A much more genuine smile pulls at his features now. It's one that you decide suits him. Just as was the case the last time you saw him, it seems that the easiest conversations to have with him are the ones based on his interests. 

They make him seem just the slightest bit more human. 

The smile is slightly wider when you look up at him again. 

"You think so?" 

"Definitely. That's why I asked you about football. You just look like someone who might play, because... well, you look very strong."

The smile now spreading definitely is a real one. This time, he doesn't initially respond, though seemingly not out of annoyance - it appears to be more to do with the red tint slowly starting to dust his cheeks. It seems as though your compliments have been the hammer to finally break through one of his rock hard layers. 

“Thanks. You’re very…” his eyes scan your face, your plain clothes, your buzzed hair. Searching for any unique feature he could mention. He comes up with none. “Very chatty.”

The laugh that bursts out of you is loud. At least this is one statement you know to be true. 

The rest of the conversation fizzles out much more naturally than your last one. This time, he doesn’t slam any clipboards down. He doesn’t come close to pulling the phone off of the wall in his rush to leave the room as he had done before. If anything, he moves more slowly, seemingly enjoying whatever other idle chit chat you use to fill the time at the end of the examination, as though the conversation has helped to get something off of his chest which had been mildly festering in it. 

Though unsure if it could just be down to your imagination, you think you notice that he may even be writing his notes just the slightest bit slower this time around. A hopeful part of you thinks that today he may have even enjoyed himself. 

***

The final time you meet this nurse, he smiles just the slightest bit more warmly when he enters the sterile room. It’s better than his last greeting, and makes you feel more assured in his presence. The routine remains the same: preparing equipment, getting his gloves on, taking your bloods. All of it soundtracked by another series of questions from you. 

This time, however, there's a very important piece of information that he decides to offer up without any push. With the rest of the conversation consisting of nothing more notable, he seems to decide to keep the biggest piece of information until last. 

"Probably not gonna be back here again. They're talking about sending me to Nam soon."

While you’re not sure what Nam is, the idea of him not coming back twists something deep in your stomach, disappointment coursing through it in the wake of what had been a very pleasant interaction. Contrastingly, the relief in him as he says this is hard to miss, as though speaking it aloud has helped to make it feel real. Whatever Nam is, it seems to be something worth getting excited about. 

He's writing slowly on his clipboard when you respond. "Nam?"

"Yeah? Nam." Akers looks at you as though he thinks you may be stupid, as though trying to understand how you could possibly not understand this term. Then after a moment, he registers your confusion. It seems he's forgotten where you've spent the last number of years, or perhaps it's his lack of awareness of the truth in your situation. "Vietnam. With everything going on, they should have sent me over by now."

It takes you a moment to process what he’s saying, but when you do you feel your heart sink down through your chest. It drops down to join a pit growing in your stomach. "So you're... going? Like, for good?"

Akers nods slowly, signing off the last of his notes and placing his clipboard down softly. You recognise this as a sign that the session is about to end.

A smirk on his lips gives you the feeling he may not be quite as disappointed in his departure as you are.  "Not gonna miss me, are you?”

The question catches you slightly off guard, especially with the teasing tone and the very slight suggestion sitting somewhere in it, and you shift where you are as you consider it. 

Would he find it strange if you did?

It’s not as though you’ve known him for very long, though in the time that you have, he has only just started to seem like potential good company. Probing him with your light hearted interrogations have proven to be a far more entertaining use of your time than the usual silence experienced during these examinations. 

Swallowing hard squashes down your disappointment only slightly. Certainly not enough to hide it altogether. Regardless, you do your best to keep your response light hearted, not wanting to show him how you had only just started to feel. 

"I won't miss the bruising."

Akers enjoys this answer. There’s a relief in knowing your false demeanor has been believed. A cheerful grin spreads on his face that you had not yet gotten to see, and by the sounds of it, may not see again. 

After this, the conversation fizzles out as it usually does, though it takes much more out of you to force an interest in silly chat. The disappointment still lingers through it all while the idea of him leaving dwells on your mind. The more you process his departure, the worse the inevitably of it feels. 

This meeting finishes with a promise that he’ll be back, hopefully soon, and that you may see him again before he gets sent to Nam. 

But, of course, you never do. 

***

Hawkins, November 1986

It’s been a very long time since you’ve set foot on that old lab, and even longer since you’ve seen the handsome army nurse. 

Henry has been gone for years at this point. You had tried to lay low and move on, get far away from the town you were once seen as a freak in, and push on to try to live with some semblance of normality. For a while it was nice - but the guilt of knowing Henry was out there somewhere had slowly eaten you over time. Endless possibilities of where the hell he may have ended up often swirled in your mind.  

As soon as you heard of the murders in Hawkins, you knew it was him, and you knew you had no choice but to go back there. 

Getting into the town had been difficult, taking both a physical and mental toll on your body and mind. Avoiding the omnipresent military had been tricky, especially with them seemingly occupying every corner you turned, but you managed to move past their barricades eventually. That had almost been the easy part in comparison to having to see this town once again. The whole place holds memories - high school problems and teenage angst, as well as the darker side of your experiments and testing.

Still, as much as it hurt to see this place again, you had forced yourself to move past it in your search for your very strong brother. And to find him, you had to find the one person you knew for sure would still be left around. 

Finding El and her friends was certainly a help in your hunt for Henry. It didn’t even take very long to do so with your powers, seeing her and tracking her down easily. 

She knew you - or at the very least, recognised you from the lab - and having someone who understood her powers in the way that you did had helped you to gain the whole group’s trust quicker than you expected. Falling in with their plans and gathering information they already held was a blessing for your search. 

Without them, there was no way you could have ever ended up on the right track alone. They knew all about the military’s schedules, their routes and routines, and they knew how to get into the dank dark place where they were sure they would find Henry. 

Even if that wasn’t exactly what they called him. 

They had a much better idea of how to navigate the horrid place than you could ever figure out alone. Years of experience sat pricelessly on their side. They know where to go, and the best ways to get there. You’re lucky one day to overhear them talking about how “he” could be in the military base, and from then on you set it as your main destination. Your primary objective, to find your way there with or without the rest of the crew. 

One day, you finally find your chance to break away from their plans. To separate yourself from the group without giving any indication of your direction. You don’t even fully remember what your instruction from them had been, or why you had even come down here in the first place on this day, but once you come close to that military base you decide that these facts don’t matter. 

A part of you felt some slight guilt in leaving them all in order to head out towards the base alone, though you’re sure they’ll survive without you. They have so far. The guilt feels a little less heavy when you remind yourself of your much more important task, and especially when you think of the person you’re coming closer to finding. 

With the group long behind you, you set your sights on the only thing that currently matters, and weave your way through the shadowed woods on your route. Aching feet navigate carefully over the uneven ground, eyes trained on the military base straight ahead.

All of the years of wishing and wondering have led up to this. The closer you get, the more your heart thumps, until excitement sees anxious hands fiddling with the sleeves of your shirt. Butterflies turn into wasps in your stomach as the reality gradually dawns on you. Now that you’re this close to the base, this close to finding him, you become quickly aware that there may soon be no turning back. 

Sharp eyes remain vigilant as you near the perimeter. You scan around, searching for any way in you could possibly manage to use, and for any possible blind spot to the multitude of military lurking around. To your disappointment, you seem to find none, and for a moment you just stay where you are and contemplate your next move. 

From this far back, you think you may be safe from their view - until a shout in the darkness makes it clear that your luck has finally run out. 

"Hey!"

It feels like the wind is knocked out of you at the realisation that you've been spotted. Your head spins and lands on the figure of a tall soldier in the distance, making his way to you from the direction of the base. 

Just the sight of him, gun in hand, is enough to send you running. 

The uneven ground had been much easier to traverse at a steady stroll. At this flat out sprint, panicked feet covering as much ground as they possibly can, you run the very real risk of catching your foot and falling like easy prey. The idea of allowing yourself to be so easily caught after coming this far pushes some extra force through your already tired limbs. 

This doesn’t matter, though. Whether you trip up or not, long legs close the gap much faster than yours could ever widen it. 

Reaching a thicker section of the woods refuels your hope, if only slightly. Twisting in between thick trees and heavy branches makes you think that you may have a good chance to finally lose him, if you could only break his sight. Looking back for only a moment is enough to know that he flickers in and out of view while trying to traverse this heavy forest, and you wonder if you could use those brief gaps in vision to your advantage. 

If you don’t find a way to lose him now, you don’t think you ever will. 

Ducking out of view, you scramble to find the nearest place possible to hide. Tucking in behind a fallen tree trunk is your only viable option, and you hope he’ll run straight past and keep going. With any luck, it will at least stall his hunt, if only for a few seconds. 

The bang of thunder overhead does very little to calm your nerves, tired body only trembling more with every clap. For a moment you wonder if your plan has worked, until the sound of the damp ground underfoot somehow nearby lets you know that he's still close. Holding your breath proves hard after the chase. 

Just as you begin to think it may finally be time to make an escape - the very soldier you've been avoiding steps straight into view. 

And when he does, you don't believe it. 

At first you think the exhaustion has finally gotten to your head, but it only takes a look to know this is real. 

It's him. Instantly recognisable, even after time has weathered him, though seemingly only slightly. 

The army nurse. The footballer. 

Akers. 

A flashlight in your face leaves you blinded for a moment, shaking hands shooting up to shield your eyes from the intrusive light. 

You hope he won't know you. That he won't recognise you now that your hair has grown and your skin has aged. 

If only you could be so lucky. 

You shrink, body curling around itself in a pointless attempt to hide from his ice cold stare. His expression shifts as his eyes take you in - moving between confusion, accusation, and disbelief, but never settling on just one. 

Footsteps begin to approach from somewhere behind him, alerting you to the fact that he's absolutely not alone. "Find anything, lieutenant?"

Lieutenant? Certainly sounds better than army nurse, maybe even better than Acorns. Certainly also sounds as though he finally got to be a soldier after all. 

Sounds even more like he is someone you should have done a much better job of avoiding out here. 

The pause that follows the other soldier's call feels like an eternity - an infinite length of time spent staring back up at the man before you. For a moment, you wonder if he'll even respond. He never did like to answer your questions - maybe he won't answer this one. A stupidly hopeful part of you wonders if he may tell them he found nothing, and head back on his way. 

"Found something alright..." it's barely above a whisper. Your heart still drops though you know they can't hear him. You're not sure whether he's speaking to himself, or to you, knowing that the other soldiers are too far behind to hear his murmur. An even lower tone of what sounds more like a growl coming from the man before you runs a chill down your spine. "A nosy little shit."

There's no gentleness in the way he grabs you - not that he ever had a softness to him in the first place. A rough hand hoists you straight up onto your feet, pulling you after him and towards the men who had followed behind. 

The grip his large hand holds on your arm is crushing. You're sure you'll be left with bruises just as you were by him in the past, though this time without any needles needed.

"Shoulda known back then you were nothing but a freak," his words are venom through gritted teeth, and they sting like a bite. The horrible name brings back awful memories, and your stomach turns as he continues. “Was too young and dumb to know any better. No wonder you were so fucking nosy."

It’s not very often that you find yourself speechless, though this has left you truly stumped. You're not even sure where to start with a response. He probably won’t even listen if you give one. 

Before you can even get a word in edgeways, Akers barks to the nearest soldier. The subject makes your heart drop. 

"I’m taking her to Kay." 

[sweeetestcurse]

Hamish Linklater as Father Paul Hill/Monsignor John Michael Pruitt 03/??

[papagoore25]

Listening to Leonard Cohen and thinking about older men, I think I’m fr about to start levitating

[papagoore25]

Octoboss art because I’m obsessed with yet another tall ass man

[nessa007]

so i just saw obsession