#//AND THEN I WAS LIKE “But about what The Doctor's normally really chill unless something super terrible is going on.”

[unboundtravels]

𝑵𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆 prompts. | ACCEPTING

They say the Khonshu company is the most powerful conglomerate in this sector. He dislikes conglomerates. He's an anarchist by nature, although he maintains a pacifistic set of rules— he finds himself often irritated by corporate greed and its effect on the universe. Specifically, the planets he ends up on. While traversing up the good old cosmic trail, The Doctor decided he wanted to pass through the Terron nebula. It was a nebula visible from the orbit of Yola-V. The Doctor had never been there, personally— but when he landed, he immediately came across the natives of that world.

A race of natives related to the Talz, only in appearance— really. These were bigger, more bulkier. Their senses were more refined and able to adapt to the harsher climate of Yola-V. They had, however, been dying due to a temperature increase. When The Doctor arrived, it was 10 degrees Celsius (15 degrees Fahrenheit) out. The planet was still perpetually frozen, but according to the natives— it was supposed to be -34.4444 Celsius (-30 degrees Fahrenheit) or lower! The temperature increase was unnatural, unusual, and record-breaking. The Doctor had no choice but to investigate.

The Doctor, with some patience and determination— managed to gain the trust of the chief. A party of three guided The Doctor toward the overlook of the mountains. There, he discovered a group of off-the-record employees of Khonshu company mining for a mineral. Their equipment was massive, practically like oil rigs on legs. The waste and fuel that the engines of these rigs were heating the planet, as was the mining for the mineral in question. The mineral was deep, deep underground... and the temperatures required massive nuclear power to heat the drilling equipment to continue mining. While not harmful, the radiation being used was heating the atmosphere.

They were off-the-books employees, paid enormous amounts with airtight contracts. They weren't leaving, even after The Doctor confronted them and tried to give them a warning. They were armed as well. On occasion, during negotiations, they even threatened the natives. Some kind of skirmish was going to break out. The Doctor had to do his best to stop it. The most he could do at the moment was sabotage the machine. Severing a specific component in the nuclear engine that would take months to repair. Temporarily, the drilling had been put on halt and the lack of radiation allowed temperatures to return to normal. That wasn't going to be enough. He knew that. So he needed to act quickly. However, having a time machine made a time crunch easier to combat. 

Having hacked local files while he was sabotaging the rig, The Doctor had downloaded encrypted files which he used The TARDIS to easily decrypt. The downloaded files allowed him to study Khonshu's corporate ladder. He'd studied the contracts, as well. The current CEO, whoever she may be, had sent this crew out despite still not having received permission from the galactic federation to mine on Yola-5. This operation was illegal, and while he technically had proof... The Doctor would make things much more messier if he handed them in. He also couldn't be caught in a legal battle— that would be exhausting, tedious, and frankly— not him. Making someone aware of it all, however—

That could bring real change, quickly... and permanently. If he played his cards right. 

So he tracked down the son. Not hard to find. It wasn't like the son was exactly living a life of secrecy. All he had to do was find out which planet he was currently delivering to and intercept him while he was staying for a few extra days. Ramses was his name, from what The Doctor could pick up from the decrypted data files. A dealmaker, from what he understood. After a successful deal, Ramses would find The Doctor awaiting him back in his current room.

"Lofty place you've got here," he spoke, feet posted up on the desk in the hotel room. The Doctor was rereading the case file he'd downloaded on Yola-5's rig. "Don't ask how I got in here, either— I'm The Doctor, and I'm rather good at getting into places unseen." He said, before tossing the digital case file onto Ramses' bed. "Tell me, has your mother expressed any interest in Yola-5?" The Doctor had been right when he figured this was a hush-hush operation, as Ramses' mother seemed to only talk about it as a potential contract... but after that:

i don't know anything beyond that. @ardenssolis

"Why don't you read that file there, then?" The Doctor recommended it. Posted up in his black trousers with his laced-up boots, he wore a black hoodie over a red shirt and a dark red coat over all of the rest. His hair was a raven black and his eyes were a striking crimson, his skin was pale and his fingers were connected over his stomach. 

"I think you'll find it all rather interesting."

[007reid]

u have absolutely no idea what 'coffee caramels' did to me omg 😭 u write spencer and his mannerisms so WELL hsbsghdbdh so i come to u with a lil request if that's okay with u !!

spencer insists on playing pretend-doctor for reader who's sick (but denying it) so he invokes his technically-a-doctor card and gives his second opinion just to take care of reader n smother them w looooove

essentially just him teasing y/n and being the stupid Cute attentive nerd he is <3

(inspired by S5E3 where he gets stuck at the bau w garcia bc he was being stubborn abt his injury)

i am never ever Normal abt this guy 😞 i look forward to reading more of ur work and losing my mind over reid with u, aine !! mwa

hiii tysm for requesting, youre so fucking sweet!! <33 drop an emoji to let me know who you are and let’s loose our mind over our fav boy together anon!!!! also sorry this took so long, i wrote like 3k but then hated it so i started over, i love this prompt sm so i feel like i had to do it justice.

pspspsp i love s5 spence so fucking much... his hair went from beautiful to ethereal to mad sexy...s5 treated us well. requests are ALWAYS appreciated !!!!!!

soup. spencer reid

spencer reid x fem!reader, 3k

you've been off it for so long, dodging virus after virus and disease after disease and just right when you thought that you are immune to sickness, you caught it. the inevitable fever.

there was no denying it, you've tried. after getting a headache, you popped a tylenol before you went to sleep, nonchalant. the next morning was when reality really came crashing down. a sore throat.

it progressively got worse throughout the day, and when you came crashing into bed after a long day at work, your nose was feeling stuffy and your were coughing, spewing sickness everywhere you went. you woke up in the middle of night sweating like you had just ran a fucking marathon and only able to breathe through one nostril unless you shift your body entirely.

you did not take to these news well. firmly in denial, you still planned to show up to work the next day.

except you didn't show up to work. sickly and delirious, the part when you press snooze then snooze again slip your mind and at one point you must've turn off your alarm entirely. drifting in and out of consciousness and slipping into dream after dream, it gets harder to tell what is real and what is not.

"y/n? y/n!"

now, it is very probable that the voice isn’t actually real, because why the hell would you be hearing spencer reid’s voice outside of work? the chances are slim to none, and despite the heat pounding at your skull you manage to smile. there is something unexplainably comforting about spencer’s voice, soft and deliberate. it would be foolish to say that under the mad spell he’d cast on you (him simply saying two words) he’s managed to melt away your headache, because he didn’t. you still feel like shit.

“y/n?”

you frown, the voice sounding too insistent and real and not matching up with the visuals of your dream. you feel a tapping on your shoulder and when you blink your eyes open you could’ve screamed.

you jump up and then backwards, huddling your blanket with you, scared for your life. because right in front of you is perhaps the most intimidating creature on the earth; spencer reid in a purple sweater vest with his face so close to yours he could breathe in your sickness, hair tucked carefully behind his ear.

“spencer?” you ask incredulously, but instead your voice comes out a rasp. you clear your throat, feeling something warm creep up your cheek. it might be a blush, but you blame it on the chills. you keep blinking, trying to regain your vision and feel instantaneous embarrassment. you look a mess, sick and dehydrated with dry lips and bad hair and you probably reek of morning breath. and spencer’s there, looking like heaven’s finest angel, smiling at you like he’s smiling at a person and not a monster. spencer has the tendency to treat and look at everyone like they’re the love of his life. you sort of hate it.

“hi y/n,” he breathes, crouching down on the floor before you on the bed. “i—“

“what are you doing here?” you’re too impatient to wait, still in shock.

now. you try not to make it obvious that you have a mad crush on spencer, because if the fact were to spill, you’re not eager cleaning up the consequences. it’s an unestablished, unspoken rule that should be common sense that no workplace dating will be allowed and usually it’s a ridiculous rule, because who the hell would want to date their coworker, like actually? work crushes are normal but they exist only in a part of your day, an eye-candy for you to stare at to get through the day, then you go home or go out and forget about them. who actually has serious work crushes, actually? actually? it’s ridiculous.

your defense is completely solid, you’d say. your number one defense is you can’t help the fact that you and spencer were meant to be friends. the moment you joined the team, you and spencer clicked together like two lego pieces, despite your clashing personalities. you find it refreshing to have someone like spencer, someone who’s soft and sweet but cunning and resourceful but thoughtful and kind, and it was equally refreshing for spencer to have someone blunt and straightforward but still patient enough to put up with him.

spencer doesn’t like physical touch but ever since your first week he made you the exception and if you could, you would parade the privilege around like a badge. what can you say, you’re proud to be spencer’s little exception, anyone would be. he makes you feel special, differently than the others do and what’s a girl to do? to have that great of a relationship with a coworker and not be work spouses and not be actually head over heels with the guy? how laughable.

it’s not something you’re proud of, however. you know it’s a lost cause, chasing after spencer. it hurts, sometimes, but you always patted yourself on the back with an ‘it is what it is.’ spencer, as sweet and vulnerable as he is, has layers behind his thinly veiled heart. he talks a lot but he never talks about himself and he never talks about the past so he doesn’t have to revive it, so all the memories are just wounds left out and neglected to burn. spencer’s trouble, definitely trouble, but it’s hard to be aware of the workload that spencer reid is when he’s rambling to you about something as innocent as halloween or knocking his knuckles on your knee during a flight trying to get your attention.

spencer blinks sheepishly, settling criss cross apple sauce on the ground, lanky legs twisting uncomfortably. “you didn’t come into work and you didn’t answer your phone,” he explains. “emily told me to go check on you.”

you nod. he’s here because emily told him to. it makes a lot more sense now. “i’ll head in the office now,” you say, making your way out of bed, wiping at your eyes. “sorry—“

“no you’re not,” spencer says immediately, not even hesitating. he places a hand on your upper chest, pressing you back down on the bed. the butterflies at the pit of your stomach throws a fit. you know he means nothing by the action—has spencer reid ever been the one knowledgeable about romance?—but knowing that doesn’t help the heat that spread up your cheeks that’s definitely not from the sickness. “you’re burning up,” he says. “i’ll get you some water. you should clean up,” he says, uncrossing his legs difficultly and then stumbling out the room, mismatched socks slipping on the hardwood floor.

you take advantage of the time that spencer’s not there and race to the bathroom, ignoring the blackout and the dizziness that threatens to make you faint from getting up too abruptly. you squirt some toothpaste onto your toothbrush and by the time you exit the bathroom, spencer is already there, waiting, except he’s by your desk, hands on a book.

typical.

he perks up when he hears your footsteps pad into the room, turning around, looking like a child who’s been caught with your book in his hands. you smile at him, albeit it’s a pathetic smile. you feel dizzy.

“you like toni morrison?”

“i love toni morrison,” spencer chirps, excitement bouncing all over his face. “especially her masterwork, beloved,” he looks back down at your red copy admiringly then sets it down. "get back in bed," he says, and you can't wrap your hand around how ridiculous the situation is. your coworker, or work crush, is at your house, checking your temperature and shooing you to bed to rest. "i bought you soup so you can eat up, i--"

“you bought me soup?” you ask, incredulous. spencer nods seriously.

“it's proven that eating soup makes people feel better, not just some stereotype. the right amount of sodium can help help relieve sore throat pains and the vitamins and minerals found in soup can play a very large part in recovery...i had a feeling you were going to be sick, it’s the weather, you know? everyone is catching the cold. you need to eat it before it gets cold, the heat helps with nasal digestion and also sinus pressure and it'll be useless if you ate it lukewarm...i’ll be right back…” and with the babbling his voice fades out as he walks back out to the living room, leaving you alone standing on the side of your bed. you look at the forgotten copy of beloved set carefully back onto your desk, smiling to yourself slightly before climbing back into bed, because spencer says so and spencer’s always right but mostly because your legs feel like they’re going to give out.

spencer is speedy, striding several steps at once with his ridiculously long legs that looks unnaturally lanky but once he reaches your room again, soup and spoon in hand you were already nodding off, head lolling and eyes slipping shut. spencer stops at your bed stand, thinking to himself for a second before balancing the plastic bowl of soup on one hand and using the other to gently nudge at your face, waking you up. he grimaces when he feels that your skin burns to the touch, a bright tint to your cheeks that he hates himself for liking because you're sick, he shouldn't be thinking that you're pretty or stuff like that.

spencer waves the thought away, determined to focus on his mission. deliver soup, make sure you're okay, and send his farewells. that's what emily told him to do, and even though derek added a "kiss her goodnight too, loverboy!" he's only going to listen to emily, because emily knows best.

yes. perfect. that's exactly what he's going to do.

"hey," he whispers, caressing his thumb across the lightly purple patch under your eye, frowning to himself. you haven't been getting good enough sleep, and he feels guiltier for waking you up, but then straightens himself up resolutely--no. emily said the soup must be delivered and consumed--just to melt again when your eyes flutter open, confused and traces of sleep still floating around your facial expression. "sorry," he mumbles, feeling oddly embarrassed. "it's just--i mean, you don't have to, jus' want you to eat something before you sleep again."

you sit up slowly, and once you're fully awake again, the smell of the soup hits you like a bucket of ice and you suddenly feel your mouth watering. you feel like a princess, sitting there with your hands crossed in your lap while you wait for spencer to unwrap the plastic utensils and tissues from its clear packaging, carefully opening up the lid of the soup on the night stand and hot steam floats around the room, engulfing both you and spencer in a bubble of tomato soup.

spencer, a planner that he is, didn't let you eat directly from the plastic take-out bowl from the restaurant and had rummaged through your kitchen for a bowl and pours half the soup into the ceramic, no spillage and perfectly clean. then he hands the soup to you, and you eat.

to say that spencer is concerned is to say the least. you're a profiler, and you're trained to pick up on this sort of thing but you only need to be a child with an undeveloped brain to work out that spencer's worried, watching your every move and monitoring that you eat enough, the crease in his brows deepen whenever you set the bowl down so you pick it up again and stuff two more spoonfuls in your mouth, to hopefully make him worry less.

the silence is awkward, the only sounds in the room is you biting down on the spoon occasionally as you drink your soup and spencer watching intently, hands on his chin and unaware of his staring problem. you and spencer rarely has these kind of silences, the silences where you scramble for things to say because the atmosphere would always be too comfortable. you sneak glances at him as you eat. since spencer's completely oblivious to the heaviness of the silence, you feel it's up to you to break it.

"i'll clock in once i'm finish eating this, don't worry," you say, trying your best to sound reassuring as you try to choke back a spoonful of soup too big. you lick your lips, and spencer is biting his, a bad habit.

"no you're not, y/n," he says, exasperated. normally, when spencer uses his 'i'm right so you should listen to me' tone like this, it means he's geared for an argument and you would be happy to challenge him, but now you can't find the energy for it. yet you muster enough up anyway.

"i'm only a bit shaken up 'cause of the weather," you say, trying to sound as convincing as possible, still in the calm before the storm of the bicker. "'m not immobile. and i already used up all my off days visiting my family--"

spencer, however, didn't bother for the peaceful offering. "you're not coming in today, y/n," he says, and he sounds a bit anxious but you know his true intent. his eyes are mirthful with confidence, and he knows he's already won the argument. despite the buzzing in your ears and the fuzziness in your brain, you can't let the bastard win. you can't.

“i can’t miss anymore days spencer, and i won’t,” you say coldly, but you slurping on the soup hungrily like it’s your last day on earth sort of ruined your cool facade. “i’m not too sick, either, it’ll be useless for me to stay home—“

spencer reaches to press his palm against your forehead, his skin cold to the touch. you close your eyes instinctively.

“you’re burning up,” he announces. “means your sick. you’re not coming in today, y/n.”

“says who?” you say defensively, feeling a bit like you’re loosing.

“says me,” spencer says cooly, cheeky smile at his lips. you should hate it more than you do. “who’s a doctor.”

you scoff. “so now you’re an actual doctor? you got a medical phd on you?”

“i have a bachelor in medicine and enough doctorates to make me slightly knowledgeable in every field,” spencer quips and you didn’t even know that he had a bachelor in medicine. how many fucking degrees does this guy even have on his resume?

“whatever,” you grumble, sounding a lot like someone who’s just got defeated. you set the bowl of soup down on the nightstand and spencer hands you a bottled water before you could think about needing water. you pluck it from his offering hands, muttering a “thanks” under your breath.

spencer laughs quietly, watching you drink patiently and putting the cap back on when you hand him back the bottle, setting it next to your soup. you feel ridiculously babied and your cheeks burn with the guilt you feel. you’re talking him off his office hours just to be here and feed you stuff and make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

spencer, the 24/7 profiler, notices. "is something wrong?" he asks innocently, round eyes blinking and oblivious. bless him. "you got redder. is it too hot? i can adjust the a/c."

“fine,” you mumble, still a little embarrassed with your realization. “little cold, actually.”

“it's the chills from your fever,” spencer informs you. “i…” he pauses, frowning again, frustrated from not being able to finish his thought. he abandons it. “do you need anything else?”

“no spence,” you laugh sort of pathetically, throat strained. “you’ve been an angel already. you can go back to the office, if you want.”

spencer thinks back to what emily had told him. soup. make sure she’s ok. leave. he’s done the past two steps. it’s time he completes his mission.

but…

“are you sure?” he prods, a little bit of him hoping that you'd say no. he doesn't know what it is; something bothering him, making him dread leaving.

you didn't get the cue. "mhmm," you shoot him a reassuring smile. as reassuring as you can manage, anyway, grimacing at the insistent throb in your head. spencer gnaws on his bottom lip, indecisive. you don't know what he was deciding between.

whatever battle it was, he wraps it up quick. "okay," he repeats. "i'll get back."

"you do that."

"remember to drink water."

"i will."

"do you need me to bring you more?"

"i'm okay."

"okay."

"okay."

the conversation feels incomplete and spencer isn't interested to complete it, booting out the door, except he lingers for a bit and awkwardly turns around, hand on the frame. you are already looking at him when he looks at you.

you and spencer are never this awkward, never this hesitant and strange. the tension that suffocates your room feels like signature first-date-tension, the kind of nervous excitement and tip-toeing blind lovers and uncertainty.

"are you sure?"

i'd rather you stay. you push the response away. "i am."

"you have medicine right?"

you do have medicine. for a brief moment, you want to lie about it; want to say that you ran out this morning and then he would run to the store for you and return and then spend more time in your insufferable, sickly presence. you brush the thought away within a second. never in a million years do you want to bother spencer, especially not with a thing as selfish as that. maybe it's because of your biased vision but spencer is looking like he's desperate to leave, practically screaming for outlet at the door. it's time you let him go and indulge in the worst sleep you'll ever have.

"yeah," you say, clearing your throat. "i do."

"okay," spencer says. "i'll go."

"thanks," you add awkwardly. "for the soup. and for coming."

"'course" spencer says absentmindedly, lingering at the door frame but not looking at you in particular, not looking at anything. he snaps back and sends you a wave. spencer has a power to him where everything he does looks unplanned, like he's doing it against his own will.

he leaves. if you had change your mind and ask for him to come back, for him to stay, he would've. no hesitation. but you didn't, and he wiggles back in his broken in converses and return back to the bau with no elevator partner.

maybe another day.

a/n: sorry for the ending, this was getting too long so i had to cut it short 😓😓but i think it's kinda fitting! lmk if you guys want a part 2 <3

[melodygatesauthor]

Not a Doctor

Jake Lockley X f!Reader (Patient X Therapist)

*skin tone of model in banner does not represent skin tone of reader. Reader is not race-coded.

Edited by: @welcometostayingawake

AO3 LINK

Summary:

You're a therapist who works at a medium security mental facility. One of your patients, diagnosed with dissociative identity disorder, has an undocumented alter that starts showing himself to you. When you learn what it is he wants, you find it difficult to resist.

Tags/Warnings:

NSFW, power imbalance, p in v creampie, cum eating, spit kink, obsession, Jake in lust, medical inaccuracies, I probably made mistakes about DID but I tried, no powers/no MK/no marvel, rough sex, inappropriate sex, semi-public sex, patient/doctor relationship, dacryphilia, mild blood, biting/marking, reader is kinda mean to Steven (I'm really sorry), mental manipulation, praise kink, refractory period? What refractory period, Marc and Steven make minor appearances. Jake-centric fic.

Word Count: 12.6k (*cough* don't look at me, I'm but a simple hor)

The first time you met Jake Lockley, he was sitting across your desk in a wheelchair. He was mildly sedated, pupils dilated, brows furrowed in confusion. You didn’t know it was Jake yet, you assumed the original, Marc, was fronting, as he normally was. The manila file rested in front of you untouched, reading Marc Spector on the label. You didn’t even need to open it anymore, unless you were adding notes, as you’d been working with him long enough by now to know the file inside and out.

You asked Marc the same thing you asked at the beginning of every session.

“How are you doing today, Marc?”

A smirk spread over his face, something wicked, a little cocky, and it sent a chill racing down your spine. He looked at you with a face you didn’t recognize.

“I’m not Marc.” He said firmly, dark eyes burning into yours.

You were surprised; the British accent that normally accompanied Marc’s only known alter, Steven Grant, wasn’t there. You opened the file quickly, scouring through, shuffling papers around and trying to stay calm, looking for any indication of a third alter. 

But you came up with nothing during your quick glance. 

You took a deep breath to steady your racing mind.

“You’re not Steven.” You said it as more of a statement than a question.

You crossed your legs and put your hands in your lap, trying to show this new and unpredictable person that you weren’t a threat. You let your facial expression soften. In cases like Marc’s, if there was an undocumented alter, there was no telling if they were friend or foe.

“You’re not a doctor.” He muttered, shaking his head slowly. He had a slight twang to his words.

You gulped uncomfortably. He wasn’t wrong, you didn’t, in fact, have your PhD. You were a licensed therapist, but that was irrelevant information, and there was no way he could really know that. You could see that he was very quickly becoming agitated by the way his breath was coming out faster and his hands were clenching the armrests of his wheelchair. You felt your own anxiety pooling in your chest.

There was training you had undergone specifically for these types of situations. You tried to recall your safety training, remembering the importance of diffusing a situation with your words first, with calling security being a final resort, reserved only for when a patient was beyond reasoning with. The man in front of you wasn’t quite there yet from what you could tell.

The two of you were at a stand still, his chest was heaving and his eyes stayed narrowed on you. After working with Marc and Steven all this time and having no documentation of this alter, you felt at a loss for words. He could be the kindest person you’d ever met, or he could be extremely violent, there really was no telling what he was capable of.

“That’s irrelevant,” you said. “I’m here to help you, Marc and Steven, that’s all that matters.” You paused to see if he would say anything else. When he didn’t, you asked, “What’s your name?” You decided to keep things simple for now.

He leaned forward. Your hand involuntarily reached for the alert button around your neck slowly.

“Don’t you push that fucking button, puta.” He warned, you watched his hand slide forward on the wheelchair arm menacingly.

Your fingers froze over the button, holding there while you determined if this was something you could handle yourself or not. The two of you were at another impasse. If you pushed that button, he was going to lunge, and if you didn’t push it in time in the event he was violent, he could really hurt you, or worse…

“I won’t push the button as long as you and I can have a civil conversation.” You spoke calmly despite the terror building within you.

The man appeared to consider this before he leaned back in his chair. You slowly dropped your arm to show compliance. If he was going to back off, then you could safely let down your guard. A thick silence split through the room, save for the ticking clock above the door.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m just here to help. You can call me…” You told him your name. You’d found in your time as a therapist it helped your patients immensely when they felt like you were a peer, not a superior figure. “Alright, do you want to tell me why you’re here?” You asked, trying to keep your shaking voice as light as possible.

“Well…” he let out a snicker, “hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but if I’m here, that’s a bad sign.”

You were supposed to correct patients when they called you names like that, even they were expected to act more respectfully, but you didn’t want to agitate him further. If the worst thing he did right now was call you sweetheart, you’d consider that a win.

He scoffed, “tell me something…why do you smell like nuestra madre, hm?” He was clenching his jaw as he spoke.

You inhaled sharply, realizing you’d made a huge mistake. Your birthday was yesterday, and a friend bought you a new perfume. During one of the many trainings you’d done for your position, you’d been cautioned that certain scents could trigger some patients. Marc’s mother, Wendy…she must’ve worn something with similar notes. That’s why this alter was here. He was protecting the other two from the emotional pain that he thought you might cause. He’d pegged you as a threat.

You furrowed your brow and picked your pen up off the desk. You clicked it and started writing what he said on your legal pad. 

“What are you writing? Huh? You taking little notes about how crazy I am? Telling everyone how fucked up Marc is that he’s got three psychos in the same skull?” This new alter was intense, ready for a fight at every turn. You made a mental note never to wear that perfume again, and started scribbling more about the agitated man in front of you.

“I’m just taking simple notes. All the therapists do it. We have to.” You thought of something that might help him feel safer, “would you like to see them? We don’t typically show patients their notes, but if you ask for them I’m obligated to show them to you.”

It turned out that Jake Lockley did not, in fact, want to see the notes. 

The visit ended shortly after with security intervention. His smile turned manic as he got up from his chair and grabbed a pyramid shaped paperweight from your desk. He turned it around in his hand, the pointed edge facing you and you quickly pressed your emergency button with a look of terror in your eyes. Marc had never done anything like that, especially not to you. He knew you were there to help. This alter clearly didn’t trust you, and it was going to be a struggle to get him to come around.

Security sedated and removed him from your office. You couldn’t stop thinking about him after that interaction. The way his eyes looked, so dark and different, eyebrows scrunched together in nothing but disdain. He looked feral, like a wild animal. As if given the opportunity, he might devour you whole. You’d decided to avoid making any official documentation about him. Marc was so close to moving to a less restrictive program, you didn’t want to ruin that for them until you knew more.

----

The second time you met Jake Lockley was a week later. You were in the middle of a conversation with Steven. Marc would sometimes dissociate when the conversation got too difficult, and you’d just finished talking about Marc’s time in the military. You were trying to figure out more about this other alter. You had a suspicion that he had been around for a while, and that last week wasn’t the first appearance he’d ever made.

You weren’t even sure if Marc knew about him. You cared for Marc and Steven. They’d made so much progress since first coming in, and you didn’t want to see them end up back in a maximum security mental facility. According to their chart, it took months before they finally stopped going on about the Egyptian moon god and being his ‘Moon Knight’. Not that Steven believed in it anyway, that was mostly Marc’s delusion. By the time they’d become your patient, those days were long behind them.

The purpose of Marc being there with you, in that facility, wasn’t to get rid of his dissociative identity disorder. In fact, he’d made it very clear that wasn’t something he intended to do. “Steven’s a part of me, we’re a package deal,” he’d said. He needed to learn to live with it, and function in society in order to be discharged, and that was his goal here. It was just within reach, too. If there was a third alter though, that would be a major setback for them. There was just no telling what kind of man he was.

You supposed that was why you’d broken protocol and kept the new alter out of your chart notes. It was completely unethical to do that, but you wanted to know if this was something worth keeping them in there for any longer. You saw no sense in extending his stay if this alter was just reacting violently to you out of fear.

“Steven, can you tell me something?” You asked, leaning back in your chair and grabbing your coffee between your hands.

“Sure, yeah.”

He always seemed happy to talk to you. You wondered if you were the only one there that treated him like he actually existed, and not like he was some imaginary friend of a mentally ill man. People could be so cruel, even in your field.

“I’ve been looking through your chart more recently, and one very typical symptom of DID is loss of time. Marc said he experienced it quite a bit when you would front, and you mentioned it happening during the last few weeks of you having your job while Marc had control of the body. You know…before the bathroom incident in London.” You strummed your fingers against the cup nervously, unsure if this line of questioning might help or hurt them further. “Have you or Marc…lost any time recently?”

Steven furrowed his brow, his mouth went a little slack while he tried to recall. He shook his head slowly. You could see him trying to think, to a point that his face dropped and he looked almost disappointed. A smirk curled at the side of his lip. Your blood went cold; it was him. The switch happened so fast.

“Hola, puta.” He said, looking up at you through his lashes.

You reached for the button quickly, but hesitated again. It was as if his eyes darkened, and his entire body changed. He wiped some spit from his bottom lip and tousled his hair a bit, straightening his posture.

“Marc must be sick of not having hair gel.” The unknown man commented.

You nodded, “he’s mentioned it once or twice.” You took a deep breath, “do I need this thing? Or are we going to talk like civilized human beings?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms, “that’s up to you. Last time I had a conversation with someone, they weren’t making cute little notes to share with their friends later.”

“Why do the notes bother you?” You asked softly, lowering your arm to the desk.

He looked at the floor for a moment, allowing an awkward silence to hang in the air. When he looked at you again, his eyes were nearly black, pupils dilated. His lips were pressed together tightly and he leaned forward. You shifted uncomfortably, but kept your hands from pressing the panic button.

“I don’t think those notes are particularly honest. Do you?” He tilted his head to the side. “What did you write about me after our little incident last week, huh?”

You were surprised at his ability to recall the time. You began to wonder if he’d been hiding in plain sight and if anyone else had noticed the changes in Marc’s behavior. What you still weren’t sure about, was what seemed to trigger this new alter. You’d been sure not to wear that perfume again. How long has this alter been around? 

“I didn’t write about your incident. The psychiatrist was surprised to hear that Marc had an unusual outburst during our session.” You laced your fingers over your knee. “I’d like to know more about you before I condemn Marc and Steven to more time here.”

You watched his entire body relax at that sentence. His purpose, as it would seem, was to protect the system. When things got scary, physically or otherwise, he would come out. He was in no danger now though, so why he was there now was a mystery to you.

“No notes.” He said firmly, stating his conditions.

“Fine.” You said, pushing the notepad to the other end of the desk. “Let’s just chat then.”

The sound of the clock ticking was deafening. A smirk played over his face again as he grunted and stood from his wheelchair. Your fingers twitched, but you were going to do everything you could not to touch that damn button. Ever since they’d been transferred to this facility, you wanted to help Marc and Steven so badly, and you still meant to do that. He walked up to the desk and held his hand out to you.

Despite your attempt at bravery, your body was trembling as you went to shake his hand. His handshake was firm, and surprisingly his skin was soft. Neither Steven nor Marc had ever touched you before, they just sat in the wheelchair like patients were supposed to. Something told you that this one didn’t care much for the rules or protocol. He turned and went back to his seat.

That was when you learned his name was Jake Lockley.

“Now, what was it you wanted to know, sweetheart?” 

His New York accent was much clearer now. He wasn’t unhinged by nature, in fact, he was quite calmly mannered, however he seemed easy to trigger. It was also hard to tell when he was upset. He seemed to mask his feelings behind a sly grin, brushing off any and every word with a sense of grit. It was like the man you’d met the week before, the one who looked like he might stab you, wasn’t the same one you were talking to now.

Steven had taken a while to sort out, getting him to understand and step into his role in Marc’s life. Steven would come out when Marc was experiencing something triggering, or generally upsetting. If the topic turned to their mother, Marc could talk for a little while before Steven would take his place. Steven had also struggled with understanding his existence. What did it mean to be an alter for a man with DID? The existential questions were still a struggle for even you to comprehend.

“Jake, tell me about what you think is going on here?” You were trying to be friendly, but you could tell he was a no bullshit kind of guy. If you could match his energy, you might be able to get some answers out of him.

“Why don’t you tell me more about you, and then I’ll tell you more about me.” He leaned forward, resting an elbow against his knee.

You interlinked your fingers over the desk and sighed. It was against protocol to tell patients about your personal life. It could create a dangerous situation for you, and potentially trigger a patient. You wanted to get Jake to talk though, so you decided to play along.

“Fine…” you felt tense. No one had made you feel this way during your entire career as a therapist. “You start.”

He seemed amused. His face was cocky, as if he’d won a prize at the end of a game, and perhaps to him this was a game. You leaned back and tapped the arm of your chair anxiously, trying to keep yourself calm despite the weight crushing your chest.

“You married? No, I don’t see a ring.”

So he’s observant, you noted.

“Got a boyfriend then?” He asked, still looking smug.

“No.” You answered bluntly. The important thing with difficult patients like him was to hold your ground, and don’t give them any information they can use against you later.

“Okay, Jake, when Marc was in the Lennox maximum security facility he started some trouble with other patients. It’s also reported that he had no recollection of said events. I guess they should’ve spotted you then.” You looked at him, feeling a little cocky yourself after having done your research since your last session with Marc.

“That sounds more like a statement than a question.”

“Was that you?”

“Si.”

Another pause. Jake rested his chin on his fist. His eyes narrowed, but his brows seemed to soften. He was relaxing, easing into the space. This was good, maybe you could get him to talk more freely.

“Do you wear pretty red lipstick for all of your patients or just for me?”

The heat rose to your cheeks. You tried to keep your breathing steady, but it sounded ragged and shallow despite your best efforts to stay calm. He was being so bold. None of your patients had ever spoken to you like that, so flirtatiously. It still surprised you how different he was from Marc and Steven, despite sharing a body with them.

“That’s inappropriate.” You cleared your throat stiffly.

“Answer the question, bebita.” He demanded coldly. “Answer…or I guess we’re done here.”

“No, I wear this color often.” You answered in an equally cool tone.

“Looks good.” His eyelids lowered seductively. The heat in your cheeks was still burning.

“Uh…thanks.” Your nerves were breaking through the barrier you normally had in place with patients.

“Your turn.”

It was hard to think of another question. He’d rendered you speechless, which you supposed was probably his goal. He was sly, this one, crafty with how he played the game. Suddenly you felt like this was his office, and you were the one under the magnifying glass.

“When did you come about, at what point in Marc’s life?”

You really needed to take these notes, but you decided that it would get you nowhere with him.

“Some time when he was in the service. I don’t remember the exact year.” He cleared his throat now, he seemed to get uncomfortable at the mention of the traumatic event that led to his creation.

“You don’t like to think about that, do you?”

“You already asked your question.” His tone was no longer amused, and you sensed the game was over.

“I know you care about Marc, I do too. If you don’t cooperate with me then he’s never going to leave here.” You tried to play to his weakness, Marc, the only reason he existed. “I want to help him. Please.”

“I think we’re done here sweetheart, but I’ll see you again next time. Maybe wear something nice and we’ll see if I feel more talkative.”

You spent the rest of the day thinking about your appearance. When you got home you stood in front of your full length mirror, turning from side to side. You’d worn what you always wore to work: your white coat, with a solid colored shirt underneath, today you’d worn the blue one, and black slacks. Jewelry was something you were instructed to keep to a minimum given the nature of your profession.

What’s wrong with my outfit? I thought I looked nice enough, you thought.

You caught your own eye in the reflection and chuckled, suddenly feeling foolish. Why did you care what your patient thought of your outfit? Your appearance had nothing to do with your ability to do your job. In a frustrated huff you fell into your evening routine, showering, brushing your teeth, changing into sweats and a comfy shirt before crawling into bed.

For the following week you hardly slept. This alter, this…Jake Lockley…he had a hold on you that you couldn’t explain. You started mulling over Marc’s notes in between patients, questioning all the incident reports that appeared exceptionally violent. There weren’t many, otherwise he would’ve remained in maximum security, but there were a few notable incidents.

When you saw Marc again, he had a broken nose. You’d received word earlier that morning that he’d had an incident overnight.

Patient Name: Marc Spector

DOB: 03/09/1987

Date of incident: ———

Date of report: ———

Incident Details: Patient exhibited hostility toward staff. Staff observed as patient seemed to become severely agitated by the sound of gunshots in a movie playing in the common area.

Patient began yelling nonsensically. Staff observed patient grab a pen and attempt to use it as a weapon to stab another patient. Staff intervened and sedated patient. Patient has no recollection of the incident.

No patients or staff sustained physical injury. Patient will be kept under sedation until further evaluation. It’s recommended that patient be evaluated for potential transfer back to the Lennox Facility.

You looked up from the paper and gave Marc a kind smile. He looked a little afraid, confused, and most of all he looked tired. That’s what got him here in the first place. The DID was minor, he had that handled all on his own, well before he was institutionalized. The insomnia is what caused Steven’s hallucinations, and that’s what caused his mental break that put him in front of you.

“Marc, the sheet here says–”

“I know what the sheet says.” He was embarrassed, that much was evident by his lack of eye contact and the way his lips were pressed together.

“Can you tell me what happened?” You spoke hardly above a whisper.

“Oh, yeah sure, I’d love to talk about it.” He said sarcastically. “Problem is, I don’t remember anything, but you should already know that, right? You read the papers.”

“You know that I care a lot about you and Steven, right? I need you to work with me. I want you out of here too. You’re not…insane like some of the other people I’ve seen.” You were speaking low. You weren’t supposed to talk like that about your patients, no matter how true it may be.

“I know…I know.” Marc’s eyes started glistening. “I think there’s another one… a third.”

You gulped, unsure if you should tell him about this new alter he knew nothing about. Marc was smart, smarter than you sometimes gave him credit for. He knew without you saying anything that there was something you were hiding.

“Doc.” Marc always called you that, no matter how many times you told him to call you by your first name. “What’s going on, what do you know?”

“I need you to stay calm, okay?”

“Tell me.”

“I’ve…I’ve met another one, and I’m still figuring him out. I was waiting to learn more before I told you…or anyone else.” You realized you were squeezing your pen in your fist.

“What do you mean?” Marc was panicking, you could see his bottom lip quivering in his frustration. “There’s another one? How? When?”

He started to stand, his legs shook. You’d never seen Marc so upset before. He walked closer and pressed both hands on your desk, leaning forward.

“Who is he? Tell me.”

“I’m sorry, Marc, I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want…”

The shift in expression was subtle, but you could see it plain as day. The anger seemed to dissipate and was replaced with a suave smirk and furrowed brows.

“Hi sweetheart, nice outfit.” He said, tone much calmer than Marc’s was seconds ago.

“Jake.”

“Si, bebita.” His eyes crawled over you slowly, he even bit his bottom lip.

“Sit down.” You said firmly, pulling your white coat over your chest.

He shook his head, “no, I don’t think I will. Been a while since I’ve really been able to stretch my legs.”

He started to pace, stopping to look at some of the artwork and photos in your office. You remained silent, unsure of his next move, and not wanting to give him any fuel to add to the fire. He stopped in front of one photo. They were all generic, stock images that meant nothing, just random and placed there for decorative purposes. The photo he pointed to was of an old cab in a silver frame on the top shelf of your bookcase.

“You know I used to drive a cab. Years ago in New York.” He chuckled like he recalled something funny, “did you always do this…” he gestured around the room, “this therapy thing? Or did you have a different job before?”

“Jake, you know we need to talk about the incident, right? From yesterday?” You were trying to speak gently, hoping he would return the favor, but he was so unpredictable.

“I thought we had a deal, bebita. I ask, then you get to ask.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, letting a stray clump of curls fall over his forehead. He brushed his broken nose with his hand and winced.

“Fuck.” He touched the wound with his fingertip before looking at you, eyes cold.

“Jake, I know you care about them too, why are you hiding yourself from them?”

“No no no, I go first.”

He walked over to the wheelchair, released the brake, brought it closer to your desk, and then set it once again. You watched as he walked over and plopped down in front of you.

“You wore a nicer shirt than the last time I saw you. Did you dress up for me? I like that little skirt too.” 

A big smile spread over his face. Meanwhile, you were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt to pull it down as far as you could. Your cheeks burned, of course you didn’t wear that outfit for him…right? 

You recalled your morning. There were butterflies in your gut at the realization that it was Marc’s therapy day. That wasn’t the most unusual thing, you looked forward to working with some of the patients that you enjoyed talking to, and Marc was one of them.

What was different though, was the conscious effort to make sure your red lipstick was perfect, not one bit smeared or out of place. You’d worn a blouse that showed a tasteful bit of cleavage and in a color that complimented your skin tone. You even broke the rules a little and wore some earrings that dangled just a tiny bit…but of course you weren’t dressing up for the alter of a mentally ill man. That would be…crazy.

“I didn’t dress up for you.”

“Oh? So are you dressing up for Marc then? Does he know you–”

“My turn.” You saw his lip twitch. He seemed to like you snapping back at him. “Why are you hiding yourself from Marc and Steven?”

“They wouldn’t like me very much, sweetheart, I’m not a nice guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My turn.” He leaned back, spreading his legs out.

That’s when you noticed…the unmistakable shadow of arousal in his cloth pants. You gulped, eyes widening as you brought your gaze back to his quickly, trying to act like you weren’t just looking between his legs. He noticed though, without a doubt, Jake Lockley noticed you staring at his erection.

“See something you like?” His eyes were half hooded, a cocky smile spread over his soft lips.

“No.”

You crossed your arms and leaned back, angling yourself so the desk was covering his bottom half from your line of sight.

“What did you do before you were…whatever you are?” He asked.

“My turn.” You said.

It was your coy way of reminding him that he had already asked you a question in an attempt to draw the attention to what was between his legs. He was amused with this game, and if you were being honest with yourself, you were too. If this was the only way to get information out of him, then you were happy to oblige.

“You said you’re not a nice guy. What are you then?” You narrowed your eyes at him. In anticipation of his quick witted remark you added, “and don’t give me a sarcastic answer. Honest answers only.”

He waved a finger at you, “I’ll start being honest the moment you do the same, sweetheart.”

“I am being honest with you.”

“No, no you’re not.”

Jake was gone after that, leaving you with a rambling British man who, ‘didn’t know how he got there’.” Steven cried when you told him that you were going to start seeing them twice a week. It was understandable, since he and Marc had been so close to moving down to a less strict facility just a couple of weeks ago. You didn’t have the heart to bring up Jake to Steven. Your obligation wasn’t to Steven anyway, it was to Marc.

You saw him again. Marc, that is, two days later. He scowled at you for a good five minutes before he finally started speaking.

“I don’t want to hear a word out of your mouth unless it’s about what’s going on in my head, doc.” Marc was mildly sedated again. 

His nose was healing, but it still looked raw and painful. You needed to help him. You needed to keep your interest in his alter at bay in order to assist Marc through this. That was your job. It was hard to understand what it was that made you nearly forget that. You were a therapist, your job was to help Marc Spector rehabilitate into society, and you were failing him by not being honest.

“Last time I tried to talk about him with you, he made an appearance.” You clicked your pen over and over anxiously, unsure how the rest of this could possibly go.

Marc was clearly agitated, and you couldn’t say you blamed him. You often tried to put yourself in the shoes of your patients and thought about how you would feel if you’d just heard someone was taking over your body to do as they wished without your knowledge. Especially if it seemed like that person was doing nothing but harm to you.

“I think he cares about you, that much I can tell.” You tried to give him some sense of comfort with that one thing you had figured out about Jake. “Typically in cases of DID, the alters play a role in protecting the mind of the original in some way. Typically.”

“How is starting fights and nearly getting us sent back to max supposed to help? Huh?” You could see his chest heaving the more upset he got.

“You need to stay calm, you becoming agitated seems to be a trigger for him.” You warned, holding up your hand and lowering it slowly, as though that was supposed to help Marc in any way. “Remember? We talked about this. Deep breaths.”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, in through his nose, and out through his mouth. Then again.

“There you go.”

“C-can you, can you help me with this damn…” Marc reached behind his back, “my tag is just…it’s itching and…”

“Yeah, of course.” You agreed, standing up and walking over to him.

You leaned over him, reaching behind his neck and gently tucking in his tag. Marc, being one of the more hygienic patients you worked with, smelled nice, like fresh linen. You caught yourself with your face a little too close to his dark curls before you broke yourself from your trance. By the time you leaned back, you weren’t looking at Marc anymore. Jake.

For your own safety, you should’ve run back to your desk immediately, but you didn’t. He reached out quickly, grabbing the badge and security button around your neck. Jake tugged quickly. The straps had safety-release buckles on them, in case a patient tried to choke you, and the lanyard was pulled from your neck. He tossed it to the side carelessly.

“Jake, be careful, if you hurt me-”

“Bebita, I don’t want to hurt you.” Jake said, grabbing your jacket collar.

He pulled you close, leaning up to kiss your crimson painted lips. For a split second, you rested there, enjoying the feeling of his exceptionally soft lips against yours, but only for a split second. You pushed him back and gasped.

“What the hell are you doing?” You hissed through gritted teeth. “Don’t fucking touch me.”

You were flustered, scrambling to go grab the items Jake had thrown, but you made the grave mistake of turning your back to a patient. Another thing you’d seemed to forget about your safety training in your flustered state. He was behind you faster than you could think, right hand snaking down to pull up your skirt and feel around for your cunt, the other was wrapped around your throat, pulling you against him tightly. You stiffened, but you were ashamed to say that you didn’t struggle very hard.

“Got you right where I want you, sweetheart.” He said between heavy breaths.

“L-let me go.” You said, feeling terror, mixed with excitement, trickling down your spine. “If you do something stupid, you’re only going to hurt Marc and you know that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to take you until you want me…and you will want me.”

His middle finger grazed over your pussy lips through your cloth panties. You were wet, you could feel it when he pressed them against your skin further. You gulped against his thick fingers, still wrapped around your throat, before wriggling against his chest, a feeble attempt to get away.

“You sure you don’t want me already?” He kissed your neck softly, and a single damned moan escaped from you before you could stop it. He chuckled, “course you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

Jake dropped his hand out from under your skirt. A sigh of relief left you, but he kept his other hand firmly against your throat. He reached into his pocket and held out on his fingertips a single paper flower. You furrowed your brow in confusion. Finally he released you, to which you reached your own hand up to rub where he’d held pressure over your neck. You turned to him, but you never took your eyes off the little flower. 

“What is this?” You asked.

“Can’t exactly run out to the store and buy you flowers now, can I?”

Now you looked at him, face full of surprise and uncertainty. Was he…was he seriously trying to court you? Your breath caught in your throat. He had looked at you with clear attraction on several occasions. Him acting this way shouldn’t be overly surprising, and yet you were left speechless.

“You…I don’t understand.” You were scrambling to find the words to say.

“I think you do, you’re a smart girl.” He flicked the flower. You watched as it landed perfectly on the corner of your desk. “When you’ve changed your mind…you just say the word. I know how to keep a secret, bet you can too.”

He was close to you again. This time you didn’t even try to stop him when he pinched your chin between his thumb and forefinger. Were you leaning in or was he? You were close, ready to taste him again.

“Erm, what the…”

Steven. Oh shit, STEVEN.

“Steven!” You jumped back in a panic, feeling your cheeks light on fire.

“Sorry! I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to put my hands on you. I’m still gettin’ used to this whole thing of me not being…well…me all the time. I still lose time and I don’t know what’s happenin’. Oh god, was it Marc? Did Marc touch you?” Steven was panicking, his eyes were blown wide and his hands were balled into nervous fists at his sides.

“No, Steven, it’s alright, I’m fine. I just…I dropped something and…um…today’s session is over you can go.” You started walking over to grab the lanyard Jake had thrown earlier from your neck.

“Are you sure? It’s only half past I don’t want to-”

“Go!” You yelled, leaning over to grab the lanyard from the floor.

----

By the time you saw Marc again, you felt like you were the one that needed to be mildly sedated and institutionalized. You couldn’t get Jake out of your head. Was it the kiss? You could still feel his phantom lips on yours. Was it the way he brushed his fingers against your soaking panties? The moment Steven left after your meeting with them last week, you plunged your fingers two knuckles deep into your drenched cunt until you achieved release.

You still didn’t even know who the fuck he was.

Your license was on the line. The responsible thing to do would be to insist that Marc start seeing a new therapist for his condition. You clearly were unfit to help him at that point, far too affected by his alter’s presence. The thought upset you though, that you might never see this mystery man again. You had to at least try to get through one more session, to prove to yourself that you could handle it…to prove that you were a good therapist.

Marc was wheeled in and put in front of you by security. He looked upset, like he had last week when you finally told him the truth about the gaps in his and Steven’s memories. You supposed you owed him some sort of explanation now. You only hoped you could get through it this time without interruption. If you could get through this one last appointment with Marc, you’d follow through with getting him to another therapist.

“I expect that you and Steven understand why I had to keep him from you…right?” You asked softly.

Looking at him was difficult. When you looked into his eyes, you had a hard time not thinking about Jake, and the way he made you feel. It didn’t make sense how he captivated you that way. He was interesting, mysterious, and dangerous. Was that it? Was he a reprieve from your otherwise boring and mundane life? Was it the way he clearly wanted you? He was so cocky, so confident. He quite literally took your breath away.

“Yeah, I know.” Marc said finally. You watched his shoulders slump. “I don’t know what to do.”

He was crying. Marc didn’t cry often, and usually when he did, Steven would take over immediately, but the alter didn’t seem like he was working his way out. You wondered if Steven was still upset at you for yelling at him the other day.

“I can help you, but…we need to keep this a secret.” You were speaking in a hushed tone. “If your psychiatrist finds out about him…you’ll never get out of…”

You trailed off, unable to finish your sentence. A dark thought crossed your mind.

“Doc?”

You froze in thought. A smirk crept over your lips. If Marc’s psychiatrist thought he had another alter…then they’d be there…well…forever. There was no reason you couldn’t get yourself transferred to maximum and do your work there if worst came to worst, but you suspected Jake was crafty enough to keep them right here. He could keep them insane enough to still need your care, but too sane for a place like Lennox.

If you managed to keep them there, you and Jake could see each other whenever you decided Marc needed an extra session. It would be so easy for you to make sure Jake could take you whenever he wanted, fucking you until you screamed his name while he filled you over and over. It was too much, the need overcoming you with every second that ticked by.

“I’m ready.” You looked deep into Marc’s eyes. “Jake.”

Marc’s brow furrowed, he shook his head in confusion, “what the hell is wrong with you? Is that his name? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You caught your reflection in the desk, you looked fucking crazed. Your eyes were widened, hungry, and full of need. Who was this woman staring back at you? You hardly recognized her. You touched your cheek, feeling the heat at your fingertips. When you shifted in your seat you could feel the slick permeating your panties.

Clammy sweat stuck to your fingers, and your mouth felt dry. You were breathing heavily. Was it hot in there? Taking off your jacket didn’t help. Marc was talking to you, checking in on you so kindly, but you didn’t care. You felt feral, like you were reverting back several steps in evolution and you only wanted one thing, to fu–

“Doc?!” He yelled, breaking you free from your plaguing thoughts.

Your insanity riddled eyes shot up to look at him. He looked afraid. Not afraid of you, but for you. You gulped and took in a deep breath before finding the words to say.

“I-I’m sorry Marc, I haven’t been feeling like myself.” You took another deep breath, trying to shake the crazed thoughts out of your mind. “I think I’m going to be sick, we have to reschedule.”

----

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for a new therapist. You know you have that right.” You sighed, “I’m also surprised you didn’t report me for keeping things from you.”

It had been two weeks since you saw Marc last. After your episode, you canceled all appointments for the next couple of weeks so you could reset. It had taken the first couple days of your break for you to recenter yourself and feel more like…you. After that you’d started to feel better, but you needed to keep yourself separated from them for just a little while longer.

“You stuck your neck out for Steven and myself more times than I can count. Figured I could do the same for you.” He gave you a comforting smirk. “I know you want to help…but I can tell that this…Jake guy…he’s got you riled up.”

You breathed deeply, “yeah, he really…really got into my head. He seems to be triggered by things like certain smells, colors, and sounds. He says his first memories come from your time in the marines.”

Marc clenched his jaw and looked down. You wondered how hard that must’ve been for him, being discharged from the marines and never really knowing why until now, many years later. He looked back up at you. He really was handsome, despite your best efforts not to look at them that way, but he would never compare to Jake, even if they shared the same face.

“Tell me more about him.” Marc demanded.

“He’s…” you thought for a moment, “he’s harsh, rough around the edges, you know? Doesn’t like your hair gel.” You had to stop yourself from smiling like a fool at the thought. “He knows how to make origami flowers.”

You gestured to the flower that still sat on your desk, right where you’d left it before your break. Marc leaned forward on his elbows.

“What else? Steven said he was very…very close to you when he started fronting a couple of weeks ago.” Marc was pressing.

“He…he kissed me.” You hadn’t wanted to admit that to anyone, especially not Marc. “I think he was going to kiss me again but then Steven came in.”

He stood and walked over to your desk. He was looking at you with such intensity. His brows were turned up and drawn in together. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“What else did he do?” Marc’s voice was low, and that was when you realized that something was off.

You were being played with.

Your lips parted, and you stood up suddenly. It was like the entire mental health break you took meant nothing the moment you saw that face. You had a one track mind around him. You could only think about one thing. You took your lanyard off slowly and placed it on the desk softly. Your heels clacked as you stepped around the corner and stopped at the edge, keeping a respectable distance between you and your patient. Every nerve ending in your body was coming alive.

“He touched me.” You said just over a whisper.

Jake stepped closer to you, just one step.

“Where?” You both stepped closer to each other. “Show me.”

You paused, feeling that weight on your chest once again. You were shaking with anticipation. He was terrible, taunting you like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself from feeding into it. Despite taking the time off to reset, and move on from this mental dilemma, the second you realized you were talking to him, and not Marc, you were excited beyond words. He had such a strong hold on you, and you were quickly realizing that there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You reached out and grabbed Jake’s wrist. His skin was so soft. You lifted your skirt up over your hips, never letting your eyes leave his, and then you pulled his hand to your already soaked panties. Jake’s face finally broke, a smirk lifted the corner of his lips. He lowered his lids to gaze at you.

“Why didn’t you come to me when I told you I was ready?” You looked between his eyes rapidly. “I thought, maybe I’d made you up or…that you’d forgotten about me.”

Jake grabbed the back of your neck quickly and pulled you in tight. His fingers slid under the waistband of your panties and slipped over your clit. When you gasped at the sensation, Jake closed his mouth on yours. There wasn’t a single thought other than Jake occupying every bit of your mind while he melted himself into you and started swirling his finger around your swollen nub.

“I couldn’t forget you, sweetheart, not when watching you get all flustered over me has been so entertaining.”

“I’m not…not flustered.” You sounded like you had no air left in your lungs. Your hips slid forward over his fingers involuntarily.

“You’re not?” He leaned closer, lips brushing yours just barely.

Something inside you broke through the fog of your arousal, reminding you how wrong this was. As if you’d been awoken from a deep trance, your eyes shot open, glaring at his.

“No…no!” You pulled back, the waistband of your underwear snapped against your skin as you stepped away from him. “I could lose my license…I could go to prison.”

Jake kept his eyes on you while he stuck the two fingers he’d slipped into your panties into his mouth, sucking on them.

“Tan buena, bebita.”

You ran your hands down your face while looking him over. There was a prominent peak formed in his pants, testing the strength of the seam. You felt your core flutter at the sight. You’d never struggled with shortness of breath, but he had you pressing a hand to your chest, desperate for more oxygen.

“Thought you said you were ready.” Jake still held a sly smirk on his face. “That’s alright, I can be patient, you’ll change your mind eventually.”

“No, I won’t, no. Stop doing this to me.” You walked back around and sat at your desk, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Do you get that wet for all your patients?”

You picked a spot on the white-washed wall and stared at it. Your jaw was clenched, and you started tapping your finger against your arm nervously. You couldn’t ignore him, he wasn’t just going to leave, and you still needed to find a way to help Marc and Steven.

“Do you at least want to know what I think about when I’m fronting at night when Steven and Marc think we’re asleep?” You saw him shift in his seat out of your peripheral, but you kept your eyes on the wall.

“No.”

He chuckled. Jake certainly loved to toy with you. He also didn’t seem interested in the fact that you declined to hear his thoughts.

“I think about how good those delicious red lips will look when I stretch them out. I don’t even know if you could fit all of this in your mouth, what do you think?” He adjusted the waist of his pants, pulling them down under his balls.

Your eyes shifted, for only a second, and you found yourself staring wide. He had his cock caged in his fingers. It was big, bigger than any you’d seen before. You gulped. This was the point that you were instructed by your training to call for security to get him out of there, but instead you just kept your arms crossed firmly and watched.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” He repeated a question he’d asked you once before.

“Stop this.” You said with little conviction.

“You’ll have to call security if you want me to do that.” He dragged his fist upward over his length, “so if you want Marc to get in even more hot water, go for it.”

He exhaled slowly, looking down while he worked on himself and biting his bottom lip with another firm stroke. He looked up at you, smiling when his eyes locked on to yours. You averted your gaze to your spot on the wall once again. 

“Thought a lot about how wet you get, bebita.” He groaned while he stroked. “How wet you are right now.”

You clenched your thighs together tightly to ease the ache between your legs. All you could feel was the wet slick of your panties sliding around. You wanted him, you wanted him so bad, but you couldn’t bring yourself to openly admit it, or to act on it. Your career, and perhaps your life, would be over. 

“Could be our little secret.”

You looked at him again. He moaned, letting his jaw go slack. His head fell back and his eyes fluttered closed. You watched, shamefully, entranced by the way his hand would glide lazily over his thick cock. His free hand grabbed the arm of the wheelchair tightly, knuckles turning white. You were shocked to feel a trickle of drool crawling down your chin. You quickly wiped it away.

What’s happening to me, you thought, you’re his therapist, this is unethical, you should call security right-

“You know sweetheart…” Jake dropped his gaze back on you, and you stared back, “my favorite thing to think about is how good that tight little pussy will look around me, swallowing me whole.”

The lightest exhale left your mouth, and of course he heard it.

“I’m only tolerating this for Marc’s sake.” You reminded him.

“Is that what you’re going to say when I’ve got you bent over that desk?”

He stood and walked over to the desk, dropping his cock with a thud on the smooth white surface. You looked away quickly, but through your peripheral you could see him place his palm firmly over his length and start rutting against the desk.

“Just think about…fuck….how hard I’m gonna fuck you.” The desk scraped over the floor with the thrust of his hips. You braced your hands against it and looked up at him again. “Still not too late, I can take you right now. Just come around here and bend over for me. Lift up that pretty little skirt. It’ll be quick.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head slowly. This was against everything you thought you knew. No patient ever had this effect on you. Why him? Sure, Marc was attractive, but you’d never felt like this. You were staring again, looking up at the harsh faced man and then tracing your eyes down to his cock while he fucked his palm against the desk.

“There you go, bebita, you thinking about how good it’s gonna feel too?”

You were thinking about how good it would feel, to have him bending you over the desk. You hoped he could fuck you so hard your hips bruised. He was so big, he was sure to stretch you beyond your limit. He’d fill you so full his cum would be dripping out of you for days. The thought alone was enough to make the arousal pool in your core.

You looked away from him again, focusing on the wall, but that didn’t stop the breathy and hardly audible moan that left you. This was out of control, you were out of control. He groaned again, forcing your gaze to return to him. He started moving faster. You noticed precum leaking from the head, glistening over the desk.

“M’bout to come, you sure you don’t want this load? Worked it up just-for-you.” He grunted with each thrust. “Fuck.”

He stopped moving, but his cock throbbed, gushing ropes of cum all over the surface of your desk. A small glob dropped right in front of you. Your jaw dropped, and you rolled back in your chair, staring down at the mess he’d made. He tucked his cock back into his pants once he was sufficiently spent. When you looked up at him you noticed the proud expression on his face.

“Better clean that up before anyone sees it and thinks Marc’s gone insane, jerking off in front of his therapist.” You scowled at him before grabbing some tissues out of the box on your desk and starting to clean up the mess with a clear air of aggravation around you.

“You’re disgusting.” You muttered.

Your body was betraying you though. No matter how disgusting you insisted he was, you wanted him more than you ever recalled wanting anything before. It made no sense. You cleaned up the mess, trying to keep your fingers from touching the sticky cum spread all over. You felt the heat in your cheeks burning you alive, knowing he was watching you. When you finally cleaned up the last bit, under his watchful gaze, you looked back up at him, tossing the last tissue in the waste bin.

He leaned forward slowly, bringing his face close to yours. You thought he might try and kiss you, his lips were right there. You even saw his eyes dip to look at your mouth before going back up to look at you. You leaned in a little too.

“That’s a good girl.”

----

You were a mess.

He’d left your mind in complete disarray and he hadn’t even really touched you. After telling you that you were a good girl, he vanished, leaving Steven standing there in a state of confusion. You craved those words again…

Good girl.

I’m a good girl, you told yourself in the mirror before you left on the day you’d be seeing Marc again. You were wearing everything Jake ever said he liked on you. The striking red lipstick, the shirt that had a little cleavage, and a short skirt. The panties were unnecessary, and would only serve to get in the way. You were ready for him…truly ready this time.

You tried to give all of your patients the attention they deserved leading up to your appointment with Marc, but you didn’t care to hear anything they had to say. When you finally saw Marc again, you weren’t sure how you would react. Normally only Jake made you feel like you wanted to crawl out of your clothes and spread yourself on the desk like a buffet for his pleasure, but the line between him, Marc and Steven was getting blurrier by the minute. Even when it was sweet and innocent Steven fronting, you were struggling to keep yourself from soaking through your skirt.

“Are you alright? You seem a bit…out of sorts.” Steven mentioned, looking at you with a concerned and furrowed brow.

“M-me?” You gave him a reassuring grin, “yes Steven, I’m fine. This isn’t about me, it’s about you. You were saying you and Marc have been feeling down lately?”

Steven shrugged, “yeah, been trying to figure out what’s going on. Marc says there’s another one…he’s like me but scarier. He’s mean.”

You nodded gently, “he’s terrible, yeah…” You had to catch yourself before you bit your lip. “You know he came up during Marc’s time in the marines?”

You stood up and started pacing, noticing the slick way your thighs slid against each other with each step. Nothing could be heard except for the clicking of your heels across the floor as you got closer to Steven. Normally a filter would stop you from antagonizing Steven and trying to mentally cripple him so the protective alter would come out, but your care for their safety had left with Jake the last time you saw him.

“I think I remember Marc mentioning that, yeah.” Steven looked nervous as you got closer to him. “S’not like you to get up and start roaming about, you feelin’ alright today?”

“I feel fine.”

You walked to Steven’s right, touching his shoulder and looking down at him. His eyes peered into yours. He still looked too soft and sweet to be the man you craved. You needed to push a little harder. You needed to scare Jake out, because it was clear that he wasn’t coming out on his own.

“It was probably scary, wasn’t it? Finding out that you were responsible for killing so many people?” Your voice was low while you spoke. “I’m sure you don’t remember a lot of it, but just think about it.”

“What are you–”

“Come on Steven, that’s gotta be scary, right? Thinking about how scared those people must’ve been?”

“That wasn’t me though, that was Marc, I didn’t do that I didn–”

“But you did.” You were smiling like you were enjoying this. You weren’t, but you were excited for Jake, you needed him. “What about your mother? Hm? Remember how sad you were when you realized you were talking to no one for months?”

“Why are you saying these things? What’s gotten into you?” There were the tears you wanted, starting to glisten in Steven’s eyes.

You grabbed the collar of his shirt, peering deep into his eyes. If Jake was there, he’d see you. Surely, he’d come out. You wondered why he was still hiding from you.

“Jake, I’m ready, please, I mean it this time.” You felt your own eyes starting to water with desperation. “Don’t make me fucking beg.”

Steven looked at you, confusion splayed over his face, “have you gone completely mad?”

“Shut up, Steven.” You shook him, “bring out Jake, now!”

Steven grabbed your arms, “what are you doing?”

You shocked yourself when you pulled your hand back and struck him across the cheek. There was silence after that, Steven just stared at you incredulously. Something so out of character for you should’ve snapped you from your Jake induced trance but it didn’t. You were in too deep. Mentally torturing and striking a patient was grounds for, at a minimum, being fired.

When his eyes darkened and his lips curled up into a confident smirk, you knew you’d succeeded. There was no time to waste, you couldn’t risk him leaving you again. You grabbed his face on either side and desperately pressed your lips to his. Jake moaned into you, standing up and wrapping his arms around your waist. He pulled you in close and entangled his tongue with yours. He tasted so delicious you could hardly stand it.

“You sure you’re ready, bebita?” He said while you both separated for a second to catch your breath.

“Yeah, yes please, can’t get you out of my head.” You tasted something salty when you went back in for more kisses. You were crying, tears of a needy desperation you thought you were above…until you’d met Jake.

“Good, gonna give you exactly what you need sweetheart, bend over for me.”

You looked at him. He was so fucking handsome, looking back at you with those inexplicably dilated eyes that were akin to the hungry eyes of a predator looking at his prey.

“Anything for you, Jake, I’ll do anything. I need you so bad.” An audibly shameful sob left your throat.

“I know, cause you’re a good girl, si?” He had that cocky smirk splayed over his face.

Your mind stopped working when he said that. A slow nod of affirmation was all you could afford him in response. Jake spun you around and placed a firm hand over your back to slam you onto the desk. He teased you first, trekking a single finger up your skirt and gently tugging it up over your bare ass. You heard a dark snicker leave his lips.

“You are ready, aren’t you sweetheart? Look at that.” His finger touched between your pussy lips, rubbing over your folds and brushing against your clit.

“Oh fuck, been ready for a long time, please don’t tease me, fuck me please.” You begged. Any bit of dignity you had left went out the window when Jake had taken Steven’s place.

“Not yet…” He groaned as he continued to play with you.

Everything seemed to be a game to Jake, even this incessant teasing that drove you closer and closer to insanity. You shifted your hips, desperate for him to touch that burning bundle of nerves that he somehow managed to keep ignoring. It was right there. Maybe he didn’t know where it was.

“Right there!” You shouted when he brushed over it again.

“I know exactly where it is, sweetheart, but I need you to be a good girl for me and let me have my fun, okay? Been waiting a long time. Can you be good for me?” He asked in that suave tone that you couldn’t resist.

“Yes, yes I can be good for you.” You grabbed the other side of the desk and held on tight. When you squeezed your eyes shut you felt even more tears falling down your cheeks. You were such a pathetic mess for him.

“You’re so wet, been thinking about me all day?”

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I met you.” You admitted, pressing your lips together tightly to ease the ache in your cunt. Your body was so hot, all you needed was a release that only he could give you.

“Been a while since I’ve felt a nice warm cunt, but I’ve never seen someone so needy like you before.” His voice was gravelly.

You heard him fumbling with the waist of his pants followed by the prodding of his warm cock against your slick thighs. His finger was still toying with your crevices, teasing you to tears. You didn’t dare beg again, you didn’t want to make the torture last longer just for the sake of his own amusement. Jake slipped his finger inside of you. An aroused exhale left his lips at the feeling of your soft walls fluttering around his digit.

“You’re tight, sweetheart, not sure you can handle what I’ve got for you.” He churned his hip forward, brushing his cock against the back of your leg.

“I can, I promise I can handle it.” Your voice was shaking, you were so distressed. “Please, I can do it.”

“Might hurt a little, I don’t know…” His tone was still teasing.

“I’ll do anything for it, please, Jake.”

He took out his finger, leaving you empty. The air was cool against the slick of your cunt. You felt as he grabbed his cock in his fist and dragged the fat tip between your pussy lips. You gasped, so close to getting the thing you’d been begging him for all this time. It was right fucking there.

“P-please.” You sobbed. Your knuckles ached from how hard you gripped the other side of the desk in anticipation.

Jake thrust forward suddenly, and you were full, stretched out over his cock beyond your threshold. You gasped followed by an agonizing whine. Jake moaned loudly behind you while he started thrusting slowly, resizing your walls to fit his wide girth. Both of his hands landed on your hips in a bruising grip.

“This what you wanted, bebita? Fuck, it’s good…tell me. Tell me how good it is.”

“It’s good, Jake, better than…mmmJake-”

You couldn’t speak properly, even to tell him that the way his cock felt splitting you open was better than any of the daydreams you’d had over the last several weeks. Jake’s hand was heavily pressing against your back, pushing you harder into the desk. Your cries grew until they were filling the office. You were thankful for the white-noise machine outside of the door that muffled them.

“Tell-me-how-good,” he demanded between thrusts.

“Best…best I’ve ever–Jake I can’t.”

“Come on, I know you can do it. You’re a good girl, right?”

“It feels so good,” you said in a primal growl. Drool slipped out of your mouth and onto the desk. “It’s so…so good I can’t…fuck…I can’t stand it!”

Jake pulled out of you, and for a moment you felt disappointed. You turned around to see why he’d do that, but he just looked at you, scanning your body with his lust ridden eyes.

“Get that shirt off, take it all off.” He demanded.

You were too quick to comply, moving so fast that under normal circumstances it would’ve been embarrassing. This wasn’t normal though. The way you felt wasn’t normal. Jake watched you every step of the way while you undressed, ripping off your clothes like they’d wronged you and throwing them aside quickly. 

He pulled you in once you were done and told you, once again, that you were such a good girl. Your body tingled with his words. He lifted you, setting your bare ass on the cold surface of your desk. He used a firm hand to force you onto your back. Jake put one leg up on either shoulder while he lined himself up with you.

He thrust into you again, and immediately both of your hands gripped the edge of the desk for stability. One of Jake’s hands, the one that wasn’t squeezing your hip for leverage, reached around your leg and he started rubbing the pad of his thumb against your clit. Your cunt squeezed around him in response and you tossed your head back.

“Open your eyes and look at me, sweetheart, love seeing the way you look at me.” He urged, smirking at you when your eyes met with his once more.

You bit your lip so tight you thought it might bleed. Tears ran down your cheeks in streams that you weren’t even trying to control anymore.

“So pretty when you cry.” He commented.

Jake continued to circle his thumb over your clit while he fucked you faster. You felt your body trembling with your impending orgasm. You were so close to feeling that sweet release you craved at his hands. You’d been so good trying to resist him all this time, you deserved this moment. At least that’s the delusion that had overcome you.

“No holding back now, gonna fill you up sweetheart. Is that what you wanted? Me to fuck you full of my cum?”

You nodded eagerly, eyes glistening while you gripped the desk with all your strength. His thumb kept rotating over you, drawing whining gasps from your lips with every pass. You felt your cunt flutter around him as you got closer. Your mind started to go white, no thoughts other than Jake’s cock fucking you relentlessly.

“Fuck…hope you’re on the pill, sweetheart, cause I’m gonna…gonna-fill-you-right-up…ahhh!”

Jake’s cock gushed inside of you, stretching you further with every strong throb. You lost it, becoming a drooling and crying mess while your thoughts ceased. You came in crushing waves over his length, draining him of every last drop you could. He noisily kept fucking you through your orgasm until his pace slowed to a stop. The room became quiet again, except for your heavy breathing and the clock ticking.

“I need…tissues.” You could hardly speak but you managed to get that out.

“Oh, we’re not done yet.” Jake pulled out of you and quickly dropped to his knees.

You gasped when his mouth closed over your cunt. He was slurping, collecting both your juices and his own in his mouth. When he stood back up, you didn’t know what he had planned. He hadn’t swallowed yet. He leaned over, dropping the mess on your chest. You thought he was done, but he knelt back down for more. Your clit was swollen and sensitive, but he went in again. You felt his finger slip into your hole, hooking and dragging along your walls to bring anything in there into his mouth. Again, he stood up and deposited the mixture onto your breasts.

“Ready for more, bebita?” He pressed a hand to your chest, smearing the combined liquids over your skin.

You stared at him wide-eyed as you nodded slowly. It would seem he had an unusually short refractory period. Jake was pressing his cock against your hole once again. He thrust himself into you, stretching you out once more. It felt just as good, if not better, the second time.

“Gonna cover you in my cum, sweetheart, make you all mine.” He said hungrily, spreading the mixture over your tits one at a time.

He gave extra attention to your nipples, brushing them with his thumb. He continued fucking you while he did, commenting on your sweet whines and how much he adored them. Jake never stopped surprising you with the way his mind worked. Your entire torso was coated in his cum, your cum, and copious amounts of spit. He never slowed his pace, but he leaned forward and dragged his tongue from as low down on your stomach as he could reach, all the way up to your mouth.

The combination tasted sweet, salty, and like something that only you and Jake could make. His tongue tangled with yours in desperate sloppy kisses. When the taste was gone, you craved more, you begged for it.

“More Jake…give-me-more,” you said between breaths.

He gave you a borderline evil smirk when he looked down at you.

“Anything for you, bebita.”

Jake went back down to your side with his tongue, dragging it up your torso and stopping over your cum coated nipple. He got stuck there, sucking deeply and moaning. Drool trickled down the side of your breast. You arched into his mouth, biting your bottom lip to stifle the loud scream that nearly left you. You looked down, Jake peered at you from under his lashes while he slammed into you harder.

“Feed me, Jake.” You begged, wanting to feel his lips on you again. “Give me more.” Your eyes were still watering.

He complied, bringing what was left in his mouth to yours in a flurry of passionate kisses. That sweet taste was there again, making your mind go blank with a feeling of ecstasy and comfort all blended into one. You felt like you belonged to him, like he was your everything, and the connection had been sealed in your combined body fluids and a kiss.

“Jake.” You said softly as he pulled back from you, “bite me. I want everyone to know that I’m yours. I want Marc and Steven to know that I’m yours.”

“That’s twisted, bebita. You want to scare them that bad?” He kissed down your jawline, working his way to your neck.

“I can’t let you go anywhere now, I can’t let them leave.” You explained, letting go of the desk to entangle your fingers in his dark locks.

“Wouldn’t leave you, even if they took me away.”

A sharp pain seared through your shoulder as you felt Jake’s teeth break through your skin. You winced and hissed, trying not to let your body shy away involuntarily. Even if your body did try to move against your will, Jake kept you close. You were still amazed at his ability to keep his hips rolling into you no matter what the top half of his body was doing.

You whined at the agonizing burn of his bite while he continued clamping his teeth into you harder. When he finally stopped, you looked at his face. His lips were glossy with spit and blood. You leaned up, kissing him, letting him make a mess of you even further. All you could taste was Jake and the metallic taste of iron. He pressed his forehead against yours and increased the pace of his hips.

“Gonna fill you up again. I don’t want you to be able to walk right.”

With a firm hand against your chest, he pushed you back onto the desk with a thud. You gasped as he fucked you harder than before. He reached his fingers up to your mouth, sticking two of them in there.

“Suck.”

You made Jake whine when your tongue started dancing over his digits. He tossed his head back for a second before looking back into your eyes with a dark and hooded gaze. His brow furrowed and his moaning changed to something more animalistic, less controlled. You looked up at him from under your lashes while making your muffled moans over his fingers.

“Hold-on-tight,” he said with each thrust.

You grabbed the edge of the desk with everything you could, feeling the white hot ropes filling you again with every throb of his thick cock inside of you. Once again, your eyes were rolling back, obscuring your vision while your body trembled from your orgasm over him. Your screams were still loud, though stifled by his fingers against your tongue. You were both a mess of heavy breathing while his thrusting slowed to a halt.

When he pulled himself out of you this time, you felt empty. You peered at the clock, it was nearly the end of Marc’s session. Jake stepped back, holding out a hand to you. He helped you off the desk before leaning his face into yours. He kissed you softly and then looked at you with a gentle expression.

“Will you come back?” You asked, feeling suddenly terrified that you may never see him again. You were sure you’d rather die than live in that reality.

“You keep me a secret and out of your little notes, and I’ll keep the boys crazy enough to stick around.” He winked at you, “I’ll be back in a couple days, try not to miss me too much.”

You were dressed before Steven was fronting again. He was sitting in the chair and grabbed his head the moment Jake went to the headspace. The last thing he must’ve remembered was you grabbing his shirt and slapping him. You’d fixed yourself up in the mirror as best as you could. You wiped the smeared makeup from your face, and what was left of Jake’s cum from your torso.

Steven touched his cheek, “you…you hit me.”

“Steven, bring Marc out. Things are going to be changing around here, and we need to have a chat.”

----

Moon Knight Masterlist

Jake Lockley Masterlist

Taglist (Please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!):

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction, @my-secret-shame, @thatmomwitchfriend, @alexxavicry, @ryebreadsworld, @welcometostayingawake, @jake-g-lockley, @campingwiththecharmings, @steven-grants-world, @bloodredwolfsbane, @minigirl87, @ahookedheroespureheart, @romanarose, @360iris, @grumpyahjumma, @ninebluehearts, @burnincrown

[nogenderbee]

Hello! I just decided to stop by.

Could I request Gorou, Kazuha, Heizou, and Thoma finding out their girlfriend's the daughter of a pair of well-known medics in Inazuma? S/O's parents are pretty chill but her dad's appearance always scares off suitors.

Hey! Glad you dropped! And of course you can! I hope I got your idea right ^^

♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ 𝕄𝕖𝕕𝕚𝕔𝕚𝕒𝕟'𝕤 ℂ𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕 ₊˚ˑ༄

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ Kazuha, Gorou, Heizou, Thoma with reader who has medician!parents

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ fluff

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ @bleachtheidiot

✧ Kazuha had a feeling you're not just any normal person but he decided not to question it, after all you'd tell him yourself if something was up, right?

✧ it was when he came back to his homeland, he discovered that your parents came back from work trip. He got a bit nervous since that meant it's finally time for him to meet them

✧ surprisingly he still didn't know they're medician's unless you told him yourself

✧ but if you didn't, he'll realize that once he's already facing them

✧ despite the fact he was pretty anxious on the inside, he acted really calm and was still the gentleman he is

✧ your dad didn't even really made him more anxious, he's used to people looking scary so he decided to not pay attention to that and just see what his personality is

✧ it's easy to say, he's one of the less nervous ones and showed just his calm side, maybe even told your parents about his haikus!

✧ he's not the type to lie about himself in order to be more liked so you can be sure he'll be his true self

"I must admit I didn't expect that... but I'm sure they're a lovely people. I promise to not make them disappointed."

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ Gorou recognized your last name first time he hears it since your parents are well known and he most likely met them himself, even before dating you

✧ he's in army after all so he most likely met them through one of his people being hurt or even himself

✧ but once he discovered you're their child, he immidietly started thinking through if he ever said or did anything to upset them but luckily nothing came to his mind

✧ now whenever he happens to meet them during his job, he's paying strong attention to his words and moves, no matter if he's hurt or not

✧ thanks to that, he manages to get a good reputation among your parents before he officially introduces himself as your boyfriend

✧ so it's easy to say that when he and them did had official introduction, they already had positive opinion on him

✧ and your partner was already used to your father's appearance so that didn't stress him! But it doesn't mean he was calm... he was still a bit nervous about their reaction

"L/N!? That's... last name for one of the best doctors in Inazuma... I... I even had the pleasure of working with them... Do you know if I made bad impression already?"

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

✧ there was no way Heizou wouldn't know about the best medician's in Inazuma. He has great memory so just by taking quick look at you, he quickly recognized your features

✧ and because he knew who your family was, he was a bit more formal with you... at least at the beginning!

✧ when you got together, it was understatement to say he was stressed when he realized it's time for him to meet your parents personally soon

✧ he asked you himself to tell him a bit about them and it actually calms his down

✧ when the day comes, he tries to act tough but it's hard when your father is giving him that death stare... he knows he's actually a good person and that's just the way he looks but it still makes him nervous

✧ don't worry tho! Because eventually he makes a conversation and actually finds lots of mutual topic with your parents!

✧ it's easy to say your parents took a like of him, just like he did of them

✧ if they allow him, he'd definitely go to them to ask for confirming his evidences if he wouldn't be sure and they'd be associated with biology

"Ah, such a nice people~ I can't wait for another meeting! I'm sure I can make my reputation among them even better."

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✧ Thoma knows people around Inazuma so he realized who you are only after he heard your last name and if he'd be drinking something, he'd be a step from choking

✧ it simply catches him off guard, he doesn't mind and if you reveal it during middle of your friendship, he'll make sure to treat you the same as he did previously

✧ the anxiety comes back when you two are together tho... he knows meeting your parents has to come sooner or later so he's preparing himself for it through your whole relationship

✧ when he does eventually meet them, he'll be a true gentleman that he actually is every day, just not as formal as he's in front of your parents but that can be excused because if stess

✧ he'd lie if he'd say your father didn't make him want to just leave the moment he noticed him staring at him

✧ luckily for all of you tho, he leaves very good impression on your parents!

✧ but as soon as he leaves your household, he legs out a bit sigh if relief as he starts to rethink if he did everything correctly

✧ you most likely end up comforting him a bit that he was perfectly fine back then

"I really hope I didn't ruined our relationship with my behavior... after all, I really don't want your parents to refuse letting you meet with me."

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[littlegaybean1]

Ok ok ok...

It's been almost 18 years since it aired, but who cares I'm talking about it anyway.

I've seen a lot of people hating on Cyberwoman. And yeah, I understand why. That costume choice was, er, quite something. But it's still my favourite episode and yk why? The build up. The plotline. And most of all the acting. Oh my god the acting. My favourite scene has got to be the tourist office, because oh my days have you seen the way Gareth David Lloyd plays Ianto? It gives me chills. After watching it, I rewatched Everything Changes and Ghost Machine because I never actually noticed Ianto in them, unless he's speaking. The only time you ever see him is when he intentionally draws attention to himself, which he rarely does. I watched them again, specifically focusing on Ianto. He's barely in them. He's one of the main 5 characters, but in the first three episodes he has one of the most minor roles. Like, you see him let Gwen into the Hub, delete the stuff she typed to make herself remember and see him introduced. That's it for episode one. And yes, everyone has a minor role in that, but you never actually see him as part of the team. He works alone, always.

Episode three really highlights that for me. He appears every so often with a funny comment. He has less screen time than Rhys. If it wasn't for the fact that I was actively thinking about him, I would have completely forgotten that he was there. One of his rare appearances really got to me - the ending. Jack gives him the ghost machine to put in the secure archives. That's normal, the archives are his area.

Except Jack doesn't even look at him. He just holds it out, like Ianto is a servant, not someone with years of experience dealing with aliens. Ianto worked at Torchwood One. He was the most qualified of anyone on that team when each of them joined. Owen was medically trained, but no experience with aliens. Tosh was a genius, but she had only experienced aliens through wrong blueprints of their technology, plus a charge of treason. Gwen had police training, nothing more. She got a job by being stubborn, and in the right place at the right time. Jack was reckless, dangerous, and did not want to join Torchwood. He only did it because he needed to do something in the 100+ years that he would be waiting for the Doctor.

Ianto had everything taken from him all at once, and nobody bothered to check on him. He looked fine, so they didn't give it any more thought. They of all people should know that that's not how it works. Ianto was repressing his grief, exhausting himself with the amount he worked both at his job and caring for Lisa. He never had any desire to cause anyone any harm. He was blinded by overwhelming grief. When humans experience loss, the automatic reaction is to cling to what you have. For most people, that means reaching out to friends and family, creating a support system. Ianto lost all his friends, all at once. We don't hear about his family until S3 (goddamn S3), but it's implied that they aren't close. I haven't listened to any of the audios, so if there's more to it than that then I don't know it.

Ianto had nothing, except an echo pretending to be Lisa. He did the most natural thing in the world, clung to what he had. Or at least, what he thought he had. Don't blame Ianto for the events of Cyberwoman. His actions correlate with normal reactions to grief. Yes, his actions were extreme. But so was his grief.

[letsbenditlikebennett]

TIMING: Beginning of September PARTIES: @kadavernagh & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: When Regan finds out that Alex was shot and refuses to go to a hospital, the medical examiner finally, and after much exasperation, tells her to come by the morgue to get her wound checked out. CONTENT: Self harm

The whole way over to the morgue, Alex reasoned with herself that this was a better call than going to a hospital. She was pretty sure that hospitals had to report gunshot wounds and the new additions would likely raise more questions than she truly wanted to answer. She’d toyed around with the idea of not going to the morgue at all, but after the full moon hit, that wasn’t really an option unless she wanted to tell Kaden she’d all but beat herself up in the bunker and opened her own stitches. 

Of course, it wasn’t quite that simple. The restless energy that had coursed through the werewolf the previous night was There had been no sitting still after she’d gone through all of her prey and was left with a suffocating, empty bunker. Somehow that energy manifested in the form of an itch she couldn’t quite scratch and an inability to sit still. The scrapes, scratches, and bruises that painted her limbs had been evidence last night’s full moon had been anything but normal. She wasn’t sure what Dr. Kavanagh would make of it, but what was important was that Kaden was none the wiser. Alex knew her cousin would find a way to blame himself for it somehow. 

The morgue had that clean chemical smell to it as she made her way toward Regan’s office. Even the chill in the air felt pretty standard for what the facility was meant for. Alex didn’t think keeping dead bodies in a hot building would be fun for anyone involved. Something about the death made her a little uneasy considering the role it had been playing in her life lately, but this was a doctor’s visit… which somehow was not any better. She waved uncertainly toward the receptionist. “I’m here to see a Dr. Kavanagh?” 

The call from Marcy was expected though not entirely welcome. “There’s a young lady here to see you. She limped in. I’m pretty sure she’s not dead yet, so I don’t know why she’s asking for you. You ever going to explain that to me? While you’re at it, if you’re seeing live patients, can you check out a mole on my shoulder?” Regan shuffled through the list of possibilities in her head and landed on precisely who this must have been. Kaden’s child cousin. Alex. Possibly with a bullet in her body. The thought was a wave of ice and reminded her to steel herself. She had seen far worse in the living and especially in the dead, and her equanimity could not waver.

In the lobby, there was once again only one possibility of who was there to see her. Regan wished for not the first time that she could shed this cinniúint-thréigean coat. “Come.” She didn’t look at the child beyond the flash of red hair she’d caught in the corner of her eye, though she wanted to observe her. The chilly reception (or at least chillier than usual) was petty, she knew, but the morgue was not a hospital, and it was maddening that the Langley family seemed to treat it like one. Kaden was putain enough. Now there were two. 

“Cad tá mé ag dul a dhéanamh leat?” Regan found herself muttering a question Cliodhna had muttered herself on a near daily basis, regarding her granddaughter with worn resignation. Regan had understood the question to really mean, “what good are you?” when it had been directed at her. Outside her office, she finally turned to meet the child’s eyes. She was young, but the tight expression on her face – masking pain, Regan thought – and dotting of scrapes and contusions across her skin suggested she was older than her years. Regan’s eyes narrowed, though not unkindly. She carded the door open. “Sit down, explain everything to me, and give me a very good reason why I should not be sending you to the hospital.”

The medical examiner was not a particularly large woman, but the way she moved around and commanded respect made her seem larger than life. It made Alex feel smaller than she already was, which was pretty damn small considering she’d been the same height since she was like eleven years old. She supposed she also shouldn’t have been thrown off by the cold way the doctor addressed her either, but something about it still made her wince and hold on tighter to the edges of the flannel she had all but wrapped around herself at that point. Dr. Kavanagh wasn’t even overly harsh. Her eyes definitely weren’t cruel, the werewolf just already felt exposed. Ashamed. Because hadn’t she been taught to tend to her own wounds like Andy and Kaden had? 

“Hospitals are for humans,” Alex answered as if it was obvious. It was a show, but not a very good one. Her fingers fumbled over the hem of the green plaid and she knew she’d need to give a better answer than that. This had been a bad idea, but the full moon had only made things worse. “Kaden mentioned the mutated animal thing. When I was shot, I didn’t look like a person. I look like one now… but I’m still not.” 

The word monster was practically at the tip of her tongue, but Alex wasn’t sure that one wouldn’t get her carted right off to the hospital. She wasn’t entirely sure how much Regan knew, but some of her oddities seemed to indicate she should know something. Especially considering she probably saw some pretty strange deaths. She shifted nervously on her feet and only slightly cringed when the movement caused pain. “Uh,” she started, “Everything… well, I was… mutated. And someone shot me. Then the full moon happened and I lock myself in a bunker so mutated me doesn’t…” 

She looked down at her feet. Alex couldn’t even speak what she knew she was capable of. “Think I had a bit of a panic attack while mutated,” she mumbled, not quite meeting Dr. Kavanagh’s eyes as she rolled up her sleeves to show various bruises, scrapes, and scratches, “My cla– nails get really long. That’s the uh… scratches.” 

What were the odds the doctor would buy that one? It was the truth, but the truth was often harder to believe than a really good lie. 

“They are, yes, and I’m not about to do any procedures that couldn’t be done on a human.” Regan rolled her eyes. Why did everyone think they were some exception to going to the hospital? Why people thought they weren’t human was another question, but one Regan knew she wasn’t going to move the needle on. “Just as morgues are for humans, by the way. But for whatever reason you find this more palatable, and I just want you examined by someone.”

But with some recent context, Alex’s explanation made Regan’s thoughts immediately turn to Gael. This sounded like… what was it he’d called it? Wolfitis? No, lycanthropy. Did the two of them know each other? That question made her brow crease. Regan wasn’t sure she liked that, especially if this child was one of the people trying to spoon feed him all of this strange terminology, all of these lies. Gael had mentioned precisely this, though – someone who had locked themselves in a bunker and injured themselves in there.

Other questions cascaded from there. If Alex was shot because of this… mutation, and she had the same illness as Gael, could this have been the individual Gael was warned about, the one targeting people with this specific health condition? That was a sobering thought.

Regan realized she had been silent for some time. She gave the child a nod and stretched her gloves over her hands. The girl was nervous, almost trembling, and she had never been great at putting people at ease. Though Regan suspected some of it was that Alex was talking to a doctor about any of this at all. Perhaps she could help ameliorate that fear. “I might be familiar with your condition.” Regan looked down at her then took a seat across from the girl. She knew she’d need to be on her feet shortly, but she had learned in interacting with next of kin and patients that they felt more comfortable on the same level. “My condolences that you are afflicted. I am close to someone who–” With a jolt, she comprehended what had come out of her mouth, and she cleared her throat, wiggled uncomfortably in her coat. “I have an acquaintance who may have the same ailment. He handles it differently than you.” Regan waved a hand as if to dismiss any talk of Gael. Her stomach felt like a hot pit. Acquaintance was correct. Fearg an chinniúint, why had she not said that first?

As Alex rolled up her sleeves, it at least gave Regan something else to focus on. Something comfortable, something she knew. Something that wouldn’t dip into the unfamiliar territory of acquaintance-plus relationships. Regan surveyed the girl’s skin. Alex was pretty scraped up, pretty bruised, but Regan didn’t see anything demanding her attention. She spoke after a moment, not rudely, but also not dancing around the point. “We both know I’m not interested in seeing minor incised wounds on your extremities. Will you show me the gunshot wound?”

“Palatable,” Alex murmured, “Right…” She wasn’t exactly sure she considered this trip to the morgue palatable. If it hadn’t been for the way she chewed at her wound during the full moon, she wouldn’t be here at all despite the fact Dr. Kavanagh had practically demanded she come get checked out if she wasn’t going to a hospital. There was also no way in hell that Alex was willingly going to a hospital, so here she was at the morgue, letting Regan in all her tame exasperation check out the re-opened stitches that she refused to show Kaden. She wondered if doctor-patient confidentiality applied here because she’d really rather this not get back to Kaden, but Alex wasn’t so sure she should be pushing her luck here. 

Nerves made it hard for Alex to look up and meet the medical examiner’s eyes. Instead, her gaze wandered over the half packed boxes that were strewn across the office. She remembered Regan vaguely speaking of leaving when she had offered up those books, but that had felt like a whole lifetime ago. 

“You are familiar with it,” Alex perked up. It was hardly an admission that the doctor believed in the supernatural, but at least she thought it was plausible. Maybe that meant she didn’t think Alex was completely insane. “How does he handle it,” she asked, genuinely curious. Given her own debacle with the bunker this month, she knew she had to be open to ideas even if she wasn’t sure they’d actually be good ideas. 

It wasn’t surprising to Alex that the medical examiner wanted her to get right to showing her the worst of her injuries. The gunshot wound was why she was here and why Regan was frustrated with her for not seeing a doctor at a hospital. Still, she swallowed nervously as she pulled down the hem of the cargo pants she was wearing to reveal where the bullet had grazed her left hip. The stitches looked about as chewed through as they were and fresh blood had dried up around it. Even looking at it made her feel light-headed and she cursed herself. “Uh, this is it. Do I…” She trailed off, unsure of what she was supposed to do. She couldn’t recall ever having gone to an actual medical professional. 

“I’ll tell you about it shortly,” Regan said, knowing what lay ahead better than Alex, and knowing she’d be grateful for the distraction. “For now, just stay still.” She gave the site a careful look, as one might assess the virtues of a renowned painting in an art museum. To her, there was beauty in such an ugly thing. But the fact it was on a live human being tainted such a lovely show of anatomy. It was immediately clear that Alex should have gone to a hospital. But the wound could have been much worse, all things considered; the bullet had grazed her, not hitting bone or even really leaving a full entry wound. But any bullet at any distance could be lethal, or disfiguring at a minimum, and Regan was sure this one had caused great pain. 

And then there was the attempt to fix this. The sutures were chewed up, mangled, almost as bloodied a sight as the wound they were poorly tethering closed. They couldn’t have started off that way (even if they were poorly-applied then, too). It looked like an animal had done this. She was sure Alex wouldn’t give her the truth as to how this happened, even if perhaps she thought she was giving it. There was one other remarkable thing: the bubbling blisters surrounding the margins of the wound, as if the bullet that struck her had also burned her skin. It was true bullets were heated as they were fired, this appeared to be something more. Like her skin had rejected the material of the bullet. She thought of her own hands, scarred with iron discipline, and a connection was sparked only to be swiftly rejected. Alex was not fae.

Regan hissed a breath of air through her teeth and finally turned up and away from the wound, looking Alex in the face. “The good news is that there’s no sign of an infection. But… well, first of all, you need new stitches, which means removing the current ones, which will hurt considerably. I apologize in advance.” Alex wouldn’t want to be standing for that. And her wiggling would make things harder. Regan sighed, her eyes flicking over the table. At what point did it make sense for her to invest in a procedure chair for her office? That would be a fun one to explain to the higher ups. For now, she made due with pushing the table directly up against one of the chairs. It was a sturdy thing. It would hold. “Can you lie down on there? I’m going to apply new ones after I remove the old. Do you think you can keep still?”

“Appreciate it,” Alex responded kindly, “And I can manage that.” It might make her light-headed and nauseated, but she could sit still through the pain. Her parents had made certain of that even if she had never been graced with the accelerated healing to go along with the hunter training. It didn’t change the way her heart felt like it was pounding in her ears rather than her chest. She almost wished Dr. Kavanagh would explain now and put off the inevitable, but the wound the silver bullet left behind was the reason she was here. With how she chewed through the stitches, she wasn’t even sure it was in a state Kaden could deal with and she didn’t want him to. He’d only worry and that protective streak he had would only grow. 

Alex chewed at her bottom lip nervously as she watched Regan move one of the tables up to a chair. The office wasn’t set up for patients of the living variety which made sense considering it was a morgue. Somehow, that still seemed better than a hospital and the inevitable questions they would ask. Not that Regan didn’t have questions, but she seemed to consider the possibilities of mutants. Werewolves were kind of mutants, just not the superhero kind like Phoenix and Cyclops.

“Kind of figured,” she nodded, “Both on the new stitches and the pain. It’s fine.” It was not fine. As she sat down in the chair, she already felt the sweat begin to pool in her palms and across her brow. If her lip hadn’t gone right back to its place between her teeth she was fairly certain it would also be quivering. Even if she wore a brave face, Regan was a doctor. Physiological evidence would tell her everything she needed to know and it brought the werewolf a great deal of shame. If it wasn’t so damn sad, it’d almost be laughable that a monster was shaking in her boots over a medical examination. She laid down on the table and something about the fluorescents shining down made her want to crawl out of her skin again, but she was sure to stay still as a log. “Ok, I’m ready when you are,” she breathed out through gritted teeth. 

Regan worked swiftly and adeptly. And though Alex was shaking, she did eventually seem to calm herself down. It was easier once the worst was over – removing what remains of the old stitches. Putting the new ones in was easy by comparison, though Alex still wouldn’t appreciate the feel of the needle on what was still a rather raw wound. She wasn’t great at distracting patients during procedures – usually any distraction would fall on dead ears – but she would try. “That acquaintance I mentioned. He… camps.” That hardly sounded like a solution at all, saying it aloud. She wondered if it would sound just as foolish to Alex. “It might not be precisely the same ailment you’re dealing with. I don’t know if you sleepwalk. But he seems to think that things are better when he camps, rather than being confined to his bedroom.” Either way, though, Gael seemed to wake up with blood under his fingernails and a dead animal carcass or two nearby. 

As she finished up the last of the stitches, she seemed to grow heavier. Camping was helping. She wasn’t sure she could say the same anymore, given that Gael was attacked by some animal last time. Almost fatal. The maddening man thought he was lucky that the creature had just missed clamping down on his spine, but Regan didn’t believe in luck, and even if she did, what was lucky about almost dying? “I’m not suggesting you camp in the woods,” Regan clarified, “It didn’t go so well for him last time. There are too many dangerous animals lurking about. Bears. Coyotes. Screaming moose.”

While the explanation did little to clarify anything for Alex, listening to the medical examiner talk was a welcome distraction to the increasingly unbearable pain in her hip as the wound was tended to. Some of it sounded vaguely familiar. If asked, she would probably tell those who weren’t in the know about werewolves that she was going to be camping that night. It was close enough to the truth, hiking out deep into the woods to turn into wolf-monster and eat dinner/sleep was basically camping, was it not? The sleepwalking bit was curious and made her wonder if Gael was her acquaintance. “Camping,” she said through gritted teeth, “Wanted to give that a try myself.”

There were more questions, but none came to mind as Alex made a concentrated effort to remain still and keep her limbs from trembling. It worked well enough for her legs, but her hands were shaking under the sleeves of her jacket ever so slightly. So she let the thought of further questioning go until Regan finished up the last of the stitches. Even then, she needed a moment to recover and only barely caught the doctor saying that she didn’t recommend camping. 

“Not worried about coyotes and bears,” Alex explained, “Could live without the screaming moose, though I’ve never actually seen one scream.” It didn’t seem like the point. She knew Dr. Kavanagh was pointing out the dangers that lurked in the woods, but even with the context of her having some sort of mutation, she didn’t think the doctor realized that she was one of the dangers in the woods if she was out there. “Mutation kind of,” she trailed off, unsure of how to explain it, “Gives me some protection there. And me being deep out in the woods is a lot safer for everyone else. Mutation is… weird.” 

It’d be a lot easier to just say werewolf, but Alex wasn’t too sure how well that one would fly. “But you mentioned sleep-walking… the person you know doesn’t happen to be a chemistry professor, does he?” 

“Do you know who else thought they could deal with the coyotes and bears?” Alex probably saw where this was going but Regan continued anyway. “At least a hundred of my decedents, probably more. And I haven’t even worked here a full year yet.” Regan sometimes needed to remind herself that she had nothing to fear from anything, that no wild animal could harm her, but most people were the opposite; they held more confidence than they had the right. “Whatever capabilities you have were not enough to protect you from your assailant, nor whatever chewed you up after.” Nor Gael, from the animal that almost took his life last time he went camping. Speaking of… did Alex know?

Yes, she knew Gael. And now Regan couldn’t help but wonder if the mutated child in front of her was one of the scores of individuals who had been trying to convince Gael he was a werewolf. Something clenched in her chest, and she itched with discomfort. Caring was such a bothersome thing. She kept her voice stoic so as not to betray that Alex was correct. “Rather inappropriate to try and figure out which individual I’m referring to, don’t you think?” She raised a brow as sharply as the needle and finished up the last of the sutures. “Fortunately for you, I will not fault nosiness, as I exhibit plenty of my own. But you won’t get your answer from me.” If she wanted to ask Gael, that was her prerogative. For a second – a second too long – she entertained how Gael might refer to her as something other than an acquaintance, and the thought made bile bloom in her stomach. 

“There. You are done.” Regan rose to her feet and gave Alex a self-satisfied look. “Now, are you going to tell me why you allowed an animal to chew on your first set of stitches? Because I don’t want a repeat of that. You will not enjoy that, either.” Regan had a feeling Alex would either tell her nothing at all, or make up some outlandish story involving werewolves and vampires and ghosts. She had to wonder if a doctor in the ED would have been able to coax out the truth, or at least more of the truth than Regan could get. The dead were more honest, every time.

When it came to Wicked’s Rest, coyotes and bears were the least of her worries. Even though most bears had considerable size on Alex they still didn’t stand much of a chance against a werewolf. Maybe if grizzlies were in the area, she’d be slightly more concerned, but as it stood, the standard wildlife of Maine seemed safer than literally ripping herself apart in the bunker. It seemed like the extent of her ‘mutation’ wasn’t exactly clicking with the medical examiner though and she wasn’t even sure how to explain her choice to camp in a way that would make sense. “Well, still safer than the alternative,” she shrugged, “And that was different. Someone like him would have found me anywhere… and nothing chewed through my stitches.”

Not that she was sure that Regan would believe her. Alex was a bit more on the monstrous canine side when she had in fact chewed through her stitches. That wasn’t nothing, that was just herself having a little werewolf panic attack in a bunker. Even if she had the energy to explain following having her stitches removed and replaced, it wasn’t like there was an explanation that most would find reasonable… hence, why she hadn’t gone to a hospital. 

Though she was quickly reminded of the medical nature of her visit when Regan shut down her question about Gael. When most of the patients were dead, Alex thought it was easy enough to forget about the whole patient/doctor confidentiality thing… but she was alive. Gael was also alive. “Right,” she stammered, looking down in embarrassment, “Forgot the whole doctor patient confidentiality thing… Only heard of it in theory, never in practice.” 

Given, Alex hadn’t actually ever been to a normal doctor. At least Dr. Kavanagh wasn’t going to hold her question against her. The delivery was still cold, but there was something of understanding in it too. Even though cold sweat still clung to her skin, she smiled, “It’s scientific curiosity. We both like to understand things… and okay, maybe a little bit of it is nosiness.” 

Of course, the question of what happened to her stitches came and the truth was Alex didn’t have a good explanation. Even if she hadn’t done it to herself, the state of her injury did in fact imply she let something do this to her. But Regan talked about mutations… maybe she could hint at the truth. She ran a sweaty palm through her tangled hair and looked down at her lap. “I didn’t let anything chew through them,” she answered nervously, “I was locked in a bunker alone. I did this to me… while I was sleepwalking.” 

“And I’ll grant you the same privacy… mostly.” Regan had already decided she’d make an exception and tell Kaden about this. They were cousins. And from where she was standing, Kaden was the responsible adult, the one who should have insisted that Alex be placed in front of an emergency room physician. But the man was too stuck in his own phobia to help her. Oh, yes, she certainly had some words for him. Náireach bórd.

Sleepwalking. There it was. Her thoughts turned to Gael once more, and an exhausted sigh swelled in her lungs. At this point, both Alex and Gael were viewing reality through such distorted lenses she wasn’t sure which of them was correct about any aspect of this illness. “Lycanthropy,” she could rule out. But short of that, anything else was on the table. And unfortunately, it wasn’t an autopsy table. That would be too easy. Regan rolled her gloves off and discarded them, keeping her eyes on Alex. “That isn’t physically possible. You can’t chew through something on your hip. I have never known anyone to be that flexible. If you’re going to argue otherwise, then I ask that you show me right now.” But that would not happen, she was sure of it. “And if you were asleep, how do you know what happened?” Regan raised a brow, a moment of triumph settling over her face before she realized the unknown still loomed.

She also realized that, sometimes, there was no winning. Regan sighed, her shoulders tensing. Briefly, she considered extending a hand to Alex to help her off the chair, but she had already removed her gloves. “How does it feel? Is your movement alright?” She gave Alex a sharp look. The commanding eye of a doctor who knows patients will almost always act against medical advice. “Be good to your hip. No vigorous exercise for at least eight weeks. Light exercise is acceptable after four. Keep the site clean. Tell me if it begins to smell like an infection or leak fluids.” Her gaze softened, only slightly. “I do not have lollipops. They would have given you one at the hospital. Go there, next time.”

Mostly. Alex wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what that meant, but she hoped it meant that Kaden wasn’t going to find out about her stitches being chewed through. He knew something was up and realistically she knew she could only avoid it for so long. Kaden was a stubborn pain in the ass like that. No matter how hard she tried to push, he kept being there. Almost annoyingly so, but that was more her frustration than anything else. So instead of getting clarification, she simply shrugged. She couldn’t get an answer she didn’t like if she didn’t ask the question. It was a sound philosophy as far as she was concerned. 

“Some people call it that, yeah,” Alex mumbled. It wasn’t like she could exactly prove her point. Even if she had mastered shifting outside the moon, it wasn’t like she was going to turn into a large wolf monster in the middle of the damn morgue. With how seriously Regan took her job, she was pretty sure the doctor would not be even remotely chill about an animal in her otherwise pristine office. Part of her wished Regan could understand, she wanted the doctor to believe her, but she wasn’t going to push. Instead, she shrugged. “Like this jacket too much to ruin it.” 

Alex stood up from the chair and grimaced slightly. Even if she wanted to, vigorous activity was definitely not on the table. She let out a pained laugh. “Think I can manage skipping the heavy physical activity. But noted on all of the above,” she paused, “I appreciate you taking the time to fix the stitches back up.” Then, there was something a little less cold in Dr. Kavanagh’s gaze, but she was fairly certain that was wishful thinking. Still, the ‘not joke’ was humorous. “Yeah, yeah,” she shook her head as she headed toward the door, “Think I’m a little old to bribe with lollipops… but sentiment is noted and appreciated.”

Was she ever going to willingly go to a hospital? Not a chance. Alex figured if she had more than one conversation ever with Kaden, the doctor probably already knew as much. She figured she could at least try to keep herself out of trouble so that word of an injury didn’t get back to Regan again. 

[godstrain]

What is his current situation? Unless I missed something I can't tell what exactly his living/work situation is. Is it like a 'work for the BSAA to avoid prison' thing?

wesker's current situation post 5 is just "trying to stay out of trouble but trouble keeps finding me"- he actually works as a medical doctor under his birth name (albert wilde) and he has the energy of dr. gregory house. his tactics are ... often breaking medical code and he thinks all his co workers are idiots but he's kept around because he is a good doctor and he finds solutions and he's not afraid to go to great lengths to get the desired result.

the "trouble keeps finding me" part is due to the fact that he can't NOT be around chris because the man's absolutely obsessed and he has been since the day he first met chris redfield. also, wesker's work continues to cause fuckery even when he isn't doing anything himself. unfortunately, every other bioterrorist just sorta followed in his footsteps (and it shows). the BSAA absolutely keeps tabs on him, because of course they do- but the people at the hospital he works at have no clue about his past. he wants to keep it that way.

essentially, the man is dual wielding jobs AGAIN and it's because he has no chill.

this leads into "wesker works as a doctor and genuinely helps people because he made the choice to want to try something Different". he's not doing it because he's a good person- man's a garbage fire piece of work, but he also isn't supremely manic and delusional, which makes him tolerable, and he's ... going through rather extensive therapy. this man was groomed to be a monster from a young age and i don't even want to think about the amount of fuckery that was done to make it so that the wesker children didn't look at other people in society and go "man maybe what happened to me was NOT normal" (i will address that in another post one day because it is super important!)

anyway yeah he's actually working as a doctor and he gets bothered by his past a lot because sometimes i guess he's the only person that can be consulted but really he just wants to leave all of that behind, it's just not happening any time soon, y'know?

[jytan2018]

Jumping in as someone whose scoliosis went undiagnosed until I turned 23, after years of going, "Haha, back pain in my 20s amirite? Everyone has it these days, it's so weird":

Back pain is absolutely not normal. It can be common, sure, but so is shortsightedness and at least people acknowledge it's not always 100% your fault so you can get glasses for that stuff without being shamed. If your back is sore all the time and all your holier-than-thou Boomers relatives do is go, "Tsk tsk tsk, I told you to sit up straight", know that it's not your fault, society in general just didn't bother teaching us about the musculoskeletal system beyond learning the names of muscles and bones.

(more info about back pain specifically under the cut, I don't wanna derail anyone's post here)

Okay, so. Not all back pain is caused by a fruity spine, but a LOT of back pain is caused by your muscles either:

a) Getting sore because you've had bad posture for so long, they've atrophied to the point that they're literally too weak to hold your bones in place now even if you sat up straight.

b) Getting inflamed because all the muscles in Group A atrophying means certain muscles are working overtime to keep your spine upright, and they are SICK OF THIS SHIT

c) Stress makes you tense, but muscles can remain tense long after you've switched off your fight or flight response, and you won't feel a thing until someone tries to un-tense them. This is why massages can hurt if you haven't had time to chill in like, forever. Massages are the muscle equivalent of trying to feed a toddler veggies—they WILL scream, but you'll have to do it anyway.

A lot of folks with mild scoliosis like me ("mild" being a spine that's curved by about 50 degrees or less, which doesn't warrant surgery but can still hurt like a motherfucker) often go undiagnosed because we don't really pay attention to our spines unless someone notices your posture is Wack™.

What nobody tells y'all is that the reason scoliosis gives you Wack Posture™ and Back Pain™ is that your spine instinctively wants to stay in a (mostly) straight line. It's how it keeps your body from keeling over, but unlike Taylor Swift, it has zero self-awareness and is not capable of going, "It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me."

So what do these snakey bones do, especially when you're a kid and they still have flexy time before you hit puberty? They twist your entire fucking body just so they can arrange themselves the "right" way. If your muscles were already strained because you unconsciously adopted bad posture for schoolwork or whatever, this will make causes A, B, and C even WORSE.

So how do you fix your back pain?

- First of all, if you suspect something's really off and you can afford to, get your back X-rayed to make sure your spine is straight and not fruity. No amount of massages and physiotherapy will work if the person kneading you like dough has no clue your spine's being an asshole to your muscles. Plus, if you got a slipped disc or something, a doctor would find that out too.

- Daily stretches/exercises. Ideally, you'll be working with a physiotherapist who knows which muscles on your back need to regain their strength, and which need to learn to fucking chill. My right-leaning spine makes the left side of my hip jut out for balance, so my chiro's been prescribing exercises that stretch only the left side of my body, in hopes that my left muscles will eventually grow strong enough to pull my spine back into position. You can try to Google stretches for specific muscles if you really know your body, but do NOT limit your searches to just pain relief stretches, especially if you've had this back pain for months.

- Chiropractors are useless unless they incorporate some form of physiotherapy into their practice. There's a reason we call it the musculoskeletal system, not the muscular and skeletal systems (mostly, anyway). Your chiro can crack your spine as loudly as they want, but your muscles can't hold it in the right position forever unless they relearn what the right position even is.

- This isn't going to apply to everyone, but supplements. For those with really inflamed muscles, my chiro prescribed turmeric for its anti-inflammation properties, and CoQ10 because it's like a Monster drink for mitochondria (yes, the powerhouses of your cells need energy too, and CoQ10 helps them produce more energy transferring cells that you may know as ATP, or adenosine triphosphate). Vitamin D supplements also help, for those who can't get 'em from the sun without barbecuing yourself or live someplace where the sun barbecues EVERYONE.

Sorry for the rant, hope it helps someone in any way. Pain doesn't always lead to gains, people. You don't deserve to suffer for no reason.

notes for my impostor syndrome:

• no, it's not painful to walk for abled-bodied people

• no, healthy people don't usually use every chance they get to lean against walls or sit down

• no, ableds don't dream about shower stool

• no, ableds don't celebrate days when they're not in pain. because usually they're not in pain

• no, ableds don't want to stop walking mid-way, lay down on the ground, curl up and cry and whine from pain

• no, ableds aren't exhausted by their own bodies 24/7

[sekhisadventures]

Why Am I Here?

The Northern Coastline of the Isle of Dorn

It was so early that it was still technically very late. The White Lady, the larger of Azeroth’s moons, hung high in the sky over the Isle of Dorn, the stars shining around the massive sphere. All around were the faint chirps and chitters of the night creatures. Crickets, fieldmice and rats, and the like.

Zul’zanza sat in the sands, his hands resting on his knees as he squatted there. His eyes were closed… but his mind was wide open.

He was trying to reach out to his loa, trying to understand why he had been thrown through time and space like the others. Could it really be because of that?!

“Hear me, mighty Loa… Zul’zanza calls to ya… I need ya guidance…” he whispered under his breath. “Why dis happen ta me? Why I be here? Did I do somethin’ wrong? Did I offend ya?”

He heard no response though. Gral was always a hard Loa to talk to, prone as he was to wander Azeroth’s oceans. Shadra was wherever her brood was… normally… but Zul’zanza couldn’t sense her presence anywhere.

He did not know of her fate though, to be killed and consumed by the treacherous Zandalari priestess Yazma, then to have her essence thrown into the Maw only to be rescued by adventurers working with the forces of Ardenweald.

To find out such a tale would likely make him even more upset though.

There was only one other Loa that he had bargained with in the past. Normally, he wouldn’t try to contact that one unless he was very desperate, or if something threatened his tribe’s survival.

… but now, he was desperate.

He felt a chill wind rise, blowing across the sandy beach… and heard a voice.

“Well now, so dis be where ya got to…” chuckled the speaker. He had a masculine voice, troll accented… and yet, something about it was chilling to hear. It echoed of finality, endings, and what came when the sun set not just on a day, but on a life.

Leaning against a rocky outcropping nearby, their hands folded over their chest, was a tall muscular troll… but their eyes glowed with a deathly aura, their face a skull-like countenance. Their arms were long and powerful, but their fingers were bone claws devoid of any flesh or muscle whatsoever.

Zul’zanza opened his eyes, “… Bwonsamdi.” he whispered. The Loa of Graves, the Keeper of Souls, and the Lord of Death. Not a malicious Loa, in fact he had done everything he could to protect the souls of trollkind when the Arbiter had been struck down. He had worked hard to prevent them from being lost to the Maw by hiding them in his own realm of the Shadowlands, De Other Side.

But still, he was the Loa of Graves. Nobody living truly felt comfortable talking to him. It was like looking into your own open grave, seeing the truth that everyone living on Azeroth would one day die, no matter what the outcome of any war would be. Sooner or later, Bwonsamdi came for every troll… it was just a matter of when.

The Loa stood, then sauntered over to Zul’zanza as he sat there. “Witch Doctor Zul’zanza… why, it been years since ya vanish on us! We almost thought ya lost forever mon… Ya be waaaaaaay away from when ya supposed ta be.” chuckled Bwonsamdi.

Zul’zanza stayed sitting, his head bowed, “Bwonsamdi… de odders, dey say dat dis not be dere… I dunno, timeline? Dat dey be from Azeroth… but not dis Azeroth?” he asked, “How dis be possible?” he asked.

Bwonsamdi shrugged, “Not really me department mon…” he replied, waving a hand dismissively. “Lakali might be knowin’ somethin’, but he… eh… he not doin’ so good right now. Be gettin’ betta though. Give ol’ Lakali anudder hundred years or so, he be fiiiiiiiiine…”

Zul’zanza shook his head, “I don’t have a hundred years!” he spat, “I need ta go back ta me village! I need ta return ta Stranglethorn! Me people need me!” he shouted, “Dey need a witch doctor! I don’t got no fookin’ apprentice! Without me…”

Bwonsamdi’s skull-like face was suddenly directly infront of Zul’zanza’s, the glow from his eyes lighting up the witch doctor’s mask. “… dey died.” he replied, “Dey die a long loooooong time ago mon… I took ya tribe oh…” he thought, floating back a bit as a bony digit tapped his chin, the Loa of Graves glancing upwards, “… ‘bout… hmmm… few hundred years now? Lotta souls, hard ta keep track, ya know?”

Zul’zanza’s eyes widened, the troll scrambling to his feet, “WOT?! Me tribe be gone?!” he demanded.

Bwonsamdi smirked, “Eh, it happens mon. People die.” he chuckled, “Ya be in de right timeline tho… I remember dat night pretty clearly. Not often one o’ me witch doctors gets thrown through time like dat.”

“… how far?” asked Zul’zanza, stepping forward as the sand crunched under his feet, “How many fookin’ years?!” he demanded.

Bwonsamdi tapped his bony digits together, as if considering not telling him… but in the end he shrugged, “Bout… two hundred… two fiddy? Somewhere round dere. Ya be waaaaaaaaaay inta ya future, mon. Stranglethorn ain’t anythin’ like ya remember now. Been a crazy few years.”

Zul’zanza fell to his knees, his mind reeling. Two and a half centuries?! He had been launched forward in time that far?! Trolls only lived around seventy years on average, maybe a bit more or less depending on whether or not they were warriors. It was the regeneration. It kept them alive in the moment, but regrowing flesh, muscle, sometimes entire limbs… it taxed the body. Every time a troll did it, it cut their lifespan. Live now but die sooner because of it.

Two hundred and fifty years? Even the great grandchildren of the trolls he knew would be dust and bones by now.

“Why me… why dis happen ta me?” he whispered, his hands shaking.

“Oh I tink ya know why… he may not remember ya, but ya fookin’ remember him, ya?” chuckled Bwonsamdi. “Ya saw his face when ya did it… I know ya did, because I show ya.” he smirked, leaning in. “It only be fair. When ya do dat ta somebuddy, ya look ‘em in da fookin’ eye.”

Zul’zanza raised his head, staring back at Bwonsamdi. “… I was right… it was him…” he whispered.

“Dat be a very very powerful connection… ‘n when dat hex dat his enemy be usin’ go boom… well… connections matter.” he chuckled. “Wolfmon’s cousin… stonemon’s daughter… pandagal’s lover…” he smirked, “… and you.”

Zul’zanza felt a chill go down his spine. He could tell how powerful Mola’raum was. He had never encountered a Death Knight before, they didn’t exist in his time, but he could feel the aura of death on him. “How he not know? I saw his face, he had ta see mine!” he insisted. It was part of the bargan. At that moment, they would have both seen each other.

Bwonsamdi shrugged, “Dunno mon. From where he be standin’ its been a long fookin’ time… mebbe he just forget?” he replied, walking away towards the sea with his back to Zul’zanza, then pausing and glancing back with a grin, “… mebbe he just pretendin’ to? Mebbe, some witch doctor needs ta find dere balls ‘n ask dis mon.”

Bwonsamdi smirked, seeing Zul’zanza’s expression even behind his mask (for what mask could hide a man’s face from Death itself,) then he paused and cocked his head, “Hm?” he cupped a hand around his ear, as if listening to some distant sound. “Oh… well now. Gotta be goin’ mon. Important client be callin’ me. I be a busy busy Loa dese days!” he laughed, “Good luck gettin’ back home Zul’zanza… ya be needin’ it.” he sneered, then the shadows swirled around his body and a moment later he was gone.

Zul’zanza stared at where he’d been for a long time… then he let out a strangled cry, grabbed a rock near where he’d been sitting, and threw it with all his might at the spot where Bwonsamdi had disappeared. The rock slammed into the sand, sending up a spray of grains in all direction and scaring the daylights out of several crabs as Zul’zanza’s chest heaved, the troll forcing his emotions back down.

“De Loa… dey gone… or dey just be playin’ games wit me…” he gritted his teeth, then began walking back towards the Glittering Prize, “Nobody gettin’ Zul’zanza outta dis mess… but Zul’zanza…”

As he walked up onto the deck of the ship he saw a table set up with a candle burning on the surface. Seated at it were the two undead members of Savage United, Edwood Varags and Mola’raum.

There was a small pile of copper coins on the table, the two of them each holding several objects in their hands. After a long moment Mola’raum smirked, then revealed what he held. Five squares of cardboard. Three of them had the same symbol in the upper right, similar to the letter R, and each had an image of a hooded man holding a dagger or shortsword; a human, an orc, and an elf. “Three rogues mon. Ya beatin’ dat?”

Edwood grinned toothily, then revealed his own hand. Two of the cards had a symbol not unlike a K, one of them featuring a stylized image very similar to the late king Varian Wrynn, while the other looked like the fallen Kael’thas Sunstrider. The other three just had the number ten on them. “Aye I bloody well think I do.” cackled the warlock as he reached out and scooped the coins over to him.

Mola’raum swore in trollish, then he glanced up. “Oh, ya back.” he nodded as he saw Zul’zanza.

The witch doctor tried his hardest to keep his face neutral, then slowly he walked over. “Ya… just… thinkin’. Night be good fer thinkin’, nice ‘n quiet.” he replied. “Ya… sure ya don’t know who I be?” he asked.

Mola’raum leaned back in his chair, frowning as he looked up at the stars. “Hard ta say bruddah…” he replied, “I… feel like I should… but…” he shook his head, “A while back, someone really powerful fooked with me memories, sealed ‘em away. I got some of ‘em back, but… most of de really far back ones still be hard ta remember.” he frowned, closing his eyes.

“I… think I be from Stranglethorn originally… long long time ago… but… dat be all. I can’t even remember where in de Vale I lived… just, it was Stranglethorn. Dat I be sure of.” he sighed.

Zul’zanza nodded, “Hm…” he muttered.

Mola’raum glanced at him, “Why? Ya know how we be connected? Why Nyloc’s spell targeted ya instead of anybuddy else?” he asked.

Zul’zanza shook his head, “No.” he replied, a bit too quickly perhaps. “Mebbe ya were part o’ me tribe, but just a kid? I dunno.”

Mola’raum shrugged, “Mebbe…” he replied, gathering up the cards as he began to shuffle the deck again. Earlier in their stay in Khaz Algar Mola’raum and Ed took guard duty much more seriously, but now that the Alliance and Horde’s fleet was just up the coast… well… it’d take someone exceptionally suicidal to launch an attack of any size on The Glittering Prize and risk drawing the fleets’ attention. So they had bought a deck of playing cards off a sailor and Edwood had taught Mola’raum how to play five card poker.

Zul’zanza yawned loudly, “I be tired now mon, I gonna go lie down…” he nodded, heading off into the ship. As soon as he was inside, he frowned. If Mola’raum was pretending not to remember him, he was a very good actor. Zul’zanza had been all but certain, but his talk with Bwonsamdi had confirmed it beyond any doubt.

He had never heard of Death Knights, he had never expected to see him again. By now even his bones should have been dust.

Each of the timelost four had a strong connection to one of those who had faced Nyloc that day, in this timeline or another.

Yvain was the daughter Dareley Steelhammer never got to have and raise.

Loren was the cousin that Nelen had believed lost, either a feral worgen or long dead.

Xhu Pai was the lover that Jaie would have had if her life had gone just that tiniest bit differently. If that one day hadn’t cost her a father.

Zul’zanza… well… few connections are stronger than that of victor and victim. The poison maker, the one who had killed his people. Zul’zanza had seen his face through Bwonsamdi’s eyes the day he had used the ritual hex.

To see it again, two and a half centuries in the future… the eyes glowed a ghostly blue, and he was clearly dead… but it was him.

Zul’zanza’s connection to Mola’raum? He was his murderer. He had used his power to kill him, centuries ago. He had done it to protect his tribe from Mola’raum’s poisons, but all the same it was his magic that had ended the troll’s life.

Now, without the power of the Loa, without his tribe, without his home… if Mola’raum remembered who he was… what would the Death Knight do? What would he do, with his runed double-headed glave, and his power to control and command the undead if he realized the man who had killed him and sent him to the Shadowlands was on the same vessel that he was?

Zul’zanza hoped he would be back in his own time before he had to find out.

Several hours later…

Zul’zanza awoke with a snort, sunlight streaming in through the porthole as he lay on his bedroll next to the ones for Yvain, Xhu Pai, and Loren.

He had not slept well, his dreams full of death and darkness, the leering face of Bwonsamdi melting into the furious countenance of Mola’raum. He had felt the Death Knight’s hands close around his throat, felt them cutting off his breath, heard Mola’raum shout in fury that he remembered who he was and now it was Zul’zanza’s turn… and then the nightmare faded into nothing but colors and noises.

He looked out through the porthole onto the beach and saw two pandaren women there, each holding a long thin piece of wood a good foot longer than they were tall.

“Alright, hold it like this, and remember… quick jabbing thrusts. Sweeping strikes can be good if you can hit a foe’s ankle or knee to knock them off balance, but only do it if you’re really sure you can knock them down. If they’re fast they can just as easily grab your spear and pull it right out of your hands, then its their spear and suddenly you don’t have a weapon…” she nodded, standing with her legs apart and both hands on the handle of her ‘spear’ as she thrust out with the tip of the stick. No point in risking training with a real weapon while Xhu Pai was still learning the basics.

Xhu nodded, wearing Jaie’s old training clothes again. No point in getting her good silk all messed up again after all. “Right…” she nodded, trying to match Jaie’s stance as she raised her ‘spear’ and held it ready.

“That’s good… spears are good for making quick jabbing thrusts at vitals. Even if you miss, they can tear an enemy open and that’ll force them back. A spear wound in the side may not be immediately fatal, but it can do some serious damage even if you don’t aim perfect. Aiming for the chest is tricky because of ribs, but if you hit the lungs or heart you can immediately take down your foe.” nodded Jaie as she did a few mock thrusts at a pile of rocks they had set up to act as a training dummy.

Xhu nodded, focusing on the rocks, and imagining it to be one of the fungarians who had threatened her in the woods, then she let out a growl and thrust out, smacking the end of her stick into the ‘stomach’ stone, pulling back, and doing it again.

“Good, just like that. Short quick jabs, hit them and duck back, then hit them again. Speed is good for those as even small inaccurate hits can do a lot of damage very quickly when you do them over and over again.” grinned Jaie.

“Yeah… not so hard really.” chuckled Xhu Pai.

Jaie smirked, “Not hard against a pile of stones, a lot harder against a foe who is trying just as hard to attack you as you are to attack them… but we’ll leave sparring until you get the basics down.”

As Xhu practiced Jaie paused, hearing a whistling in her pouch. She took out her gemstone and drew the rune for ‘connect’ on the surface, and Nelen’s face appeared over the stone.

“Everyone.” he said, having used the ‘all’ rune to contact all the others who had gemstones (save for Xinyi, they had made sure that part of the spell excluded Jaie’s mother.) “Hallowfall is under siege! The nerubians are attacking the arathi in force! Jaina and Thrall are already mobilizing our forces for a counterattack, but they’re calling for any aid they can get. From what Faerin is reporting its as if every nerubian loyal to Xal’atath is part of this attack!”

Xhu Pai had stopped attacking the training dummy, staring at the gemstone. “That sounds bad…” she winced, looking at Jaie.

“It could be yeah… Xhu, get back on the ship and tell Jeemjazo to raise the gangplank and be ready to set out to sea if necessary. I’ve got to go help.” she nodded, dropping her stick on the sand and pulling out her flying disk.

“Jaie I…” began Xhu, then she paused. She felt like she should say something, and yet… once more she hit that surreal feeling. This wasn’t her Jaie. This Jaie wasn’t her lover. What should she say? “… just… be careful?” she tried.

Jaie nodded, “Always am!” she replied, hopping onto her flying disk as magical energy swirled under it and formed a semi-solid cloud, the pandaren launching herself into the air as she sped off towards Dornogal and the Coreway.

Across Khaz Algar the other members of Avalon and Savage United were taking flight as well. This was all hands on deck! Xal’atath may be making her move now, and if she was then they needed everyone they could get to drive her back!

Next Story

Previous Story

[springbons]

YOU LITERALLY TAGGED ME AND I MISSED THE ASK QUESTION THING LOL.

Here ya go :)

For CY:

Halloween, Paranormal Activity, Orphan, Texas Chain Saw Massacre

gonna bullshit the other 3

PP:

Black Christmas

CC:

Misery

And DiTD:

Scream

(Man I don't know ANY of these other than CY)

Oh Goodie! These are all amazing. Let's see! [CY] -Halloween Riktor LOVES Halloween! Not only is it Noah's birthday, which is already a great time, he gets to do all sorts of freaky magic in the one day the bridge between worlds is so Short! Derringer likes Free Candy. (He stole from the bowl for kids.) Kurt appreciates Day of the Dead because he essentially becomes a celebrity; an actual Skeleton. Tarrel has no idea what it is but he's willing to learn! Vyra never passes up a good chance to dress-up. Moira does whatever the people she's with do.

-Paranormal Activity Riktor... Obviously. Derringer IS one more or less. Kurt is Literally undead Tarrel has no choice but to believe what he sees. Moira would have rathered not to find out, personally. They freak her out. No-one else of note.

-Orphan Riktor often dreamt his late mother would emerge from the depths of the water to take his soul, for whatever reason. Possibly guilt that he'd never found her body. Derringer cannot feel fear, but he used Riktor's fear against him once. Kurt's biggest fear when he was first made was that he wouldn't have any friends. The fact he only Really Clicked with One, lost them, and then spent something around 8000 years looking for them... Didn't go well mentally. Tarrel was afraid of the dark, like any normal child... He hates it even more now, knowing what monsters lie within it, but when you're a Roman you live in Rome... No-one else of note. (Vyra doesn't wish to speak about this.)

-Texas Chain Saw Massacre Obviously the whole crew is in a carpool, sooo! Riktor likes Driving, but he'd MUCH rather be the map. Noah gets the wheel, probably. Moira's the most responsible so she's in charge of snacks... And in charge of keeping Jackson, Sparrow and Kurt away from the bag of snacks. NOBODY is trusted with the aux cord. That is a turn-based system until they weed out who's going to blast earrape and shitty techno music the whole ride. Tarrel's asleep the whole ride unless something breaks down. He's like a Trunk Monkey, only comes up if you need him. That's how he likes it, nicer to sleep than to watch the chaos.

[PP] -Black Christmas He has nobody left to call him. The call is not for him, he shall not pick up. [CC] -Misery Samson's had many run-ins with freezing weather, even having to work in such conditions given his status as just a peasant in the working colonies. He wouldn't understand the concept of Winter Fun, but if you taught him he'd have alot of fun with it. The Tourist likes nothing more than sitting in warm lighting, enjoying a warm cup of something brown. Tea, coffee, cocoa, he really doesn't care. The Doctor's too insane to do anything but run more experiments. No rest for the wicked! The Rider has no sense for such childish games, they have more important matters to attend to. M23 is a robot... It can handle cold weather though! It'd probably just do home maintenance to keep itself busy. [DiTD] -Scream Henry loves anything Sci-Fi or Supernatural. He loves the idea of there being more to this world than what he can see on the surface. So, Andromeda doesn't really watch movies buuut he'd watch anything Gabe put on... Partly because he doesn't really have a choice, but mostly because he just enjoys her company. Chohko can't see, but she loves audiobooks, anything that can get chills sent up her spine. They usually just make her hungry though.

[hydr0phius]

Thanks for the tag @hovercraft79 !

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

I have 29 works as of 17/04/2024. Could possibly have another one ready soon 👀

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

I've written 199,256 words (posted) in the last 7 ish years.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Star Wars (mostly the Thrawn trilogies), The Worst Witch (1998, 2017) Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (2018), Marvel, and Doctor Who.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Loki: The Rewrite, Grievance (Fanart), 101 Ways to Make a Salad, Stay, and Wrath of the Manda'lor

Most of those were posted in 2020, and in Loki's case, 2021.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do respond to comments! It's basic fandom interaction and I love screeching about fics with other people lol. As long as you don't just comment "update now" or something along those lines in a rude way on a fic that's been on the backburner for a wee bit, you won't get a smartass answer :)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Uhhhhhh, I don't know. It's probably all the Whumptober fics I've done though tbh. I meant to do one for 2023 but I'm still working on that because it's an AU and I wanted to do more than just torture my little guys.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Knight In Shining Pink was pretty happy at the end.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

Not really.

9. Do you write smut?

Haven't posted any, 👀 but it is in my drafts...

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Do I write crossovers? That feels like all I write, so I'll list my favourites:

The Admiral's Witch (Most recent: Worst Witch/Star Wars)

It Looked Alright In the Pictures (Last fic of 2023: Worst Witch/Star Wars)

Shadows On The Night (Worst Witch/Star Wars crossover)

Puppets of Fate (MCU/Star Wars: currently undergoing a rewrite)

As you can see, I like putting TWW17 & 98 characters in certain situations with certain SW characters.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah. Feel free to though. Just make sure you give me credit and link to the original fic.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yea, a few. Loki: The Rewrite is the first that comes to mind.

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

Don't do this to meeee. I'm going to say Obitine (Obi-Wan/Satine) for now bc they popped into my head first.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Puppets of Fate is going to take me another four years just to get four chapters rewritten at this rate, and I Think My Neighbour's A Witch will probably be the same tbh. I'd rather be happy with what I've written and take yonks than do a rush job without much thought and never be able to sleep at night. Normal things and reactions to that situation... (probably not normal tbh).

16. What are your writing strengths?

Action, I'd say. And whump.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Finishing my wips...also having really long winded sentences. They make sense to me and I do try to chop em down during editing but I also miss a few lol.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've sprinkled Cheunh into my fics where appropriate, so I'd say go for it. Having translations in the notes or making it obvious what's being said in the scene helps a lot though. It sucks reading big passages of something you don't know and then not knowing what any of it means unless you whip the translator out or there's notes.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Tinkerbell. None of those have ever made it to AO3 though and they're shoved to the bottom of my wardrobe in the spiral bound books that 12 yr old me wrote them in.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Eldritch Horror Cackles Academy AU where the castle is alive and hungry. It's unposted and only has three chapters written so far, but love it. It's truly something lmao. I think I had a sketch on this hellsite somewhere that was kind of a teaser for it.

Tagging (no pressure): @wayward-thrawn @empress-violetlight @heathtrash @lorrainestea & anyone else who wants to play :3

Questions to respond to below the cut!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fic?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Writer Asks

I love doing these! They hardly ever come around anymore and I miss these. Thank you @bitchbrisket for sending this my way.

How many works do you have on AO3?

36

What’s your total AO3 word count?

664,309

What fandoms do you write for?

Mostly The Worst Witch 2017, but there’s also a couple of Bletchley Circle fics on there, as well as an unpublished Xena and a Rosemary and Thyme wip.

What are your top five fics by kudos?

Divine

Into the Great Wide Open

One Thing Leads to Another

Ghost

Winter Song

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I try to always comment. Comments are a gift and I want to recognize the time someone took tell me they liked my work. Plus, I love talking about writing and stories and all that.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Life has enough angst already, I don’t need to add to it with my fics. I much prefer a happy ending. That said, since I’ve left everyone hanging on Stella Caeli for 6 months (I’m so sorry!) and it’s at a disaster cliffhanger, it would be that. I am almost done with the next installment, though, so hopefully soon it won’t be angsty either.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Maybe Divine? That’s the last part of Hecate’s Summer Playlist. Either that or An Uncertain Spring

Do you get hate on fic?

I haven’t yet.

Do you write smut?

It probably comes as a surprise to most of my readers, but yes. Just not in any of the stuff I’ve written for TWW or posted on AO3

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really, though I do enjoy letting Rosemary and Thyme make a cameo every now and then. I’m not against them, just haven’t done it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don’t think so.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I’m aware.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, but Sparky probably deserves a co-writing credit for all of the work she’s put in to my fics.

What’s your all-time favourite ship?

This is a toughie. Certainly, Hecate Hardbroom and Pippa Pentangle – or Hecate and Ada Cackle – or Hecate and Julie Hubble. Honorable mentions include Jean McBride and Millie Harcourt, Xena and Gabrielle, Jenny Flint and Madame Vastra, Rosemary and Thyme, Lady Hardcastle and Flo, SuperCorp, Laventon and Cyllene… The list really could go on.

What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

Probably my first fic – a massive crossover with characters from everywhere, a healthy dose of Mary Sue-manship, a bizarre premise that turned out to be not so bizarre when six months or a year after I started it, Galaxy Quest sort of had the main plot point.

What are your writing strengths?

I feel like dialogue is what I do best, followed by plotting.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action sequences. They feel very stilted to me.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Sure, write it. I've had bilingual characters.

First fandom you wrote for?

Not counting that first atrocity, Xena and Gabrielle – though technically it’s a Mel & Janice one.

Favourite fic you’ve written?

That is like picking a favorite child, isn’t it? Well, I shan’t be in denial about it. Hecate’s Summer Playlist holds a special place in my heart, closely followed by An Uncertain Spring and All Roads Lead to Home.

If you'd like to play, I'll tag @emiline-northeto @curlywitch14 @hydr0phius @cassiopeiasara and anyone else who'd like to join in.

Questions to respond to:

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

3. What fandoms do you write for?

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

8. Do you get hate on fic?

9. Do you write smut?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

16. What are your writing strengths?

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

19. First fandom you wrote for?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

[btnclmrttn]

Hii! Could you do headcanons for Genos, saitama and Garou when they're sick?

Thank you so much <33

Great idea, thank you for the suggestion!

If they're sick

~~~~

Totally bummed his plans are ruined

He's a good boy and takes medicine/goes to the doctor if he needs to. He has shit to do and won't sit around waiting to be better

If he has a fever and chills, cold like symptoms, he can be a bit of a whiner, tbh. He'll sit and mope a good distance from his S/O because he wants to be held but doesn't want them sick

If he's just got a massive migraine and just body pain he's more irritable and won't talk much to avoid being rude. Just tries to sleep it off.

If he's sick, like nausea for example, he has a hard time. He HATES being nauseous and does not like throwing up at all. He'd probably get to a point where he don't even want to open his mouth or even drink water

You and/or Genos gotta help him out with his fear, make him stay hydrated at least, or he'll get worse. The both of you are a great team and can get him going easy

Unless it was a life-threatening illness he'd probably never end up in the hospital. In general he has good health with a side of some allergies every now and then

Now because he's a cyborg, the equivalent of him being sick is like needing/having an update

Maybe even phantom pains from when he was once human and had a serious injury lately

No medicine is needed, it's not like he has an actual immune system

He's a little forgetful, sluggish, sleepy, and randomly has inaudible speech. He'll zone out and sleep mode will activate out of the blue. It isn't very common he "faints"

He tries to isolate himself because he finds it humiliating. Will "hide" by just facing away from everyone at a distance. Saitama tries his best to talk him into just laying on his futon for a bit but he refuses stubbornly

Now if you're involved it's different. If you tell him to do something, he'll do it for sure. He knows you probably know what's better for him and he doesn't want your health affected by worrying over him.

Sometimes you gotta be Saitama's "translator" and tell him things Saitama really said. Like the futon thing. The both of you can work something out together alright

After a long shut down he'll be back to normal

He's literally so embarrassed to be any kind of sick around you. Vulnerability doesn't come easy for him in any way

Attempts to tough it out without medicine, and hates the doctor. There's only so much you can bribe him with to take it, too. He just thinks he's better than doing it the easier (logical) way

I wanna HC this fool with lactose intolerance. Partially because it could be likely if his diet growing up, bad as it was, wasn't usually dairy

Also because he's got dumb energy. He would not care and would rather be sick than not eat a good bowl of Mac n Cheese. At least he has a high pain tolerance

He's gonna tell you don't baby him if he's bedridden but yes he does like it go ahead. Just be subtle

That if you can get him to let you help. He won't ask so you gotta play close attention. It can be a pain cause he's avoiding you for the most part

Needs lots of reassurance. He's got an anxiety about being taken advantage of or hurt. It's nothing personal

You just gotta mom him to death for him to be cooperative. It'll be fine

[missshezz]

Hey ;) How is life going for You ? I hope you're well and safe. Sending you hugs.

May I request a Malcolm Bright x Reader fic please ? Reader is Malcolm's closest friend so naturally he comes to visit her when she is sick so he can take care of her, just like she has been taking care of him through the hard times he has been going through.

You don't have to do it if you don't want to, really just do whatever makes you feel comfortable.

Please take care ;)

Hi there, anon! I am doing well .., survived Thanksgiving and Black Friday 🤣 sending you hugs, as well, and hoping you’re well!

I actually don’t normally do CC x Reader because of the complexity of the second person narrator POV. However, I had a thought for something while waiting for my brother to finish shopping. Hopefully, it fits what you wanted!

Title: The Air That You Breathe

Word Count: 750

Characters: Malcolm Bright and Reader

Tags: Sick!fic, friendship, Harvard years (pre-canon), humor, angst, fluff

…

It started out as the sniffles.

Nothing to worry about in your mind.

You had allergies. Sniffles tended to happen when they acted up. You had the other symptoms to further establish it was simply your allergies kicking you in the ass.

Then came the fever and chills.

A cough that left you short of breath.

“Bad cold,” your roommates said. “You’ll be fine in a few days.”

A bad cold became bronchopneumonia.

Landed you in the hospital three days before finals.

Definitely not how you wanted to finish the first half of your senior year but what could you do?

You tried to finish the mountain of papers and projects due but exhaustion dogged you at every turn.

Studying?

Yeah, there was a joke.

It took you four hours to read one page.

Even then you couldn’t remember one damn bit of what you read. After your twentieth attempt to read the page you tossed the offensive textbook across the room.

Luckily, it hit the wall and not the man who had slipped into your hospital room while you were arguing with said textbook.

“Uhm,” Malcolm said, instantly grabbing your attention. “I don’t think throwing your textbook is going to help the situation.”

“Like hell,” you wheezed as you shifted to look at him. “Throwing it made me feel better than I have in days.”

A nervous smile creased Malcolm’s lips. He ducked his head, strands of that gorgeous sable hair you longed to run your fingers through falling forward to conceal a face that should grace the covers of GQ, Esquire, and Men’s Vogue. You often wondered why he hid his smile like that that but you never asked him.

You weren’t one to pry and Malcolm Bright wasn’t one to cough up answers unless he chose to give them.

Not that it mattered really.

Everyone had their idiosyncrasies.

Malcolm’s were just a bit… odder than some.

They were what made him so adorkable.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked as you managed to finally catch your breath. “I figured you’d be up to your eyeballs with getting ready for finals.”

“I wanted to come see you,” he said. “Make sure you were getting better.”

“I’m getting better.” Much too slowly in your opinion. Not that you had any choice in the matter. Doctors and their medicine could only do so much. The rest was simply up to your body and whenever it decided to finally kick this shit. “Thanks for coming by,” you said. “Been hard being cooped up in here without my phone or computer.”

A frown creased Malcolm’s brow.

“I brought your phone and laptop when I brought your books.”

“And my mom confiscated them when she left.”

“Why?”

“Cause I’m here to get well.”

As if you couldn’t get better while using your phone and laptop.

Your mom was adamant, however.

No phone, no computer.

Not until you were released from the hospital. Blue-green eyes winked out from between the strands of hair begging you to brush them from his face.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your heart melted at his shyly uttered confession. That or the drugs they’ve got me on have made me loopy. Either way, those words filled you with the warm fuzzies.

You had had a crush on Malcolm since Freshman year but he seemed absolutely clueless to it.

Not much of a shock really.

Social situations weren’t Malcolm’s strong suit.

Making his missing you all the sweeter.

“Here.” Malcolm set a white paper bag on your hospital tray. “I brought you a container of minestrone and breadsticks from Luigi’s.” Another small smile curved his lips. “Figured it’d help you feel better.”

Like her Nonna’s chicken noodle soup made him feel better whenever his stomach was unable to keep anything but Twizzlers and sparkling water down.

You thought you were going to turn into a big pile of goo at his thoughtfulness.

He tended to do things like bringing you tea with lemon on a cold day or a blueberry bagel because you tended to forget to have breakfast.

And yeah he tended to always have an extra scantron because he knew you’d forget to pick up one before class.

Because Malcolm Bright sucked balls at reading social situations.

He was shit at expressing his feelings verbally.

And yeah, maybe he focused a bit too much on murder and murderers.

He was damn good at knowing just how to make a shitty day better.

That, in the end, was all that mattered.

[aggravatetheaxe]

Hey! Saw your post and saw you said you were upsettie spaghetti so I wanted to cheer you up!

Slashers who stop everything they’re doing because their “My S/O needs me” senses are tingling and go to their rescue to comfort their angry s/o?

I was hoping to come up with A way for you to get your emotions out through your writing- 😅

Hope you feel better! 🖤

I've never done a post in this style before so hopefully I do okay! I think I covered pretty much all the slashers I write for so far (I didn't do Billy Lenz because I still need to read the novelization). I may have gone way overboard, so if I do these in the future, I'll probably just pick a few instead of doing the whole roster 😅 (or you can pick for me). But doing this much work did distract me!

Above the cut:

Bo Sinclair

Vincent Sinclair

Lester Sinclair

Included below the cut:

Michael Myers (OG)

Jason Voorhees

Leslie Vernon

Thomas Hewitt

Bubba Sawyer

Brahms Heelshire

Erik ("The Phantom")

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC slasher)

Kathleen Montgomery (OC slasher)

Masterlist

***

Bo Sinclair

Despite being autistic, Bo is very in tune with peoples auras and body language. He has to be to manipulate and deceive people with any modicum of success. He's trained himself when it comes to these things; even besides masking or manipulation, he needed to be keenly aware of when his parents were in Bad Moods so he could either avoid them or prepare himself.

The mood he's probably best at when it comes to this, for those reasons, is anger. He can smell anger a mile away. So if you're fuming, you better believe he notices.

At first he's annoyed and will demand to know what your problem is. He's not a very tolerant person, and he can be a bit of a hypocrite. He's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but when it comes to others having big, messy feelings ... he's not so comfortable with that. He gets overwhelmed.

Once he realizes that this is more than an attitude problem, he'll take it much more seriously. And assuming you're not mad at him, he'll want the rundown on the whole situation from beginning to end. He wants all the dirt.

He'll let you rant, and honestly, he'd think you being this angry (when it's not directed at him, but even still sometimes) is kind of sexy. And don't expect him to shut his mouth, either; he'll be ranting right along with you, affirming you and insulting whomever/whatever you're angry about.

He doesn't wanna cuddle. He genuinely thinks you can't cuddle anger away. He'll put on some loud-ass music and let you vent your frustration however you prefer. Maybe suggest a long drive down to the lake or into town or just ... picking a direction and going. He has fantasies of running away from his anger sometimes. He knows how it is.

Depending on what you're angry about, it could definitely get to the point where he's angrier about the situation than you are. And if it really hurt you, he will not let it go as long as he lives. The best he will ever do is maintain a grudging neutrality or distance from the person/situation that made you angry.

He's very protective. If you're angry at someone you need to maintain a relationship with, you're going to have to keep an eye on Bo to make sure he doesn't deliver revenge for you behind your back. If it's something he can solve, he'll do it, so if you don't want him running his mouth, watch him.

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent is in the same boat as Bo when it comes to sensing auras, though his handle on body language and facial expressions is not as keenly honed. While Vincent was not physically abused as brutally or as often as Bo, this wasn't because of some sterling quality he had that Bo lacked. He was always The Good One because he saw what his parents did to The Bad One and knew he needed to protect himself. He tried not to do anything that might provoke his parents.

You can feel anger before a fight like you smell ozone before a storm. Vincent is attuned to the feeling not just because of his parents but because of Bo's temper, too. Because of this, like Bo, he can very accurately sense anger in particular.

His initial reaction is to observe you, gauging if you need time to cool off. If you need space, Vincent is the Sinclair for you. He's used to being quiet and deflecting and riding out anger.

However, once he realizes that your anger is not directed at him or isn't explosive enough to become a problem for him, he's concerned. Rather than asking what happened, he will ask if you're okay, and leave it up to you whether you'll tell him about it or not.

If you vent, he'll sit and listen patiently, maybe even thoughtfully working on a sculpture while you rant. He's not judgemental and he can be very emotional himself, so you could say the most ridiculous, dramatic things and he wouldn't even bat an eye. Let out all your messy, destructive thoughts and feelings. Just try not to throw or punch anything; that's when he shuts down.

If you decide you just want comfort, or decide you need comfort after ranting, art is his first suggestion. It may seem cold to you at first, that his instinct isn't to hold you or kiss you but rather to redirect you to a project - once you got to know him, however, you'd know that's his most genuine way to show he cares. Redirecting to something creative calms him down more than platitudes ever could, and he wants that for you. He's nonjudgmental about the art you create as well, even if it's objectively terrible. It's not about the quality.

He won't turn you down if you need physical affection, however. His twin is extremely tactile, so it wouldn't be the first time he held someone after a breakdown. He prefers to do this if he's certain you won't lash out physically, but if you were in a really bad way and needed to be touched, he'd do it regardless.

Lester Sinclair

Lester witnessed his parents' anger, but it was usually indirectly; if Bo was the Bad One and Vincent was the Good One, he was the Overlooked One. He's not a perfect person, probably not even a good person, but of the three brothers, he's the most normally socialized. He isn't trained to be tuned into everyone's every shifting mood in order to survive.

It takes Lester a little longer to pick up on your anger than his brothers, but not too much longer. It takes him a couple tries at trying to talk to you or get your attention before he realizes something is really wrong.

His first reaction is to get upset. He soaks up emotions like a little sponge, so he's suddenly cranky, too. He also jumps to conclusions and assumes that you're angry with him, and he does not take rejection well. He might be bitter and passive aggressive. You being angry just makes him want to go in another room and not be around you, and yet at the same time, he wants your reassurances. It's messy and sad.

Once he realizes - either through observing you or through you communicating with him - that you're mad at another person or situation, then he'll feel comfortable enough to approach you and ask you about it. You'll definitely need to reassure him that you're not mad at him though.

If you wanna rant, he'll take you on a long drive and let you vent your heart out to him. He won't be quite as aggressive as Bo, but he'll be on your side, frowning with disapproval, telling you "Ya can't fix stupid." If you want only comfort or need comfort after venting, he feels much more equipped for that. He'll put something relaxing in the VHS or let you play his old Super Nintendo, get you a beer, just let you chill out. And he'll let you win at Doctor Mario.

If the situation is something really serious, you best believe he'll be talking to his brothers about it the second he gets a chance. He may be a sweet guy, but he can be real nasty, and he doesn't fuck around when it comes to you. You might have to keep an eye out to make sure he doesn't tell someone off or punch out someone's lights.

Michael Myers (OG)

In 1978, Michael is not very in tune with any emotions besides fear, and even then he only really understands it in an abstract way, as his condition and upbringing haven't really been conducive to him learning about emotions. Unless you're screaming in terror, have tears running down your face, or are shouting angrily, he really can't read your moods. Without any obvious change to how you normally act or look, there's a huge chance he might just not notice if you're angry. He spends a lot of time in his own little world.

In 2018, even though he's spent over 50 years institutionalized, Michael has had time to take in the world, and he's seen a lot more. He understands fear much more than he did when he was 21, but what he understands most of all is anger. His anger fuels him. He would pick up on yours right away and be curious, though he wouldn't verbalize it.

If you tell him how you feel, he'll take note of it. If he witnesses you doing something destructive because of your anger, he'll simply observe. He would be fascinated with this thing you're doing, because it's not something you normally do, and though he might not notice emotions, he certainly notices routine and pattern. Either way, you'll have to tell him how you feel, because he'll simply watch you otherwise.

One thing that can be said for Michael is that he's a good listener. He may not internalize everything you say, but he will remember what he thinks is important. You may be surprised; he may remember tiny little details that seem inconsequential to you but loom large in his mind.

Unless you were caused serious physical or mental harm, he would not be angry on your behalf. He would, however, do nothing to assuage your anger. He thinks it would be kinda neat and interesting to see you snap. He's not 100% sure why you don't just do it.

In 1978, he won't be much help beyond listening to you, but he would be curious to see what you do to vent your anger. You may find him by your side more often, observing you. He may also want to find and observe the object of your anger, especially if it's a person. In 2018, he would, in his own way, suggest you solve the problem by murdering someone/something. He's insatiable, but killing is the closest he's ever come to satisfaction. You should try it.

Jason Voorhees

Out of all of the slashers, Jason is the most likely to actually literally sense your anger, especially if you're psychically sensitive/powerful like Tina Shepard. I'm talkin'—assuming you have a pre-established relationship—he'll be doing something else and just get this itch that tells him you're out there somewhere, pissed off.

Obviously this is untenable. As long as he's not super busy or Pamela has other plans, Jason will stomp his way through the woods to get back to you, regardless of the urgency of your anger. If Pamela doesn't approve, well, he'll let a little anger go and assume you're okay. If he suspects you may be in danger, though, he's sprinting regardless of what Mom says. There's time for both things, Ma!

The first thing he'll do when he returns to you is scan your dwelling, then you, making sure nothing is broken. At that point, you'd probably be able to sense his confusion even without him signing. Jason doesn't experience emotions quite like a human anymore, and he's quite tactile besides, so a lack of tangible or visible clues as to why you're upset would trip him up for a second.

He doesn't want to comfort you at first, he wants to know what's wrong. He'll listen to you vent only long enough to understand the situation and identify his target. His immediate next move would be to eliminate the problem. You'll definitely have to hold him back, and it may take a bit of convincing. Earthly consequences don't really apply to him.

Before comfort comes blowing off steam, for you and for him. His first choices would be mangling some trees (you can pretend it's for firewood) or skipping/throwing stones into the lake. You're welcome to join him if those things calm you down; watching him get his stone to skip like 11 times on Crystal Lake may make you feel better, at least.

You might hang out there for hours before he suddenly decides it's time to go home. He'll do what he can to make your comfortable or stay out of your way while you make yourself comfortable, then comfort you as you please. His go-to choice is always foot or hand massages.

Leslie Vernon

Leslie is extremely observant and surprisingly analytical given how silly he is in the day to day. His intuition makes it pretty easy for him to read people, but especially you, since you two are so close. Especially-especially if you're his Survivor Girl (gender neutral term of course). You two are in sync, so he knows if something's up. Maybe even before you fully figure it out.

God, you're so hot when you're angry, you really are. He almost wants to let you scream and holler and go nuts. But he prefers you only get angry like that at him, especially if you're his Survivor Girl, so his first move is to comfort you or talk you down to a place where you can be comforted. He'll speak to you calmly and rationally, reassuring you and touching you if you wanna be touched—on your upper arms or shoulders or face, or with one arm around your back.

He doesn't just want to comfort you, though, he wants to calm you down enough that you can tell him what happened. Even if you claim you don't want to talk about it, he will coax it out of you eventually. He's gotta know what got you so upset. It's his business to know everything about you!

Assuming you're angry at someone/something that isn't him, he'll talk it through with you. If you're upset about an argument with someone, he has the capacity to see it from the other side, but ultimately, he's there for you. He'll let you bitch as much as you want, still touching you, and he'll be disgusted and/or disappointed with the situation.

Above all, though, what he wants is to see you smile again. The only worries on your mind should be the ones he comes up with, and man, he's not even halfway done grooming the next batch of unlucky teenagers. He'd pat your face or touch your hair and tell you to cheer up, and probably defuse the situation with a stupid quip or joke. Take you out somewhere fun, maybe.

Once you were cheered up, he'd humbly suggest you solve your problem with a little murder. "I mean, I know killing's not really your thing—you're really good at it, though, a talent! You know that..." Pause, considering you. "You want me to do it? 'Cause I can clear my schedule for the rest of the night." If you decline, he'd be like "Suit yourself" but may or may not still murder whoever upset you. If you agree, he'd be super excited to make a romantic night of it. His mind would be going a million miles an hour planning everything out.

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy knows anger when he sees it. Not only does he have loads of internalized anger, he's been on the receiving end of it plenty. He's far too large to be scared of anyone in a physical sense anymore, but he's been shouted at countless times. To know when to shut up and do as he's told versus arguing back, he's learned to gauge intensity and direction of anger, and he well knows that anger can be redirected to him.

So, he instantly recognizes your mood, but it might be a while before he approaches you. When he does approach, he'll let you decide what to do, whether that's throwing your arms around him or banging your fists on his chest to vent your anger. You won't hurt him.

Eventually, once you're all hugged or cried or screamed out, he'll wrap his arms around you and give you a reassuring squeeze. There's no need to tell Tommy what's wrong—he won't ask unless you're obviously in serious distress or injured—but if you decide to speak, he'll listen, brows drawn tightly the whole time. He's thoughtful about the situation.

If you're mad at someone in his family, there isn't much he can do for you besides comfort you and assure you that whoever upset you—Hoyt, probably—didn't mean what they said. If you were hurt physically, it would be another story, but his family gets in shouting matches all the time.

Rather than offering help, he'd wait for you to request it of him. Whatever you ask, shy of hurting his family, he will do. Murder someone? No problem. Make you some food? You got it. Bring you a blanket? Sure. Give you some quiet alone time? That's fine, too.

If you need to vent, he's got plenty of ways to get out your frustration. Plenty of farm work to do, or you could work on something around the house with him. He might suggest knitting or sewing or some other handicraft you enjoy. It always makes him feel better to buckle down and use his hands for something.

If you're still preoccupied/upset by the time you two bed down, or heaven forbid the next morning, then he starts taking it more seriously. Something that disturbs you for that long is bad news. He'll watch you carefully the next couple days to see how you're doing, waiting for you to need him for something.

Bubba Sawyer

Like Tommy, Bubba has been on the receiving end of anger many, many times, so he's familiar with what it looks and feels like. Despite his size, he's still susceptible to physical violence at the hands of his loved ones, so he's very wary of anger.

However, he doesn't have a female presence in his life like Luda Mae, who expresses her anger through passive aggression—so, he's more used to shouting and screaming. If you aren't prone to screaming and shouting, it might take a little bit for him to realize you're not just sad or upset, you're angry.

Bubba will be over you. He'd give anyone else their space because he'd be afraid of retaliation, but you're his special person, and he's pretty sure you're not going to hurt him. He'll touch your hair, your arms, your wrists; he'll babble as he tries to figure out what's wrong. He just wants to comfort you and let you know everything is all right.

If it's too much or you're overwhelmed and you snap at him, he'll ease back. He'll blubber like a kicked puppy, but he won't give up. He'll still try to comfort you, just in other ways, such as getting you a comfort item or article of clothing, or maybe some food. And boy will he helicopter.

There's no need to tell Bubba what's wrong. In fact, it might be better if you didn't; if it's something he can't fix, it would do nothing but majorly stress him out. If it was one of his family members who upset you, as with Tommy, he wouldn't be able to do much. Even if you were hurt, he's just not in a position to stand up for you. That fact would absolutely kill him, though. He'd end up getting even more upset than you.

He doesn't know what help to offer you beyond comfort, but like Tommy, if you requested something specific, he'd try to carry out your wishes. He'll also try to cheer you up with some music and dancing, or just being silly like you like.

Need to blow off steam? He's got plenty of coping mechanisms! Bubba's idea of a perfect de-stress session is turning up the radio and getting lost in crafts. He's got lots of supplies, mostly to create clothing and accessories, and you're special, so you can have your pick. A drive and the radio might be nice, too. If neither of those appeal to you, he'll try cooking or baking with you. He loves sharing the kitchen with someone.

If none of that works and you're still upset, be prepared, because he's gonna be an anxious mess until you're better.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is somewhat familiar with other people's anger. He certainly has a whole fountain of internalized anger brewing just beneath the surface, but that's different. He knows that when Mummy is angry, she yells and cries, and when Daddy is angry, he seethes and stews. The former would be obvious to him, but the latter would take him a few minutes to be quite sure about. You're not acting how you usually do. Are you being stern or are you angry? Are you cross with him?

He does not have a lot of empathy for other people, so if your anger gets in the way of his routine or the attention he wants, he'll be irked, cranky, sad. Not necessarily at you—though that is possible—but the situation in which you find yourselves.

Much like Bo, he's allowed to have big, messy feelings, but it makes him uncomfortable and scared when other people have those feelings. He might even hide from you for a while, especially if you screamed and cried.

Once he realizes something is really wrong and you're not mad at him, however, he'll start thinking of ways to cheer you up so things can go back to normal. He hates having his routine interrupted; he's very particular. And he cares for you, so seeing you in distress is very scary and uncomfortable for him.

He'll start by fetching you something you like—something manageable for him like your favorite juice or a sandwich, or if you have a special item or article of clothing, that. He's quite shy, though, and like I said, he'll probably be hiding, so he'll leave it somewhere he knows you'll find it (on the bed, outside your door, on your desk, etc.)

If that doesn't calm you down and your anger is really getting in the way of his routine, or otherwise making him uncomfortable, he'll finally make an appearance. Very bashful and timid at first, using his little boy voice. "What's wrong, Y/N? Did something bad happen?"

If it's something that can't be helped, he'll suggest you do something together to take your mind off it (most likely something he likes to do). He may even be coaxed into taking a walk around the grounds, though he doesn't like to leave the manor at all, so you'd have to convince him. He prefers quiet playtime, maybe some coloring books or loud music to vent your emotions. It would intrigue him to see someone else use his toys to calm down. As long as you recognized he was being very nice, sharing them.

If it was an argument you had with someone, he would want more information. Are they likely to leave you alone, or will they come to the manor? Will he have to deal with them? Because it's scary, but he'll do it for you.

If, for some reason, none of those things work, he may cry or throw a fit. Either way, he'll be frustrated. Adult Brahms may make an appearance and try to help you in more Adult ways.

Erik

Though he lives five cellars beneath an opera house now, Erik hasn't always been entirely reclusive. Even these days, when he can stomach it, he sometimes goes out to see the world. As a younger man, he observed people's lives and moods with a hungry fascination (that has now mostly been replaced by melancholy and longing and bitter anger). Like several of the other slashers here, he's had to train himself to sense fury to protect himself. He's also incredibly wrathful, so you could call him an expert!

He has a very keenly honed sense when it comes to you specifically, since he's watched you so much. He notices the change in your demeanor immediately.

If you know him as the "Angel of Music," his voice will appear to you once you're alone, asking you what's wrong and assuring you you can confide in him—he will insist you tell him, though. "There are to be no secrets between us, Y/N." He will listen without interjection as you vent your heart out, and when you're done, soothe you. Don't let his calming voice deceive you, though; behind that mirror, he's seething, planning to take matters into his own hands.

If you know him as Erik, he will go to you the second he recognizes the shift in your mood and take you from what you're doing, regardless of your wishes. He'll sit you down, kneeling before you with your hands in his, and gaze into your eyes, imploring you to tell him what's wrong. He'll absolutely allow you physical comfort, but he will also absolutely insist you tell. He'll need reassurance that you're not angry at him, because that thought would break his heart.

He will let you vent however you wish. You could have the most dramatic breakdown ever—throwing things, beating your fists on his chest, wailing—and he wouldn't judge you. He would be awfully concerned, though.

Will be 110% on your side. You are his poor little meow meow. "My poor love, my poor Y/N!" He is beside himself with sympathy for you and you only, and is very offended on your behalf.

He will always suggest music as an outlet for your anger, but he will have taken note of your other hobbies and interests as well. He'll fetch your things for you without being asked, as long as it won't separate him from you for very long. If you'd rather just have comfort, that's fine, too. He could hold your hand and caress your face for hours on end under normal circumstances, so no problem there. He may also suggest a little time on the surface, if you normally live in his home. Fresh air will do you both good, he reasons, and he enjoys spending time with you where others can witness it. It fills him with pride and love.

Otherwise, he's at your service for any other soothing activities you need. A calming bath, some sweets, shopping, anything. Perhaps avoid asking for any sexual contact, however. First of all, being asked directly makes him very skittish and nervous; second of all, his method of love-making (when you can coax him) is very intimate and tender, which may be tedious if you're in an angry mood.

Unless the situation is extremely serious or dire, his first priority is making sure you're soothed. Once that duty is fulfilled, however, he is absolutely angrier about it than you are. If it's not that serious, he won't skip straight to killing, if only because he knows it upsets you. He will definitely be writing an extremely strongly worded letter, however. If someone slighted you seriously, they're getting threatened. If someone hurt you physically, they're meeting the Punjab lasso.

Deacon Billings (OC Ghostface)

Deacon definitely knows when people are angry. His step-mom was a passive-aggressive laundry-folder and his dad was a storming out of the house kinda guy; when the two of them were together, they were all hushed but heated arguments at night when they thought he couldn't hear them, or else extremely embarrassing passive-aggressive arguments in public. Growing up, he found himself around a lot of angry people. And there's no shortage of anger in him, either.

So yeah, Deacon knows when people are pissed, and he knows when people are pissed at him. The thing is, he just thinks it's fucking hilarious. He was that kid that would goad peers and teachers just to be an asshole and had virtually no friends as a result. He's a menace on the internet, too: a horrible troll for no reason, stirring the pot even when he doesn't have a stake in the argument. He's trained himself to find people's weak spots so he can strike at them. He does it to make himself feel more in control of his life and his own anger.

So when you're ticked off, he's gonna notice the change immediately. If you made a vent post on social media, he probably knows you're angry before you even see him. He follows all your social media (even if you don't realize it) and checks it constantly. He'd call you out of curiosity to ask what happened. He's open about his stalking tendencies: "I saw your post, babe, who do I need to stab?"

If you otherwise come home angry, he'll be up on his feet, following you around the house and pestering you, trying to get you to tell him what's wrong. If you try to hug him, he won't push you away, but he'll be distracted, trying to needle answers out of you the whole time.

There's no question in his mind as to whether or not you're angry at him. He just assumes you're not; he has a pretty good handle on how you act when you're angry at him specifically.

He'll let you rant all day if you want. You could talk about the shit that's pissed you off for hours and he'd still listen. Outwardly, he might poke you a bit and play devil's advocate for the other side of the argument, if there is one. This is purely for the purposes of being a little shit.

Internally, he's already going down his pre-murder checklist. If it was someone at work, they're dead. Someone in the neighborhood, dead. Online? It'll take a couple days, but they're dead. Even if you're not angry at anyone in particular, just a situation, he'll find someone to menace. He'd walk through fire for your approval.

He's not good with soft, emotional comfort, so instead he'll try to think of something to help you let off steam. His go-to is something competitive, especially if it involves you chasing each other. A Nerf or water gun war, a PVP game with you on opposite sides. He'll put up a good fight, but you always kick his ass.

Once the immediate situation is addressed and you've ranted your heart out to him, he can't keep his hands off you. "Seeing you all pissed off drives me crazyyyyyy." He's grinning, brown eyes sparkling. "Come onnnnn ... I'll get it off your mind!"

Courtney Dwayne Delmont (OC)

Courtney is a hunter of all manner of game, so he's used to interpreting non-verbal cues and body language—when an animal is in distress, when an animal is about to attack, etc. His grandfather was a very angry man, as well, in a simmering sort of way. He would seethe about something before suddenly delivering one decisive strike. Courtney himself is not a particularly angry man, unless some prey is really giving him a hard time, but he can read your body.

If you come home angry, he'll stop in the middle of what he's doing and watch you, still and quiet, just confirming his suspicions. If you leave the room he's in to go collapse on the sofa or something, he'll follow you, looming over you and waiting for you to tell him what's wrong. He's patient.

If you want to vent, he'll sit and listen thoughtfully, doing something with his hands while you speak—probably cleaning his gun or some other weapon. He doesn't look at you. He wouldn't demand greater context to the situation but he would ask "Why?" and "Who?" until he understood Enough.

If you want comfort, he'll sprawl on the couch and let you lay on top of him. He'll probably pull a blanket on top of you to try and encourage a nap. If the nap doesn't make you feel better, he's feeding you protein. Do you like homemade jerky?

Sex is also on the table (not literally ... unless). He's found it's a great way to blow off steam, and he's more than happy to make all worries, troubles, and other thoughts go away for a little bit. Expect that to be the rest of your night, though, because he doesn't do quickies.

Generally, he trusts you to handle your own shit, so he would be more focused on you than whatever made you feel the way you do. However, if days passed and you were still angry/upset/sad, or if it plunged you into a breakdown or was an otherwise extremely serious situation ... just give him a target. It's up to you, but if you tell him to take the shot, it'll be quick and clean. If you're unable to make the decision, he'll decide for you without hesitation.

Kathleen Montgomery (OC)

I'm still developing her so this one won't be as in-depth and is subject to change.

Kath makes it her business to know everything about you. Chances are she's seen you explode screaming while stalking you ... chances are, if you've been in a relationship for a while, she's made you explode screaming. She knows what you look like when you're angry. Besides, she's strong for her size, but she often has to take down people who are much bigger and stronger than her; she uses manipulation and trickery to help ease that divide, so she's good at reading people.

Like Deacon, she also monitors all your social media, so if you made a vent post, she already knows you're in a shitty mood before you come home. Unlike Deacon, she doesn't tell you how she knows, so you're left to assume she's just all knowing. Considering her god complex, that works for her.

She'd probably text you to come home, and she expects you to answer. If you're unable to come home, she'll call you to ask what's wrong.

Once you're together, she wants to know everything about the situation. Even as you're speaking, she's already on her phone or laptop, looking up the people involved. Instead of getting mad on your behalf, she laughs. She's a fan of emphasizing how pathetic or weak the opposition is.

She takes your feelings on the subject seriously, but everyone else in the situation? Insects. Not even worthy of your time or concern, let alone hers. You're obviously in the right here (even if you're not). She'll tell you as much, and say some pretty intense, over-the-line things about whomever/whatever you're angry at.

Overall, however, she's calm and collected about the situation. Your bout of anger is a chance to get you to be reckless with her. She'll do your hair and makeup and dress you up nice, then take you out. Fast driving, drinking, baiting people at bars, menacing neighborhoods ... maybe a little killing, if you'd like.

***

Masterlist

[bigtittydemonwife]

The pasta’s love language Part 1

Jeff The Killer 

Protectiveness

 this is the most obviously way the bastard man lets you know he cares about you 

Behind the asshole tsundere attitude and I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about life lays another smaller asshole and buried deep under that lays the small boy that picked a fight with three bullies to protect his loving brother

Weather it’s him decking o**enderman for being creepy or saving you from a tricky last victim it seems Jeff always knows when your in trouble 

So low-key about it you never really notice his eyes on you until you’re being helped, and even then you never notice how they never leave

Jeff is like a dog, but not the loving wagging tail dog, the asshole that stands on your feet with his sharp claws, rips open your pillows and terrorises the mailman so much your mail is delivered by drone.

but he is also the dog that late at night sneaks onto your bed and whenever there’s someone strange approaching you on the street at night stands in front of you and bares his teeth 

Physical Touch 

Jeff’s love isn’t soft

Jeff’s love is as rough as he is 

Jeff’s touch is soft head-pats after you put someone in their place 

His touch is high fives after a successful mission where your hands linger together

His touch is quick side hugs before he goes off to go do something stupid 

Cheeky neck kisses in front of others to make you flustered 

fingers running though your hair or down your sides whenever he gets bored 

easiest way to get cuddled by this man? after a mission when he’s too tired to act like a tsundere  

Jeff is funnily like a cat in this regards, his cuddles are fun but he has to want to, otherwise it’s deemed as unnecessary

Defensiveness

Jeff isn’t a rational man 

So when he gets jealous his first response is to just stab the guy and run 

Ass a traumatised stubborn teen Jeff is quick to anger but he toe’s the line (aha reference) at when people disrespect you 

Is he an asshole to you all the time?

Yes

Is he the only person who can be mean to you?

Yes

Despite what everyone thinks Jeff does understand the difference between mean teasing and just being an asshole 

And if your someone like me who shows your love to people you care about by teasing and being mean to him he’s gonna understand if your friends are the same way 

What he does not accept is anyone who dares treat you like your lower than them 

thats when he pulls out his knife and commits stabby stabby 

Ticci Toby 

Physical Touch 

Unlike Jeff when Toby is in love he’s a touchy feely person

And once again unlike Jeff when it comes to cuddles Toby is most likely to be the one to initiate cuddles 

On a good day Toby recharges with touch

Most of the time he’s all over you 

His favourite way to cuddle is him on the bottom with you on his chest and your face buried into his neck 

If you cuddle with him like that theres a 97% chance you are not leaving any time soon 

He loves to hold your hands alot, Toby hands are an eternal mystery as sometimes their cold as fuck and others their super warm

After a really bad day when he’s had his alone time and recharged (which can take as long as a week) he just wants to lay with you a bit 

this usually happens when he’s burnt out (missions do not help) 

on days like that he wants to be held in your arms and rest his head on your chest

that way as he falls asleep he can hear your heartbeat and know your safe and alive 

Compliments 

Toby is an asshole, but he’s a lovable asshole 

And on a good day when he’s happy and in love he’s acting like a lovestuck school boy 

He’s the type to give you either the cutest nicknames or the weirdest 

One day he’ll call you love the next Mustard 

 His compliments are the sweetest thing ever because of how special they are 

instead of complimenting something basic about you (well not basic but well seen by everyone) he compliments you on some of the most obscure things that you didn’t think anyone noticed about you 

“I love how fast you talk when you get excited”

“I love easily you get along with sally”

“Your eyes glow in the sunset, it’s really pretty”

Ben Drowned 

Space

Ben is an antisocial person. 

He’s not bitter about it but most of the time he prefers to keep to himself 

Ben understands if his partner isn’t like that, but one of his ways of showing love is giving them space to be their own person 

While Ben does love to spend time with you and share interests and hobbies 

He is a human demon? ghost? thing that loves alone time 

And by giving you space and your own time alone it’s his way of letting you still have freedom to be you

Ben recharges his social battery with a quiet atmosphere so alone time or cuddle time is his favourite thing to do with you when he’s down

Don’t get me wrong he loves cuddles 

But that doesn’t mean he’s going to be clinging to you 24/7

Acts of service

Ben is a patient person 

Despite what people think all his years of gaming have taught him a lot about taking his time and how easier it is to get things done when he’s chill 

So he’s quite alright with doing things for people when they need help 

But even so he’s still his own person 

So he doesn’t usually do it for free unless it’s for someone he really cares about 

And that’s when you come in 

Ben is basically ready to do anything for you 

Will Jeff call him a simp? Yes, will he care? No 

In the end of the day he’s getting ass and Jeff’s not

Anyway 

You could ask him to hack the government for you and he would 

But basic shit is him bringing you snacks he stole from Jeff’s room when your hungry 

He just likes making you happy 

Physical Touch

Ironically enough in complete contradiction of the first one Ben actually loves spending time with you 

Not all the time, otherwise in his opinion the time he gets with you will feel less special 

But when either of you have a bad day he likes to either cuddle you and take a nap or hold you while you both/ he plays video games 

Ben’s a ghost? Thing so his body is always cold 

That’s one of the reasons why he loves holding you so much is feeling your warm body against him 

He likes to nap on your tiddys because 1) he’s perverted and 2) he likes to hear your heartbeat 

He finds the sound of it fascinating 

Sometimes he feels his pulse just because the shock of not feeling anything is fun to him 

Ben is probably one of the easiest pastas to date 

He’s like a house cat

Just give him attention and water and he can fend for himself all good 

Eyeless Jack 

Giving Gifts

Jack in love is a very very confusing thing 

Not because he’s contradictory but because the way he flirts sometimes ties into his demonic animalistic tendencies 

For example 

His gifts to you can sometimes be very sweet things that instead are normal gifts like flowers or chocolates but instead small things like breakfast in bed after a stressful mission (He may or may not use his acting like a doctor as an excuse yes EJ is the mansions doctor fight me bitch)

and then other times it’s organs like a heart or an eyeball, bones or a skull (sometimes animal) and sometimes even teeth, if your lucky most of the time once more they just belong to some pour animal in the woods 

and they say romance is dead

Jacks way of showing love is sorta a mixture of how some birds gift their mates things to flirt and how cats give their owners dead animals

He’s cute I swear 

Acts of Service

Unlike Ben jack isn’t going to drop everything to please you 

but once again the way he shows his love is more casual(?) (I mean he gives you dead things to show his love that ain’t casual)

and if he’s in a good mood/ had a good day then more often than not you’ll find yourself being spoiled in a completely Jack way?

You’re thirsty? He made you both coffee/ tea/ hot chocolate 

You’re on a mission and it’s raining? Take his jacket (not like he’s gonna die from the cold)

You’re hungry? Take a snack from his secret stash that no one else is aloud to go through (though most of the time it’s filled with organs)

Jack hates it when his lover is stressed so he likes to do whatever he can to help them out 

Physical Touch

I hate to sound stereotypical but Jack does this the most because he is extremely touch starved 

Trust me he’s not into PDA at all but behind closed doors he’s finding any excuse he can get to touch you ( with your consent )

he loves sleeping together because usually at night he’s reading or trying to piece together his broken parts

But when he’s holding you in his arms, and whispering how much he loves you in your ear when he’s sure you’re asleep he feels like he doesn’t to be whole 

that he can’t expect you to fix him at all, but being with you is enough to make him feel like instead of being broken, being fractured is alright 

But weather it’s his hand on your cheek on your hands laced together Jack likes to feel your skin against his 

fucckkkk I’m tired, this like took three days, you’re getting a part two when I don’t feel like my head’s trying to kill itself and no I did not spell check this nor will I ever as spellings for pussys and people who graduate school 

[fangirl-imagines]

Michael Corleone Having a S/O with PTSD Would Include...

A/N: Requested by a lovely anonymous reader. I hope that this is close to what you wanted darling. I tried my best to write this as accurately and respectfully as possible so I hope it turned out okay. If you’d like me to write anything else for you as well I’d be more than happy to do so! 

When Michael finds out you have PTSD his heart clenches in his chest. 

He knows about PTSD from his time in the marines and remembers seeing other soldiers going through “shell shock” and how so many of them struggled through it. 

Michael was determined you were not going to have to go through this alone. 

Michael is extremely observant by nature, always keeping an eye on everything and everyone around him, so he’ll probably be watching you at first to try to figure out what your triggers are and how to best help you and support you. 

Michael would probably try to encourage you as much as possible to see a doctor and a psychiatrist to help you. 

He’d make sure you could get the best care available to help you. 

Normally, Michael would try to keep his partner as far away from his business life as much as possible which would mean his partner would probably have to spend a lot of time without him or alone. 

But for you Michael will actually probably try to have you with him as much as possible. 

Unless something is outright dangerous Michael will have you by his side where you won’t have to be alone and Michael can watch out for you. 

Whenever Michael can’t be with you because he’s got to handle business that you can’t be around for he usually asks Fredo or Tom to come check in on you and make sure you’re okay. 

He hates leaving you alone overnight though and makes it a point to try to always be home with you at night in case you have a nightmare. 

When the two of you go to bed he usually sleeps with his arms around you, holding onto you just so you’ll know he’s there with you. 

Other times when you can’t sleep from nightmares or insomnia he’ll try to stay up with you. 

He’ll turn on the radio and start to try to slow dance with you in the living room, his head resting on top of yours. 

Or sometimes he’ll read to you, hoping the sound of his voice might be soothing. 

Sometimes he’ll fall asleep like that, the book open on his chest and one arm wrapped loosely around your shoulders or his head tipped back on the couch when he said he was just going to rest his eyes for a minute. 

He just can’t help himself after a long day sometimes but he really does try his best to be there for you. 

If you’re having trouble eating Michael will not say much about this but he notices. Michael always notices. 

Don’t be surprised if you come home once in a while to find Michael making your favorite meal. 

Little known fact about Michael, he is an amazing cook! I bet he used to watch his mother cook in the kitchen as a kid and picked up a few things. 

But Michael will have the table set for a very romantic dinner and have all your favorites prepared. 

If you only eat one bite even Michael won’t be upset but he will try his best to get you to eat something. 

He worries about you losing weight but he will always tell you how beautiful he thinks you look no matter what. 

Which he means totally and completely. He always thinks you’re beautiful, even when you’re crying, even when you’re upset or yelling, he always thinks you’re beautiful. 

If you get chills from the weight loss Michael is always ready to shrug off his suit jacket and place it over your shoulders. 

He does that casually and without even paying much attention, he just does it almost on instinct. 

Michael doesn’t like to talk about it but he’s had his own experiences with panic attacks. 

So he knows what you’re going through when you experience them and his heart breaks to see you having a panic attack. 

He tries his best to help you through them. He holds you close and rubs his hands up and down your back or buries his fingers in your hair, kissing your forehead and brushing back your tears. 

He’ll give you as much time as you need until you calm down. 

Then he will take you home and to bed, trying to help you relax and distract you if you need him to. 

When you experience flashbacks Michael will be right there, holding your hand, whispering softly to you, just trying to be there when you come out of it and reassure you that he is there with you and you are safe. 

That’s something Michael likes to remind you of when you’re having panic attacks or have been having flashbacks. 

He will look you in the eyes, his hands on either side of your face, and promise you that he is never going to let anything happen to you/you get hurt and that he has the power and money to keep that promise to you. 

Because Michael loves you more than anything else in the world and would do absolutely anything to help you and make you feel loved and cared for.