#this is why most of my ocs fuck right off the bat like. then they don't have an excuse for still being neurotic freaks

[starlit-mansion]

the problem with me is that i want to be a hater about the fanfic i've been reading but 1) i'm not better than any fanfic author i'm rolling my eyes at and 2) i'm doing this to myself because i ran out of my own thoughts to have about The Character but i'm not DONE with him

[moviecritc]

easiest conversation ⋆ carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz x fem!oc (named Angelique)

tropes: strangers to lovers

summary: carlos and angelique sat next to each other in a tennis match in monaco, leading to an endless conversation.

a/n: english is not my first language, sorry for the mistakes and poor storytelling. maybe a part 2 if you like it?

masterlist

Everybody was focused on Carlos' future in Formula 1, he tried so hard to not be worried about it, but every thing he does, the media somehow made it about his career as a driver. So, at the end, he couldn't do anything except being worried too. Many what ifs were in his mind anytime he thought about it.

The past weekend wete the Masters of Montecarlo, a tennis match, and taking advantage of the fact that he was in the city and most of he's teammates were also watching it, he attended as well.

Carlos didn't have the opportunity to talk to any of them, they were seated in different places in the public. Either way, seeing George, Charles and even Lando with their partners made him feel a little bit more miserable than he already felt. No seat and no girlfriend, that's not a very cool situation to be involved.

And there's even more, he doesn't even know a shit about tennis. He played paddel a few times with Lando, but tennis? He had no idea. So he just sat there, gasping when other people gasp and checking his phone once in a while.

"You seem lost," someone said.

Carlos lifts his head that exact moment, connecting looks with a light brunette that was looking at him above her sunglasses.

"Are you talking to me?" he asked, totally confused. Since when that woman was sitting by his side?.

"Yes. You look bored, maybe you just need someone to explain tennis in a cool way," she smiled. A beautiful smile.

Carlos also smiled a bit, in a weird way. Sometimes he forgots that there's people who can effortlesly talk to strangers in a cool and mysterious way. This woman was one of them.

"Yeah, sure. If you can,"

"If I can?" she seemed dramaticly offended. "You don't think a woman can explain tennis to you, man?"

"Oh, no, no, no. I didn't mean it in that way," he said quickly. "Please, go ahead."

She smiled and started explaining all about tennis in the most interesting and funny way possible.

"How do you know so much about tennis?" he asked.

"Well, I'm a tennis player," she explain. "I thought it was obvious."

Carlos noded a bit, noticing a few mobile phones and cameras pointing at them. He didn't realised it until now, and now he was wondering how many pictures and videos of him and that woman would be around the media.

"Uh, well... I mean, I have no idea about tennis," he said, nervously.

"Yeah, I could tell that," she laughed and she infected Carlos with the laughter. "I'm Angelique, by the way."

"Beautiful name. I'm Carlos," they shaked hands with smiles in their faces. He saw some redness on Angelique face after he complimented her. "So you are a tennis player?"

"Yeah." she simply answered.

"Are you good?" Carlos didn't want the conversation to die.

"I try to be," she said. "I'm fifth in the Women's Tennis Association, I don't know if that's enough for you."

Angelique pursed her lips, making a funny face that made Carlos smiled.

"That sounds really good," he said, truly impressed. They were both athletes, maybe that's why it feels so easy to talk to her.

"What about you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm a race driver,"

Angelique raised even more her eyebrows and wide-opened her eyes "Ok, that is so fucking cool!" she remarked. "Which team do you drive for?"

"Ferrari, but..."

"No way! That's even cooler!" she boasted. "I mean, I have no idea about Formula 1. But Ferrari? That is cool guy material, undoubtedly"

Carlos was too invested in Angelique's voice and eyebrow game that wasn't able to tell her that he isn't staying in Ferrari for too long. But they've just met, and being unemployed isn't something to say to someone right off the bat.

He realised that it was the first conversation in a while that he didn't have to mention anything about his future in Formula 1, another reason of him being this comfortable around Angelique.

"And, how did you became a tennis player?" Carlos asked, leaning a little bit to her.

Now, she was focusing on the ball and the movements of the players.

"My brother used to use me as a ball picker when he played tennis, then he broke his arm and I kept his racket," she explained without divert her eyes from the field.

"He stopped playing tennis after that?"

"Well, yes. When he could come back, he was too old and unexperience to achieve something," she said. "But he wasn't very good anyways."

They both laughed and Angelique take off her sunglasses so she could see Carlos better.

"Have you won something in tennis?" he curiously asked.

"Yeah, of course. Matchs and all those things,"

"Have you beaten Serena Williams?" he wondered, with a smirk.

"Not yet," she admited. "But I've won against people who beat Serena."

She smiled proudly. The match was about to end, and none of them were paying attention to it.

"Okey, that's pretty awesome," he said.

She crossed her legs and accomodated her long brown hair to one side, which left Carlos eyeing her in a romantic way.

"And you? How someone decides that he wants to drive really fast cars?"

"My father has been involved in motorsports for a long time,"

"It's always a family thing, don't you think?" she said. "It is hard to find someone who started in sports by themselves."

"It is!" Carlos agreed with her.

He was going to say something else, but they announce the end of the match, everybody standed up to give an applause. Both of them copied the rest of the people.

"Wait, who won?" Carlos asked, totally confused.

Angelique lean into him, whispering "I've no idea,"

They laughed and kept applausing. That was the end of the match and the end of their conversation. Angelique's agent rapidly came to her to take some pictures with the winner.

"Wait, wait," she insisted to her agent and then walked close to Carlos. "It was lovely talking to you, Carlos,"

"Same, Angelique. You seem an interesting person," he complimented. Carlos was willing to ask her for her number, or something.

"Are you coming to the finals tomorrow?" she asked, praying for a yes.

"I don't think so... I have a race soon in China,"

"Oh," she seemed disappointed. "Well, good luck for your race and..."

"Can I asked you for your number?" he said unexpectedly.

"Yes!" she realised that maybe she was too effusive, so she lower her tone. "I mean, yeah, sure. If you want."

Carlos laughed and Angelique did it too, in a more ashamed way. He gave her his phone so she could write her number.

"There you go," she said and her agent was already near her to leave the match. "Text me!"

Carlos laughed and waved at her, when he looked at his phone, he could do anything but laughed again. Angelique saved her as "That cute girl from the tennis match".

He wondered what was about that girl that made her so unique and easy to talk to her. Carlos didn't think about it very much, instead, he texted her right after she left the field.

[ckret2]

What your thoughts on other bill ships? Like Kryptos/Bill or Stanley/Bill. I love your Wasting Away Again in the Goldilocks Zone fic on ao3 and this is my first time using Tubmlr, so I’m not sure how it works here, so sorry if I sent this wrong place 💔

u found the right place

I don't ship him with any of the Henchmaniacs (except for saying an eye-bat is his ex because it's the funniest possible option), but I think he's hooked up with half of them. I'd say "casually hooked up" but I don't think there's anything casual about it, the Henchmaniacs are fueled by petty drama and rancid vibes.

I acknowledge Kryptos is easy for ships because he looks like he could conceivably be the same species as Bill and we know so little about him you could give him almost any personality, but i'm not interested in it myself. Especially since it feels like a lot of what I've seen with Kryptos/Bill goes for "Kryptos is the one nice guy in the gang and Bill is tsundere for him" and that doesn't do anything for me.

I occasionally contemplate "wouldn't it be fucked up if Bill hooked up with Stan so he could pretend he's with Ford and Stan knew but still went with it for some reason (idk why, maybe Stan's super lonely, maybe Bill's currently wearing a smoking hot human body, the point is we want DRAMA so any excuse will work)" but outside that, nah. I think Stan and Bill would be VERY fun partners in crime and they're GREAT to bounce off each other, but I prefer them platonically, I don't feel a romantic or sexual spark between them.

You wanna know what Bill ships I'm fascinated with?

Bill/Trembley. it's GOTTA be one sided though, Bill's gotta be head over heels for this weirdo like a teenage girl for her first celebrity crush while Trembley never even notices

Bill/the howling void he totally lied about not dating in TBOB. Here I am 15,000 words deep into writing their entire relationship start to finish... I was literally already writing about Bill dating a black hole, who happens to howl, prior to TBOB; so the book just took my OC and made her canon??? yeah sure fine I'll take it, damn.

Bill-possessing-Silas/the 100-something wives he stole from his cultists according to thisisnotawebsitedotcom. weeks after that reveal this is still the funniest & most fascinating thing to me simply because Bill had ABSOLUTELY NO REASON to do that, truly enthralled by his potential motives, I cannot believe this triangle is married

Bill/the shaman. I just think something was going on there. I can feel it. The shaman taught him a bit of magic, how often do you think that happens to Mr. Trillion-Year-Old All-Seeing Eye? Probably not much!

[padfootreggie]

Nemesis

Luke Castellan x OC

Warnings: daughter of Athena reader, smut, enemies with benefits, threats, hickeys, rough sex, makeouts

Summary: Valerie was practicing her archery until a boy decides to flirt with Luke's girl.

I whine finally sitting up, my sister had woken me up for breakfast. Quickly I grab my orange camp half-blood shirt but its shrunk in the dryer "fuck- Annabeth do you have an extra shirt?"

Annabeth sighs "you got paint on the last shirt I gave you Val, I don't really want to" I groan "I'm sorry again, please pleaseee"

She ignores me, I groan putting on the shirt. It's actually kinda cute. Then I change into my last pair of pajama shorts and sandals.

I start running to get some food. Hopefully they didn't finish me. I sit at my cabins table grabbing some grapes.

Some people stare at my outfit, sure it's a bit tight but what can I do? Oh well, I'll do laundry later. I can feel some special person staring deeply into my soul, of course it's stupid Luke

He glared at me angrily, staring me up and down before going back to his happy facade. I yawn finishing my breakfast.

Soon I walk off to the place I love most, the archery field. I grab a bow and arrow, and start shooting. I'm wrather good at archery now.

I practiced a lot over the years I'm been here, I've been here since I was 15, now I'm 18. Luke decided to walk over with that annoying smirk on his face.

Sure Luke is attractive, but something about him just gets on my nerves. He's so talkative and looves to annoy me.

I work on my practice, trying to find what's wrong with my form. Until I hear this grating voice "Hey princess" a boy from Ares says.

He's been trying to get with me for a month. He's a know player, but he's so pretty. I force a smile on my face batting my eyes "hey, Christian" my voice suggestive and innocent.

Christian smirks watching my body "so how's everything going?" I turn my body away trying to focus on practice I mutter "alls fine, and you?"

He goes closer and closer until our bodies mesh together. I notice Luke glaring, I smirk making eye contact as I slightly grind against the boy.

Christian moans in my ear. I feel so icky, but if it gets on Luke's nerves I'll do anything. Luke walks over intimidating Christian with Luke looking furious despite his usual fake personality.

The boy who was practically needy for me becomes distant. Luke smiled "you mind if I take Valerie for a second Christian?"

Christian scoffs but nods, obviously disappointed that Luke came. Luke practically drags me away to Hermes cabin.

I huff "Luke where are you taking me? Let me go!" Trying to act like I'm mad but I'm enjoying this. Luke is extremely possessive over me.

Since I'm 'his girl' all we do is hook up though, can never actually be together...right? The cabin is empty, still messy and cluttered.

Luke pushes me onto his bed grunting "why was Christian practically fucking you out there?!" I whine being pushed down.

"He went to me, Luke it's not my fault!" I pout, yelping when he pulls down my small shorts.

He whispered "and wearing this shit? Your begging for me baby you know how I hate others seeing what's mine!"

I cackle "I'm 'yours?' You can't even be near me in public!!" He huffs "you know what I fucking mean Val"

Luke rubs my clothed clit, my purple panties drenched in arousal. I whine as my puffy pussy is rubbed by Luke.

Pulling down my panties he stares at my shirt angrily "fucking gods such a small shirt, baby it's like your trying to make me fuck you on the tables out there. I bet you'd like that huh? Letting everyone know who you belong to?"

I bite my lower lip whining, he unzips his jeans just enough to take out his dick. I moan at the sight, he's so needy. His tip a pretty pink.

Pre-cum leaks down his cock. It's been so long since we've done this. He pushes into me, not caring if I'm hurt or not.

Moaning my back arches, he fills me up so goodly, it's like he's made for me. His hips piston into my throbbing pussy.

Luke breathes out "been a long time so fucking tight for me babe." My back arches, and my toes curl. Sweat drips down my forehead.

It never takes him long to make me cum, it's been such a long time without cock I could cum in seconds I swear.

A tight feeling forms in my stomach, I'm so close. Luke fists my curls, pulling tightly. I moan and whine louder, showing him I'm close.

He goes faster if that's possible he growls "would he ever fuck you like this Val? Huh?" Me being fucked dumb I can't answer.

I shake my head no, a whimpering mess. My pussy tightens around his veiny dick. Making me cry out, Luke bites my shoulder.

He groans going harder, I love his sounds. They make him seem more human as he pounds into my dripping pussy.

I whine, back arching. I cry into his neck. "L-Luke I'm sorry! I won't talk to him ev-er again I swear I swear!!"

Luke only laughs feeling my squirt on his cock, he covers my mouth with his large hand "Quiet Val, don't want a camper to hear you hm?"

Lewd moans, and big slaps fill the cabin. After maybe 45 minutes I'm pretty sure I came 4 times, I'm so overwhelmed with pleasure.

I cry out "Luke I'm so-sory ple- n'more!!" I'm just mumbling words, stuttering and whining. Yet he keeps going. Luke whimpers "who do you belong to baby?"

Mumbling and crying I finally answer "you!! Luke C-Castellan I be-brlobg to you!!" He groans Cumming on my stomach, it's drooping down my sides from how long he's held in.

He lays his body on mine groaning. He kisses my cheeks, and neck for a while. We fall asleep both knowing we'll hate each other again in the morning...

--------------------------✩-------------------------

A/n: I hoped you liked this! It's so fun writing stuff like this bc sometimes I get butterflies from my own writing😭 who wants more Valerie?

[readychilledwine]

Early Mornings

A/N - Happy Surprise Saturday, my loves ❤️ I've had Azriel pieces, an Eris piece, a Rhys piece, and a little love for our baby bat, and it only felt right to ensure our favorite General had sometime to shine. Enjoy this grumpy/sunshine or orange cat bf/Doberman gf piece.

Cassian and his mate are well matched in almost every sense. He's a powerful Illyrian general, she is the last of the Valkyries. He loves their family, she is devoted to them. The only thing they never seem to agree on is mornings.

Warnings- Swearing, mentions of alcoholism and mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, alludes to interesting behaviors between Nesta and our unnamed female oc, unedited by an outside source

✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️

Cassian stood in front of the coffee maker. His arms were crossed as he watched each drop of liquid fall into the pot he was brewing for his mate, himself, and the two other fae living in the house. His mate finally entered the kitchen, flipping him off as he offered her a smile before sitting down.

Cassian adored mornings. He loved watching the sun as it began its ascend over the mountains. He loved the crisp chilled air. He loved breakfast. The sound of the birds greeting each other at first light. His mate, however, adored their nightlife. She was the last to rise out of bed. The last to leave the table at Rita's with Mor. The last to head to bed. She loved dinners, the stars reflecting on the Sindra. She loved the way music felt in her bones as she danced into the early morning. She loved quiet walks home with her heels in her hand after Cassian would inevitably show back up to retrieve her. She worshiped the moon, and he, the sun.

The one thing the two truly shared in common though, was their love and need for coffee. Cass was approachable before his first cup, chipper even. He glanced over his shoulder where his mate sat, her wings wrapped tight around her. Her hands held her head. Her long dark hair was falling over her shoulders. "Almost done, babe."

"Fuck. Off." His mate? Not so much. He chuckled lightly at her response before grabbing their matching coffee mugs. "Why the fuck did you wake me up?"

"You promised me you would go on a morning run with me. Remember? Setting an example for the females? Helping them by seeing one of their own training? Helping Nesta see-" She groaned loudly, rubbing her temples. "I'm sorry baby, I'll be quiet until coffee is done." He leaned across the counter, kissing her forehead.

His heart melted at her smile, it didn't reach her hazel eyes yet, but he knew it would only take a few more kisses and some coffee to change that. "Why are we being quiet?" Cassian laughed as his mate turned, grabbing the nearest object to her before throwing it at a laughing Azriel. "Awe sis! Are you grumpy this morning?"

"Go shovel pig shit, Azriel." His brother moved behind her, kissing the top of her head with a soft "good morning" while rubbing her back lightly. "Why the fuck are you two always so happy in the morning?"

Azriel shrugged. "We go to bed at a decent time."

Cassian nodded. "We are used to early morning routines."

Azriel continued. "We don't drink until we black out. Anymore."

"Training in the morning starts the day right."

"Training in the morning is eas-"

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up." Cassian and Azriel laughed quietly. "Where is my coffee?"

"Just finished, beautiful." Cassian was pouring the hot liquid into the third cup a shadow had handed him, giving it to Azriel. Then he filled his mate's and his own. "Sugar or cream, sweetheart?"

"Both, please?" Cassian nodded, fixing her coffee to her liking, before moving to sit next to her. "I love you," she whispered to him before kissing his jawline. "How long is the run?"

"Only 5 miles," Azriel said softly. "We cut in half after you decided to drink half the camp under the table last night. Wonderful job stealing Devlon's most expensive whiskey, by the way." A smirk graced his face as he peeked at her. "Has anyone dragged Nesta out of bed yet? Is she getting ready?"

The illyrian female rolled her eyes before looking at the pot with 4 cups of the morning magic still resting for the oldest sister. Her head leaned to rest on Cassian's shoulder. "I haven't tried yet, and we'd know if Cassian did. If you think I'm grumpy in the morning, Azriel, have you tried speaking to her in the mornings? She puts me to shame. You should go try. She likes your pretty face after all." She was sniffing her coffee, waiting for it to cool down with a small smile on her face.

Azriel took a long drink of his coffee, nose scrunching from the bitter taste. "No. That's your job. She actually likes you more."

He took her mug, a very quiet "oh fuck," came from Cassian's direction. He backed away from his brother and mate. "Fight fire with fire. Get at it." He forced her out of the chair, smacking her on the ass as he pointed up the stairs. "Go on. Earn your coffee by doing something other than my brother."

"Fuck. You. Cassian, get my coffee back." The General looked between his mate and brother. "Babe!" Cassian just shook his head and inclined it towards the stairs.

"Get Nesta up and I will get you your coffee back." He knew deep down his mate would be the perfect weapon against Nesta. He and his high Lady's sister had butted heads since she had been made and even before then. Az cared for Nesta, but his patience with the female only went so far. His mate's no bullshit, no prisoners attitude seemed to be one Nesta respected. The two got along really well.

Almost too well at times.

He'd find her and Nesta cuddled on the couches in the House, Nesta between her legs with her back against her chest, a blanket thrown over both of them as Nesta read romances and his love read thrillers or reports.

He would find them giggling in the library, his mate holding Nesta's face in her hands. She'd be whispering to Ness, whose face would be flushed, while she smirked at her. Their bodies would be close together. Nesta's hands would stay locked on his mate's hips.

He even found Nesta in their room once, waiting on their bed, staring at his wife's body while she was finishing her makeup. Just to tease Nesta, he had walked behind his mate, slowly lifting the hem of her short dress while staring at the oldest sister. His mate had stopped him quickly, but not before he watched Nesta pull her lower lip between her teeth.

The final sign that his hound of a mate liked the Archeron happened just yesterday morning. She had made Nesta coffee and breakfast, something she only did for him and his brothers. They were speaking to each other quietly, not realizing he and Az were watching. She had pulled out her special mug, the one Rhys had paid good money to have made for her, and given it to Nesta so she could tuck one of her cold hands into the little nook built into the stoneware while his mate held the other one.

He knew something was brewing between the two of them, and Cassian was more than happy to just watch through the bond, or in person, when it finally happened. He sighed softly. "You might be the only one able to get her down here and on that trail."

"You are joking, right? Nesta is a grown female. She is allowed to make her own choices and heal at her pace. You-" he cut her off with a kiss. She leaned into him with a soft hum. He couldn't tell if it was due to the bond or just due to the lingering taste of coffee on his lips.

"Go." He kissed her gently again. "We just have to get her training babe. Rhys is-"

"I know. I know how he is. This isn't his first go round with a female who is… like that." Cassian flinched at the reminder. His mind flashed back to the screaming matches between his mate and Rhysand after the first war. The journey she had undergone to heal was ugly, rough, and long. But the 4 of them had gotten through it together after she had overdrafted an account by close to 1000 gold marks.

Rhys had wanted to kill her, but what she had overdraft the account on was the ultimate sign she needed help and was silently crying out for it. The only way she knew how. Her pride ran deep due to her independence as an Illyrian and a female. The only daughter and first grand daughter of a long line of camp Lords who were forward enough to see value in their girls and ban clipping.

The oldest sister of 5 brothers who looked up to her and followed her guidance. An oldest sister who felt she failed those brothers as she found them dead one by one on the battlefield.

Leader of the valkyries. All of whom she also felt she failed as she watched them all slaughtered. She was the last of her kind, at least for now, and that had ate at her. It spun itself into guilt, addiction, rage.

Cassian and Azriel both remembered Rhys sitting her down in his office as they blocked the doorways. They remember her just silently nodding as Rhysand lectured her, having calmed down significantly when he realized she was so impaired that she wouldn't remember a single thing. They remembered her crying and Rhysand moving to hold her.

Azriel finally broke the trace the three had fallen into. "The only difference is you accepted help. You let all of us help you heal, get you new hobbies, and teach you how to safely partake in activities with us. The only sign of your issues you still have is how big of a bitch you are in the mornings and how you are literally Mor's "scary dog privilege," whatever the fuck that means, when she wants to stay out too late," Azriel mumbled. "I think Nesta wants help deep down. I just think she is too scared to face what getting help means and what she will have to face."

Cassian watched as his mate sighed and nodded. "There's a lot of trauma there. I was over 200 years old, Az. She's barely in her 20s."

"I know."

"Then be kinder." The two had a stare off, beginning a silent fight between the spymaster and the last Valkyrie.

Cassian grabbed her chin to refocus her, chuckling at the glare and sleepiness still in her eyes. "Get her out of bed and on the training field, and I will reward you later."

Azriel rolled his eyes as her wings fluttered, attitude suddenly leaving her body, and she leaned into Cassian, their noses touching. "What kind of reward?"

Cassian smirked down at her. "Whatever my sweetheart would want."

His mate smirked, shutting her eyes softly as he leaned his forehead against hers. "Even if it's just coffee?"

He nodded, kissing her forehead. "Even if it's just coffee."

[yutasbimil]

Antimony

vyn x fem!oc | tears of themis ff. (psychology major!lead) ✦ (7/8) [series fic] !!! also posted on my ao3 acc! { here } tags: angst, hurt/comfort cw: heavy on (self) angst; suicidal ideation; graphic and morbid descriptions on said thoughts, negative self-talk, skewed self-perception, mentions of attempts, self-harm. triggering topic on neglect and invalidation of family/relatives. + fudge, I HATE typing this down and reading it to edit, it just crawls into my skin THIS IS THE WORST + supposedly this is a 'x reader' fic but got too heavy eventually, I apologize truly ;; word count: 3.2k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 8

do not repost © yutasbimil (2024)

Her existence persists to be a contradiction. Her daily pursuits are deliberating from making up her mind on things… as everything had been pointed out too much with being smothered and neglected by her family. Who knew that such a dynamic is possible to be of existence? 

But it would also be a miracle if they just started thinking straight and be normal for once.

From happiness and despair, does she truly care that her pessimism gets in the way of enjoying the art of stoicism? Or is she just truly numbed and disappointed to even care?

‘This is crazy talk from the meds…’

Yule clenched her jaw subconsciously.

‘I hate myself for falling into a slope and fucking relapsing—’

“You okay, my love?” Vyn asks, he is not quite sure of the volume he had observed her. He’s surer about the weeks it has occurred. Vyn is most sure that the lavender essence of the tea and atmosphere doesn’t amount to any help to the lady across from him.

Yule tiredly replies, nodding weakly before lowering her head as droopy as her eyes. The fatigue is catching up with her, along with being numbed along with the medication. She’s still quite adjusting.

But today shows a darker shade in her façade.

Exhaustion reeks in her aura.

“Obviously not, Vyn…” her grumpiness slipped along with her groan. The migraines from jaw clenching aren't adding to her comfortability. 

Vyn had no other choice but to dismiss her snarky attitude.

“You do know I won't go anywhere even if you act that way towards me, right?” Vyn looks towards her sharp glares, she just huffs. He had noticed such patterns of irritability with her, and her means to sabotage anything when she's insecure. “I'll just be here, and just so you know, being harsh and cold towards me hurts, Yule. But let me remind you that I've handled worse so I won't be unfazed.”

“Ha, so you do admit I'm at par, worse?” she rolls her eyes, clicking her tongue. “I doubt that you'll manage, just admit I'm a jerk one can’t handle.”

Vyn’s brow twitched slightly at her sudden shift, he managed to simply purse his lips in a thin line.

“I didn't say anything of the like, Yule. Acting harshly can hurt others, even words can be sharp, does it not?”

“Whatever, just leave then.” Yule doesn't even bat another eye, her tone gradually turning childish. “I'm being pathetic and making a scene right now for the sake of it. I’m that destructive, a ticking bomb. It's obvious to you since you're so smart with your two degrees.”

So, she does know she just wants to fight ‘just because’? Good thing I won't retaliate. With his usual finesse, Vyn stayed nonchalant.

I'll take that as a compliment for her remembering and including it in her snarky remark.

It was clear she was not in a rational state.

Technically, they’re currently in a foreign place for her so it would be ridiculous to just leave her here. It’s silly enough she’s proposing to be left when Yule herself admitted she’s “directionally challenged”.

At least she retained her wittiness.

“Giving you the ‘Time Off’ you advised me when you're not in the mood, but I will just be here. I refuse to leave you.” he declared, still at a halt to wait for her next move.

“Why? I’m not even worth keeping, I’m a piece of shi—”

“Triggers, Yule.” Vyn prompts. “Self-degradation; I’m not tolerating any of it. We’ve talked about this.”

“Even you refuse to believe in facts,” she mutters under her breath. Yule attempts to storm off, but Vyn silently just follows.

This was her warning beforehand, it's as if you're facing another person whenever she pushes people away. If anything, her attitude amplified since she had gone back from visiting her family…

Vyn realized this soon enough as she just shut him off and looked further somber. She had been quiet even before coming back to their rented villa. 

Yule just huffs, obviously having difficulty regulating her emotions at the moment. 

Vyn stayed idle. He just suppressed a sigh as he placed down a glass of cold water for Yule. He knows nothing but to show any discomfort to her, most especially her vulnerable moments when she might take the slightest actions and gestures the wrong way.

As to why it ticks Vyn personally how she’s still viewed as not a concern. It’s obviously debilitating her work performance; it’s hindering her work function. Any other areas of her life including her sleep, appetite, and even social aspects.

It’s infuriating all the more that her evident symptoms and warning signs of help are dismissed as merely “physical sickness” by her family. Isn’t stress one of the leading causes of diseases and common knowledge these days?

“I’m angry— not at you, b-but I am lashing out. I’ll- tell later. Maybe, fuck, I don’t care! No one cares!” she burst out, immediately ripping her look off him as she walked out of the living room into the bedroom.

He just blinked, slightly distraught as poker-faced his expression now.

Vyn dragged the chair and sat down, subconsciously observing the condescending droplets form at the glass of water she left. He puts his hands on his face, his fingers stroking his chin in thought. He furrowed his brows at how unexpected the turn of things was for them just now.

Though, he already put the first piece that bridged this disaster from cascading; the verdict of it all.

Yule told Vyn of her last encounter with her family and relatives before their trip.

Last week…

“What if you get physical therapy instead?”

Even till the end, you’re not believing in me huh?

Yule held her tongue and no longer had any care to even bother rebutting. If only they were the ones who would tend the medical bills for her, but no.

The tone of Yule’s mother implied it’s much cheaper, that her symptoms are most likely only physical exhaustion, and that her fatigue is just lack of sleep. She doesn’t take any care of herself for being irresponsible and an immature person, still. Or at least that’s what her mother always says.

But when it comes to my sister, it’s a different story with finances huh? Suddenly the “budget” is non-existent; they’re all in.

She had to compensate for the fees for her therapy session with her own money…

Well, yeah. She had the money now, but what happened to "supporting her till the end"?

It opposes everything they told her.

She just heaved in a sigh, and everything felt heavier on the next happenstance.

The conversation felt a bit of a blur, more on her not bothering to even respond to her being hurt, and just agreed. The frustration, infuriation, and resentment only build up more as her boundaries are trampled over.

If it means I can get a proper assessment, I guess.

The price to pay along with the therapy. Such irony.

“It just gets dragged longer than I want it to, just further emphasizing the usual flow; I’m not the priority, a burden? Ah- it’s just more on being dismissive that: “It’s not that that you’re feeling.” It’s swept under the rug how obvious—goshdamn, the obvious signs of mental distress to my parents, Vyn! But they choose to ignore the possible mental illness.”

The way that Vyn has his vision on her as if he’s correlating the tangled coherence of her explanation, and he’s patient with ears swung wide open. Yule keeps pacing around the room to at least get her mind off the jitters, she lets her mouth agape to avoid drawing out blood from biting her lips.

“It’s like I’m just lying there bleeding, and they’re choosing to turn a blind eye.”

Yule is reminded to breathe, shakingly while easing her stiff shoulders. She felt her muscles firm up while slouching. It’s as if there’s a hanger placed on her clothes.

“Yes, it can be alleviated by massage, and physically, some ache in my body can be healed, through proper treatment, cure, and shit— but the debate just stood there with the elephant in the room, that it’s quite the opposite that my mental strain and fatigue is more on causing me physical symptoms. Manifesting physically instead…”

“Psychosomatic symptoms*, hmm?”

“Y-yeah, exactly! But of course, it just ends up that I brought the proper weapons in a fight, but it’s never to be acknowledged in the first place. As if you’re telling the doctor that they don’t need bandages on obvious bleeding wounds.”

She had known for the longest time of this feeling since high school. 

It felt like she was walking on lead, underwater and had been drowning for years. She’s raising her arms, for flags but it just gets thrown off as nothing. Go with the flow by all means.

But she needed to keep in mind how to slow down, her anchor already reached its point. Yule needs to learn how to rest and not exert herself when she’s already done more than enough.

‘I’m just pushed to my limit, even if I did well in school up to this point of taking exams for additional credentials— I just want to hide everything away when I know that it will just be brushed off at the end of the day.’

It even leaves Vyn’s gaze at her to waver, the flicker of his eyes dimmed for a slight millisecond at the shakiness of her voice.

Yule bitterly snickers, shaking her head weakly with a huff. “I just got my result that I passed, and I now have a name extension, yet everything I get still seems the least believable to them. Vyn, I’m gonna go insane, I tell you!”

This adds salt to the wound, it stings how her eyes feel dry at this point. This is not at all helpful to the abundance of cortisol levels in her system, as her psychologist pointed out. This condition of Psychosomatic Disorder in line with Generalized Anxiety Disorder**?

What a perfect combo indeed.

Adding the cherry on top of this disastrous combo is the crippling depression she has.

Though of course, this isn’t something ‘serious’ to look into, right?

Having to hear all of this and Vyn analyzing it, the brows on his forehead creased in dismay. Much to Yule overanalyzing everything, too.

Even now, it keeps replaying back in her head. It struck her with fear, and disgust to see how he might be having a hard time with her negativity.

Yule feels guilty, especially about how she’s been dragging him along the emotional rollercoaster. Either it’s with the fluctuation of hormones due to her monthly cycles and the effects of the medicine. Even how she even lashed out numerous times, so stupid! ‘Vyn is tired of me— wait, correction, because of me.’

It’s vastly different from one’s emotional toll when it comes to handling someone close and dear to you.

Yet he remains patient and kind to her unkindness.

Damn, so now that I’m also clinically diagnosed with chronic Depression, why do I still feel guilty even having to be in a loving relationship? I should be happy, right?

This constant weight of sadness and dreading emptiness is pulling her down, and by the slump of her shoulders, Vyn can thoroughly read the deepening of her thoughts.

Tackle the struggles of being in a relationship, the constant sadness, feeling like a burden for having the condition, and perceived helplessness***.

I don't want to drag him along with me. That's the least of what I want to happen.

‘Yet here I am again, hurting him in the process.’

The last time served as the last fucking time. She really had enough of the feeling of never ever being enough for them.

Because the last time she visited, all the time she spent with them led to her being invalidated every step of the conversation. As if it’s meant as a shitfest for Yule.

And she only brought up her anxiety.

Fuck, she’s glad no mentions of her depression slipped off her lips. What more if she brought up her Borderline Disorder? She is already clinically diagnosed at this point, ha, and yet…

Like a wasted game of ping-pong, her ears rang at how insensitive and obnoxious they sounded around the restaurant table. Just throwing words mindlessly or carelessly as if it doesn’t bear any weight. Everyone sounds like a hypocrite, all-talk about family and love.

Bullshit.

Yule is quite very much aware of the generation gap, and she wanted to educate them at first especially now that she has finished her studies. She had freed up her time for the sake of this lunch out.

Yule wanted to give the benefit of the doubt, still, and redirect her expectations that it will at least be better this time around—just this one damn time—now that months have passed.

Alas, it isn’t.

Yule just pointed out how taking it shallowly and using terms like “depressed” or “OC” can do more harm than good to those who are actually experiencing it. It further strays people from taking mental conditions seriously now that it’s at now all-time high to be aware of it.

Instead, a hand just blocked her vision and laughter deafened her in ridicule. I am just exaggerating it, they’re simply just “an expression” and just saying it as its usage. Like huh?

Yes! And that’s what’s wrong. 

Being “mature” wasn’t prioritized in her head as it flipped a switch in her, and it’s a dangerous one. Part of her feelings are hurt, personally triggering her as they mention more words that further devalue it.

Yule has the said condition. So it goes to show that it just means nothing, huh?

But damn, when it comes to my sister as she’s in the spectrum****, it’s more real and needs help.

She shouldn’t compare and the presence of another does not devalue her experience and condition… Yule has progressed so much these past months being away but in just a day, she sees every hope she has crumbling away. What am I even made for? What is my purpose here in this world?

Ha. Man, maybe if I fucking die and jump off a cliff. It’s still not real for them either way, right?

I always feel like glass when I’m with them.

Again, Yule reverts to her 14-year-old self of being silenced, no words want to come out of her. Dissociating, she just autopilots out of her own will.

Instead of exploding, right?

Thank God she didn’t as she will have to land a grenade on their faces on how ridiculous and insensitive they all are. And it all will just go back to me, as I am the bad guy here. It will be my fault for being insensitive for ruining their afternoon for even daring to speak up.

It’s just so extreme that it turned out this way already, what more if Yule told them of her actual condition, so it will be all for naught?

Does it need to be life-threatening?

Well, even when her allergies broke out intensely, there was no urgency at all from them. Maybe they’re thinking I’m just acting it all out for attention… Worse, she’s dismissed as no biggie when it’s clear that she’s not breathing properly.

With anxiety, so it’s not at all considered as a serious condition getting panic attacks out of nowhere to be called “real”?

Are we going back to Philosophy class to regard what is concrete and real compared to what is intangible?

Very bullshit.

That if I don’t need attention or that anxiety is just “shallow”, it will not appear as if I need help. So, it’s just superficial?

Then they’re the ones who have the guts to invalidate me after putting me through the Psychology field, and then I am not allowed to point out their blabbering? Just when I graduated and got my degree, I am still not reliable? Is it because I am not a practitioner or a doctor? Ha. It’s maddening how they’ll make you stupid.

And yet, they expect me? To finish my master's degree and fucking pass the boards after treating me so ridiculously and not worth it in the subject field?

WTF?

I've been feeling like this since I was 19 in university when they don't believe a thing that I point out because I ain't no doctor!

Yet up until now?

Yule could only sneer at such a rut she has in this ratchet household.

Heck, I will pass the boards, and run through her Master's with ease, but I feel that it is still not enough to be seen.

Beyond sated from food, she can no longer palate anything from her dissatisfying wreck of thoughts. I want to vomit. Nauseous, she stared into nothing once again.

I need to exaggerate the details and severity of the situation, yet it's still dismissed. That her anxiety also needs medication and shit.

Yule feels like a kid begging to be seen and wants attention. She needs to go beyond and bend over backward for facts and her reasons to be heard.

But they just don’t choose to use their damned ears for listening. To her in particular.

Am I just gonna die and it's still not believed in?

With Vyn I still have the tendency to be a compulsive liar in order to be believed in, but I keep forgetting to get it off my system that it is not the same case with him. I need a system reset to be at peace. I want to be my genuine self with him.

I really am trying.

Her far-off stares didn’t leave her glassed orbs as Vyn held her hand tightly by the plateau. She asked if they could get some fresh air earlier. By the looks of it, she had finally calmed down compared to her episode earlier. 

But it still feels heartsinking when she's silent and preoccupied. Vyn squeezed it a few more times before Yule finally responded with a weak smile. But she still goes on and off as she dissociates.

How could I have lost an “okay” Yule in just a few days' time?

Of course, not that he doesn’t like her being like this, but who does want to see a person this way? It pains to see someone you love in so much pain and feeling broken apart. And handled carelessly by people you expect of thick blood.

It tampers a scab on Vyn’s part as well, being let down by your own family who is supposed to serve as a safety net to your existence.

Vyn intertwined his fingers with hers to at least ground her further, she flinched a little. Yule had been silent the most since the start of their trip, although a bit responsive, the difference to her usual behavior shows a wound to her well-being.

He simply observes, he senses her trying the most as she strokes her fingers at his hands as they are sight-seeing. Vyn hopes the view gets her mind off things momentarily.

※ my masterlist | #enjeiwrites ※

[daintylovers]

Young Loves

1.1 Wolf Moon

Teen Wolf x Aurora Young (oc)

A/N: Yay!! Another Teen Wolf Rewrite! But, this one comes with a twist. There isn't a set love interest because if I was in the Teen Wolf universe, I would be trying to slut myself out. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

"Stiles why can't you just knock on his door like a normal person," I said, already preparing for Scott to lose his mind at Stiles' antics.

"Because, Rory, he needs a good scare before I can convince him to come with us."

Sighing, I made my way behind Scott's front porch, crouching down enough to be hidden.

I hear Scott open his front door, and I can see he has a goddamn baseball bat in his hands. Super, I can't wait to get bashed in the head by my paranoid friend.

The wind brushes against the leaves right next to me, causing Scott to spin around frantically, and bat in the air. Looking up, I can see Stiles preparing to scare his friend to death.

Scott begins to get close to us, so Stiles jolts himself down from his hanging position on the roof. Two pairs of lungs scream themselves raw in a second flat.

Becoming aware that he knows the figure hanging upside down, Scott exclaims, "Stiles, what the hell are you doing?"

"You weren't answering your phone," I say, popping up front my position on the ground. Though, I should have thought that through because the next thing I know, the bat gets swung in the air, directly at my face.

Now three pairs of lungs scream through the air before Stiles pushes his free hand toward the bat coming for me. Losing his balance, his body flies toward the ground, while Scott takes stock of who he is about to maim.

"Rory! Seriously guys what the fuck!"

Getting up, Stiles offers his hands to help me up. Brushing ourselves off, we turn to face the bat-wielding manic.

"Wait, why do you have a baseball bat?" Stiles questions.

Scott looks to his newfound weapon of choice, then back to us, "I thought you guys were murderers or something!"

Scoffing, Stiles doesn't hesitate to get to the point, "Alright well whatever. Listen to this, I know it's late but I saw my dad leave like twenty minutes ago. Dispatch called in a body!"

Shrugging his shoulders, Scott looks uninterested.

"Stiles, please slow down and learn how to tell a story," I begin, "look, they called in every officer. Two joggers found a dead body in the woods."

Scott, being the intelligent young man he is, shrieks, "A dead body?!"

I look to Stiles, whose eyes almost pop out of his head at Scott's question. Not being able to help himself, he says, "No a body of water- yes dumbass a dead body!"

Not having it, Scott asks, "Well if they already found the body, then what exactly is everyone looking for?"

Stiles' lips split into a shit-eating grin, this was exactly what he was waiting for. "That is the best part!... They only found half."

Scott raises his eyebrows, then turns his attention to me. Knowing his question, I answer, "He's dragging us out to go find it."

****

Scott already isn't having it.

"Scott you're the one always bitchin' about how nothing ever happens in this town!"

Tagging onto Stiles, I say, "Yeah, remember how just last week you were wishing that Jennifer's Body was real!"

"Rory, I only wished that because Megan Fox is hot, not because I want the ritual sacrifice to be happening in our woods," Touche "Also, which half of the body are we even looking for?" Touche again.

Stiles stops, and then comforts us by saying, "Actually, I didn't think about that."

Feeling butterflies start to erupt in my stomach, I ask, "What if whoever killed the person is still out here?"

"Also something I didn't consider" Oh god, I might vomit.

Scott says something but I don't hear it. Instead, the blood rushing to my head drowns out most things as we continue our trek through the woods.

Noticing how quiet I've become, Stiles wraps a hand around my wrist, effectively pulling me to a stop. Also allowing Scott to catch his breath. "Hey, Rory, it's okay," he tries comforting me, "If the guy is still out here, you have Scott and I to protect you."

Locking eyes with him, I laugh a little, "Yeah, my heroes. The severe asthmatic and an ADHD nightmare."

Taking mild offense Stiles replies, "Hey, I could totally protect you! You are five foot nothing and probably weigh ninety pounds soaking wet. Alright, all I'd have to do is throw you over my shoulder like a bag of sugar and be on my way." Sometimes it's nice when boys are stupid.

I laugh again, a little more sincere than last time, then start walking, letting him know I was fine to keep going. However, I don't get very far before I get pushed to the forest floor by both boys. Then they both crash down beside me as I spot flashlights in the distance.

The lights start to go further into the woods, so Stiles clambers to his feet, yanking me along with him, "Come on!"

We don't get far before we hear Scott call out for us. Stiles and I stop and turn around, looking for our friend, but a branch breaking quickly pulls our attention back to its previous position. Then, a bright light beamed into my retinas, burning my vision, as I was once again pulled down by Stiles. To make matters worse, I hear a dog getting scarily close to biting my face off.

"Hang on- I know these little delinquents." and I know that voice.

Stiles helps me up, as I meet his father's eyes. "Dad, hey, how are you?"

"So, do you listen in on all of my phone calls?"

"Well, no. Not the boring ones." Yikes

"Hello to you Rory."

I give him a sheepish wave. He just laughs and then shines his light past us, towards Scott's direction, "Where's the final partner in crime?"

"Who, Scott? He's at home, resting up before school tomorrow. Yeah, no, it's just us here, all alone, in the woods, at night." Oh god, kill me now

Mr. S just looks at me for confirmation, knowing how amazing with words his son can be. "He's right, Scotts at home."

He takes my words as truth and wraps an arm around my shoulders. "Alright, well I am going to walk you guys to his car. And then Stiles, you and I are going to have a fun little conversation about privacy."

****

"We should go back and find him," I say, picking at my cuticles.

Stiles lightly smacks my hands, bringing my nervous habit to a stop. "Rory, he's fine. He said he was already on his way home. Besides, I need to get you home."

Not listening I argue back, "Stiles, we were out there looking for a dead body. What if tomorrow, it's Scotts we are looking for, not just some random."

"Aurora, Scott is fine." With that final statement, he turns up the volume and puts his hand on top of mine. We drive home with him moving his thumb across my knuckles for comfort.

We don't say anything until he pulls into my driveway. "I can stay with you for a little if you're still a little shaken up." he offers.

"I'll be okay. Besides, your dad will kill you if he's home before you are."

He lets out a tiny laugh and nods his head, "Yeah, you aren't wrong. Hell, I could be the next body out in the woods."

"There's the spirit, Stilinski," I say, reaching for the door handle. I step out and close my side of the door, before making my way around the car to the driver's side. Standing on the tips of my toes, I lean into the rolled-down window. "Well, thanks for the ride home. Good luck with your dad, and I'll see you tomorrow."

He offers me a small smile and motions his head to the door, You are welcome, as always. Now please get inside because it's cold and you aren't any fun when sick."

Rolling my eyes, I make my way to my front door, keys already in hand. Once I unlock it, I push the door open slightly before turning to wave goodbye. Stiles waves back, so I step inside and lock the door behind me.

While I get ready for bed, I still keep thinking about Scott. So I text him, asking if he got home safe, before putting my phone on the charger.

It isn't until 1, that I finally fall asleep. Only after Scott returned my text, which is weird considering Stiles had said he was already on his way home when we were also on our way home. That fucking liar.

****

"Alright, let's see this thing!" Stiles says, too excitedly for how early it is.

Scott had texted us this morning, telling us to meet him in front of the school before class to "show us something life-changing". I knew he was being dramatic, but Stiles was shaking with anticipation.

Lifting up his shirt, Scott shows us a massive bandage covering most of his side. Stiles tries to touch it, but Scott jerks away, "I'm not sure what it was, but if I had to guess, I would say a wolf bit me."

Stiles laughs in his face, and Scott visibly deflates. "Why are you laughing? I know it was a wolf because I heard a wolf howling."

"No way."

"No way- what do you mean no way?"

I chime in, "Because wolves haven't been in California for like fifty years."

Stiles corrects me, "Sixty, wolves haven't been in California for sixty years. But thanks for remembering my wolf phase Rory." How could I forget? For a whole year in fourth grade, Stiles latched onto wolves and learned everything he possibly could about them. If he learned something, he shared it, so I always learned something too.

Scott shakes his head, "Whatever, if you guys don't believe me about the wolf, then you definitely won't believe me when I told you I found the other half of the body."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles yells.

"No, I'm gonna have nightmares about it for months."

Stiles starts to ramble about how exciting this is while I search the crowd for my other best friend. Noticing her, I give Scott and Stiles a goodbye, before joining Lydia, our school Queen B.

As much as I love those nerds, I also love my girlfriends. Linking arms, Lydia and I made our way up the steps, as I tried to stop thinking about dead bodies and wolves.

****

At the end of the school day, Lydia introduces me to "our" new best friend Allison. The aforementioned girl is tall with great brunette hair and matching doe eyes. She's pretty, breathtakingly so, which I can acknowledge will probably become a problem for me. I can't help it, brown puppy dog eyes are my biggest weakness.

I introduce myself, and we engage in small talk briefly before I notice my other friends gawking from across the hall. Scott practically has drool seeping down his chin as Stiles talks to Harley, one of our classmates.

Zoning back in, I notice Jackson has joined our trio. However, Allison is trying desperately to not watch lacrosse practice. She turns to me for help, "Are you going too?"

I grimace and answer, "Yeah, Lydia will kill me if I don't. But also, my ride home is on the team."

Lydia smiles triumphantly and walks hand in hand with Jackson to the field. Giving Allison a smile, I link our arms together and drag her along, "Don't worry, it's not that boring. Besides, Lydia has to catch you up on Beacon Hills lore." That gives me a laugh from the pretty girl and I feel my heart flutter.

Once we find seats in the bleachers, Lydia joins us, and practice begins. I notice pretty quickly that Scott is in goal, which makes me feel like a proud mother. But that feeling turns to mild jealousy as Allison asks, "Whose in goal?"

"Scott, he's one of my friends."

"Oh, he's in my English class"

The coach's whistle cuts her off, and we watch as the boy gets knocked in the head by a ball. I try to stifle my laugh but when Stiles turns around we make eye contact and I break into hysterics. Allison starts laughing at my laugh, and I can't deny that I'm glad her attention to back toward me.

Though Scott wins again when he manages to catch the next ball, and the next after that. Jackson matches my jealousy as he tries to pump-fake Scott. But he is unsuccessful since Scott has suddenly become a decent player?

No way he got that good overnight.

****

"I don't know what it was, it was like I had all the time in the world to catch the ball."

Scott currently has Stiles and I trudging through the woods, retracing last night's steps as he rambles on about practice. As if Stiles and I weren't watching the entire time.

"Plus, I hear things that I shouldn't be able to hear. And smell things that I shouldn't be able to smell."

"Oh really," I start, "like what?"

"Like your heart beating really fast and the cherry vanilla perfume you're wearing." Oh!

Stiles and I share a glance, then he asks, "So all of this started with the bite?"

He continues, "Wait, I've heard of this thing before. It's a specific kind of infection."

Scott immediately stops and whips around to face us, "Are you serious?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's called lycanthropy." This asshole...

Though I'm no better, "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. It gets in your bloodstream and then manifests itself once a month. Every month. On a full moon." Stiles finishes up with a howl and Scott looks like he wants to murder us.

"Hey, you did say you heard a wolf last night." I reason.

"That's not funny Rory, there could be something seriously wrong with me."

Stiles continues, oblivious to our friend's fears, "Well duh, you're a freaking teenage werewolf!" Scott scoffs at him. "Okay- I am clearly kidding. But if you see me in shop melting all the silver I can, it's because there is a full moon on Friday."

Scott stops and begins looking around for his inhaler, the sole reason we are back out here. "I could have sworn I dropped it here."

Stiles drops down with Scott and the pair begin to dig around. Not willing to crouch down while wearing a skirt, I watch them fumble around before feeling eyes on me. I spin around and shriek immediately. About 12 feet away, stands a creep in all black, just staring at us with a blank expression.

Both boys immediately come flying up, Scott placing himself in front of me and Stiles angling himself to be a little bit behind me, but also curling around my side.

Creeper stalks toward us and asks, "What are you doing here? This is private property"

Scott answers, "Sorry man, we didn't realize. We were just looking for something."

In the blink of an eye, creeper tosses something at Scott who manages to catch it flawlessly. The creeper then turns around and walks away, as Scott reveals the exact item we were just looking for.

"Do you guys know who that is?" Stiles questions, but after receiving nothing he continues, "That was Derek Hale, from the Hale house fire a couple years back. Dudes only a couple years older than us, and his whole family like burned to death."

We continue walking and I know that Scott and Stiles are talking but I can't quite focus on their words.

I turn my head back one last time and can see Derek watching us still. Almost like he was waiting for something. Or someone.

****

Stiles meets up with me before practice, telling me some of the worst news ever.

They tested the body and found animal hairs on the body. That animal is a fucking wolf.

Stiles could barely get the words out before pulling me in for a quick hug, saying goodbye, and running to find Scott.

I can barely process the information before Allison finds me in a dazed state.

"Guess who has a date for Friday?" Oh great, more bad news.

"Is it me? Is this your plan to ask me to go with you to the party?" I laugh and see her smile get wider.

"No, but I promise to save you a dance. Scott actually asked!" She's so excited that I can't even hate Scott for a second. "I think he's really cute."

"Yeah. in a kicked puppy dog kind of way."

"Could you, possibly put in a good word for me? If not, that's totally fine, I don't want to make anything awkward." She's so sheepish that I cave in.

"Ally, of course I will. Don't worry, he asked me to do the same." This is true, and now I felt like a bad friend for not following up on the request. At the end of the day, I would rather them both be happy with each other than lose a friend while trying to date another.

The crowd starts cheering rather loudly, ceasing our conversation. I notice that the star of the hour is the cause of commotion. Scott is pulling out tricks I've only ever seen a gymnast achieve. What. The. Fuck.

It's like Stiles and I share the same brain, as he turns and meets my gaze. Scott just made the first line out of nowhere and suddenly the little werewolf joke doesn't feel all that comical.

****

"How much Adderall have you had today?" Scott questions.

"A lot- but that doesn't matter. Alright, what matters is that the little joke Rory and I made the other day? Yeah, not so little anymore okay. She and I have been searching for hours and you'll never guess what we've found."

Scott looks to me for confirmation and I just nod my head. His expression turns to anger and he says, "Are you guys seriously wasting my time with this? I have to pick up Allison soon!"

He turns to leave but I beat him to the door, blocking his exit. "Scott, please just let us explain. Okay, what we saw on the field today, was great. Too great. I know you practiced this summer, but this is completely out of left field." He just scoffs but turns to Stiles when he starts talking.

"Plus, the hearing and the smelling from the other day? It can't be a coincidence. And I'm sorry but your date with Allison tonight, yeah, no freaking way is that happening. You know why, the full moon is tonight."

Scott looks ready to bash Stiles's head in, which matches up with our werewolf research. Bloodlust is apparently a thing, and I do not want to be around when Scotts kicks in.

Stiles voices my concerns aloud to our fuming friend.

Things take a scary turn when Stiles tries to get Scott's phone to cancel on Allison.

"Goddamnit Stiles give it to me!" Scott explodes, slamming Stiles into the wall. The action has me frozen in fear, waiting for his next move. Scott clenches his fist and goes to punch him, but stops when he watches his best friend's face scrunch up in fear. He turns around and focuses his anger on the chair, knocking it back with enough force to have it collide with my shins. On impact I fall onto the bed behind me, thanking god I didn't just fall and hit my head against the floor instead.

Scott meets my eyes, and I can feel the regret coming off him in suffocating waves. He goes to help me up and stops when I flinch rather harshly.

"I'm- I'm so sorry Rory," then he looks at Stiles, his face morphing into the personification of guilt, "I'm sorry, both of you. But I really have to go."

As soon as he leaves, Stiles hits his head against the wall, making me flinch once again. Tired of feeling helpless, I get up and move the chair into an upward position. Once I finish, I can't help but let out a gasp. Stiles is behind me in an instant, eager to see what I'm seeing.

There it is, proof that we aren't crazy.

Three fucking slashes, from a werewolf's claws.

****

Stiles and I arrive at Lydia's together but quickly lose each other once the redhead finds me.

For the next hour or so, I lived like everything was totally normal.

But of course, it doesn't last very long.

Allison, bless her heart, ruins my buzz when she comes crashing towards me. "Rory, Scott just left. Like completely vanished, and when I tried to follow him, some older guy offered to give me a ride and said he knew Scott. I told him sure, but that I had to get my friend inside too cause she needed a ride. Please come with me so I don't get kidnapped alone."

"Ally, why didn't you just tell him no?"

"Because he was kind of cute, plus I figured you might like him."

It was terrible reasoning on her part, but nevertheless, I let her drag me outside and into the cold night.

She pointed out his car almost immediately and I felt my stomach sink rapidly.

There in all his creepy glory, was Derek Hale. The same guy from the woods.

To Ally's credit, he was cute. If this was different circumstances, I would have been excited to ride in his car. But now I felt like throwing up.

Against my better judgment, I let Allison drag me into the back seat of the shiny black sports car.

Stiles was going to kill me when he found out.

****

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Stiles exclaims.

He was driving me home after almost breaking down Allison's door to figure out if I was alive or not.

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't let Ally get in the car by herself. And she has a really strong grip."

"God, Rory, if you ever do something so blindly stupid like that again, I swear I will handcuff you to your bedframe so you can never put yourself in danger again, got it?"

I gave him a sheepish, yes, too exhausted by the day's events to argue with him.

For the remaining time we have, he tells me about his night's events. Including the confirmation of the goddamn supernatural.

That's right folks, Scott's actually a fucking werewolf.

****

A/N: AAAAHHH I did it! Omg it took way longer to write than I thought it would. Let me know your thoughts and thank you so much for reading!

Lots of love,

dainty

[punkiio]

Dare you to infodump us about your ocs... Like, for example about how Alan and Hanks became besties... Triple double dare you.... The longer the dump the better. Give us the good deets

OMGG YEAS!! Thank yu for asking😁😁 Always happy to infodump

So Hancock was actually one of the first people Alan traveled with ^_^ Before then he had only really traveled with Nick and Dogmeat. Alan, being an ex-army man and knowing that the wasteland was already fucked up, he didn't really question Hancocks appearance when he first met him. Hancock was one of the first strangers in an unfamiliar place that showed Alan some kindness right off the bat, with the whole stabbing the guy trying to scam him.

Alan really appreciated Hancock's like. Really chill personality. Not that Nick wasnt chill, its just a different kind of chill. Stoner chill. You get the idea. I think that, even though Goodneighbor has a kinda darker feel to it, Alan would like it more than Diamond City. Diamond City just has too much paranoia and authority and eyes on him for him to really feel like he could relax and take a breather. Goodneighbor being a place for all walks of life and much more diversity, I think Alan would feel a little more relaxed when he's there, and especially when he's hanging out in Hancocks office. Alan is not a chem user, but he doesnt really have a problem with Hancock being one. I think when Alan first starts hanging out with Hancock at his office n such he would spend a lot of time there. Something about it just felt like a breath of fresh air to him, and Hancock just let him stay for as long as he wanted, even if Alan ended up crashing on the couch sometimes. Alan had an extremely hard time coping with the wasteland for a long time, so having somewhere he could go to was so nice for him.

After a little while is when Hancock decided to travel around a little, so thats when him and Alan started traveling together. I think it would take Hancock a minute to get used to Alan being very quiet and pretty monotone, but once he starts getting to know him better he would come to realize thats just kinda how Alan is. It doesnt mean Alan is upset or uninterested, hes just a quiet dude. Alan likes Hancocks lighthearted personality, because the wasteland is such a harsh place already, he needs someone who isnt just doom and gloom to be around him. Someone to really help him keep going in a way that doesn't stress him out too much (Which is why he travels with Nick, Hancock, and Deacon the most).

Fun fact, I had actually romanced Alan with Hancock during my first playthrough of Alan, because I wanted to ship them together. But then I realized that Alan and Deacon made a better match so I started shipping them instead... So now I just have Alan and Hancock be besties.. My running joke is that I had accidentally started shipping Alan and Deacon together at first because I would think about them interacting so much to the point where I was like. Yeah actually this needs to happen

[idcpxseur]

i want more laurance thoughts pretty please

OKAY BUT YOU ASKED FOR IT

My thoughts on Laurence Zvhal

soft warning for aaron slander. im not really slandering him im just sharing my conspiracy theories. ALSO THIS BITCH IS LONGGGG AND THERES SO MUCH RAMBLIGN GOD HELP

god i love him so bad... thats the main thing i wanna get cleared up right the fuck away. i love him SOSO bad and i think jesson uses him completely inappropiately and im stealing him. okay? hes my oc now.

this is also a warning, i havent refreshed completely with my mcd knowledge and mystreet is more fresh in my mind so if i say something wrong about a plot point be nice to me im doing my best im a little guy with a dissociative disorder so i forget shit

aaalllrighty where the hell do i begin?

okay so first off, right off the bat: when he got back from the nether in mcd, he should've been blind. because

disability representation. blindness isnt something that can just be cured unless you get touched by jesus christ himself (im not religious but i think thats in the bible lol) and it something that impacts millions of people on the daily. exposing that to young kids can introduce them to the fact that not everybody is just like them and that people come in many different shapes and sizes. and it ofc helps anyone who happens to be blind have a chracter to relate to and project on.

do YOU KNOW HOW COOL IT WOULD BE FOR A BLIND KNIGHT? like fighting is a very visual skill for the most part you need to see your opponents sword to properly dodge it or you are good and truly fucked. so taking something integral to fighting and ripping it away gives another great chance for character development as well as some really sick ass scenes where laurence goes all toph and uses his senses that are now firing at all cylinders and kicks total ass

ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST!! like. laurence is a very visual guy, right? he sees pretty ladies to flirt with, he's a knight, he cares about his looks. so now he has all of that pretty much ripped away from him in an instant. what the fuck is he supposed to do? he flounders. hes a shell of his former self, in a way. like hes still there, hes still alive, but is he even laurence anymore? its something he has to learn to embrace and come to terms with. the main cast could also be super encouraging for him and basically is like "hey dude youre still the same fuckin awesome guy and you can still do all these fucking awesome things you just gotta learn how to do it again"

itd make for some cool relationship building between him and garroth or him and zoey or him and aphmau or even like him and cadenza. it gives him external relationships outside of just aphmau's love interest

JESUS FUCK I YAPPED A LOT ABOUT LAURENCE BEING BLIND OKAY

i think giving laurence (in both mcd and mystreet) jealousy/possessiveness issues is lame and a total turn off. like its such a gross thing to tell to kids, no? like "hey kids if you love someone they are ENTITLED to love you back and they CANT be in love with someone else"

obviously this behavior is still shut down but still... like why include it? especially because, prior to him falling in love, he seemed to be just a completely chill dude who only gets angry if he needs to. but suddenly hes mass slaughtering people at weddings (mcd), stalking his love interest because he saw her talking with another guy (mystreet), giving aphmau the cold shoulder because she is either indecisive or loses interest in him (this goes in both series i believe)

like it just gives you such an ick and obviously i know why they did this. i will say this until the day they put me in the damn ground its because of motherfucking aaron becoming a love interest. i have zero issues with aaron as a character and i even like him as a character (i have redeemed myself. i used to hate him) but as a love interest i think hes the worst thing to happen to every series because he just simply destroys any male character who had the potential to be shipped with aphmau which was all of them

were moving to mystreet here because mystreet is the best and most glaring example of this because mystreet was after they had decided to make aarmau canon in mcd and you can tell because of the way they set up laurence and garroth.

lemme explain and yes i know this is deviating from strictly laurence a tad but stay with me

im not going to use pdh because pdh was written after mystreet based off of the fact that for some reason travis doesnt know aphmau???? despite them being best friends in pdh??? WHATEVER WHWATEVER NOT THE POINT OKAY. were also going to completely disregard the undercurrent of grooming for aarmau and were going to pretend like this relationship is normal and not at all weird. okay? okay.

so from the moment you first meet laurence and garroth, you can tell their vibes are off. theyre openly hostile with each other (even if its playful theyre still "competeing" for her), theyre trying to shove each other out of the way. it makes them seem unlikeable. every time theyre on screen theyre talking to her or about her (often times planning on stalking her or getting irrationally jealous because they heard something through the grapevine) and it just turns the viewer off. if youre a first time viewer without any preconcieved notions of these character you're thinking "wow thats creepy. why would she stay friends with them? why would she bother sticking around her if all they want is a relationship out of her and not a genuine friendship?" and if you happened to watch mcd first youre thinking "wow is this how theyre really like? wow i dont like them at all anymore" and then you go to mcd and see their worst traits being ramped up and amplified to make them even more unlikable

and then you see aaron

in mcd hes a silent protector. hes always by aphmau's side. hes her one true loyal knight even when she does something he doesnt like. they understand eachother in ways that laurence and garroth just dont

in mystreet hes her guard dog. hes always there to step in when shes uncomfortable. hes her secret best friend her home away from home. he makes her feel loved in such a way that laurence garroth never could since theyve only ever cared about her superficially and not in any way that really, truly mattered

it makes the audience cling to him. it makes them think "well fuck why did the other guys even try hes obviously perfect for her" it blinds them of any other potential option because jesson just didnt give any other opportunity to shine through.

and thats fine. thats completely fine they can do whatever the hell they want to with their series because as one creative to another sometimes you just gotta make your bed and lie in it knowing that not every bitch out there is going to like every creative decision you make.

as a viewer it just.... it just makes you feel dissatisfied. leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, especially given the fact that in mcd you were basically told "these are your two options for love interests" and then a third love interest swoops in seemingly out of nowhere, gets her pregnant, and then he fucking dies.

in mystreet it just like... ugh. i dont know. i guess i feel happy for them because i can see their development. but like me personally i cant really feel shit for ms aarmau simply because of pdh and the FUCKING WEIRDNESS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP

sorry this, once again, turned into a rant about how aaron's introduction as a love interest fucking ruined everything (my words, not anyone elses)

to sum up this long, long, long post my thoughts on laurence are as follows: i think hes written very poorly in mystreet and severely mishandled in mcd. i think that he had the potential to be very interesting in both series if used properly and he couldve had more intersting things happen to him in terms of the love interest department.

i think hes a character that gets the a lot of the character assassination tirade that jesson went on and i wish we got to see more of him but unfortunately we never will since you know his va left.

but most importantly:

hes my pookie wookie booboo bear and i love him so bad and im going to shake him and bite him and rip him to shred

well... i hope you got what you wanted. i have emptied all of my thoughts about laurence

[mcalhenwrites]

If anyone wonders about the bitterness I feel toward crochet... I expected crochet-only blogs of people I didn't really know to unfollow. While this creation blog started as crochet and crafts, it was less than a year before I expanded that to writing as well. Then I got diagnosed with fibromyalgia, because I was in so much pain. That was especially concentrated on my right side, including my right neck/clavicle/arm/hand/fingers. (Especially so when I was crocheting, but it still hurts even when I'm not. Which is why crocheting is so painful for me.) I wasn't putting any of my time toward writing, which I love so much. I wanted to quit crocheting. For about two years, I didn't crochet much if at all. I felt pressured into it by my now-ex, though, because even she liked that but disregarded my writing as anything of worth. (Enough that I had to beg for her to congratulate me when I accomplished anything, such as finishing a draft. I had to flat out say, "Can you please congratulate me? This means a lot to me." And she'd drag her feet. Made me feel awful about myself and my writing.) I am so sick of my worth being tied to crochet. I'm so sick of only being seen and noticed and loved when I crochet. I want to be me. I want to be happy. It's not fair that my worth ever got tied to a hobby I could still love if I hadn't been completely defined on how much yarn I could form into mostly amigurumi/blankets/scarves so that I could give it to other people. When I crocheted for myself, made things I wanted? People interacted significantly less with those than they did anything that was a gift or even commission. (Mainly gifts, those were THE THING... and I got followers posting those. People who reached out to talk to me. People who then left when I couldn't cough up the gifts for them.) The only exception was Tempra, and not because friends liked her. Very few friends interacted with Tempra, who is probably my greatest piece. An OC dragon I made for myself. She took off despite only a handful of friends liking and reblogging her. Mind, most of these people (who wanted to use me) are now ex-friends. I don't want to be bitter and angry. I don't want to never crochet again (at least, I'd like to do it sometimes as a hobby that is FOR MYSELF and not about other people - this includes "I have an idea bc my roommate would like this Astarion bat" and no you can't see the fucking bat bc I'm too hurt by the past to share my work without putting it behind a paywall). But goddamn. I'm so hurt. I don't know how to even address how hurt I am. At least, not in any healthy way. I wish I could address it. I wish I could afford to live and not monetize everything I do, but I live in the US and I'm disabled and already stretched thin for the scraps I get. I don't need to stretch myself thinner, but... I'm crocheting again for tables and I FUCKING HATE IT.

[sadattemptofawriter]

Dual nature (Thomas Shelby x female! OC)

Dual nature 4 – A bed and a hard spot

Summery: Life in Birmingham is hard for every unfortunate soul that lives in it, but it is especially difficult for women. And if that woman has noan of her own and no family to call her own than life is difficult in even more convoluted ways. If that woman is fair of face than she has little choice to become a whore. Minerva knows this and tired of constant unwanted attentions she, hatches a plan. A plan that if done right will ensure her an honorable job with decent wages and if undone will most likely get her killed. But she is willing to try anything to avoid prostitution.

One day, Minerva Griffin made a point to show herself leaving her home, moving out and leaving it for someone else. So that her brother, Byron Griffin can come and stay. Byron Griffin who is a scrawny lad, but eager to work with a funny girlish way about him.

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. mild descriptions of exual encounted. Your media consumption is your own responsibility

“I beg your pardon?” I gasp and throw the wet rag on my shoulder.

“You are pardoned, no need to beg.” Smirks John as he yet again, puts a tooth pick in his mouth to chew.

“I said we are getting you laid.” Arthur announced proudly. His scruffy face lit up with such a childish joy that rivaled a child on Christmas Eve. He really was a master of ridiculous pranks and jokes. God save the subject of his torments whenever he got bored enough to come up with elaborate games to entertain himself.

God save me. I am now his favorite subject to tease.

“No, thank you. I have work to do.” I tried my best to courtly refuse. There was no way of tiptoeing around this one.

“No, you don’t.” john snickered. The devil, he was. “You always act busy and refuse to drink with us. I know Tommy said it. But come on…you’re a man now. You need to get laid.”

“John Shelby, don’t you have anything better to do than think about all the holes I put my cock into?” thanks to all the time I spend with these men and all the other men, I have officially grown a mouth that would give any woman a heart attack. Good. One more step away from being recognized.

Becoming foul-mouthed wasn’t as bad as I thought. Or rather, it wasn’t bad because I was now a man. When I was a young girl, I once yelled ‘shit’ after I fell off a 3-year-old filly. My mother proceeded to give me a beating with her fan. That night, I was sent to my room without dinner and was told to think about my actions. Now, dressed as Byron, not only no one bat an eye at my foul mouth, they all laughed and encouraged it. As if it all was a game.

“Do you stick your cock in anything?” he laughed.

“It better not be the horses.” John quipped, his grin hidden behind a flask.

“It is, isn’t it?” John howled with laughter this time, his followed by the laughter of all others. “You fuck the mares?”

“What’s going on in here?” came the icy cold voice of my icy cold savior. My employer. Thomas Shelby stood a few yards away from us next to Charlie Strong with eyes that could kill the devil, fuck holy Marie and challenge God. It was his neutral look, I’ve learned. That man lives in the extremities.

“Hello mister Shelby.” I bow my head.

“Tommy!” Arthur yells in delight, bringing his younger brother in on the circle and patting him on the shoulder.

He still stood cold and collected, waiting for an answer. I wanted to tell him that his dumb brothers had the idiotic idea to get me laid. They wanted to convince me to sleep with a prostitute because they believed I have been working so much that it bored them. I couldn’t do that since I don’t have the right equipment. Why, you ask mister Shelby? Because I was a woman. That would be a deadly conversation. I would take a cap to the throat. Damn it.

I remained silent.

“Well?” he prompted.

“Tommy, give Byron tomorrow afternoon off. No, this afternoon. Give him a day off.” John said, his toothpick bouncing between his lips with each word.

Tommy’s eyes turned to me, like icicles in my soul. “Why?”

“I don’t need or want a day off, sir. I will be working.” I assured him, which resulted in a perfectly arched brow.

“Is that so? Then what is John saying?” I don’t know if he knew what the boys had suggested and was merely trying to embarrass me, or he was genuinely curious.

“We want to get him laid.” Arthur said happily. This made Tommy to turn to me with an inquisitive brow raised and a humorous half smirk.

“Get him laid. Eh?”

“No need, mister Shelby, I have work.” I try even harder to get out of this situation without raising too many suspicions. The problem was I couldn’t refuse too much. Not just because they were the peaky devils and no one got to refuse the devils and live a scar free life – if they get to live at all – but also what man would go so long without a good lay? That was the problem, and I didn’t know the answer. How far do I go with my refusal? Has it already been weird? I am not actually a man; I have no desire of sex, the way men usually have. And even if I have no way out of it, and have no choice but to… do as they want me. What am I even supposed to do? I lack the right thing… I don’t thing even I can fake that. And I can’t tell them I am not interested in women… men with such perverse fancies don’t usually last long. And what would I do with the…woman? Do I tell her? No. I can’t risk it at all. Do I do things? What things? How? And can I bring myself to do so?

The sounds of cheering snap me from my thoughts and I look at John confused.

“Congratulations Byron. You're going to get laid tonight.” He whistled happily, and I turned to look at Tommy Shelby, who was already walking away with Arthur as if he had not just given my life away to be toyed with.

I consider my life as Byron, under the employment of Thomas Shelby, possibly the only good thing that has happened to me since before the war. But right now, at this moment? I wanted to pull out a gun and shoot Thomas Shelby right in the head.

The rest of the day I did my best to look for things to do, things that would take long very long to accomplish. No such luck. I had kept the stables in tip-top shape. By the time the sun began to set and the long pale shadows of the Shelby men were cast on the entryway, I had pathetically surrendered myself to a fate possibly worse than death.

They came to me, jolly and drunk. Grabbed me by the scruff of my neck like I was some young pup with pig paws they wanted to show off and dragged me all the way across small heath. They continued to tease me with their crude jokes and promises of a ‘skilled woman’. I couldn’t care less.

My mind was frozen in fear. I couldn’t keep up with the banter, I could barely focus on their jokes to begin with. I suppose I understood then why they called them the peaky devils. It didn’t have anything to do with violence. It was just that they tormented people for their own amusement.

Cruel monsters.

“Here we are, Lad. This is Sophia’s place. She’s good. She’s been waiting for ye.” John laughed. I sighed and Arthur pushed me towards the door.

I had to think quick. I had to make a decision. Was I ready to commit to whatever fate befell me beyond that door? Was I ready to do whatever it takes to survive as Byron? Or was my resolve going to break here and now.

Minerva is dead.

I am Byron.

And by God I will live as Byron.

The door opens and I am pushed inside. “Have fun mate.” I hear them laugh.

And I stand inside the small, dimly lit apartment in front of another woman who was already halfway out of her clothes. “You are Sophia.” I try my best to keep a blank face.

She nodded and a curtain of soft reddish-brown hair fell over her shoulders, I gave her a once over, this was the woman they expected me to lay with under whatever misguided kindness those two devils had. She was pretty, I’ll give her that. Her hair was down to her voluptuous hips and her hazel eyes sparkled as if she was still some innocent girl. Her lips red with a curve so teasing I could not help but think that she was some minx. Furthermore, her skin unmarred with a pink flush of spring petals.

I was no man, but in that short moment, I could admit I knew why men marveled at the soft pale flesh of women. In that small moment I knew what Adam saw in Eve to eat that apple, what Hades saw in Persephone and what Romeo saw in Juliet. I was no man, but I didn’t need to be. to marvel at beauty, one doesn’t need to have a cock to pulse.

I would not mind laying my lips on her skin, I thought to myself.  I didn’t know what to make of my thoughts. I never considered myself a woman of perverse needs, but then again, I never knew I was a woman who could so easily live as a man shoveling shit for a job.

“The Shelby’s said I am yours for the afternoon.” She sounded nervous. “They paid me good to make sure you had your fill.”

“Of course, they did.” I couldn’t help the sarcasm lacing my tongue. “Their idea of a dumb gift.” I take a hand and run it across my face.

She frowned, then her face crumbled in worry. “You don’t like me? They said you would. If I am not... if you want someone else…” she looked a lot more worried than she should have about a man not wanting to sleep with her. “I don’t want the misters, Shelby cross, with me.”

Ah. There it was. The misters Shelby. I suppose I am not the only one they torment with their mere existence. She is a whore, and they bring a customer, and yet they bring about such worry that they make sex for a seasoned whore difficult. I pity her. I sympathized with her. Most importantly, I felt the need to do something.

Something that will forever close the gates of heaven for me.

“You are lovely.” I reassured and looked at her figure. Yes, truly, she was very beautiful, even a woman would admit that unless she was blind.  A thought dared to bloom in my head, like a snake rearing its head from between rocks, or the shining eyes of a black cat in a dark alley. Sin bloomed in my mind.

Jesus, marry and Joseph, I entertained the thought. God save my soul, I did not shy away from it. Save my soul, I liked the idea. I was a woman. It was a fact I could hide under Byron, but I can never erase. I, more than any man she has ever had in her bed, knew about women and their pleasures.

I will confess at the church later but for now, I will indulge myself. I am in a trap, between a rock and a hard place. Between the wrath of the peaky devils and the wrath of God, I knew I should fear the later more, but I was not foolish enough to think I could withstand the former. If I was going to die and burn in hell, I might as well spare myself the pain brought about by the Peaky Blinders.

I stake a step forward and bring my hand to her hair, caressing her locks and down to her neck and shoulders. Her lips parted, so did mine.

I brought my lips to hers and enjoyed the taste of Irish whiskey.  she closed her eyes and melted into me with practiced motions. her hands going towards my body, trying to strip me and please me as she has done to so many men. I hold her wrists in my hand and pull them away. “shouldn’t we be doing what I want?” I ask. 

she blinks a few times in confusion as if to say what man doesn’t want this but finally settles into my whim. and by God how much it truly was a whim. I take a lungful of her scent and willingly let the reins of my intrusive thoughts go, allowing my whims to set me ablaze by the fires of hell. I make quick work of her dress, as thin as it was, it didn’t take much to tear it away then I pushed her back onto the bed and stood over her to watch the scene before me. her hair tussled and a mess around her like flames a striking contrast to her pale flesh; her body was soft and full, the kind you would want to lay your head on for days. Her breasts large and soft, they had become flushed against the open air and to my perverse eyes they begged to be held, to be kissed and bitten. The thought had come to me like a warhorse stallion, the devils’ chants in my ear. Bite her. Bite her and mark her pale moonlight skin with red bites. Bite all of her. From those pouted lips, shapely neck, her shoulders, her breasts then all the way down to her soft belly and even lower.

Curles of ginger. Same shade of red but thicker curls. That’s what covered her sweet cunt. I was surprised by my own thoughts and by the way my brain filled and described the scene before me. never in my life had I thought about other women in this way and never had I thought what I would feel about it. hers was the only other woman’s bare body I had seen and it had me salivating like a starved man at a king’s feast. It was good that I had lost the rains of my actions, because my brain could not make sense of myself. Luckily, my body had a mind of its own and pure instincts drove me to things I didn’t even knew was possible.

She moaned and sighed at every bite and my blood boiled with the realization that her moans are music to my ears and I would never want them to stop. At times he tried to stop me, take my attention to other things, try to please me in ways other men would prefer but my mind was set on its ways.

The chant in my mind getting louder and louder. Bite her. Bite her. Kiss her. Taste her skin. Taste her scent. Lap at the sweetness she hides under those ginger curls. And by god’s grace how sweet she was. I understood then, why men where the way they were. I was no longer repulsed by their needy lust; not now that I had tasted the fountain source of all their desire. Why had it not occurred to me before? Why had I not seen it before? That once you taste of this sweetness, engulfed in lovely soft thighs and mesmerized by moans then you will never want for anything else. It seemed in her taste I could find the reason for all creation and in her sound, I could find the secrets of nature.

It became abundantly clear to me why men go to war over women, why they sing songs of sweet flesh or go mad over the love of a woman or why they spend their entire lives looking for a cunt to fuck. The only thing that confused me was why men of God vow chastity and call believers towards it since it is in her sweet cunt that I found the grace of God. Knuckles deep in her, I could feel life. All of it. perhaps because it would be impossible to sway anyone with heaven if they knew it is so easily attainable. Or maybe that was just me and my perverted mind. I was already dressed as a man living in some form of sin. Might as well go all the way.

Hours had passed by the time we finished or rather by the time he was too tiered to go on and I had taken my fill of pleasure. She had remained on the bed panting and whimpering in the sweetest voice.

“you’re going to tempt me again with all those pretty noises.” I teased. Somehow my exhausted brain could form sentences still.

“Please, anymore and I might die.” She hid herself under the covers. She was really cute. Especially now with all the pretty delicious markings I left on her skin.

I laughed as I straightened my clothes in front of her mirror and fixed my hair to appear somewhat respectable and decent. Since God knows nothing else of mine was decent at all. Definitely not my mouth. “I am leaving now. You tell misters Shelby while I didn’t ask for this, I am….” How was I going to finish this sentence? I am what? I am glad? Happy? Pleased? Hoping to do it again? I am surprised by the fact that I did all that I did in the past couple of hours? “Tell them I admit I needed the break. But please don’t do it again.”

“So, you are pleased?” she asks poking her head from under her covers.

“Yes. Very much.” I say in all the honesty I could muster after that deeply illuminating experience,

“Are you sure? You didn’t fuck me.”

“Girly, you were a mess with just a few fingers and my tongue. I don’t think you can handle an actual fucking.” I bragged in the way sexually confident men do. I hopped she believed my brag and took my teasing as it was and didn’t push the matter.

She grumbled under her breath something about men and their cocks and I was grateful I was in that category now. “You better be pleased because in not than the Shelby’s are going to have my head.”

“Relax. They don’t care. They just set me up to tease me anyways.” I laughed. This time genuinely. Now that I had tasted heaven, I wasn’t so mad about the teasing anymore. Maybe a bit stressed but right then and there I was buzzed to much on sin and heresy to care. “But if it really matters to you then, yes. I did enjoy myself. Very much so.”

I left her house and began my long walk in the dark and dim streets of small heath. Hoping to get a glass of Irish whiskey before the garrison closes, I made a turn to an alleyway I knew as a shortcut.

“Fuck.” I freely said into the cold air. “Fuck.” I said it again and felt for the first time a sense of freedom I had never even thought possible.

[dragonrider9905]

2, 3, 15, 23 for the writer’s ask game!!!🖤🖤

Helllloooo Stitches!!!!!!! ❤️❤️ Thank you so much for the ask!!!!!!

2. Talk about a notable time a narrative or character has looked at you dead in the eyes and has said "fuck your plan, here's what we're actually doing?"

*sighs* yes, my brain likes to do this a LOT with me. Soooooo I can actually share TWO times that this has happened right off the bat.

I believe it was chapter 4 of Shelter from the Storm. It didn't turn out quiet how I imagined it. The conversations didn't translate as well as they did in my head and I somehow had things that I planned on doing later show up in this chapter? Why? I don't know.

Also, so far, in my Technically, We're in Love series.....end of part two and all of part three has mocked me with how it's turned out. I was going to have a little bit of a tense relationship between Valia and Crosshair but somehow it's turned out to be more of a weird, affectionate brother and sister who just met and know they're misunderstanding each other? Crosshair likes her more than how I originally planned but I guess I'm here for it XD I was going to have Wrecker be more of the sibling character for her but, I guess now it is Crosshair? How did that happen? I don't know. Also, the pacing with Tech. I was soooooo intending for a slower burn but Tech already is like ohhhhhh I like you just I don't know what this feeling is or how to handle it so I'm shutting down. Haha, that was suppose to happen a little later after being friends longer. :D Welp, here we are.

3. On a scale of 1-10, how much do you enjoy incorporating romance into the average story?

Hahahahhaa probably an 8. It exists in literally all my original ideas XD I'd say in most of my fanfiction, in canon, I tend to leave it out unless it is existent in the story but kriff it, I have so many AUs and OCs just to add romance? Kark it, probably a 9. I'm a sucker for good romance :D

15. Where do you share your writing?

I share on two platforms. I have an Ao3 account (which is where I first started writing!) and here on Tumblr.

Here is my link to Ao3. I need to update it so it has all my works. It has almost everything....just lately I haven't had much heart to put super share. I'm trying to get back into the groove and hopefully soon, both accounts will have the same stuff.

Here is my Tumblr link! Soon I'll be redoing my masterlist though so it's better and more organized. I love organization but when I wasn't familiar with this platform it was kinda hard to XD But now it's just driving me nuts. I want to improve it. :D My Ao3 I've keep pretty organized but I'd like to take another look at it too one of these days.

23. How do you deal with writers block?

Not well. Just kidding 😜 it depends on what kind of writers block I have. If I'm just emotionally done, then I have to put the stuff away for a while and just let my brain know it is ok to rest, but if it's just hard to write, I surround myself with inspiration like music and art and ask my friends for ideas, or re read past comments. Their hype usually helps me. Sometimes you just have to jump around and write what you feel like writing. Not necessarily the part that you need to write. Bounce around stories too. And try so hard not to feel pressured. Feeling pressured is definitely an inspiration killer. I know I have more but My brain is just saying no to remembering it :D

Ask Game for Fanfic Writers

[ashanimus]

Ash Liveblogs LL 2-3

Every time I think I understand I get in deeper and I realize I do Not. Oh yes Anna, oh yes Nate, I see why people like these Robits. I get it now.

ITS SO INTENSE. MY BRAIN. I HAVE FIRE ANTS OF CREATIVITY AND QUESTIONS. IVE WRITTEN AND RECORDED TWO--TWO SONGS!!!!!???--IN THE LAST 48 HOURS THAT STARTED WITH TRANSFORMERS STUFF AND TRANFORMERS OC. HELP?

I stayed up till 4 am the other day finishing MTME thinking I'd have a moment of breath, of peace, before moving on. NO! I got the ontological equivalent of the dickbutt. Go read the next collection, you idiot.

Anyway here's the liveblog of LL 2-3

AHHHH my boys <3 also hi swerve.

Dear GOD i've said it before and I'll say it again, I would NEVER EVER want to end up on the minibot's bad side. Theyre both fucking feral but REWIND

HE's SO bold and impulsive and intense. I would so much sooner find myself Cyclonus or even Whirl's enemy

Also, 12 of 12.

This is what would happen if Facebok gained self awareness and a body. This is the pope if he ate -insert billionare techbro of your choice-

I am obsessed with the coloring in this fucking series, and also I am a Fan of Anode. Her design is so appealing. Very nice colors.

I really like her ; o ;

SKEIFJLKDAGKJ Rod's new blue look is throwing me off so bad but dear GOD this is so fucking funny. Roddles just got BURNED

Oh Christ on a pogo stick. In a comic chock full of some of the most grotesque images I've ever seen it says something that these words and the picture they paint is so far proving to be amongst the most OMINOUS

TRAPPED LIGHT? Lost light? Threadbare space? Like? About to tear??? AAAAAAAAA

OH DEAR GOD SEE THIS IS WHAT I MEAN DO NOT FUCK WITH THE MINIBOTS ASJFDASLGDG

That's RIGHT Cyclonus you--OH NOOOOOOOOO ANODE LASKLFDSFAJDSKJGD

Aghhhh. All silliness aside. This is heartbreaking. Tailgate despite being Cyclonus' contemporary is a little naive and lacks a certain physical experience of war and destruction and Cyclonus quietly and calmly walking him over the threshold of the aftermath is breaking my little bat heart T m T

He looks so sad :<

SNERK yes cry for help you annoying green bitchbaby--DAMMIT

All hail the useless one! Where did you find my negative self talk bubble six of twelve--OH DEAR GOd FOR REAL?

I mean yes Rung is a Useless Therapist but oh my GODDDD WHAT IS THIS

LL 3

Whiiiiirl my beloved

Im always so impressed by how the artists make these characters emote. The squinty lil optic...

The list of what is wrong with these men is so long but I love them all so much

Whirl. Whirl. Buddy. I distinctly remember something about your Nemesis being a guy named something else entirely and definitely not Killmaster--

Genuinely fascinated by this entire conversation, and also in awe of how JRO effortlessly seems to come up with the most badass fantasy technical terms ever. Widowed metal. Holy shit.

I also love how the Lost Light is big enough that we can have this drama happening upstairs and then THIS happening directly beneath their feet as;dfjlkdsjg

Oh look, the cavalry! Cyclonus here to help!

OH UH, FUCK??

HOLD ON HOLD ON.

I AM CALLING HOLY BULLSHIT.

[sparklingchim]

addicted; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 2.9k

genre: pwp, established relationship, college!au, richboy!jk

rating: 18+

warnings: unprotected sex, fingering, nipple play, dumbification 😵‍💫, praising, size kink, tummy bulging, dirty talk, hair pulling, oc has bratty tendencies 🤨, name calling; slut, kookie is so handsome, spit kink !! , breeding kink, creampie, choking, googie's chain dangling in oc's face 🤩, slight overstimulation, jewellery kink? if that exists, cum play

summary: your boyfie jungkook fucking you silly.

a/n: im ovulating. that's my excuse.

masterlist

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

"Kinda want you inside me right now."

You look up at Jungkook, who's totally caught up in the movie playing on the laptop between your bodies.

It's a quiet Tuesday evening. Jungkook had come to your dorm just an hour ago, after doing his workout in the gym.

You had been waiting for him all evening along. You're alone in your dorm, Nayeon, your roommate, is spending her day at her boyfriend's place. It's been a boring day honestly, you've been lounging around in nothing but a black t-shirt from Jungkook after classes.

"Yeah? Want some cockwarming?"

"No," you say, propping your chin on his chest. "More like, want you to rail me." That catches Jungkook's attention. You bat your eyelashes when he sets his gaze on you.

That's all you could think about the minute Jungkook set foot inside your room. He looks hot tonight, has the cuddly boyfriend look on that has your mouth drooling for him. Men should just not be allowed to wear grey sweatpants. They do absolutely no good for the world - except leaving you thirsty for cock. Jungkook's also wearing a black cap. You love his hair, you really do but seeing him with a cap on does some things to you.

Jungkook's not even surprised at your boldness. If he got a penny for every time you asked him to fuck you, he'd be rich - that is, course, if you don't consider that the two of you haven't been dating that long and that, well, Jungkook is already wealthy of money.

"My girl wants to fuck?"

"Uh-huh."

And with that, he spreads his legs and drags your smaller body between him. Your back is flush against his ripped chest. Jungkook's manhandling has made his t-shirt hike up your thighs and your pink panties are perfectly on display for his eyes.

"Could've just told me to get between your legs," you mutter. You'd never confess how much you love it when he manhandles you.

"If you're such a big girl who can handle doing shit on her own, then surely you can get off on your own, hm?"

Oh no. That's not what you wanted to achieve with your brattiness.

"Mh-mhm." You shake your head in a pout. You grab his wrist and draw his hand between your legs. "Please?" You turn to look at him and bat your eyelashes again. You love doing it and Jungkook's loves seeing you pliant for him.

"Why should I?" he asks despite already inching closer to where you're aching the most. The pad of fingers place themselves on the damped spot of your panties. "Too stupid to do it?"

Your breath hitches at his slightest movement. "You just do it better." Your words are barely a whisper.

Jungkook's tatted hand, along with his rings that adorn his knuckles, disappears into your panties. Your legs naturally spread wider for him.

First rule established in your relationship: jewellery stays on during sex.

Jungkook loves wearing jewellery. Is practical obsessed with it. And you, on the other hand, are obsessed with the way how hot they make him look like. Jungkook is a fine fucking man, but his jewellery? His rings, chains, bracelets, earrings, his Rolex ? They got your pussy leaking for him.

Jungkook's got all the expensive jewellery that only rich folks could ever afford - which, weirdly enough, adds to the fact that they make you lose you sanity.

The times Jungkook planted kisses down your body and unintentionally - or maybe intentional after all, you don't know - grazed your pussy with his pendant? An agonising tease, but it made everything much more exciting.

"You're so wet baby," he whispers as he drags the pad of his middle finger across your pussy. "Why haven't you told me sooner, hm? Would've taken care of my girl immediately."

"You looked exhausted when you came in."

"Babe," he chides in a dark, disapproving timbre. You swear it's unintentional but you feel more arousal gushing from your pussy at his low voice. "Y'know I'm never too exhausted to please my sweet girl." Oh. What a beautiful thing to have whispered in your ear. Your pussy likes it too.

"Well," you begin, voice already hoarse cause of your dry throat. "Then you'll have no problem fucking me dumb, right?"

Jungkook chuckles. "What kinda question is this?"

"Oh!" you squeak when Jungkook plunges two fingers inside you. A pathetic whine of Jungkook's name flees past your lips. Your hand bolts to his forearm, nails leaving crescent on his skin at the sudden stretch. 

"Silly girl." Jungkook crooks his fingers. "Asking me to fuck her and then acting so surprised." You such a gasp in when Jungkook starts moving his fingers. He drags them along your sweet spot, the tickled feeling makes your toes curl in ecstasy. 

Your head rolls to the side. Jungkook's heartbeat drums right into your ear. Despite of the obscene scene that plays out right in front of you, the soft beats of Jungkook's heart grant an almost romantic, intimate ambiance.

"Feels so good." You sigh and crane your neck to look up at him. Jungkook's eyes are dark. The second his stare meets yours, a devilish smirk curves his pink lips.

"Yeah?" he asks in feigned sympathy. "You like my fingers?"

"S-so much."

Jungkook nudges your elbow. "Let me see your tits, baby." You sit up a little, lift Jungkook's black t-shirt over your head and toss it on the floor.

He spits on one breast and watches it trickle down over curve of your boob before rubbing it over your pebbled nipple. Your thighs tremble at the added pleasure. With his hand so close you can read the time on his Rolex. It's shortly after 8 pm.

"I love playing with you like this." He rolls your nub between his digits. "My dumb girl lets me do anything to her, doesn't she?"

" 'm your toy," you moan, moving your hips along his rapid movement.

"That's right, baby," he praises. "Just mine." His hand is cupping your jaw now, thumbing over your swollen bottom lip. "So pretty," Jungkook mumbles in your ear. You part your lips and close your mouth around his thumb. An approving sound rumbles from Jungkook's throat. You mindlessly swirl your tongue around his digit as Jungkook's starts fucking you faster.

"You gonna cum for me?" Jungkook can feel your walls clenching around his fingers and adds another to it.

You squeal around Jungkook's thumb, eyebrows tightly furrowed with how much pleasure you're getting.

Jungkook withdraws his finger from your mouth and tilts your head towards him by your jaw. He wants to look at you when you cum.

Wet sounds of your pussy fill the room, alongside your desperate moans - and the movie still playing in the background but that was already long forgotten between the two of you.

"That's it. Cum for me, babe." Jungkook squeezes your tit with his other hand.

"Shit, I'm- I'm-

Your whole body tingles when the delight reaches its peak and finally spills over. Your nails claw at his thighs and you squeeze your eyes shut when the prickle overwhelms you.

"Good girl." You're barely able to hear his voice, your high taking over all your senses. You go limp in his arms, legs trembling. Jungkook sprinkles sweet kisses on your jaw, but his fingers remain inside you, slower but still moving.

You're writhing in his arms. "Jungkook."

"I love playing with your pussy," he teases. "Fuck, hear how wet it is? All for me?"

Yes, you definitely hear it. You're wetter than every fucking ocean in this world combined and the squelching sounds are so obscene you don't even wanna know how his fingers feel right now.

You seize his wrist. "Gukkie, please."

"Can't take anymore?" he taunts.

"Too much." You sigh relieved when he removes his sneaky hand from your throbbing pussy, though he can't withstand to land one last teasing smack on your clit. You shake in his arms a whine falling past your lips.

Jungkook holds his glistening fingers in front of your mouth. Without much to say you take them in your mouth and suck them clean. When you're done Jungkook puts them in his mouth, tasting both the remnants of your cum and your saliva.

"Kiss me," you say when he's done tasting you. You know his cap is gonna be in the way, so you pull it off his head.

"Is there any moment in life where you don't look good?" you complain. He's had that stupid cap on for God knows how long, and yet his hair looks perfect. "It's unfair."

Whether if it's his morning hair, his after shower hair, his i just ran through my hair ten times cos im stressed about my exams or his we started baking and it ended up in a flour flight in the kitchen and now i have flour poured all over me, his hair still manages to look like he could do a photoshoot for the front cover of Elle Korea.

"Of course there is, babe," he starts but before he can finish you shush him with your finger on his mouth.

"Keep your corny compliments for yourself. I'm not giving you head tonight."

Jungkook clicks his tongue. "Why do you think that's the only reason why I would give you compliments?"

"Cause you always think with your dick."

"C'mere," he just says, ignoring your words.

He tilts your head up by your chin and clashes his mouth on yours. The taste of your cum is still lingering on both your tongues. Your hand finds his throbbing cock and you stroke him through his sweatpants. You can't recall when he got hard, you were too absorbed in your own pleasure to notice.

"Lie on your back for me," Jungkook says after the kiss.

While you make yourself comfortable on your back, Jungkook carefully closes your laptop and puts it on your bedside table. Out of the corner of his eye he sees the soft pink fabric of your panties flying across the room. He then he removes all his clothing and crawls back onto the bed.

Jungkook positions himself between your spread legs. He jerks his cock a few times and has his dark, fiery eyes on you.

You look so small under him. So fragile and vulnerable. He wants to keep you in his pocket and protect you forever.

"Such a pretty pussy." He traces his head over your glistening cunt, smearing your wetness all over you. And because Jungkook can't get enough of seeing your pussy all wet for him, he pushes his cock out of the way and spits directly on it. You have to hand it to him, he aims better than any man you've ever met. Jungkook spreads the added lubrication over your folds. You whimper beneath him. He's just teasing you and your mind is already foggy from all the bliss.

"Please, Koo," you plead. "Please fuck me."

"Always so needy." But still, he gives you what you want. He aligns his head on your entrance and slowly pushes his cock inside until is deeply sheathed between your greedy walls.

He stays like this for a second, allows you a few seconds to come accustomed to his size.

"God, you're so big." You still welcome the stretch his dick gives your pussy every time.

"But your little pussy can take it, right?" Jungkook pulls back, until only the beginning of his tip is left inside. And with a strong thrust of his hips, he's back inside you again.

Your back arches off the back and Jungkook watches you through lidded eyes. "I love fucking you like this," he says, his hands on both your knees. "Look so fucking hot." His eyes trails down to your tits bouncing every time he thrusts into you.

"I love your cock," you respond because damn that's literally the only thing you can thing about right now. It's just feels so good.

"There's only cock in your mind, isn't? The only thing you always fucking think about?" Jungkook's pace increases and all your rational thoughts are chased away with it.

"There's nothing in there, is it?" Jungkook  rasps and grabs a fistful of your hair. The pain from your scalp hurtles through your whole body. "Just needy thoughts, huh?" His silver fleur-de-lis chain dangles in front of your face as he comes closer. He's careful not do smack you in the face with it.

"Thought of you all day long," you mewl, palming your breast.

"Yeah? Thought of me fucking your tiny pussy?"

"God, yes."

The moment Jungkook smooths his ringed hand over the expanse of your tummy and presses his palm to your lower tummy it's officially over for you.

Your head rolls to your side and breathy moans escape your plush lips. The pressure Jungkook puts on your tummy makes you feel woozy in the head.

"You like that?" he asks and you're barely able to find strength to nod. "I can feel my cock moving inside you." Jungkook switches his thrusts into a languid fashion. His eyes are attached to where his tatted hand is resting. He can see it - he can see the bulge of his cock in your tummy. "Oh, fuck." He could never get over how fucking hot it looks like. Seeing your tiny pussy taking his big cock will always make him want to nut inside you right then and there. Jungkook grabs your hand that isn't currently occupied with tweaking your nipple and situates it right where his hand had been. "You're feeling this, baby?" Jungkook covers his hand over yours and your hand completely vanishes beneath his. "You feel how my cock is stretching your little pussy open?"

"Uh-huh," you press out, dragging out the sound until it morphs into a moan as Jungkook starts picking up on his pace again.

"Lost your words?" Jungkook sneers. "What a brain dead slut you are for me."

You whimper in response, reaching for his chain to drag him closer. His hand finds your throat once again. It quickly embraces your neck and his fingers make it harder to breath. The watchstrap of his Rolex pokes your skin but you're already used to the chafing feeling. Jungkook is so close to you, you can feel his ragged breathing fanning on your face.

"You're my pathetic little slut, aren't you?"

"Y-yes."

"Open your mouth for me," he demands.

You do, with your tongue sticking out slightly. He lets a drop of saliva fall from his mouth and again it lands right where he wants it to, this time on your tongue. And you swallow, like the obedient little girl you are for him.

He feels your throat bobbing and hums satisfied. "Such a good girl."

Jungkook draws back again, grabbing both your ankles and throws your legs over his shoulders.

Your eyes roll at the back of your head. "Jungkook," you whine. You're so close to cumming again, you feel like you're gonna see stars.

"You're gonna cum, aren't you?"

"Yes - fuck - yes, I'm so close!"

Jungkook thrusts his cock inside just the way you like it.

You relish in the way he forces himself into your pussy, heady and intoxicating pleasure. You tip over the edge, panting a moan of Jungkook's name as you cum onto Jungkook’s rock-hard length. Mind-numbing satisfaction that spreads all over you, hot and melting into you. 

"That's my girl." Jungkook slows down, giving you kisses all over your neck as he rolls his hips into you.

He rides out your high. You're too fucked out to do anything for a moment and just enjoy Jungkook pampering you with kisses.

"Good job," he praises you once again and you feel your heart flutter. God, he's too good at this.

But you could to the same. "Cum inside me," you beg.

That sentence? Heaven in Jungkook's ears. You don't let him cum inside you that often but oh fuck, when you allow him to it drives him crazy.

Jungkook groans into the pillow next to you. "Yeah? Want me to knock you up?"

"Uh-huh. Want you to fill me up."

"Fuck," he moans and it sounds so fucking pretty you think you're falling in love with him all over again.

One of your hand moves to his chest and you softly flick your index against his nipple.

"I'm gonna cum." Jungkook throws his head back and goes sloppy in his movements. He spills all his seed into you until he shoves his cock deep inside you one last time.

Jungkook's head drops down in the crook of your neck and you thread your fingers through his hair. He stays like that for a while, his dick still inside.

When Jungkook starts peppering kisses over your neck and then chest and then face, you know he's come back to his senses. If you're honest, you still feel woolly in your head but Jungkook has always been better at handling the post nut clarity than you.

You poke Jungkook in the side with your feet. "Jungkook, let me pee."

"Let me love you, woman."

"You weigh a ton," you groan as you try to push him off you.

At that, he perks up and looks at you with narrowed eyes. "I take full offense to that. I've worked hard to build these muscles," he says. "But I get it. Someone like you-" He takes hold of your weak, undefined arm and looks at you pityingly. "Would never understand."

You giggle and playfully swat his chest.

"Just let me go and pee, you dummy."

[palpipeen]

CC-3636 Rebels!Wolffe x Reader: Old Men, Old Habits

You're one of many medics for the Rebellion. Sort of. And a retired commander keeps turning up hurt despite your warnings that you’ll keep him on light duty if this keeps up. You're not sure what makes things worse - that you both hate each other’s guts, or that you kind of want to fuck him. Rating: R (For injuries and language) Warnings: Brief description of injuries (compound fracture, not detailed), illness, mention of blood transfusion, Wolffe being a grumpy old man, sexual tension if you squint, SOME angst bc Wolffe is suffering from injuries/a brief infection, the writer doesn't know medical jargon/procedures so that's a warning in itself too Reader is AFAB But pronouns are not used Word Count: 6829 AN: Welp, it's Wolffe Time Babies. When I haven't been working on OC fic planning and Pretending I Do Not See Part7 and 8 of Caf Delivery Service, I've been working on this. The premise of this is just Reader and Wolffe getting to know each other, and I don't know how many parts there will be. Just that this has been a lot of fun so far, so I hope y'all enjoy it too! Part 1 || Part 2 || Part ????

Year Ten, Day 182 after joining the Rebellion

Never a dull moment on base. Most days that just means hearing second-hand reports about the latest attempt to open up trade routes, what squadrons are training up a new recruit, and mourning our losses in whatever ways we can. Some days, that means one unfortunate bastard has to deal with another unfortunate bastard on their worst day. Today, I played both parts. Wolffe went and fucked himself up. Again. I’m glad he’s alive - so I can strangle him when he tries to fuck around and find out again.

“This is ridiculous.”

Eyes lifting from your datapad, you meet the glare aimed at you head-on. It seemed like a lifetime ago that you would have been reduced to a flustered, anxious wreck by that look. But now you could look the man behind the glower in the eye. His deep brown and silver eyed gaze boring holes into your head with equal amounts of fury, and barely batted an eye.

“Yes. You’re right - it is.” Tapping your stylus on the edge of your datapad, you stood, turning to the supply drawers and rummaging through them. “Which is why I’m putting you on medical leave, effective immediately.”

“The hells you are!” 

Before he can so much as push off the bed you're on him, your hands closed around his wrists and pinning his hands to the bed where they gripped the edge. You could feel the strength of his hands, under the weathered skin. Part of you wondered if he wasn’t imagining wrapping those hands around your throat.

Part of you thought you wouldn’t mind if he tried, under more favorable circumstances.

Which made you realize, not for the first time, that this was a huge mess of your own making. And you weren’t sure how you were going to fix it. Or if you could fix it. Because catching feelings when you’re taking part in the Rebellion is ill-advised at bet. But your arrogance that your attraction to the former commander of the 104th Battalion of the GAR wouldn’t run unchecked was the biggest mistake of your thirty-some odd years.

Namely because Wolffe is one of the meanest men you’ve ever met in your life, and his favorite pastime is trying to get a rise out of you.

“Didn’t know you even gave a shit.”

“Don’t start,” you sighed, suppressing the urge to duck your head when you felt heat creeping up from your collarbone to your scalp. Pushing away from the bed, you gestured at his leg, turning before he can see the nerves written on your face. “Your fucking leg’s busted, you nearly bled out on the evac back to base, and you might’ve cracked your prosthetic. Little gods Wolffe, what did you think was going to happen?” While you began to rummage through the drawers at last for the flimsi forms, you huffed, “Bacta patches and painkillers aren’t going to fix this overnight.”

“It’s just a sprain. And my eye is fine.”

Pressing the heels of your hands to the sides of your head, you turned so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. Not that it mattered to you at the moment. You glared at Wolffe . It was the first time you’d ever looked at him like that, with quite so much…venom. Fingers shaking with anger that is almost blinding, you reopened the attachment on your datapad you’d been sent earlier that morning.

“Look,” you seethed, “look, Wolffe.” He barely glanced at it before shoving it back towards you. “No,” you insisted, shoving it in his face. “Look. At. The. X-ray.” Dropping it on his lap when he refused to take it, you stomped over to stand at the foot of his bed so you were in his line of sight. Illustrating with your arms the angle his heg had been bent at before triage got it reset. “Legs are not meant to bend like this!”

“So? Put it in a cast and send me on my way.” He turned his head from you, arms folded across his chest. “I can still fight.”

“You lost nearly two gallons of blood, Wolffe.” You moved to the side of the bed he was pointedly looking at to avoid looking at you. “Look,” shoving up the sleeve of your jacket, you pointed at the bacta patch in the crook of your arm, “I gave you some of my blood, just to make sure you’d make it through the fucking night!” Throwing your hands up in exasperation, you began to pace. “Maker’s left nut, if you can’t take your health seriously, I’m going to need to set you up for a psych eval before we even consider discharging you.”

“That your professional opinion, Doc?”

Ouch. That one stung.

When you joined the Rebellion in your youth a decade ago, you were a fresh college dropout with less than a month until you could have graduated. Until you should have graduated. But the Empire had deemed your entire university as a waste of resources and space, so at least you weren’t the only one. Small comfort though it was.

But when you’d finally decided to do something rather than seething in silence at the Empire, you hadn’t expected the Rebellion to give you the position you currently held. Though you weren’t the only one in this boat - apparently the higher-ups thought ‘degree in blank medical field’ meant you could perform basic first aid. This had more to do with a ‘it’s the effort that counts’ mentality, because the higher-ups were nothing if not smart.

No one would have survived in the Rebellion this long were it not for that.

So the whole ‘Doc’ being your base nickname wasn’t your favorite thing to have happened. Worse things could happen, honestly. And they apparently had, and would continue to.

Case in point - Wolffe.

“More like basic observation and common sense.” You shot him a look over your shoulder. “Two things you clearly lack.”

“Pot, meet kettle.”

“What the hells does that - no. No, y’know what?” 

Attaching the forms to a datapad clip, you shoved both into his hands, turned on your heel, and left. Your shift had ended fifteen minutes ago anyway, and you didn’t bother explaining that to your colleague on the way out.

Let Wolffe catch them up to speed. You needed a nap - or a drink. The order didn’t matter, so long as it alleviated the headache that always built when you spent extended periods of time around Wolffe.

You knew from personal experience that neither one usually works.

---

Year Ten, Day 182 after joining the Rebellion

Has someone been leaking these logs?! I know I’m not the best at encryption and coding, but I know for a fact this datapad never leaves my side. So either someone’s gotten into my shit while I’m asleep, or this whole fucking base is consipring against me. I’ve been assigned Wolffe’s recovery-plan case until further notice. Further notice being when we finally fucking kill each other.

“You expect me to do what now?”

“Look, it’s not the end of the world. I know you two don’t really see eye to eye --” Your supervisor pointedly ignored the snickering from your fellow medics, just long enough to roll her eyes. “But,” her sharp voice silenced the gossipers before they got really started, “you’re the only one Wolffe hasn’t…how do I put this….”

“Made you cry?”

“Treated like shit?”

“Threatened to mutilate?”

“How do all of you know he hasn’t done these things to me?” Silence yet again, punctuated by the occasional quiet, immature laughter. You pinched the bridge of your nose. “I can’t possibly watch him at all hours of the day. I’ll need some help to see other patients--”

“We’ll put someone on night watch, rest assured. But your appointments - barring some sort of emergency - have all been reassigned. And before you refuse -“ your supe held up a finger when you were gearing up to do just that, “- command has said they’ll be glad to send you to Hoth. A new position has opened up—“

“No thanks.” Gritting your teeth, you accepted the data pad handed off to you by her assistant. Staring at the screen but not actually reading it, you sighed, muttering under your breath, “I’ll expect you lot to pitch in for our funeral services.”

“C’mon, Doc.” The colleague you’d handed Wolffe off to that first day gently tapped your arm with the back of their hand. You tried not to rankle as you turned to Limla, who’d been sympathetic to the issue you had with Wolffe from the get-go. “It won’t be bad. You can always decompress in my quarters.” They grinned broadly, all teeth and glittering black eyes, “Gods know I love hearing you rant about the old geezer.”

“Swear,” you groaned, “you lot just live for this shit, don’t you?”

“Yes!”

“Signal’s crap on base, so I can’t watch anything good on the HoloNet.”

“Oh, these two are way more interesting than any of your bullshit HoloDramas.”

“Children.” After inputting your signature into the datapad, you stood, bracing yourself for what was going to be a very very long couple of months. “I’m working with a bunch of children.”

---

Day Three of Wolffe Observation

I’m going to lose my mind. Or maybe I already have. Really I only have to be there - as in physically - for seven hours out of the day, then I can try to pick up rotations from someone else. Scanners and meds will do all the hard work for me. Really I’m just there to make sure Wolffe doesn’t try to jump out of bed. Which he’s already done - multiple times. But every time - every. fucking. time. - Wolffe finds something else to give me shit about. It’s no different than all the other times he’s shown up. But today - oooh, today. Today I nearly reached my breaking point, and I know the bastard could see it. But gods, I would sooner pull a breaching newborn Bantha calf with my bare hands (again) from its screaming Bantha mother before I give Wolffe the satisfaction. I will not be the first one to break.

The day really had started off well.

Sure, you woke up knowing you had to endure Wolffe’s company for another shift. And of course, anyone who knew anything about the dynamic between the two of you gave you shit about it. This seemed to be everyone’s new favorite daily pastime. And really, you didn’t care - maybe they knew about the stupid crush, maybe they didn’t. You were just here to do your job. To help further the effort to take out the Empire.

Too bad Wolffe’s favorite pastime was trying to make your job difficult. You could see it building in his eyes the second you walked in, his gaze focused on your thermos. Folding his arms across his chest, he huffs,

“Where’s my caf?”

“Fine morning to you, too.” You gave him a deadpan stare before you began checking his vitals. “And you’ll get your damn caf when you’re out of that bed.”

“In that case --”

“Stop.” 

You’d kept yourself close to the bed, close enough that you didn’t even have to look up from your datapad to plant your palm on his chest and hold him there. This was surprisingly difficult, and even with the bloodloss and the fractured leg, you think he could have thrown you like a ragdoll if he really wanted to.

Huh. That’s an interesting mental image.

“Sit,” you gave him a hard shove, “down.” 

Wolffe’s eyes crackled with fury for a few seconds before he pushed back, and you wondered if he was going to start something. It wasn't the first time he’d gotten that fed up with having to follow someone else’s orders. But the fire cooled some, still burning in his mismatched gaze. You felt your pulse skyrocket, and took a step back. Or you tried to.

The moment he felt you try to take your hand off of him, Wolffe’s fingers closed around your wrist, holding you there.

“Poor Doc,” he sneered, nothing but mockery in his tone as his thumb stroked across your pulse. You thought it might have been absent-minded on his part but you couldn’t be sure. It would be just your luck if he was trying to see what unsettles you. “You lose a bet and get stuck watching me another day?”

“No,” you answerdc, twisting your hand away, and Wolffe smirked. Panic flared through you when you heard your own words - you sounded like a petulant teenager, trying to deflect blame or deny...something. Time to do damage control.  “I don’t have any choice in being here today. There are a hundred other things I could be doing, but,” you gestured at him on the bed, “somebody’s sense of self preservation in this room is sorely lacking.” 

He shut down after that, like you were expecting him to, but something seemed different. Or maybe you’re just noticing something for the first time. 

Who knows. Who cares? You certainly don’t. You really don’t, especially not when you saw what you thought might be hurt in his expression before he buried it under a thunderous scowl.

And so it went. Wolffe barely spoke to you through the rest of your shift. That suited you just fine. Except something felt off. You couldn’t shake it. There was something about what you saw - what you think you saw - that made your stomach tie itself in never ending knots the entire time. But you couldn’t bring yourself to analyze it, because this was Wolffe. 

Wolffe, who only cares about his brother, fighting the good fight in this Rebellion, and not at all what the rest of the base thinks about him.

Certainly not about your opinion of him. You’d given up on that pipe dream only a week after he’d been stationed at this base. When he’d made it abundantly clear that you didn’t fit the bill of a medic that should be caring for him. And you were over that - really. It was just the amount of times you’d been assigned to check him over and patch him up that made this crush persist. 

So it could only be that making you worry that you’d struck a nerve. An old wound that refused to heal.

An alarm pinged on your datapad, drawing your attention to it. You frowned as you read and reread the words on the screen in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Wolffe glance your way, but you didn’t look over. When you finally turned to him, he lay back in the bed, and for a moment you were taken aback by the sight in front of you.

Wolffe is a good-looking man, even in his advanced age. It’s something he carried well, and obviously. Not so much arrogance as it was confidence, awareness that yes, he does know he’s handsome despite what the war and rapid aging had done to his body. You’ve seen it. How could you not? Even when resting it showed, and you --

You took a moment to admire.

It was rare that you got to just look at him like this. Usually you have to do this at a distance, out of fear he’d figure you out somehow. So you drank it all in: the smooth line of his jaw, how proud his profile is, the graying of his dark hair around his temples. The lines on his forehead and under his eyes are pronounced from years of glaring, which is kind of funny to think about. It’s also a little sad. At first you weren’t a fan of the mustache, but it’s grown on you. Your eyes are slowly trailing down his torso, the healthy amount of give you can see on his stomach and chest, when he shifts with an uncomfortable groan.

In an instant, your professional walls were back up, and you were on your feet and at his side in record time.

“What’s wrong?”

“Stop hovering,” he tried to shoo you away, but you immediately spotted the tremor in his hands when he waved one at you. Fisting the thin sheets over him, Wolffe twisted uncomfortably. “Just - dammit, why didn’t you bring me any fucking caf?!” His cybernetic eye was squeezed shut when he glared at you, and you didn’t know how you failed to notice the sweat beading on his skin. “Wouldn’t have this blasted headache if you’d just brought me some.”

“Wolffe,” you said slowly, reaching out to him. You decided he let you place a hand on his forehead - or else the fever you can feel was making him delirious. So that’s what the datapad had picked up. You hadn’t believed it at first - the reading of his temperature was far too low. “What did you do?”

“Nothin’.”

“Wolffe,” you dragged your hand down to the side of his neck, trying to bite back your hiss of alarm. He was burning under your palm. “I need you to tell me what you did. If you’re messing with this equipment, we’ll both be in it deep. It could get other people hurt.”

He growled rough in the back of his throat, “Osik - fine.” Batting your hand away, he gestured at the holoscreen that had been tracking his vitals from day one. You squinted at it, bringing it down on the articulated neck as you tapped at the screen. “I might’ve reprogrammed it a little. Damn thing kept blaring all night - your replacement was too busy flirting with the nurse to do anything about it.” Your hands tightened on the screen as you furiously tapped open the troubleshooter - you were going to have Vrakka’s head for his negligence. “S’fine, Doc, I’ll be --”

“It is not fine,” you snapped, wheeling around to stare him down. “Do you realize what else could have gone wrong? You could have died and we wouldn’t have known what the hell happened --”

“Wouldn’t that be convenient?” Wolffe huffed, not having the strength to raise his voice apparently but the ability to throw another barb at you. “Thought you’d be happier at the prospect.”

For what seems like a lifetime, you just stared at him. Left reeling from the words he’d just flung at you, reeling from the thought that he thought you’d be glad he was dead. It took you until then to realize that’s exactly how you’d been acting. The way you kept trying to rush through getting him fixed up, the clipped words, the reprimands. How you always tried to avoid him outside of the medcenter, and when you did run into him, you always made excuses to get away from him.

Gods, you really shit the bed with this one, huh?

…also why were your eyes burning?

“Mesh’la?” The word didn’t mean anything to you, but it pulled you right back into the moment. Something about the way he said it. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. His eye widened slightly, a moment of clarity as he shuffled in the bed so he was facing you. He can see it. “Are you --”

“Vrakka!” Your shout cracked viciously in the relative quiet of the medcenter, and you stormed out of the room after seeing him try to rush past the doorway. By the time you caught up with him, you were out of breath, and when you grabbed his sleeve you felt him wince. “Vrakka, what the hell were you thinking?!”

“I-I’m sorry Doc, he’s just an asshole and I didn’t --”

“So you abandoned your post to try and get your dick wet?! You left a patient alone in his room long enough to give him the opportunity to hack the vitals tracker?!” Dragging him back into Wolffe’s room, you jabbed a finger at the readout datapad. You hissed between grit teeth, “Fix. This. And make sure no one has the clearances to tamper with it again.” 

Shaking your head while turning your back to the bed (and Wolffe), you rubbed at your eyes with the back of your hand. You could feel Wolffe’s eyes on your back. This was - it was such a goddamn mess. You’d let your feelings get the better of you in regards to him. If you had only been more professional from the get go, if you’d only been nicer to him --

But it’s useless to stay in the past. You knew that.

“I’ll get you on some antibiotics.” You looked at him over your shoulder, trying to keep your expression neutral. “But you have to tell us if something feels even a little bit wrong. I don’t care what you think you know about me, but you are my patient.” Arms folded across your chest when you faced him, you set your chin again, “And nobody is dying on my watch.”

You didn’t let him get another word in before you marched out of the room. Limle would hopefully still be up, and even if they weren’t, they had a bottle of whiskey with your name in it.

---

Day Twenty of Wolf(fe) Watching

So things are….different. Have been since Wolffe clued me in that he could remotely hack the damn medscanner’s readouts. It’s quieter now, and I don’t know if I love it or hate it. I’m leaning more towards the latter - I think I almost miss squabbling with him. It’s nice not to have the anxiety of wondering when he’s going to say something shitty. …well alright, he still says shitty things, but he’s not going for the jugular anymore. With me at least.

Well. One thing could be said about your shifts watching Wolffe.

It gave you plenty of time to catch up on paperwork. In fact, you were way ahead on your paperwork. To the point that you didn’t have anything to do besides read.

And, on rare occasions, talk with Wolffe. Which was becoming more frequent as you ran out of books to read.

Instead of working a dayshift on that day, you ended up switching with Vrakka’s ‘friend,’ Yol - how Vrakka landed a date with him, you’d never know. He was booksmart where Vrakka was streetsmart. Yol probably got through to Vrakka about his fuck up more than you did, his own sense of responsibility something he couldn’t just ignore at the drop of a hat. Definitely seemed to be a case of opposites attracting. He’d been reluctant to take the shift until you told him it would open up a night off with Vrakka. After blustering his way through a flimsy denial, he’d accepted, before excusing himself to go blush somewhere else.

Cute. It was cute.

What wasn’t cute was hearing raised voices from the end of the hallway on your way to the medcenter. Hastening your step, you rushed to the doors, your jaw nearly unhinging when you took in the scene in front of you.

You’d come to expect anything, honestly. Especially after hearing about the Death Star being blown to pieces. But this was surprising, alarming, concerning. Wolffe was up and out of bed, half leaning and pushing on the edge of it as he tried to get in Yol’s space. This was a far cry from the way he’d looked a few weeks ago, and is an abrupt reminder of why you’ve come to admire him so much. In Wolffe is a wildfire that answers to no one, not even nature itself when there’s nothing left to burn.

And you got to witness the Commander return to his old ways, which will no doubt leave scars in his wake.

“Of all the bullshit you lot have subjected me to, I have never been treated so unprofessionally. D’you treat all of your patients like this?!”

“I-I, no, no I don’t — please sir, you need to calm down -”

“Calm down? You’re gonna tell me to calm down, after nearly dumping me outta bed just to change the bloody sheets?! Now I’m up, against Doc’s orders, and you’re going to tell me to - oh.” Wolffe glanced away from you almost as soon as his gaze flicked over to you leaning against the doorway. “Hey, Doc. Didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, well, I heard you. Whole base did.” You lifted an eyebrow at Yol. “Could changing his sheets not wait until I got here?”

“Supe came by saying the laundry needed to be sent on the hour.”

“Well, it’s thirty minutes til, so - oh. Oh, I see.” Giving Yol a knowing look that makes him squirm, you turned to Wolffe, nodding towards the chairs lining the wall. “Here,” you offered him your shoulders, sliding your arm around his back. Wolffe hesitated for a moment before he leaned into you. You barely managed to suppress a shiver when you felt his fingers digging slightly into the small of your back. It was probably just the easiest place for him to put his hand, you reasoned. As you gently guided him to one of the chairs, you dropped your voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “He’s got a date.”

“So that gives him a free pass to manhandle me?” Wolffe sniffed imperiously, arms folded across his chest once he settled into the chair. You gently lifted his leg to prop it on the hover chair Yol pushed your way, rolling your eyes at the man’s unimpressed glower. “And that’s also why you’re stuck pulling the all-nighter?”

“Yup.” Propping your hip against the wall, you watched Yol while he ripped the fitted sheet off the bed. “To both.”

“You’re a paragon of patient care, Doc.” 

Anyone within earshot can hear the roll of Wolffe’s eyes in his voice, and you couldn’t help yourself. Hiding it behind your hand didn’t do much to muffle your laughter. It was proven to be absolutely pointless when you glanced over to see the glare Wolffe aimed your way.

“Okay, alright uh,” Yol bustled past the two of you to shove the old bedding into the chute in the wall. “Thanks Doc, I’ll see you--”

“Aren’t we forgetting someone?” 

You lifted your eyebrows at Yol when he froze halfway through the door, his eyes frantically searching the room before they landed on Wolffe. There was a moment where he almost seemed like he was going to just leave you to deal with him by yourself. You’re almost certain he’d made his mind up before he rushed past you, hauling Wolffe up and out of the chair.

“You sure drive a hard bargain, Doc,” Yol grumbled unhappily as you took up Wolffe’s other side. The two of you carefully returned the equally unhappy older man into the bed, who huffed and puffed and growled throughout the whole affair. Once he’d settled in, Yol turns to you, hands outspread in supplication, “Now can I go?”

“‘Course,” you chirped, booting up your datapad as you gave him a sidelong glance. “Say hi to Vrakka for me.”

“OkaybyeDoc.”

Wolffe only waited until Yol was out of the room before he scoffed, “That irresponsible boy?”

“Eh,” you shrugged, pulling up a chair to stretch your legs out in front of you. “There’s somebody for everybody.”

“Oh, and you’re what, some kind of relationship expert?” Lifting your eyes to him, you blinked in confusion.

“That’s what I went to school for.”

“...what?”

“Oh, I assumed - wait, why do you call me Doc? I thought you were in on the joke?”

“Joke? What joke?” Wolffe glanced around the room in bewilderment. “You work in the medcenter, why would calling you ‘Doc’ be a joke?!”

“It’s because I’m not a medical professional. I’m just - provisional.” You shrugged when the confusion in his expression only increased. “Why do you think it was so easy for them to put me on rotations to keep an eye on you? I’m not exactly experienced in actual medical practice - just basic first-aid.” Sniffing imperiously, you returned your attention to your datapad. “Though with your help, I’m beginning to learn more advanced practices.”

“Glad to be of service,” Wolffe chuckled, and the room went silent for a while as you went through your inbox. It was a useless effort - no one had requested an appointment with you in a week. Suppressing a frustrated sigh, you decided to go through your personal library when Wolffe cleared his throat. “Does it bother you?”

“Hm?” Lifting your eyebrows, you stared at him blankly for a moment. Wolffe gave you an exasperated look after a few beats and you perked up. “Oh. Oh! I mean, a little bit? Not anymore really. Limle is the only person who means it in a ‘term of endearment’ sort of way.”

“So they all just call you that - and they don’t bother asking if that’s what you want?” Wolffe seemed angrier than he was at Yol before, and you tilted your head at him. He huffed, arms crossed over his broad chest, “Just don’t see how anyone could take that kind of treatment lying down.”

“I’m not exactly the kind of person to rock the boat just to save face,” you admitted.

“I noticed.” That was - surprising. It must have shown  in your expression, because Wolffe elaborated, “You said it yourself: you don’t have a choice in being here, even if you can’t stand being around me. Who would put up with that if they weren’t a pushover?”

“Oh, so you’ve got me all figured out, hm?”

“No.” Wolffe studied you closely, and you felt your stomach do a funny little flip. No one had ever looked at you like that. It was something you couldn’t put your finger on, which was exciting and terrifying in its own right. “Not yet, at least.”

“Oh.” You honestly didn’t know what else to say to that, so for the rest of your shift, the two of you sat in almost complete silence.

---

Day Forty-Six of Wolffe-Sitting

Yol and Vrakka are finally a thing. Openly, at any rate. Which is honestly a huge fucking relief. Watching those two dance around each other (mostly on Yol’s part) was enough to make me age two years every time they tried to deny it all. Wolffe and I made a bet that they would get caught before they were open about it. I lost, and today he finally decided to make me pay up. This man is out to get me, I swear.

“I’m telling you,” you sighed miserably, “you might as well try to reverse gravity with your mind. And last I checked, no one in this room is Force sensitive.”

Wolffe waved you off before he went back to shuffling the deck, “Anyone can learn to play Sabacc, and you lost, fair and square.” He smirked at you - actually smirked, which was a rare sight in itself. It was also distracting. “Better get used to that, mesh’la.”

“What does that mean anyway? ‘Mez-luh.’” You squinted at him when he chuckled at your attempt at pronunciation. “Is it an insult or something?”

“Depends on what you’d find insulting,” he said with a shrug, chuckling at your frustrated expression. He considered you for a moment, eyes narrowed while the cards smacking together became the only sound filling the silence. “If you can beat me five times after I finish teaching you the basics, I might consider telling you.”

“Stubborn old man.”

“Stubborn old man who’s going to wipe the floor with you by the time your shift is up.” The way he grinned at you is infectious. It was also terrifying - all teeth and glowing confidence. “Now pay attention,” he tapped the deck twice with his knuckles, “because I don’t like to repeat myself.”

“Wait,” you looked at him, head tilted to one side, “what do you get if you win?”

“The satisfaction of putting you in your place.” 

…oh. Oh your mind went to some terrible places with that statement. And he did absolutely nothing to clarify, despite your obvious discomfort.

This was going to be a long shift.

* * *

“I’ve changed my mind.”

It took you a while to look up at him. After the last actual game, you sat with your elbows propped on your thighs, fingers rubbing circles in your throbbing temples while you stared at the floor. Just when you thought you understood the rules, Wolffe would you. Easily. When you looked at him, it was to glare at him, the smug smirk that he wasn’t even bothering to hide.

“How so?” you asked, shoving your last hand at him so he could shuffle again. 

For a moment you found yourself lost in watching his hands, the ease with which he went through the motions. It was practiced, automatic - you are enraptured by it. His amused chuckle pulled you out of your stupor.

“You need a little incentive,” he announced, “and I need things to be a little more interesting. Otherwise I’m going to fall asleep by the next hand.”

“Sorry I’m not great at a game I’ve never played until today,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “And what do you mean by ‘incentive?’ You being able to rub it in my face seems like enough.”

“Apparently not.” He knocked on the deck again - a personal ritual, you mused. “I’ll leave it up to you, since you’re so miserable being forced to play the game. Seems only fair.”

“Why do I get the feeling this is going to be decidedly unfair?”

“Because you’re smarter than you give yourself credit for.” Ah - you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from beaming at his praise. “So, your choice: I can either take your credits, or information.”

Turning your head so you could give him a sidelong squint, you murmured, “What kind of information?”

“Nothing too damning,” Wolffe shrugged, entirely too casual to put any of your immediate concerns at ease. “And if it’s something you’re too uncomfortable to share, I’ll think of something else.”

“So twenty questions, but I have to wait until you beat me at a hand of Sabacc each time? The odds don’t really seem stacked in my favor.”

“Tell you what,” he offered, dealing out the first hand, “if you can beat me, you get to ask a question. Same rule as when we started though: five hands.” He smirked again, and you felt a thrill of excitement and frustration in equal measure. “Maybe you’ll get there - in the next month.”

“Bring it on, old man.”

He beat you in record time for the first question, and you braced yourself. But no amount of mental gymnastics could prepare you for just how ruthless Wolffe can be when he put his mind to it.

“What was the breaking point that made you join the Rebellion?” Wolffe held up a hand the moment you took a breath to give your answer. “And don’t give me the whole ‘it was the right thing to do, I wanted to be a hero’ bullshit.” It was brief, but you saw it: a flash of pain in his expression, older than the Rebellion itself. You recognize you saw it only because he let you. “People aren’t heroes - legends derived from them are.”

“Wow,” you blinked owlishly, “okay. I guess…” Your head dropped with a groan when the answer came to you, because it immediately felt childish and self-centered. “Spite.”

“‘Spite?’” Wolffe sounded about as incredulous as you’d assumed he would. “That is not at all what I was expecting from you.”

“Have you met me?” With a playful scoff, you gave your hand back to him, considering your next words while you watched him shuffle the deck again. “Half my personality is spite, or fueled by it.”

“Alright, point taken.” He rolled his eyes at you, dealing out the next hand in record time. And then beating you in record time. “Why join the Rebellion out of spite?”

“The Empire took something from me that I worked very hard for.” Your eyes drifted down as guilt twisted at your insides. “Something that seems childish looking back on it.”

“What was it?”

“My degree.” He balked at that, his brow furrowing together, and you held up a hand. “Let me explain - I was months away from graduating. It was guaranteed that I would graduate, and then the Empire just decided that the resources and funding for the university were wasted, and reallocated them to fund weapon manufacturing.” Shifting in your seat, you glanced away from him. “Told you it seems childish.”

“You’re right.” His voice is colder than it had been, and that cut you deep. “It is childish.” That twisted the knife, and you let your head fall slightly. Shame filled you, making your eyes burn. If you almost cry in front of Wolffe again, you’d never be able to face him. But then you heard him knock on the deck again, “But you stayed.”

“I did.” You lifted your head, risking a glance in his direction. He watches you closely, carefully - your next words would decide the trajectory of the rest of this strange conversational set up. “Because it was the right thing to do. For me, anyway.”

He beat you again, in silent contemplation this time. Then,

“Right for you how?”

“I joined the Rebellion to get back at the Empire.” You shrugged, “If I could land at least one blow against them, it would all feel worth it. But then - well. I’ve never even held a blaster. Can’t fly. But I knew basic first-aid, and I know how to figure out what makes people tick, so,” you gestured to the room around you, “here I am.”

You lost again.

“Do you regret it? Staying, I mean.”

“No.” The answer came quickly, no knee-jerk compulsion to try to excuse your reasoning or logic. “Not at all. This isn’t anything close to what everyone else has to go through, I know that.” You glanced meaningfully at his leg, and couldn’t help but chuckle when he huffed. “But…it’s where I’m meant to be.” Pushing your hand back towards him, you stared at a nearby wall, your gut still roiling with guilt and nerves. “At least here, I can be a little useful.”

The warmth of his hand covered yours before you can pull away, and your head snapped round to stare at him. You immediately let your eyes fall to focus on his hand, immediately taken aback by the intensity of his stare. But Wolffe had other plans.

Before you could even mourn the loss of his hand on yours, he stretched his arm out and grabbed you by the chin between a forefinger and thumb. Then he tilted your head back up, so you had to look at him head-on. None of the intensity left his gaze as he studied your features, and you watched as it softened around the edges some. His nostrils flared as he let out a long breath, and you swear his thumb twitches like he was about to caress your skin.

But that was just wishful thinking on your part, spurred on by the disappointment you can’t deny when he let his hand fall away.

“Each individual in this counts towards a future that’s made better through our efforts. But without you - “ Wolffe paused for a moment, teeth clicking when he closed his mouth. “Well, without you, I’d probably be dead. Small consolation that is --”

“It’s not small,” you protested quickly. Maybe a little too quickly, if Wolffe lifting an eyebrow at you in question was any indication. “You said it yourself - every individual counts.”

Wolffe groaned, rolling his eyes at you before you were hit with the full force of an actual smile from him, “You remind me of my brother - always throwing my own words back at me when I apparently need it.”

“Rex?” He nodded, and you hummed thoughtfully. “Smart man.”

“Don’t let him catch you saying that,” Wolffe groused, shuffling the deck again. “Especially in this context - I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He dealt another hand out and -

Well…you won.

“Oh?” Both of you stared in silent disbelief at your hand - two sets of five from each stave. As your victory began to sink in you started to laugh, grinning from ear to ear as you watched Wolffe’s expression turn from shock to begrudging acceptance. “Ooh, how the turns have tabled.”

“‘Course you would win with a Squadron,” he grumbled, running both hands down his face. “Alright,” Wolffe groaned behind his palms, “go on.”

“Why did you join?” 

It was the first question that came to mind. There are others you would rather have asked, questions he’d scoff at or tease you about. But that was the one you grabbed hold of first. It felt…important. More so when he slowly lowered his hands, clear suspicion in his gaze and under that, something else. Something that made you question if this would go sour.

“To repay a debt.”

That’s all you got out of him - and you were fine with that.

-----

Taglist: @rain-on-kamino, @deewithani, @seeking-kharis, @lackofhonor, @ttzamara

I know some of you wanted to be just on the Caf Delivery Service tag so if you want me to remove you from this tag, LMK! If you want me to add you to the taglist for this series also lmk in the replies or in a DM!

[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.

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Masterlist