#I under explain his character for the bit but

[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt. 7.5

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok, the slowest of the burns because we gotta work for it, ok? 😘

A/N: Originally, I was just going to make this chapter a big beefy boy, like always, but I figured I would break episode 5 up into two parts mostly because y’all have been patiently waiting for an update and this chapters a bit…emotionally heavy (honestly, when isn’t this whole series and show NOT emotionally heavy???) But Jake makes an appearance in the next part, and so does a certain Irish officer who comes back to make his big debut return lol, and the side plotting gets plotting, so... I give you this small piece of heartbreak lol. Also, words cannot express how eternally grateful I am for all the continued support, love, and kindness you’ve all shown me and this fic. It means the world. Much Love, Jenn

P.s. thank you to @viridian-dagger for her continuous trust in letting me use and mention her character in this chapter and the next from her Abbot fic🖤

Warnings: Mentions of death, language, infant death, mentions of abuse, ptsd, mild sexual content (under eighteen do not enter)

Words: 6.9+

Previous I Next

11:00 AM - 12:00 PM

For the second time that morning, you found your sanctuary outside amongst potted generic flowers of vibrant violets and orange hues, shaded beneath the hangar of the ambulance bay. 

It wasn’t quiet or oozing with serenity - you weren’t sure you’d survive if it was. The sounds of sirens rang out in the distance, foreshadowing the next ambulance coming with another patient. Someone new. Someone in need of the help that - what sometimes felt like only you - could give. You’d sworn an oath to be that doctor who saved lives and, damn it all, you wanted to be the superhero doctor you imagined you could be back in med school. Swooping in at their patients’ bedside to administer comfort and knowledge of the body through science, with a compassion to heal a broken spirit and an aching heart. 

Sometimes, it was easy for doctors to forget about the patient's minds until a CT came back with something worrisome. They could forget that outside of the body, it was the place where the chokehold of fear and worry took root and gripped patients the moment they came inside these walls. They didn’t need their doctor to be their friend, but they did need comfort of a different sort. 

Robby was good at that - being both doctor and caregiver. 

These patients needed you, and you could be what they needed, an unmovable force to read test results, fix broken bones, and treat life-threatening wounds. All of it was easy because it relies on science and medicine to get you through the day. Of course, it was never just science and medicine that people needed, and you were never able to be that clinical. Robotic or detached. You wanted to give them all the comfort and care that you could muster because when it was you, not so long ago, what saved you wasn’t robotic tones and clinical explanations that felt cold and sterile. You’d been given compassion and empathy. 

The delivery doctor, sitting in a chair beside the bed, her hand clutched with yours, as she explained in soft tones what happened and how they tried to resuscitate him, did all they could - and it wasn’t enough. 

How none of it was your fault. 

“Would you like to hold him?”

Pushing the memory away, you moved to press your back against the prickly texture of the Pittsburgh Trauma Center, applying more and more pressure until you felt the sharp edges begin to puncture the soft fabric of your scrubs. 

You thought over your options, as if you truly had so many, where you could go back inside and play the role of a well-adjusted doctor, because you were a doctor, a fucking good one, but inevitably human. Full of flaws, hopes, and shattered dreams: so painfully human in this moment and broken and right now…right now you couldn’t even help yourself. 

Your eyes closed at the next onslaught of intrusive thoughts that clamored into your head. Each one taking its time in demanding your attention, just so you knew they were there. 

You shouldn’t be doing this - allowing your insecurities and their friends to create a chaotic house party in your mind. You had a patient literally waiting for you back in a room, frightened and on the verge of running, and a mother who was on her way, praying for a miracle. A miracle that you and the team had been unable to perform. 

It was now your turn to prepare to sit beside a grieving mother. To rest your hand on top of hers and explain that none of this was her fault, and how you did everything you could.

“We’ve done everything we can. I’m sorry. Would you like to hold him?”

Blindly, your face fell into the palms of your hands. You were still debating whether you were going to shout into them in hopes of muffling your growing frustration at the haunting memory. Or maybe just scrub at your skin in hopes it would flake off the fresh set of bags under your eyes from all this fresh hell of mental trauma, The Pitt was bringing you. 

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

“You doing alright out here?”

It didn’t surprise you when you dropped your hands from your face, eyes now wide open, to find Robby standing a few inches from you. His shoulder was leaning against the small space of the wall you’d left open. The ray of sunlight that escaped through the trees leaves casting a halo effect in his hair. 

It wasn’t surprising to find Robby checking on you. He was the shift attending. It was his duty to make sure all of his staff were okay after events, and sent to Kiara if they weren’t. Robby was also a good man with a big heart. 

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m great.”

You tried to muster a convincing smile. It failed right at takeoff since it couldn’t successfully raise your lips from the sullen frown they were stuck in. Because of this, it earned you a reprimanding head tilt to match the disbelief in his eyes. 

“You’ve never been a good liar.”

“That’s because lying’s for—“

“For assholes. I know,” he smirked as he finished the sentence with you. 

Silence wedged itself between the two of you. It wasn’t claustrophobic or demanded to be filled with aimless small talk. Small talk could never be a simple thing between either of you, anyway. There was too much history, too much knowing, held captive between you. Both of you are unable to tear your eyes away from the other, although a part of you wishes one of you would break. 

It was Robby who tore his gaze away first. His vision fell briefly to the space between you before his attention was fully back on you. His shoulder still pressed against the wall with his hands now tucked inside his hoodie.

“Did you want me to talk to the mom when she gets here?”

Of course, Robby would offer to do it - to take the responsibility of being the bearer of the worst news imaginable. You gave the briefest shake of your head. Enough to help turn your head towards the alcove of the ambulance bay and its subdued colors as you cleared your throat. 

“No. You have enough on your plate. I don’t want to add to it.”

“Come on. My plate will always be full here, but there will always be room for you – to help you,” Robby stammered over the last words.

It was a rush to correct. A rush to pretend that he hadn’t meant exactly what he said. Robby would make time for you even against his better judgment, even when he should hate you. 

You were sure the gesture was meant to be professional, simple. Attendings usually took over for their residents, doctors, and nurses working under them; if a patient asked a question they didn’t feel comfortable answering. If a major life-altering event left them unable to process the event - shock, adrenaline crash, or just plain grief – it made them not able to speak coherent sentences. 

But your stupid pride didn’t take it as Robby giving a simple, kind gesture. Instead, you took it as an inability to do your job and the glaringly fucking loud observation that you couldn’t talk to the mother because you’d been a mother for a life-shattering day. As a doctor, you were supposed to be able to put aside personal thoughts, feelings, or whatever baggage you carried around outside these trauma doors. 

It’s what you should’ve been able to do, no matter who the patient was or could be. You should be able to suppress any emotional instabilities of the sorrow that now rested in the marrow of your bones. A grief so easily reignited, it burned down every carefully reconstructed fragment of who you were trying to be. 

Robby saw it inside trauma one, clocking the shift in mood and movement. Who knew you better than him? The question was easily answered, looking up into eyes that roamed the edges of your face, calculating every shift and change because he knew you. 

Because deep down, you know he still loves you. 

And you didn’t understand why that thought angered you as much as it did. Realistically, you knew there wasn’t any reason you should lash out. Robby wanted to be there to help. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t be out here. You need to be civil, grateful – he could notice you had to get out of that room before you broke down all over again. 

“Huh, imagine that,” the words ground out through your teeth. “Quite a change of tone from the hostility earlier.”

You swore you were trying to tease him – the words were meant to be light, something to ease the mood and the tension that was always below the damn surface between you two. Instead of softness, you’d trampled through his attempt at mending the fractured space between you. Each of you yelling from atop your hill, just like before, demanding to be heard without being seen. His kindness was met with a bleak air that sent his head shaking and a hand shooting up to grip the back of his neck in irritation.

You were close to asking him if the migraines still made his neck stiff, but stopped cold as his gaze homed in on you.

“I’m trying to give you an olive branch here.”

‘I’m trying to help,’ the unsaid words lingering under the surface. The irritation began to etch into the crease of his eyes, the indent between his brow. His guard drew back up in a matter of seconds, all because you were ashamed to admit you did want him to talk to the baby’s mother. 

You didn’t want him to think less of you for agreeing to give the responsibility over. It felt too much like pawning off a discomfort that was yours to bear - that you weren’t capable of doing it. 

You shook the thought away because it was a damn idiotic thought. You knew Robby didn’t think that – wouldn’t think that. You inhaled deeply and replied in the same breath as your exhale, “I know.” 

You tore your gaze away, pressing your back against the wall just to feel the small sting of the jagged texture. 

“I know,” you repeated, softer this time, allowing your guard to crack in small amounts. “You’re already dealing with grieving parents and children saying goodbye to their father, Robby. Who knows what else might come through these doors today? You don’t need to add another one to the load you’re already carrying. Not when I’m here.”

The funny thing about dealing with other people in the throes of your own grief – it had a way of clawing it out of the grave it’d been buried in. It happened already outside Mr. Spencer’s room, where his children sat diligently by his side. It was a mixture of that room that held the echo of Adamson and his final moments, which no doubt triggered Robby’s own avalanche of unresolved grief.

The funny thing about grief, it could play the long game. Its patience was limitless, while it allowed you to run around putting up blockades to keep it out. You could never keep it out for long, no matter how hard anyone tried, and when it finally collapsed, it left you floundering for solid ground. 

It’s what happened to Robby in the bathroom. You weren’t sure what broke him, but when you’d come barreling through the door, it wasn’t because Robby missed you that he’d anchored himself to you. He’d simply been a man drowning in all he’d tried to suppress, and you’d been the safest place for him to find harbor in the storm. 

“You’re right. It can be a lot on days like today. I can handle it. What I saw in there with you—”

You hated the soft hush in his tone. The caution on whether or not it was safe to mention him. Your eyes closed in a weak attempt to shut the world out around you as your heart slammed against your ribs. A part of you wanted to hear him say his name – to acknowledge him and his importance over Adamson. You’d loved Adamson just as much as Robby. Without question, you loved your son more. 

It wasn’t fair. 

“It caught me off guard, Robby, that's all.”

“A lot of things are going to catch you off guard down here. It’s our job to be able to deal with it because if we can’t, it’s going to crush you and just keep going.”

“Is that what you call having a panic attack in the bathroom, Robby? Dealing with it?”

Fuck. 

It irritated you that he talked to you like one of his med students. As if he forgot you’d spent years down in this pit with him. The words came out molten and unforgiving. Say his name! You were looking back at him now and hated the way your eyes stung. The way old wounds opened up and corroded the present just like it was two years ago, with nothing resolved, because it wasn’t. 

A dry laugh rushed past his lips. This time, it was his turn to look away from you. His whole body ejecting away from you, the few feet of closeness he dared since the bathroom fiasco. You both couldn’t be civil when you stood in a cemetery of unresolved issues. 

It’s what happens when you bury grief. It poisons everything you love and turns it bitter. 

“Wow.”

He muttered the word softly enough that you strained to hear it. At first, you weren’t sure you had heard anything before he turned to face you, and all the delicate good faith that’d sent him out here to check on you was gone. The old feeling of fight or flight sent your adrenaline into overdrive, your back going rigged to prepare for a carousel of a battle you’d long removed yourself from.

“When did we get like this?” 

The question stunned you and left you blinking stupidly at him. The lead up of adrenaline for a possible fight screeching to a halt. 

“What?”

Queen of witty comebacks. That was you. 

Robby came to stand beside you. His back against the wall, but his gaze trained forward. 

“We used to talk about anything – everything. We didn’t hold back details; if it was about your day, mine, or just shit that happened. We didn’t have arguments - we called them discussions. Remember that? We had this life together, and it was crazy and beautiful, and it was ours. We used to fucking talk. When did we replace it with silence-with hostility?”

Robby looked at you then. His eyes hopelessly watching for any sign that you held the answer to the downfall of your relationship. Or maybe, just maybe, he was hoping you magically held the answer on a way to salvage something from the wreckage. 

You wanted to tell him he already knew the moments, small and big, that had accumulated since the pandemic. One loss that shut him off to the world, followed by a shared experience of overwhelming sorrow neither of you saw coming. Robby was right. You both used to talk; if a disagreement occurred, the two of you discussed the issue. It wasn’t until after the pandemic, a year in a half later, the loss of Noah, that discussions became arguments. 

The two of you talking, but never listening; saying everything and nothing all at once. If either of you had been honest instead of denying the loss, things might’ve been different. 

"Truthfully?” You replied, voice apprehensive. “I think we knew once we spoke the truth out loud, it could never be taken back. It’s different if we see and know the saddest, deepest parts of ourselves, but...saying it out loud? That's different. We become vulnerable when telling another living soul. It makes it real, and we can't hide from it anymore. We kept those things from each other at the end, Robby – the sadness, all the loss gave us. We just kept trying to package it all down, and look where that got us.”

Silence crept between you as Robby considered your words. His arms moved to cross against his stomach, chin tucked down at his chest, and body slouched beside you. 

It was stupid to be having this conversation at work. In the damn ambulance bay of all places. It didn’t offer the illusion of privacy, which felt like this conversation needed. You shouldn’t be worried; you wanted to remind yourself. Either one or both of you would end it before it got too deep. Always too afraid to ask the lingering questions, leaving everything unresolved. 

The sounds of the city rushed back to swallow up the silence. It swelled around in motor exhaust, car horns, and muffled sounds of shouting. It should’ve felt closer, but with Robby standing close beside you, it all began to fade into the background of the bubble Robby and you were creating. 

“I haven’t changed anything.” 

The timber of his voice jolted you out of your thoughts and forced you to look at him. Your confusion tightening up your brow to form the question you couldn’t say. 

“Noah’s room. All the furniture and clothes are still in there. I can’t bring myself to step inside his room and remove him even after all this time.” Robby looked at you, and your heart plummeted into your stomach. Your mouth forming around a singular word: Don’t, but unable to speak. “I know you left, but – but I tell myself if I clean out his room, then the life we had, everything about it will just be gone.”

“Robby—” you tried to cut him off, but he spoke over you. Robby was determined to say what he needed and nothing, not even tears or a helpless breath of please would stop him. 

“I realized I’m not ready to let go just yet.”

Your eyes shifted around his face, trying to read and decipher every angle of it for a chance of deception. This felt like a sick joke from the universe that now, fucking now, of all times of waiting for him to open up about practically anything, Robby chose to do it now. Now, at the beginning of a shift you never wanted and were practically strong-armed into taking. 

If you were both supposed to begin sharing truths so freely, what did he expect you to start sharing? It was too personal; none of it felt acceptable to say in an ambulance bay outside the automatic doors of a trauma center. 

Yet, you wanted to tell him everything and nothing all at the same time. All those years spent missing him and trying to replace him, but how do you move on from someone who felt like your heart in human form? The answer was simple. You didn’t. 

Hearing Robby say Noah’s name out loud for the first time in almost three years was a huge step. For so long, he wouldn’t acknowledge Noah or Adamson in conversations. If anyone asked him, he shut down with either deflection or anger to the point that people were scared to bring it up. Except Dana, she wasn’t scared, and Jack was respectful enough not to push. 

Today. Right now, at this very moment, Robby was facing you and for the first time spoke your son’s name. Noah’s room and the crib his father built him still occupied the space that the two of you spent months building for him. 

No. You didn’t know what to say. You could only feel your heart swell with love before grief came to burst it into a thousand pieces. Robby carefully considered you while he took a cautious step towards you. His body converged into your space until it forced your eyes to train on him, with nowhere to run. 

“I have one more truth I’m willing to share, and one you’re not ready to hear but…” Robby turned away from you. The split second of broken connection was enough to give him the strength to say whatever truth lay buried in his chest. 

When he looked back at you, you felt every bit of the crushing weight of the depth of his sadness those brown eyes held. Your mind etched into memory the way his shoulders slowly moved inward, guarded and broken. His hands were tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, only making the collapse glaringly loud. 

But Robby and you never used to hide anything from one another. You didn’t, until you did, and now you weren’t sure if there would ever be a way back from all the secrets you’d both kept, or if you were ready for the honesty that awaited either of you. 

“It took a long time to admit this after you left. I wanted to hate you. It would’ve been easier; made this realization easier to swallow, but…I will love you for the rest of my life.” The sincerity in his words – the break that clipped in the way he spoke your name with what felt like a lifetime of emotion reflected in his eyes that used to look at you with such warmth. Now, all you could see was a man standing in front of you. The weight of losing everything he cared for was crushing down on him. “And sometimes, I think, what an odd thing to feel when I know you wouldn’t be here for any of it.”

A breath of a moment stretched into an infinite loop as your breath became trapped and screaming in your lungs. While your heart constricted against your ribs, your hands shaking from the strain, struggling against the urge to reach out and touch his face in comfort like you used to. You could feel the phantom weight of his cheek resting in the safety of your palm. The tip of his nose grazed across your wrist before he turned to plant a kiss there.

“I can’t unlove you, and the truth is I don’t want to.” He shrugged into the words, his body caving further inwards with his hands tugging inside his hoodie’s pockets. “The truth is, I miss you every moment of every day. I wake up and, I don’t know if it’s because you’re it, you’re my person,  that I’m always searching for you in everyone else I meet. Or if I’m scared, I’ll wake up and realize I’m starting to forget what your favorite flower was or how you specifically needed the towels to be folded. I love and miss you in equal measure, and I know…I know we broke one another, but I have to believe that we can come back from this, because I can’t imagine living the rest of this life without knowing you’re in it.”

There wasn’t a way to hide the shaking your body produced, even though you attempted to stifle it. Your arms crossed, uncrossed, or fidgeting with your hands, and placing them inside the pockets of your scrubs. Nothing kept out the urge to rush over to him and throw yourself against him. 

“Robby,” you cautioned, “It’s not that simple.”

It wasn’t. Ignoring the cracks in the foundation didn’t stop them from getting any bigger. Pretty words could never be enough to keep it from collapsing, leaving every weak attempt at patching it up exposed. Words were easiest to say when they weren’t having to be followed by action. 

His teeth drew his lip into his mouth, while his eyes darted away from you for the first time since he spoke. 

“I know. I know,” he replied sadly. 

A part of you wondered if spilling your own confession would make the situation worse. You couldn’t leave him out here to wonder if you loved him less - if you moved on completely. You hadn’t. You couldn’t, but maybe telling him that would only make things worse. 

What are we pretending to be here?

It was the real question that ached to be asked, sitting at the back of your throat. It scratched like a cough and begged to be released. It felt honest - an important question that deserved an equally honest answer because, what the fuck was happening? He should hate you. Robby had every right to hate you, and you should’ve both moved on with your lives instead of being here, burning in the purgatory of longing, but…he didn’t. You didn’t. 

So, you did the awkward thing and tried to lighten the mood with all the grace of a car crash. 

“You know,” you began numbly, feeling the wrongness of the words as they formed in your mouth, “I came out here to escape from the trauma inside, not to have more trauma dumped on me.”

You attempted to drown the words in laughter. A quiet huff was all you could muster past your lips; past arms that constricted around your body in a protective layer to stop you from reaching out to him. By the soft smile that upturned his lips and the sorrow that hollowed out his eyes, you knew the mirth you’d tried to build was extinguished the minute it passed through your lips. 

At some point, as you listened to his confession, you felt yours rising in your throat. How many nights have you spent curled in bed facing what used to be Robby’s side of the bed?. Everything inside your house is still foreign, and the missing pieces of him are scattered throughout the home - his glasses sitting on the bathroom or kitchen counters or resting between his fingers in a hand that rested on the soft rise of his sleeping chest. 

It had taken the full two years for you to relearn how to comfortably sleep alone, and yet, you could still feel the ghost of an ache to feel the warmth of his hand snaking around your middle to pull you close. The graze of his lips that trailed butterfly kisses along your shoulder. 

Movies made it seem so easy to start again – pick up right where you left off with the one you love as if no time had passed. As if all the reasons that made you leave, the distance, the avoidance, and the pent-up anger in the first place, magically became a nightmare you’d woken up from. 

No. Unless you could both heal properly, be honest for once about the last few months outside of small confessions in offer of complacency, old demons would always open new wounds. 

It was that realization that left your eyes stinging; losing a battle to keep it all locked up, keep it locked up tight so no one sees you breaking, when the first tear escaped through your lashes and exposed what you couldn’t say. You didn’t need to tell Robby this - the denial of his request was written plainly in your silence, in the way you shattered. He’d seen you broken so many different times, in different ways, that he could read what you struggled to say, mouth gaping like a water-starved fish, and angry hands wiping furiously at your face. 

You didn’t want to watch him break - his own hand scrubbing at his face – but you couldn’t look away. If you were honest, you could’ve told him the silent “No” wasn’t absolute. Shit, it barely held any weight at all because every fiber of your being screamed for you to open your fucking mouth and just tell him  - TELL HIM that this wasn’t no. It was never again. It was a plea to fix things because you knew if you couldn’t do that, the second time around, when you broke one another, no one would survive. 

You opened your mouth to tell him – to stop being such a fucking coward – when the sudden smack of a palm on concrete left you jumping half way out of your skin. 

“Robby, we need you back inside.”

Langdon. Of course, it was always Langdon with his shitty timing. 

Robby didn’t respond right away. He watched you, waited for you, allowing you a few more minutes to attempt to say the words that were left lodged like a traffic jam inside your airway. When nothing came, he hung his head for a brief second before he looked back up. Robby gave one last glance in your direction before his eyes shifted over his shoulder to a waiting Langdon. 

“Yeah. I’ll be right there.”

He didn’t look at you again as he passed you to head back inside. You gave yourself a few extra minutes to clean yourself up before heading behind the pair and back inside the madness that was The Pitt. 

Robby followed blindly behind Langdon into the room, which was in the midst of chaos. The nurses moved in a synchronized frenzy around the room to start an IV to allow Santos to push in what appeared to be another four of lorazepam, which, from what Robby could catch, was opening up the debate of whether to press Keppra or intubate. 

It was mechanical the way he moved around the room with his body drifting out of the way and back in with the frantic tide that crashed around the island of the gurney. The way Robby found himself asking questions about the length of the seizure, his ears straining to register the response from Santos as she broke down the time and medication given. It was a dance Robby knew all the steps to. For that, he was grateful, because his body was here in this trauma room, but his mind was still outside with you. 

Stupid. Stupid, stupid, fucking stupid! 

The word pinballed around his head with a frenzied velocity. In a brief moment of madness, of weakness (it’s all he could call it), Robby caved into the wild thought that if he exposed just enough of the sorrow his demons fed on, it would be enough. He allowed himself to hope that maybe the kiss inside that bathroom rekindled something for you, too; Robby knew he could be crazy, but he wasn’t delusional. 

You’d kissed him back. 

Or fuck, maybe he was fucking delusional. Maybe he’d been too honest not just with you, but with himself. For a long time, Robby told himself he did hate you. He hated you for coming home to a house so devoid of your presence; he wondered if he’d made you up. A coma patient locked inside a fog-induced dream where his life was good, whole, and burst into a constellation of moments that filled that life with purpose. 

A life scattered with moments of you. 

He hated you because after he frantically searched every room in the house - every room except that one, because Robby knew he’d never find you there, never there - he’d shattered. His knees hinging forward to make contact with the hardwood at the top of the staircase, and he tried to remember how his lungs were supposed to work. 

Robby could say he hated you for everything that came after, but what he hated most was how he didn’t hate you. Not even a little bit. What tore at him - this hatred he built - was born from the grief of loss. First, Adamson, then his son, and now you. 

What had he done in life to earn so much loss? Was he a bad son? Had he not been enough? Did he fail too many people in his life - fail his patients? Did he not care enough? Give enough? What had he done to make everything - everyone - he ever fucking cared about decide he wasn’t enough to fight for?

No, Robby couldn’t hate you. It might’ve been easier, simpler to do it, but it wouldn’t be fair. He hated himself the most because with every waking hour since he’d come home to an empty life, Robby wondered what he could’ve done differently so that you would’ve stayed. 

Robby came back to the present with his hand firmly placed on the patient's forehead. His pen light flashed back and forth into his eyes to catch any hint of a reaction. Robby was aware Santos was informing him about her desire to prep to give Keppra, while simultaneously making it known she disagreed with Langdon’s desire to weigh and press the last two milligrams of lorazepam.

“Dr. Langdon’s patient, Dr. Langdon’s call.”

He hoped the tension he sensed brimming between the two of them was something he could conclude to a shitty projection to go along with a shitty day. At least, that’s what Robby hoped it was because he wasn’t sure he could take any more bad news today. 

You watched from a distance as Robby converged inside trauma one without so much as a glance behind him. You weren’t sure why you expected it or, more truthfully, you hated the fact you had expected something. 

After what transpired outside with his words with that fucking look in his eyes haunting you with every step you took, you almost felt compelled to run back outside, but this time, instead of stopping, you would keep running. Run until lactic acid builds up inside fatigued muscles; until your lungs burn with each new breath and you finally collapse. 

It was a tempting thought until your brain finally clicked on and-

“Fuck!” You muttered under your breath. 

Your patient. The one you’d left with Princess and Javadi was in the room waiting for you to return. You’d left to take in the baby but never returned. Your feet were already bounding you forward, while your hands secured around your stethoscope to keep it from falling. You weaved your way through gurneys, patients, and staff until you came to the doorway of her room and found it…empty. 

Empty was okay. It didn’t mean a damn thing. She did have orders for CT, and it was possible that one of the radiology team came down to get her. Your hands still grasping your stethoscope, your eyes scanned central for any sign of Javadi or Princess. It was more likely that once you’d left, Javadi would go back to find McKay, which left Princess as your best bet for information. 

You moved to circle around central with your eyes scanning inside rooms and down hallways. Eventually, you knew you would see Princess or get lucky enough to see Kat being wheeled back to the room. 

It wasn’t until you were halfway down the south hallway that you finally spotted Princess behind a curtain. Her gloved hands carefully wrapped a patient's ankle with bright blue cling gauze. You could hear your shoes make a good awful screech as you came to a halt to backtrack into the room. 

“Good afternoon,” you smiled tightly at the patient before you directed your attention to Princess. “Patient in 2 North: she in CT?”

“Nope,” Princess replied, being especially sassy by popping the P. “She’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone?”

“I mean, Dr. Fullerton, after we distributed the mifepristone, she dipped.”

“Why didn’t you wait to give it to her until after I had my CT results?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, am I supposed to be a mind reader?” Princess directed back at you. Her hands never stopped the procession work in front of her as she looked at you. “You asked me to check in with Javadi and to stay with her until you returned. You’d put in the order for mifepristone, which we administered while we waited for Her Highness to return, which, by the way, was almost a full fifteen minutes.”

“Anything else you’d like to get off your chest, Princess, before I go?”

You didn’t have room to be snappy with her. Princess’s play-by-play of what took place in the last twenty or so minutes went down exactly like that. It was your fault for putting in orders without directly giving directions on how and when you wanted it released. You hadn’t told Javadi or Princess you wanted Kat to have to wait for it - the CT results were more important. 

But you’d told neither of them your game plan because your attention was ripped away from one patient to the next, and it wasn’t anyone’s fault. This was an emergency department, and shit like this happened all day, but you having a mini breakdown wasn’t in the cards and had cost valuable time with not only Kat, but other patients. You’d planned on involving Kiara for assistance, and now every plan you’d tried to capitalize on to help that young girl evaporated just like her presence. 

Princess shot you a look that would’ve left Medusa impressed, and you held your hands up in surrender. 

“You’re right, Princess. I didn’t communicate what I wanted to be done,” you relented. “I guess I’m still getting my bearings back from being thrust down into hell,” then to the patient who looked a tad concerned, “No offense.”

You caught the smirk Princess tried to hide by ducking her chin to her chest. Her hands swiftly finished up the angled wrap before securing it and taking a step back from the patient. 

“It’s alright,” she hummed. “I should’ve tried to stop her before she left. She didn’t seem in any shape to be leaving anyway.”

“No,” you agreed. “No, she wasn’t.” 

You moved back behind the curtain as Princess removed her gloves and threw them in the nearest waste bin. You both started moving down the hallway back towards central, with her stopping to get a few pumps from the sanitizer dispenser on the wall.

“Do you think she’ll come back?”

“I’m not all too sure. She seemed worried even while she was in here, and the incident with Langdon didn’t really help matters.”

“Yeah, I’m not surprised there. She and Langdon got into it the last time she was here a few months back. Surprised she even came back.”

You stopped just outside the entrance to the central nursing station and looked up at the screen. Princess went inside to find a computer, and you found your feet carrying over to where she’d parked herself. 

“Oh, I forgot to ask: Javadi. How did she do?”

Princess gave a small shrug while she grimaced as if the right words were either hard to find or unpleasant. 

“She seems okay, but she’s really nervous and jittery. Stammers a lot.”

“I meant with the patient, Princess. How was she with the patient?”

“Oh, she was okay. Still jittery and awkward, though.”

It was normal for staff to give the new kids a hard time, clocking every awkward gesture or wrong move in the name of medicine. While some staff would make bets about who would show up again for their next shift or who wouldn’t, it was always clear that it was done with the best of intentions. It was a dysfunctional family down here after all, and a family wasn’t complete without a few odd ducks. 

You drummed a set of knuckles against the counter. Your eyes roamed the board up and down multiple times because absolutely none of it was inspiring you to turn around and get back on the floor. You blew a raspberry as you considered the buffet of options one last time before Princess caught your attention. The gleam in her eyes was the first tell-tale sign she was up to no good. 

“You and Robby were outside for quite a long time,” she observed before giving you a wink. 

“And on that note, I think I just found an ingrown toenail with my name on it.”

“Oh, come on!” Princess quipped behind you. “We just want to know when Mom and Dad are going to make up.”

You gave her an absent-minded wave and didn’t bother to look back. There was a strong chance her accusing gaze was following you, or worse, with the beginning hint of a smirk that she might have caught the blush slowly burning up your cheeks like wildfire. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! Much Love.

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[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔐𝔢𝔰𝔰𝔶 𝔱𝔞𝔨𝔢𝔰 Jack O’Connell x male reader

Summary: One accident on set. That’s all it takes for the director to dream up a new intimate scene starring your character and Jack’s. When the crew clears out and it’s just the two of you left, you try to explain the idea without stuttering, blushing, or revealing how badly you want to play it out before the cameras even roll. Jack doesn’t hesitate and he makes it very clear he’s been waiting for this just as long.

Tags: Lots of flirting. Technically also Remmick x male reader. Coworkers-friends to lovers. Sharing a cigarette with Jack. Minor injury. Protective behavior. Make out session. Top Jack. Bottom male reader. Smut. Anal sex.

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words count: 7500

The loft was hot while you laid there on your stomach with your chin resting on your forearm, the edge of the platform just under your ribs, one arm dangling lazily, the other clutched the small, curved scythe by its haft, blade dull from safety padding.

Below, the floor team buzzed like slow flies. The prop master moved through the space with a clipboard and an unlit cigarette she kept chewing on.

Nearby, two runners hauled in bundles of fake hay for the upcoming fight and by the barn doors, under the biggest light rig, sat the makeup team, swarming an actor who moaned and hissed with each application of spirit gum and latex to create a perfect prosthetic for his jaw, now looking like a masterwork of horror, half-caved, fractured bone sculpted to look fresh and aching, bruising painted meticulously purple along the cheek.

The realism made your stomach flip with admiration, half-hypnotized by how deftly they transformed human skin into violence.

A breeze pushed through the slats, stirring dry hay strands beneath your chest. You blinked slowly, calm and sweat sticky in your costume for the next part, a shirt with the sleeves rolled, sweat drawn into your back.

“Oi, sweetheart! Y’comin’ down or am I gonna have to climb up an’ drag ye?” The voice was unmistakable and you smiled before even looking.

Your gaze dropped, head tilting to peek over the edge and find Jack looking like he’d clawed his way out of hell just to see you. His white shirt was soaked in fake blood, deep red stains smeared across his chest, his chin and down his abdomen. Paler skin under the lights from the base layer of makeup, gleamed with sweat.

He had a cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth, jaw moving around it as he called again, “Need a breather? Come have a cig wi’ me, yeah?”

There was no need to reply, you just pushed yourself off the edge.

The drop wasn’t far and you’d done it a dozen times, twice just this week. You liked the jolt of the landing, the dusty hay catching your fall, the way it shocked your heart for a second and snapped everything into focus, straw rising around your knees in a soft explosion.

Jack flinched visibly, a half-step back, cigarette almost falling from his lips.

“Christ,” he muttered, laughing under his breath. “Always gotta drop like that, do yer?”

You grinned up at him, chest rising from the jump, breath punched loose in the best way and he leaned down slightly, ‘hand’ half-raised to help but you were already standing, so he went to brush hay off your shirt, bits clinging to the cotton and your forearms.

As you looked up, your gaze caught those claws he had, grotesquely gorgeous, the glossy black-tipped curve of them, each digit lengthened unnaturally.

He was much closer than you expected him to be.

A soft noise left your throat half-startled and Jack grinned wide.

He raised one clawed hand and wiggled the fingers.

“Wot’s the matter?” he drawled, tone teasing, smoky around the cigarette. “Scared o’ me now?”

“Have you seen yourself in a mirror?” You scoffed and looked him up and down.

That pulled a real grin from him, flashing white between bloodstained lips. He stepped closer, enough to warm the air between you.

“Dunno ‘bout mirrors, but your eyes are doin’ a proper job.”

You blinked, then barked out a laugh but your chest stuttered. You brushed it off with another chuckle and more hay flicked from your sleeve as you turned away briefly.

Placing the scythe into the holster loop at your side, the wood knocking against your thigh. Jack watched like someone who’d just thrown a line into the water and wasn’t sure if he’d hooked something real or not.

You nodded toward the barn doors. “C’mon then. Let’s smoke.”

He fell in beside you as you pushed through the heavy, half-open door and into the sunlight that bled gold across the field. The day had ripened into early evening, light slanted orange through the stalks beyond the barn and made the whole scene feel like the end of something.

Leaning against the side of the barn wall, boots scuffing gravel, you observed Jack fumbling with his pocket of his trousers, the fit high and snug. The claws made it impossible. He muttered something vicious under his breath, the cigarette still tucked between his lips, bobbing with each curse.

“‘Ere—d’you mind?” He tilted his chin toward you, brows raised beneath sweat-matted curls.

You reached without needing to be asked again, taking the lighter and slid it free.

“Look at this shite they’ve glued t’me,” he muttered, lifting his clawed hand in demonstration. The prosthetic claws gleamed wicked in the light, tips darkened with what looked like dried blood and dirt. “Can’t do fuck all with ‘em. Nearly gouged me own ear earlier tryna scratch.” He gave a crooked grin.

You shook your head, snorting as you clicked the lighter once, no flame. Second flick, the spark caught. A tiny burst of fire danced in the wind between your hands.

Jack leaned in.

The claws moved with eerie grace, scissoring around the cigarette to pull it from his mouth and angle it forward. You brought the flame up carefully, watching how close his face was now. The proximity made your skin prickle. You could smell the fake blood on his shirt, the sweat beneath it, the earthy grime the makeup team had stippled along his jawline.

You held the flame steady as he inhaled.

He lit the end with a deep, practiced drag. The tip glowed hot and he let the breath out slow. Smoke curled from his lips, winding lazy between you both. The cigarette tip flared red-orange before he clamped it back between his teeth and took a step back, satisfied.

“So. Was that all? Needed someone with functioning fingers?”

He smiled, smoke spilling sideways from his lips. “That’s part o’ it.” Before shrugging, the white shirt rustling slightly. “Also enjoy yer company. Win-win.”

That got a softer laugh from you, the kind that cracked your mouth open without force.

You looked away toward the field. The wheat had been trampled in patches, set dressing for today’s scene. The long grass beyond rolled in the wind, the sun just above the ridge now, orange bled into purple.

“I used to want this,” you said, quietly. Not looking at him.

Jack turned his head just slightly. “Used t’want what?”

“This,” you nodded at the horizon. “Land. Quiet. The kind of life where a person can be tired at the end of the day and still feel like they’ve earned it.”

He didn’t answer right away.

“Funny, that,” he said finally, voice low. “Most people I know grew up wantin’ to run away from places like this. An’ yer lookin’ at it like it’s heaven.”

“I know,” you said, almost sheepish.

“Not sayin’ it’s bad.” He flicked ash off the cigarette, the tip now close to the filter. “Suits ye.”

Your brows lifted faintly. “Yeah?”

“Could see it in the way y’worked the soil in that one take.” He glanced sidelong at you, one eye squinting slightly with the sun, jaw working faintly around the filter of the smoke. “Felt all the graft you put in.”

You swallowed, the compliment landing harder than you expected and he reached out again, holding the cigarette toward you now.

“Y’alright sharin’?”

The red ring on the end where his lips had been was eyed by your eyes, catching the faint wetness left behind, before diverting your gaze to him.

His face was turned outward again, eyes on the field, the sun threw gold against his cheekbones, catching the angles there. He was effortlessly handsome, even soaked in fake gore.

Your fingers hesitated before taking the cigarette, drawing a slow drag, inhaling and the heat cracked into your chest. As you let the smoke leak from your mouth, you glanced at him again and caught him observing you.

His eyes traced the curl of smoke from your lips, expression softening more like curiosity.

You held the cigarette back out to him, Jack took it with the tips of his claws, the motion slow, leaning his head against the barn behind him.

The two front doors of the barn groaned open with a heavy creak. Crew poured out from all corners, camera operators adjusting shoulder rigs, grips dragging cables. Chatter, commands, walkie squawks. The atmosphere buzzed with the quiet prelude of everything finally about to happen.

It was almost time.

You glanced at him, observing the cigarette now reduced to a limp stub smoldering between his ‘fingers’. The tip glowed weakly as he dragged the last bit of smoke from it, exhaled slowly through his nose and dropped the butt to the dirt.

He crushed it under the ball of his boot with a slow twist and you caught it his mouth pulled down slightly at one corner in disappointment.

One brow raised, with a quick up-nod he called for your attention. “Oi—before we head off,” he said quickly, voice dipping into that boyish lilt he used when he was sheepish but didn’t want to show it. “D’you mind helpin’ wi’ the lenses? Can’t do shit wi’ these fuckin’ meat hooks stuck on.”

He lifted both clawed hands and gave you a half-sarcastic shrug, deadly and comically useless at the same time.

You chuckled, brushing your palms on your thighs out of pure habit. Thank fuck you’d washed them after lunch and again before heading to set minutes ago. You’d done it without thinking, call it instinct or paranoia.

“Course,” you said and he immediately shifted closer, digging into the deep pocket of his absurdly high-waisted trousers. Those pants were ridiculous on him, too tight around the hips, too much fabric everywhere else.

He extracted a small plastic container with the red lenses, flicked it open with one claw-tip like he’d learned how to do it out of sheer defiance. “Swear, I’ve no idea what I’ve stuffed in these pockets,” he muttered, half to himself.

You laughed as you took the little case from him, careful fingers lifting one lens from the solution. The soft, pliable disk balanced perfectly on the pad of your finger.

You wet it again with the solution, then set it on your left palm, circling your thumb around it with practiced ease, letting it settle, center and flatten out.

“You know,” you said, low, joking as you prepped, “starting to think you just call me for your little favors.” You stepped into his space and he welcomed it.

He quirked a brow, a knowing half-smile tugging his mouth. “Do I?”

“Mmhm,” you said, lifting the lens carefully back onto your fingertip, readying it. “First the cig, now the lenses. Thought I was more than just your errand boy… After all the nights we’ve been out for pints. Thought we had somethin’ special.”

That earned a quiet snort of amusement. His mouth twisted into a grin as he tilted his chin slightly, eyes narrowing. “Y’sound like a proper jilted ex,” he murmured, voice all smoke and suggestion. “Y’ get this stroppy every time I ask ye for a favour? Tell ye what, next round’s on me, yeah? Pint an’ a packet o’ crisps, proper apology.”

You smiled, but your head was already full of memories, flashes of him at pubs after late shoots, sweat still clinging under his collar, a pint in one hand, the other gesturing wide as he recounted some story from his early days on set, or some pub fight he’d nearly gotten into back in Derby.

He’d always lean too close when it got late, shoulder pressed to yours in those dark booths, breath smelling of hops and citrus, his laugh loud enough to make your stomach twist. Once or twice, he’d dragged you outside with him to smoke, talking fast between drags, eyes locked on yours, like whatever he had to say couldn’t wait till morning. You remembered the feel of his breath in winter air, the way he’d bumped your arm when he made a dirty joke, waited for the heat in your face to give you away.

And then the times he didn’t joke. When he’d go quiet mid-sentence, just sit back and look at you over the rim of his glass. Eyes sharp, mouth slack, tongue wetting his bottom lip like he wasn’t thinking about the pint anymore, something heavier in his gaze than just friendly familiarity.

Those nights came back too fast.

Jack was still watching you now, smile playing faintly on his mouth.

You reached up and his lashes didn’t flinch while you hovered just beneath his eye, fingers steady.

“You’re not even gonna blink?” you asked.

He opened his eye a little wider and said, teasingly, “Long as y’promise to be gentle.”

The smile that accompanied it was crooked, voice dipping a note deeper, almost testing you. Wanting to see what you’d do if he kept drawing lines just to watch you toe over them.

“You’re lucky I like your face.” Muttering while smiling back, eyebrows arched in concentration as, with careful movement, you got ready to place the first lens.

He started breathing through his mouth, probably because that’s what you do when someone’s that close to your eye, jaw tightened, the flick of his tongue along the inside of his cheek.

Stale cigarette clung thick in the fabric of his collar. Behind that, the scent of dried fake blood, a mix of syrupy glycerin, thick with artificial iron and the cheap stage dye they used for gore that never quite washed out from between takes. You caught a trace of his real sweat drying beneath his collarbone from the heat of the barn, salt and cotton.

He was so still while you practically held his face in your hands, thumb cradled to his cheekbone, other fingers poised to catch any blink. Normally the makeup team would’ve handled this but he’d asked you and he was letting you do it, quiet, willing, unflinching.

He liked your hands there.

Lens in, you pulled back just slightly. “That one’s good?”

His eye fluttered, face twitching subtly at the new sensation but he nodded, blinking once, then fixing you with a glance that felt far too loaded for the moment.

“Perfect,” he muttered. “Bit annoying, but… y’know. Worth it.”

You nodded back. “I’ll be ready to hate it in about a couple of days, then, when it’s my turn.”

He grinned, voice low and a bit hoarse. “Gets easier ‘ver time, but takin’ ’em out’s always a fuckin’ relief.”

You prepped the second lens, soaking it again in the solution, watching it flatten, balance.

He breathed a little deeper as you stepped back into his space and placed the second lens with the same gentle care.

Again, his breath caught, head tilted just a little forward unconsciously, like he didn’t want you to pull away too quickly. You smoothed the lens in, then paused and stayed a second too long.

Your thumb brushed under his eye not just to check the placement, but to wipe a fleck of dried fake blood that had flaked from the corner of his cheekbone.

Jack’s face didn’t move, he just stared at you now, both eyes rimmed red, pupils catching the orange glow of the fading sun. He looked like a goddamn devil and still impossibly handsome, cheekbones caught in the light, mouth parted just enough to show the shine of his teeth.

The crew had gathered, the light was perfect and the moment was slipping, so you dropped your hand reluctantly and stepped back.

His eyes followed you for one beat more before he cleared his throat.

“Right then,” he muttered. “Let’s go make somethin’ messy.”

You turned together, boots crunching side by side as you headed toward the cluster of cameras and bodies, the last sun streaks crawling up your backs.

“Right, there they are!” someone shouted.

Voices rose as more crew members filtered into position. The air smelled of turned dirt, sawdust from earlier rig work and the faint, ever-present reek of glycerin blood.

You barely had time to blink before someone called you over to mark. The assistant director’s voice rang out behind the cam-op, sharp but not unkind. “Ready on two. He’s at the house. Let’s lock and go, people. We’ve got maybe twenty minutes of that sky!”

You crossed the open yard briskly, breath light, the weight of the scythe balanced on your back again. The other actor, Davey, was already waiting near the porch steps, dressed in full costume: dusty leather jacket, silvered rifle strap slung across one shoulder and the expression of someone caught in between menacing and fond.

You’d known him since rehearsals, six and a half feet and a face that could turn from terrifying to soft in two blinks. He saw you coming and broke character long enough to smile, voice low and rich.

“Are you ready for this, killer?” There was that glint again, big brother energy that never failed to calm your nerves.

“More than ready.” Replying back with a smirk.

“Atta boy,” he murmured, rolling his shoulders.

Five paces away from the porch edge, boots planted firm where the soil had been stomped down by dozens of previous takes. Steadycams moved in tight from the left and B-cam settled low and wide to capture the line of the sun bleeding down into the frame, casting your face in gold.

Someone clapped a board. “Scene 49-A, Take 3. Mark it.”

Everything vanished, the crew disappeared into white noise.

Davey turned toward you with slow, deliberate menace, shifting his stance, his coat flaring slightly at the edges. He started delivering his lines, low and insidious, stepping forward the way someone would if they were trying to calm a horse before the kill.

Your fingers curled subtly around the scythe, tension building with every syllable out of his mouth, gaze slipping off you and it was then, just as the script demanded, that he reached behind his back.

Poor attempt to distract.

Your body surged forward before conscious thought kicked in. The sickle snapped up in your grip, instinct, motion, rhythm, all practiced and automatic. The blade arced with brutal elegance toward his neck.

It worked perfectly.

He caught your wrist, fingers snapped tight around your arm, the sudden pressure flaring against your bones. You gritted your teeth, snarl curling in your throat as you twisted in his grip, scythe arm bucking against the strength in his palm.

He turned your arm cruelly and for a moment, you felt the blade creep backward toward your own throat. A growling laugh so perfect came from his throat and it chilled your ribs while he slammed you into the side of the house.

The wood shook with the impact and your back thudded against it, pain blossoming enough to make your breath stutter. The scythe trembled near your neck and the cameras swept in close from your left, catching the tension in your jaw.

He sneered down at you. “You dumb little fu—”

Suddenly his entire body jolted backward.

Just like in the scene, weight vanishes in an instant. You stumbled forward, completely unprepared. The shift in pressure whipped your scythe hand forward and it twisted in your palm, turning wrong.

A hiss escaped through your teeth, small and quiet. You barely heard it over the sound of your own blood rushing.

You caught yourself mid-fall, foot staggering to correct your balance. Your hand burned, warm and damp, yet you kept acting.

Looking up, there was Jack—no, Remmick—standing next to the other actor’s crumpled form, now night had come and there was no sunlight.

His face looked like wrath made real.

Lips curled back, fangs bared, claws extended, his whole body hunched like a wolf over prey, rage barely contained.

His eyes flicked toward you when you made that small hiss and something changed.

He moved fast, closing the distance between you in one sharp step, body tense. His prosthetic hand reached out toward your side, his other arm raising carefully.

His mouth moved, fangs still in as you heard him say under the breath “Yer bleedin’.”

“What—?” You blinked dazed, but he didn’t wait.

Jack’s clawed hand landed low on the curve of your back, gentle, anchoring and protective as he guided you backward, out of frame. The grip on your spine was firm but soft, steadying you in a way that shouldn’t have made your knees go weak, but it did.

Your palm was red when you looked down, the gash wasn’t deep, but the blood had already started to trickle down your fingers. So high on the momentum, you didn’t even feel it at first.

Jack leaned in, muttering just for you, his Derby accent dropped into low, urgent intimacy. “Don’t move. We’ll get someone.”

His eyes, still blazing red from the lenses you’d placed yourself, searched your face with sharp concern, lips parted slightly as his chest rose and fell.

“Cut!” someone shouted in the distance.

Jack turned slightly, voice raised now, sharp. “Oi—first aid! Now, yeah?”

His voice was level and clear but there was heat beneath it. Then his eyes returned to yours, expression softer now.

“Ye didn’t even flinch,” he said softly, he said it like a compliment, he admired it. You swallowed, heart hammering. “Didn’t notice till you said it.”

He exhaled, half-laugh and half-sigh. Then, with no cameras rolling and no scene to play, he reached for your hand, slowly and carefully.

“Christ,” he muttered again, shaking his head slowly. “Could’ve said somethin’. Let me see it.” The claws made it awkward, but he didn’t let that stop him. His hand hovered close, just to steady your fingers as he inspected the cut.

It wasn’t bad, shallow but messy. You shrugged, lightheaded. “Didn’t wanna ruin the shot.”

A crew member came running with a first aid kit and gloves, already pulling out gauze. Jack stepped aside, but not far. “Let ’em sort you out. I’ll wait.” Eyes never really leave you, not even as he retreated.

Time passed in strange, uneven pulses after wrap. It always did when a day’s shoot ended in a blur of adrenaline and something personal. You’d been sitting with the crew member longer than expected, not because the cut was serious, but because disinfecting it had been worse than getting it in the first place. The sting when they poured antiseptic over the wound had ripped a quiet, involuntary hiss from your throat and you’d had to bite the inside of your cheek just to avoid reacting more than that. You weren’t about to wince in front of the crew after finishing the scene without flinching.

Still in costume, dirt-smeared overalls, sweat-dark shirt and boots crusted in set mud, the second the crew member was done with you, Ryan, the director, ever calm and visionary called for your presence and in that careful, thoughtful tone of his, he’d confessed that the accident had inspired him.

“You okay?” he’d asked, more than once, kneeling beside your chair in front of a wooden table with your whole script in it, eyes scanning your face like a concerned parent.

Once you’d reassured him enough times, he’d leaned back on his heels and he told you what crossed his mind.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, the residual adrenaline, or the quiet intimacy of Ryan’s tone, but your stomach had gone cold. He had been rather graphic about it and you’d felt heat creep under your collar.

The kind of scene that didn’t last long on paper but played eternal on screen.

Now you stood alone in that same part of the building, chair turned to the other side while you read the newly updated script and trying to ignore how your hand still tingled, not from pain, but from what it might be asked to do next.

The rest of the crew had packed up long ago, vans rumbled off in the distance and even the buzzing overhead lights were switched.

Your hand, now wrapped in clean gauze and tight medical tape, rested in your lap. The dressing felt absurdly dramatic for something that hadn’t even required stitches, but it throbbed gently all the same, pulsing in time with your thoughts.

And your thoughts—yeah. They weren’t doing you any favors.

“Oi!” Your name rang through the dark from behind the set walls from Jack’s voice.

Your head snapped up, a second later he appeared around the corner.

The black leather jacket clung snug around his shoulders, undone at the front. Beneath, his white tank top showed off the slope of his chest and a hint of collarbone, the fabric stretched thin in places from the day’s movement. A silver chain hung subtle at his throat, the kind you’d noticed before but never seen up close. His posture was relaxed, hands shoved into his pockets, the jacket sleeves wrinkled near the elbows from wear.

His face still bore the residue of the shoot. A few flecks of dried fake blood under his eye, like freckles. A thin smear trailing faintly from the corner of his mouth, where someone hadn’t wiped clean.

The light above him caught the dried streaks just right, giving him the appearance of someone who’d fought and won. His hair curled forward across his forehead in loose, sweaty strands.

And his lips, parted as he caught your eye, were slightly chapped at the corners. He licked them once, absently, the way he always did before speaking.

“Y’alright?” His voice was lower than usual, still rough from the fangs and screaming.

You nodded. “Yeah. Fine.“ You raised your bandaged hand like a flag. “Recovering, emotionally, from a minor injury,” you teased, smiling. “Still trying to find the will to live.”

Jack snorted. “Fuck off.” But he smiled at it.

You lifted the gauze-wrapped hand again. “See? Barely a scratch. Drama’s all down to the medic.”

He shifted his weight, shoulders curling in slightly as his hands stayed buried in the leather pockets. “Then how come you were gone that long? Told ye I was waitin’, didn’t I?”

You hesitated and Jack’s grin widened. “Thought so. Somethin’ goin’ on.”

You sighed. “Ryan caught me before I could escape. The… injury gave him an idea.”

“Oh no,” Jack muttered, amused, tilting his head back. “Y’gave the man inspiration.”

“He wants to add some scenes,” you said quickly, brushing it off.

Jack’s brows lifted. “Oh aye? That so?”

You nodded. “Said he’d talk to you about it tomorrow.”

Jack took a slow step closer, grin settling sly across his mouth. “So I’m in on it, yeah?”

You groaned inwardly, rubbing at the back of your neck. “It’s… not much. Just a scene.”

Jack raised a brow and you didn’t meet his eyes.

“Like—yeah, okay, it’s a bit more than a minute. Maybe… a full sequence.”

He leaned in a touch, that grin still playin’ across his face. “Well now I’ve gotta know, don’t I? Can’t get in character if I’ve no idea what I’m meant t’be doin’, yeah?”

“Jack—”

”Look—if you’re not comfortable, just say, yeah? Thought we were past all that. After the beers, the smokin’… all those late nights.” Voice all mock-serious now, the smirk tugging at the edge of his mouth.

You snorted. “Fuck off.”

“Go on,” he said, voice dipping low. “Just gimme a taste of it, quick run-through, yeah?” He was joking, mostly, but his tone had gone soft at the edges, low and warm.

You looked at him for a long second, then sighed and stepped forward.

He watched you approach with something unreadable in his eyes, chin tilting slightly and body staying loose. Your arms slid up around his shoulders and immediately his hands came out of his pockets and landed on your waist.

Confident, like he’d been waiting for it.

One second of silence before you bandaged hand rose carefully, cradling the side of his face, skin warm and stubble under your palm. He leaned into your touch instinctively, like his body had already understood what to do.

Was he trying to guess what Remmick would do?

Your breath caught slightly as your fingers cupped his cheek and you whispered, “Pretend this hand’s still bleeding.”

He inhaled through his nose, slow and deep.

His voice when it came was breathless, low, barely there: “Still fresh in m’mind.”

He caught your wrist, gently and deliberately. Lifted your hand toward his face again, tilting his head with care eyes locked on yours while his tongue dragged along the edge of your palm.

The first stroke was slow and broad, a low, guttural breath escaping his throat, almost involuntary, as his mouth pressed against the place where your skin had been split.

His body shuddered subtly, the hand on your waist tightened as he groaned. The sound came from deep in his chest, vibrating into your hand.

The heat in your gut twisted hard. Your legs wobbled, cock twitched full, sudden and immediate.

Then he exhaled, pulled back a little to look at you, grin still crooked at the corner of his mouth.

“‘S that about right?” he whispered, his breath warm across your cheek when he spoke, tone stripped of teasing, quieter than usual and almost shy, if that were even possible coming from him.

You didn’t trust yourself to answer, instead, you just nodded once. A small movement, firm, unable to meet his eyes as the heat crawled too high in your throat.

“If next it’s the shaggin’…” he said, a touch of smug returning before he laughed, quiet in his chest, that deep little chuckle that vibrated through the ribs you were pressed against.

His forehead dropped to yours and rested here. Heat pressed to heat, a breath caught in the small space between you both, the air thick now, sweet and damp.

Both of your foreheads rest together, his nose brushing lightly against the top of yours in the kind of nudge that felt accidental, but couldn’t have been. The smirk on his lips softened, turned into something more tender.

Hands on your waist squeezed, arms looped around his shoulders settled heavier now. One hand still cupping the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling lightly in the short curls there, damp from sweat and still warm from set lights.

“Remmick’s lucky, innit,” he murmured, voice almost caught on a grin, but not quite. “Get all that, every bit of you.”

Nothing else mattered once his mouth found yours.

He kissed you with no hesitation or tentative brush of lips, mouth opening over yours slow and heavy, lips plush, breath hot. He tasted like that cigarette he had with you hours ago.

The sound he made was nearly lost in your throat, a deep hum as his hands drew you in, your chest flush to his now, no room between. His mouth slanted over yours, lazy at first but no less intense and when you responded, lips parting and letting him in, he groaned.

A soft, deep rumble against your mouth as his tongue found yours, careful and testing.

He tilted his head to the side and kissed you harder now, tongue slick and hot, breath stuttering between the pulls of your mouths. His fingers dug into your hips, thumbs pressing just above the waist of your costume, to keep you there.

Your hand slipped from his neck and ran through his hair instead, fisting at the roots.

The grin against your lips returned, wet and crooked, when you pulled away enough to breathe and properly see his flushed mouth with red, kiss-slicked lips, parted and waiting.

Then, voice barely above a breath, he muttered, “Come ‘ere again.”

You didn’t even think when you leaned in and kissed him deeper.

His tongue slid back into your mouth, more confident this time, teeth grazing against your lower lip, hands moved up with one at the small of your back, the other between your shoulder blades, dragging you closer.

Couldn’t help the low, helpless moan caught in your throat as he sucked softly on your bottom lip, then let it go just to kiss you again. Your hand cupped his jaw, thumb brushing over the coarse stubble as he tilted into it with a little hitch in his breath, breathing into your mouth and kissing you like he enjoyed too much what you tasted like.

When you finally had to pull back, it was only because your lungs gave up. You gasped, panting, mouth parting as you tried to draw in air, lips wet and open just an inch. Jack chased your mouth even then, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded with heat in them, nose brushing yours and lips ghosting yours until he dipped lower, mouth dragging down the underside of your jaw.

“F-fuck—” You barely got the sound out before his mouth was on your skin, hot and frantic, laying feverish kisses down your neck, little bursts of suction, short nips with enough teeth to make you flinch, every exhale of his breath scalding where it hit.

You couldn’t help the way your hips jerked, hands trembling against the slope of his shoulders. Jack’s fingers flexed against your waist again, digging in harder. His tongue pushed in deep against yours, groaning as he tasted you again. Body crowded into yours fully, chest to chest, thigh jammed between your legs and fuck if you didn’t rock into it, grinding once before you could even stop yourself.

You gasped and he grunted, fingers twitched against the back of his neck, still caught in the heat of where they’d settled, tangled just beneath the edge of his hairline.

“You good, yeah?” he mumbled against your lips before his mouth dragged wetly across your jaw, then back down the side over the spot where your pulse pounded hardest. “This okay, innit?”

You nodded quickly, breath hitching when his fingers hooked under the hem of your shirt. “Y-yeah—”

Then you broke from the kiss with a sharp gasp, your own hands already fumbling at your own buttons, chest rising and falling hard.

“I was gonna take these off anyway,” you muttered, breathless as you fought to unfasten the top button of the shirt, fingers clumsy with lust.

“’Ere,” Jack breathed and his hands were on yours instantly, helping you rip the buttons, mouth diving on your chest now as the fabric opened, kissing every inch of skin as it revealed itself, dragging his lips slowly down your sternum.

You kicked your boots off one by one, stumbling backward slightly and he steadied you with one hand while the other peeled your shirt all the way off your shoulders, tossing it aside.

“Fuckin’ hell, lad. Proper sight, ye are.” He muttered low, more to himself than you, eyes dragging down your torso while you grinned through your panting. “You’re one to talk, let me help.”

His smirk curled sharp. “‘Bout time, yeah?”

You reached for his jacket as he shrugged one shoulder loose. Your hands fumbled slightly at the collar and he laughed while you peeled it off. The black leather creaked as it slid off his arms, the weight of it hitting the ground behind you both with a dull thud.

Left in his white tank top, tattooed biceps flexed, chest rising with every breath, the small silver chain around his neck glinted under the low light, catching on the curve of his collarbone, the dip of his throat.

Your eyes tracked it greedily and Jack noticed.

“Yeah?” he murmured, steppin’ back in close, Derby lilt thick now under the heat. His mouth hovered near yours, smirk curvin’. “You like that, do ya?”

“Like all of you,” you muttered, fingers already fumbling at your belt. “But these fuckin’ trousers—”

He laughed, the sound rough, warm against your throat. “Aye, fuckin’ farmer pants, innit. Who made these, Victorians or summat?”

“Think they’re tryin’ to keep us from ever gettin’ laid.”

Jack grinned, teeth grazing your skin. “Too fuckin’ late for that, love.”

He crouched slightly, fingers skimming under the waistband, helping you shimmy them down, laughing under his breath when they caught awkwardly at the knees before he got back up. You struggled together for a second, then you kicked them off, landing barefoot on the dusty barn floor.

His mouth dropped to your shoulder the, warm lips pressing hot kisses there, then lower, tongue wet and dragging over your nipple, then down the center of your torso, teeth scraping lightly. His hand slid up your thigh, squeezing, then moving around the back, cupping your ass firmly.

“These too, yeah?” he murmured, voice low and thick, hot against your skin.

You nodded, breath catching. “You’re helpin’, so—yeah.”

He chuckled once, deep in his chest.

“Aye. Gladly.” He muttered, voice raspier now,

His hands moved to your hips and pushed the last layer down. Your cock sprang free, flushed and heavy, slapping softly against your lower stomach. Jack made a a reverent noise and dipped to kiss you full on the mouth again, deep and hot.

You shuddered under it, his fingers curled around your ass, this time slipping between your cheeks and finding the crease with unerring precision before pressing softly, teasingly against your rim, enough to make you buck into him with a low moan.

One hand reached around blindly for his jacket on the ground, feeling for something and pulling out a faint plastic rustle.

“Always comin’ prepared, me,” he muttered with a smirk. “Ain’t got time to be messin’ about.”

You let out a breathless laugh, just before your hips jolted at the sudden cold slick drizzled between your cheeks. One finger slid in, your hands clapping onto his shoulder with nails biting into the muscle while he worked you slowly, the first finger curling gently inside, his other hand stroking over your hip to soothe. Your body clenched, hips rocking slightly, breath shuddering as he moved deeper.

Another finger joined, stretching you wider along with making you groan, breath caught.

Jack’s mouth pressed hot kisses to your temple, cheek, jaw, neck. “That alright? Need to slow?”

You shook your head. “No—f-feels—hhnnn—so good—”

“Been thinkin’ about this,” Jack breathed into your ear, voice thick, hips grinding his fingers deeper. He twisted them just right and your walls clenched hard around him. “Swear, first day I saw you on set, I couldn’t stop watchin’,” he muttered, lips dragging the shell of your ear.

You whimpered, grinding down on his fingers. “Jack—” He kissed the hollow under your ear, dragging his mouth down the side of your throat while angling the third finger in with slow, practiced care.

“I… fuck—I wanted you too, Jack—”

His fingers worked deeper, stretching you more, curling inside, grazing that spot and you arched hard, your moan punched out from your throat.“And I’m fuckin’ glad you ain’t wearin’ those bloody claws and teeth,” you muttered, breathless and dizzy in pleasure.

Jack barked out a laugh against your skin. “Yeah? Shame, could’ve pinned you better wi’ those.”

He smirked, kissed your mouth again, then dragged his lips to your jaw. “Y’ ready f’me, love?”

You nodded, heart hammering, breath burning and hissing as his fingers retracted from your lower behind.

The wooden table behind you was old and resurrected for set dressing, your right hand impatiently showed away the copy of the script you placed there to have the full space for yourself. Palms bracing against the wood grain as you hauled yourself up onto it with a quiet grunt, bare thighs dragging slightly against the surface. The planks creaked beneath your weight, groaning softly with the shift, but you didn’t care.

Your legs opened instinctively, wide and slow, knees spreading in an unspoken invitation and he stepped between your legs without hesitation, filling the space.

“Fuckin’ look at you,” he muttered again, voice hoarse, one hand landing hard on your knee, the other dragging up your inner thigh until he could grip your hip again.

You caught his shirt at the hem and tugged, hard, fisting the thin cotton in your hands as your mouth found his again. Heat and tongue, bodies crashing forward, mouths mashed together. His hand held you firm by the hip, keeping you tilted just right, pelvis grinding against yours with a friction that made your breath catch and your cock lurch.

Your right hand slid along his arm now, feeling the curve of his bicep as it flexed taut under the tank top, muscles bunched as he worked at his fly one-handed. His ink rippled under your palm, the familiar smear of his tattoos distorted slightly by the movement. You followed the lines, from the peak of his shoulder down along the curve of his bicep, to the inside crook of his elbow.

He got the zipper down with a sharp tug, then paused, breath ragged, head dipping toward your neck as he muttered, “Gimme a sec—fuckin’ hell, can’t get the wrapper open—”

You felt the faint tremble of plastic between his teeth a second later as he bit into the little square he’d pulled from his back pocket, teeth tearing clean through the foil to then spat it aside and kiss you again.

Tongues tangled deep, your back arched slightly off the table as his hand dragged up your thigh again, the other working fast and quiet at himself. You heard the low rustle of fabric, the subtle wet sound of the condom rolling on and then he pressed forward.

His cock nudged against you, slick, hot and heavy. A gentle rock, testing, dragging the tip across your hole before pressing in slow.

Your hands clamped onto his shoulders, fingers digging in, nails scraping across his tank top as he pushed forward.

Multiple breath left in a broken gasp.

He bit down lightly on your collarbone, mouth open, exhaling hard as the head popped in. “Shhh, I’ve got you. Just let me…”

Easing in agonizingly slow, his grip on your waist was tight, steadying himself, face pinched with restraint and sweat shining at his temples.

You moaned louder, hands clinging. “God—Jack—you feel—”

“Y’fuckin’ squeezin’ me,” he hissed through clenched teeth before bottoming out with a grunt, hips flush against your ass, balls resting heavy against you. You were full—stretching around him, walls clenching, breathing hard and fast as your body adjusted to the intrusion. The burn was good, the pressure dizzying.

Jack didn’t move yet, he held you there, forehead resting against yours, breathing through his nose. You touched his face, thumb brushing his stubble, voice barely a whisper. “Fuck me, Jack. Please.”

He drew his hips back and thrust again, groaning low in his throat. His hands gripped your thighs now, thumbs pressing just beneath your hip bones as he started a slow rhythm, grinding thrusts, dragging his cock nearly all the way out before sliding back in, inch by inch, every movement perfectly angled to drive you mad.

You clung to him, your knees rising to hook around his waist, pulling him closer and deeper.

The table creaked with every movement.

His mouth found yours again, kissing through each thrust now, the tempo sloppy, teeth bumping and tongues eager. Every time he pushed back in, you moaned into his mouth. Every time your walls clenched around him, he groaned.

Your head dropped on his shoulder, mouth open and panting. He thrusts deep and sharp and your whole body jolted.

He rolled his hips harder now, fucking you deep and relentlessly, his body slapping into yours. Your skin was slick with sweat, his shirt sticking to his chest, his chain glinting in the low light as it swayed above you with every thrust.

Your hand fisted the fabric at his shoulder, the other clawing at the edge of the table. “Jack—I—I’m gonna—”

“I’m right there—fuck—” he growled, slamming in harder, pace quickening.

He grunted, his teeth bared as your body tightened around him, squeezing like a vice. Jack’s hips jerked forward once, then stayed buried, cock pressed to the hilt, thick and twitching inside you.

The heat hit first in thick, hot waves as he came, cock jerking again and again, spasming deep inside you. You could feel every pulse, each throb of him erupting in rhythm with his panting gasps, abs tightening as he thrust shallowly against you, grinding his hips in frantic little circles, moaning hoarse and guttural in your ear.

And that’s what tipped you, cock jerking hard against your stomach and you came with a sharp gasp, white streaks spurting up across his tank top, wetting the fabric, soaking it with every pulse and making the fabric cling to his abs.

Both of you were gasping now, slick and shaking, chests pressed together, sweat mixing, his arms locked tight around you as he slowly pulled back to look at the mess between you.

The warm weight of him and the load he pumped were pressing against your insides, stretching the seal of your rim. He shifted just slightly and the movement pushed the tip deeper still, making you twitch.

You felt him smile against your skin, lazy and fucked-out. “Gotta say,” he rasped, voice low, fucked-out, “reckon we proper nailed that scene, yeah?”

You snorted, breath catching on the laugh. “Wasn’t even rolling.”

“Aye,” he said, eyes still locked on you, “but I was.”

You rolled your eyes, half-annoyed and half-dizzy with how warm that made you feel. It didn’t stop even when his cock finally slipped free with a slow, sticky drag that made you both wince softly at the sensitivity. His hands stayed on your thighs, firm and steady, thumbs stroking idly.

Your legs eased down off his hips, but when you shifted to slide down feom the table, your knees buckled just a little.

Jack caught you instantly, hands quick around your waist, grounding you again. His brows rose with a smirk. “Oi, steady now,” he muttered, laughing under his breath. “Didn’t mean to break you.”

You flushed a little, but his fingers tightened gently on your hips, keeping you upright and then, without thinking, they slipped your hand into his, interlaced your fingers and gripped tight.

He squeezed and that settled warm and tender somewhere between your ribs and your stomach.

Still holding his hand, your thumb brushed over the back of his knuckles and you swallowed. Your voice came quieter now, but braver, even as your pulse jumped again.

“D’you think maybe we should do some more takes?” you asked, gaze still fixed on his. “Just to really nail the.. pacing and, you know, make sure everything lands exactly how it should.”

Jack’s brows climbed again, amusement flickering in the crease of his forehead, that crooked grin already threatening to spread. He tilted his head a little closer, his lips hovering over yours but not quite touching.

“Mmm,” he murmured, voice gone teasing and husky. “Didn’t enjoy that take, did ya?”

“I did,” you mumbled, a little too fast. “Obviously I did. It’s just…”

Your hand squeezed his back.

“I couldn’t really focus on my part,” you admitted, glancing up at him from beneath your lashes. “You were too good, kind of ruined my concentration.”

He stepped back to adjust his shirt, still clinging slightly to the ridges of his abs.

“You doin’ owt after this?”

You blinked. “No, not really.”

He reached down, grabbed your hand again, grip warm as he turned toward the exit.

“M’place, yeah?” He said, tossing it out casual, but with a twitch in his mouth that betrayed the weight behind it. “Reckon we could do wi’ a bit more practice.”

You let yourself smile, wide and full now while following him.

Practice. Sure. If that’s what he wanted to call it.

Either way, you weren’t missing another take.

Note: This is a work of fiction and not meant to reflect or imply anything about Jack O’Connell as a person, written with deep respect for him and his work.

I wrote this in particular as a behind the scenes of one of my Remmick x readers fic (but you can totally read it as the behind the scenes for Sinners), extra points if you can guess which one :D

[thetrasha]

hi tasha, could you tell me a quick headcannon of big spoon/small spoon with strawhats+dilfs?

you can explain how little or how much you'd like

Sure thing, anon! I wasn't sure what to do about the "dilf" part of the request because... I don't know LOL So I chose the characters I thought you were talking about (✿◠‿◠) Hope that's okay with you!! I also added some other fun headcanons yay~

Cuddle Me Crazy

feat. LUFFY, ZORO, USOPP, SANJI, FRANKY, BROOK, JINBE, SHANKS, MIHAWK, CROCODILE, DOFLAMINGO

LUFFY

He doesn’t have a preference!

Luffy truly doesn’t mind either way. He is just happy to be close to you and feel your touch. It’s totally up to you – he’s versatile! Whether you like to be held and have his rubber arms trap you against him, feeling so safe and so seen like the precious partner you are… or whether you’d love to hold him and bury your face into his back, he doesn’t care one bit.

With him, his preferences also change on a day-to-day basis. He needs something fresh every once in a while, which means that he’ll beg to be held by you after being the big spoon for some time.

His favourite moment:

He just loves to hug you whenever he can. He’s big on PDA and doesn’t mind being seen. The loudness of your love speaks volumes of his pride in having you as his partner. It’s not to show off to others, it’s to be who you are without restraints.

You two were meant to be together and he’s unapologetic in his display of that. You’d feel those rubber arms snap around you before you’d even hear his signature laughter.

It’s so, so refreshing

For Luffy, it’s all about: FREEDOM

ZORO

He prefers to be… the BIG SPOON.

Zoro is a born protector who wants you to feel safe in his arms. He wants you to relax against his frame, head firmly tucked beneath his as you wind down and find peace in your nightly rest.

He is proud of the fact that you rely on him to keep you safe throughout the night and he will always fall asleep with that thought in mind. You chose him to be yours and he will honour your faith in him for all eternity.

His favourite moment:

Him dozing off on your shoulder while you’re both watching the night sky dip the entire ocean into pitch-black darkness. You are always sitting next to each other when you’re on guard duty and while the early hours are spent chatting and stealing kisses under the soft colours of the sunset, but you would soon feel his head fall onto your shoulder.

These moments of vulnerability are rare of Zoro and he treasures the fact that he can trust you with his delicate feelings. He knows you’d protect him from harm, too. So, as is his duty, once you grow drowsy, he wakes up to keep watch over the Sunny… and most importantly you.

For Zoro, it’s all about: PROTECTION

USOPP

He prefers to be… the LITTLE SPOON.

Of course, he’s always willing to be the best boyfriend there is and switch positions with you, holding you in his arms until you’re falling asleep – the Great Usopp tends to your needs!

…But he just prefers to be the little spoon. It’s a deeply comforting position for him and makes him feel all kinds of fuzzy inside. There’s this wobbly grin on his lips that he cannot hide… he loved knowing that he’s loved. It’s hard for him to accept it sometimes, surrounded by so many people who, in his eyes, could be so much better for you, but you’re loyal to him.

His favourite moment:

He adores hugs from behind – giving and receiving! The most memorable moments are when he’s engrossed in one of his projects and you surprise him by wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

The first time it happened, Usopp got scared and knocked over an entire bucket of screws, but as it became a habit, he relaxed considerably… and almost started expecting you to pay him a visit.

Every time, without fail, your face is buried in-between his strong shoulder blades, he blushes. His face is hot to the touch and he nervously shifts his weight around, praying to God that you won’t notice.

For Usopp, it’s all about: AFFECTION

SANJI

He prefers to be… the LITTLE SPOON

He would also switch without complaint if that’s what you want, but being the little spoon is just so… different. He feels your hand resting on his stomach while your legs are all tangled up in his. It’s so raw and real – and it makes him want to cry.

Sanji’s constantly trying to receive affection from others by freely handing out favours, but you’re the only one who doesn’t have to take to give something in return. You just gave him your love and expected nothing in return… it’s breathtaking.

He feels so cared for in your arms and forgets all of his demons.

You protect his heart, even if he insists that he doesn’t need it. Yeah, maybe… but you read him well enough to know that he wants it more than anything else.

His favourite moment:

You’re fishing together at dusk, you’re wearing one of his suit jackets and he has an arm wrapped around your shoulder. Your head is ever so slightly tilted towards him and you’re both holding onto the same fishing rod. He’s so engrossed in your stories that he doesn’t even notices when a fish takes the bait and bites, so you’re now always doing it together as a proper team.

Plus, it’s an effortlessly domestic moment for him. You’re so close to him, almost snuggling into his side, you smell like him… all the while you’re listening to him how he would cure this big bass to prepare it at a later point in time.

For Sanji, it’s all about: VULNERABILITY

FRANKY

He doesn’t have a preference!

For logistical reasons, it’s just highly likely that actual sleep will only find the two of you when he’s the big spoon or just lying flat on his back while you’re curled up under his arm, but he doesn’t mind what happens when you’re both just lounging about.

No matter how you prefer to express your love, he’s totally down to experiencing it with you. Whether it’s as subtle as your pinkies touching each other at night or as silly as having you swing one of your legs around him when you’re trying to be the big soon… it literally does not matter.

He just smiles at all of it, freely loving you without a care in the world.

His favourite moment:

You literally lying on top of him out on the main deck, playing a game of I spy. Most days at sea are actually quite boring and not stimulating enough even though you’re aboard such a sophisticated ship with all kinds of luxuries. So… he treasures those little moments that show just how easygoing your relationship really is.

Your elbows are firmly pressed against his chest while you’re smiling down at him, knowing that he’ll pick a super cool visual for you to guess correctly. Even when you’re stretching your limbs, you cannot quite reach around him, but that doesn’t matter. His massive shoulder would shake because of his hefty laughter as he softly pats your head.

For Franky, it’s all about: FUN

BROOK

He prefers to be… the BIG SPOON.

He is extremely tall and extremely thin because he’s just bones so… there isn’t much to be held, to be honest – he doesn’t mind being the little spoon if you insist, but it’s not something he’d seek out. Instead, he derives all of his happiness from touching you.

As stupid as it sounds, cuddling is something he’s been dreaming about. It’s so pure and kind… much different from his time spent haunting the sea all by himself. Now that you’re willingly touching him, he’s already over the moon… but the fact that you want him to touch you, too – wow. He needs a moment to process it.

It puts him at ease to know that you love him so dearly. Brook easily believes that you’re his one and only soulmate.

You don’t need to talk to know that your hearts beat as though they’re one.

His favourite moment:

Every morning, he wakes up next to you and cannot believe that you’re actually real. It grounds him and he carefully watches your sleeping expression with a sweet smile. You’ve shifted in your sleep, which means you’re facing him now.

And Brook realises that one of your hands gently hold onto his shoulder or his ribs or his upper arm – whatever you feel like, you want him by your side in your sleep.

You see him for the man he is… and he suddenly sniffles, grateful that you’re still sound asleep.

For Brook, it’s all about: VULNERABILITY

JINBE

He prefers to… have you tucked into his side.

He truly didn’t know how he was supposed to bring it up – he’s love to cuddle with you, but he is also a whale shark fishman. He might have been very agile and flexible out on the battlefield yet the same couldn’t be said for his sleeping positions. It was flat on his back or on his stomach – that’s it. Jinbe’s a very self-assured man who isn’t swayed by insecurities, but he knows that intimacy is a vital part of a healthy relationship.

So imagine his surprise when he took a nap on the Sunny after a particularly brutal battle and found you curled right into him. You were holding onto his arm, turned away from him. Your back still brushed against his ribs, making his breath hitch.

It’s honestly all he’s ever wanted from you… and he incorporates it into your routine immediately.

His favourite moment:

Swimming with you. He’s a lot faster than you, which means you have to hold onto him to keep up. And as you’re laughing at the waves splashing into your face while he zooms around without paying anything else any mind for once, he smiles.

Your arms were wrapped around his neck, your wet hair brushing against his own – and you’re so, so happy. To him, you were always the epitome of joy, but to know that he’s wanted like that… incredible.

For Jinbe, it’s all about: STABILITY

SHANKS

He doesn’t have a preference!

Shanks is naturally curious – that includes he wants to explore your likes and dislikes, too. He couldn’t personally care less about being the big or small spoon; he’s fine with either role since he’s unbelievably comfortable with himself.

He likes holding you and shielding you from the nightly sea breeze just as much as he likes being held by you, light puffs of air hitting the back of his neck rhythmically. It makes him all… tingly. He really, really adores you.

When the weight of the world rests upon him, however, he just wants to hold you. The sadness in his eyes would break you – and he doesn’t want to add to your own burdens, even if he knows that you’ll find out eventually.

His favourite moment:

He just loves to come up to you and spin you around when you least expect it – always diving in for a kiss on the lips, cheeks and hand. You’d always huff and puff at the Captain, telling him that you’re busy with your chores – the very same he gave you – but that sweet smile on your lips told him all he needed to know.

He’s so playful and unserious, cherishing the fact that you see him as no more than the man he was. You didn’t see the legendary myth that was Shanks, you saw your partner – the goofiest man alive.

For Shanks, it’s all about: CURIOSITY

MIHAWK

He prefers to be… the BIG SPOON.

He wants to take care of you and show that it’s a great matter of pride for him to be able to tend to your needs. That includes, of course, feeling safe and sound in your shared space. Mihawk may be quite curt, but he isn’t cold at all. You noticed as much as soon as you picked up on the subtleties.

In the privacy of your chambers, he can be surprisingly romantic. Whether he’s waiting for you with a fresh bouquet or thanking you for your hard work with a hug, he’s got something waiting for you everyday.

And spooning is just part of the deal. His eyes stare you down when you’re not falling into him, letting him reward the both of you for another successful day.

His favourite moment:

Once in a blue moon, he requests to wash your hair for you. Mihawk desires to show his love though actions and he is well aware that you took as much care of yourself as you possibly could. So, when times get rough and you feel like life itself was weighing you down, he’d take care of you by making sure that most basic form of dignity – feeling comfortable in your own skin – isn’t something you have to worry about.

And you always look at him like you’ve fallen in love with him all over again. He cannot express himself that well, so all you’re getting is a short nod and a blanks stare, but you know that he’s proud of you, no matter what.

For Mihawk, it’s all about: INTIMACY

CROCODILE

He prefers to be… the BIG SPOON.

To him, it’s an expression of masculinity and power. He wants to be your provider and your protector in every way possible. It goes without saying that he’s there for you when you’re at your most vulnerable – falling unconscious. Crocodile may very well go back to work afterwards, your sleep schedules not aligning with one another one bit, but he wouldn’t dare to make it seem like he’s an inadequate partner.

He’s always watching you when he’s lying down next to you, his hand softly touching your hair before it teases your spine, eager to get a reaction out of you. All you’re getting in return is a light pinch at your hip, making you squirm under his touch.

Wildcard: He’s the only one of this entire list who would vehemently refuse to be the little spoon.

His favourite moment:

Whenever you’re sitting together, he loves to place a hand on your thigh. Not only does it signal to everybody else that you’re taken, but it’s also a subtle message to you – he wants you to know that he’s there for you, even – or especially – for difficult conversation that involve his… schemes.

You look and feel so small under his touch; he always smirks at the fire in your eyes… everybody understands that the only man you’ll ever listen to is Crocodile.

For Crocodile, it’s all about: DOMINANCE

DOFLAMINGO

…It’s complicated!

Like most people would correctly assume, in the beginning he’s nothing but the big spoon. There’s this effortless control it gives him, he can move you however he pleases and touch you in whatever way he desires. He’s isn’t quite clingy, but definitely touchy. There’s always a cheeky hand running down your curves while his other hand is hidden in your hair, curling one of your strands around his long digit playfully

Doflamingo… talks a lot. A lot, a lot. There’s a barrage of pet names coming your way whenever you’re laying down and he isn’t shying away from obsessively telling you that you’ve proven him right to trust you once again.

As time progresses, however, he would likely… reflect on his own behaviour and start viewing being the little spoon as receiving some sort of body worship… and that makes him feel conflicted, to be honest. He thinks he wants that from you because he believes he’s sacred, but he also… doesn’t want to hand any power over to you.

His favourite moment:

When he steals you away from prying eyes, sensing that you’re getting uncomfortable – but instead of shying away from him in your rare moment of weakness, you lean in with a powerful stare and run your hands up and down his chest, finally coming to a halt over his heartbeat.

He will never tell you, but he was so right to choose you. You can’t see his eyes beneath his shades, but they’re burning with passion.

For Doflamingo, it’s all about: POSSESSIVENESS

[illustratemuse]

Lilia Vanrouge - Playful Attire SSR ver. DETAILS EXPLAINATION

Hehehe glad everyone liked my Lilia piece! Since this is my blog and I can do what I want, I thought it'd be fun to share my ideas/notes on this one! I usually do notes for myself while illustrating my more detailed works, and considering all the little bits in this one I might as well share! Putting it under the cut cause this is LONG.

Composition

Now for the main composition I heavily based it off the official SSR cards. For the three base SSR cards of Playful Land-Ace, Ortho, and Kalim, they all appear to be backstage in very kinda cluttered spaces. Broken clocks, broken glass, broken pianos-that sort of deal, things that match the boys. Kalim's got a broken piano (music/parties), Ace broken clocks (wonderland), and Ortho a fish-bowl and birdcage (being in STYX's bubble/initially caged into the shell of the original Ortho).

Thus I gave Lilia's clutter a nursery theme since being a parent and raising children is a HUGE part of his character. Plushies, books, a rocking chair, blocks-things from a young kids' room

The SSR cards and most of the base cards in general also all play into a very puppet-like theme. The boys have very doll/puppet-like poses with sleepy unfocused eyes and their ribbons flying in the wind like strings under control, with their Groovy cards in turn having them being more awake and lively instead.

Now I could’ve done either theming, but I’d actually been doing a pose study when I got the idea to try my hand at making a take on an SSR card, and since the more broken-puppet pose was the position I was already doing I thought it was fitting. Plus I honestly like the non-groovy art’s theming a little more-like I LOVE the boys’ groovies as well don't get me wrong-they're all adorable, but the haunting puppet look is reallyyyy cool. It also especially felt fitting for Lilia since his backstory has him kinda tossed aside a LOT just like a broken doll.

He was the third wheel to Meleanor and Raverne's relationship, the 'filthy bat fae' whom was blamed for the princess' death/for 'tainting' Malleus despite him literally just following orders to keep the un-hatched prince safe/be the one to hatch him. He was the one who was cast aside the SECOND the Senate had a good enough excuse and exiled away from the capital outside of rare visits. He was the one who multiple times so readily and easily accepted that mistreatment (like he didn't even try to fight the Senate either time on their decisions) and in multiple events has displayed clear surprise at the idea that others would worry about him (Spectral Soiree) or doesn’t even consider the idea him vanishing could worry them (Stitch’s Tropical Turbulence) that it honestly seems like Lilia genuinely doesn't care all that much about himself. Like he's not outwardly depressed or sulking, however his casual acceptance of being just...not important? That Silver and the others shouldn't/wouldn't want to see or care for him as his magic fades, that it's better to go far away and die alone? For all his talk of being 'cute' and 'charming' and playing up his self-confidence, when you read between the lines it feels like he's just way too at ease with this idea of being disposable. He's spent so long being the one tossed aside that he's just accepted it as fact and doesn't get 'worked up' over it, since why get upset over things just being the way they are?

It's why I also have him on the ground-the others are actively performing for the most part in their cards, so he in contrast is the puppet no longer 'useful'. Show's over, string's cut, toss him aside.

Anyway enough of my Lilia tangent-I LOVE characters with those sort of hints at low self-worth they're fun to explorer, onto the background details!!!

Details

First off are the bluebird, crocodile, and dragon plushies being Silver, Sebek, and Malleus respectively! Their button eyes are the boys’ eye colors as well, and animal choice wise, Sebek and Malleus being the crocodile/dragon are obvious since those are their fae-species, while for Silver since he's human I just picked a bluebird since it’s the bird we most often see him with.

For the children's blocks both their positioning and the initials are what's important! I stacked them by rank-Meleanor is at the top as crown princess, Raverne as her prince consort is below her, and at the base and lowest are Lilia, you can’t see his block but a bit of green peaks out the back for Baul (but shading makes it look kinda gray rip), and Crowley! This is also where I added that fan-headcanon of Crowley being Raverne. Due to their association with corvids, Crowley’s whole mask thing hiding his face/his only observable features are very similar to Malleus', and with how Chapter 7 has the ‘well we assume he’s dead’ in regards to what happened to Raverne when he disappeared as opposed to fully confirming 'yeah he's dead', I find the headcanon really interesting. Thus if we go with 'Crowley is Raverne', then he’s lowered himself to the rank of a commoner with his disguise, placing his rank beside Lilia and Baul. Second image is an un-blurred closeup, but the bird's eyes are also different. Raverne's are open-Crowley's are closed. Raverne kept his eyes on his family and loved ones, Crowley if he's Raverne closed his eyes-even when they're before him once again.

The two star lanterns are a reference to the wishing stars event! Also with how fae are said to ‘return to the stars’ and being nocturnal fae I assume they’re also just important culturally, so I thought it was fitting. And as for the luggage it is both due to Lilia’s hobby being traveling and him planning on leaving during Chapter 7.

The books on the floor and the suitcase are a nod to both Lilia’s knowledge/literally being in some of the school's textbooks and also just to tie into the nursery-theme. Like the Valley of Thorns has basically no tech, so I'd assume Lilia read to his boys a lot when they were little.

The hourglass here was a motif I grabbed from memento mori- aka ’Remember Death’, a painting theme where artists depict death through symbolic elements as opposed to directly outright. I kinda really like exploring death as a concept in storytelling and hourglasses are a common motif in those sorts of paintings, and since Lilia’s time is literally running out it was the perfect match.

Now the birdcage is actually Malleus’-he was basically raised IN a cage since he was stuck in the palace isolated, however due to being in NRC he’s currently outside it. Yet he’s not free of it either. NRC is a temporary reprieve, a small blip in his long lifespan where for a single breath he’s with his father figure and brother figures. He’s free and he’s not-he’s outside the cage but can’t really leave it behind and join Lilia and the others on the other side of the piece-he’s going back in the moment the school year ends. Malleus’ little broken heart patch also ties into the same idea-his heart keeps getting broken again and again as he’s isolated and forced to sit and watch everyone else leave him behind. Lilia could only visit, never stay. Yuu the player is only at NRC until Crowley finds their way home. Both his parents left him behind in a sense despite neither wanting to/being at fault with a war going on, his grandmother never really was around, all his friends WILL die long before him. Malleus has a big heart that will always break when the next person leaves.

As for Sebek and Silver they are on the rocking chair for two reasons. One because Lilia basically raised them both-Sebek as the neighbor kid who was like always at his house and Silver obviously being his son, thus the kids go on the rocking chair where papa can see them, and two because the boys always follow Lilia’s lead. I’m pretty sure in most cases of us seeing them from the game to the manga Silver and Sebek flank Lilia’s sides with him at the helm-they follow him and thus placing them on the chair puts them relatively in a similar position. 

And finally which I honestly should’ve looked up the actual notes for ‘Once Upon a Dream’ since Meleanor’s lullaby follows the same tune, but the music sheets are both a nod to her lullaby which Lilia sung to both Malleus/Silver and lullabies in general. Also Lilia being in Pop Music Club.

Annyyyyway, TLDR I love overthinking EVERY detail in my backgrounds and hope you've enjoyed this little essay of mine! If you've gotten to the end thank you! I might do these more often for my own enjoyment since I love SYMBOLISM hehehe

Also.... @onegianthotmess @hanafubukki @fiendishfan thank you three especially for your lore responses hehehe-seeing those as they appeared made my days literally don't think anyone's ever actually really picked up/dug for my symbolism like that before so thank youssss :D

[fruitcoops]

Smokey Bear (Cub)

It's not really a fest without some firefighter/ EMT AU, is it? The Cubs have appeared here before in Kindling & Embers, but Coops have a few other installments of their own :) Characters belong to @lumosinlove and fest prompts are from @oknutzy-week-2025! One more day!

Prompt C5: Mountains

“You’re not allowed to get mad.”

Three weeks fighting a raging wildfire, half of which Finn had followed solely on the nightly news because Logan’s satellite phone broke, and that’s what he came up with?

“For real,” Logan said, looking between them.

“I—okay, fine, I pinky swear.” Leo glanced at Finn as if he had the slightest clue what was happening. “Are we allowed to hug you now, or…?”

Logan reached into his left coat pocket and pulled out a cat.

Finn attempted to speak, and failed.

“It’s a baby,” Logan warned, as if it wasn’t obviously the smallest kitten Finn had ever seen.

Leo nodded slowly. “Gotcha.”

Finn knew what was going to happen the moment Logan reached for his other pocket. The second kitten was black and only a touch bigger than the first, wiggling its way toward Logan’s sleeve with the softest, most put-upon squeak in the world.

“Oh, give me one,” Leo breathed, holding both hands out like he was receiving a sacrament of some kind.

Logan handed the second over with more caution than Finn had seen him use for liquid nitrogen tanks. “We found them on the last day,” he explained. “When we were heading back. No sign of a nest or the mom. They were on the outer rim and the smoke was bad enough to scare everything else away.”

Finn watched the little orange puffball uncurl and dig tiny paws into the edge of his coat. “How old?”

“A few weeks, maybe.” He knew that look. Logan was using every bit of his green-eyed magic right now. “We’ve been feeding them with a syringe.”

“You’ve been feeding them with a syringe,” Leo corrected as he stroked the pad of his thumb down the kitten’s back. “I know you. There’s no way you let anyone near your pocket cats. Aw, you poor little baby, you’re still wobbly.”

Finn reached one leg out to gently kick at Logan’s ankle. “Why are you looking at me like I’m going to tell you we can’t keep them?”

Bliss split Logan’s expression wide open. “For real?”

“What—” Had everyone lost their minds in the last month? Had Finn? He had, but not like this. “Yes, of course, can I give you a hug because I missed you like crazy yet?”

It took two seconds for Logan to have both kittens on the rug and his entire body plastered to Finn’s. “This was a very dramatic and stressful way to tell us you wanted cats,” Leo murmured into Logan’s smoky hair. Laughter shook the three of them like a pinpoint earthquake, rippling from one to the next.

Finn kept his eyes shut and his forehead crushed to the bend of Logan’s neck, nestling him close. Leo had teased them for their turtledove tendencies two nights before Logan was called out to Vermont. They had folded him in with them between one breath and the next. The memory kept Finn up for a week.

Logan’s clothes would reek of sour woodsmoke for a few washes yet. If they spent long enough in the shower, under steam and newly-repaired water pressure, Finn was pretty sure they could work him clean. He needed Logan to smell like himself again, like the safety of their home.

 “Missed you,” he whispered. Logan’s face was still soft when he nuzzled his own against it, even after so long in the field. “Love you.”

Logan’s murmured answer cooled him to his core.

“I know your work is so important,” Leo began, as if he ever had to apologize for missing Logan. “I know you’re saving lives, I really do. But this one scared the shit out of me.”

He felt Logan’s groan of sympathy vibrating in his bones. “Crisse, I felt so bad when the phone broke. So bad. I’m so sorry.”

Fingers bumped Finn’s neck when Leo covered Logan’s mouth. “We’re just glad you’re safe. All of you.”

“I couldn’t give them to a shelter.”

“I know, honey.”

“They’re too little, still.”

“You are the best thing they could have found.”

“I quit.”

Finn felt every last bit of tension fall out of his body like a string had been cut. The breath pushed from his lungs with a small sound and Logan took all his weight without flinching. “Thank fuck.”

Leo took in a shuddering breath. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, thank you,” Finn mumbled again, peppering kisses to the bit of Logan’s neck he could reach without lifting his head. “Thank you so much, that is everything I wanted to hear.”

“I’ll be part of a ground unit,” Logan continued, but his hand found the back of Finn’s head in a light pulse. “No further than county limits. Houses and city parks only.”

Finn didn’t hear Leo’s response. He heard a quiet kiss, though, and that was good enough. “The kids are escaping.”

“I don’t think my hands will be free for another few minutes,” Logan laughed.

“No,” Finn agreed. “They will not.”

“We’ll make a run by the pet store before dinner. Look at you and your good timing.”

“I can back as soon as I could.”

“Oh, Lo.” Another kiss, somewhere above him. “I know you did.”

Finn didn’t want to turn the news on for another month, at least. He wanted nothing to do with wildfire reports or damage control. Their little life, new additions included, would be the sole recipient of his attention until his legs recovered from wearing a groove into the floor behind the couch. “Do they have names?” he asked after a few more minutes of pure distilled Logan.

“Not yet.”

“Do you have ideas?”

“Been a little busy, rouge.”

Finn squeezed him around the chest. Real, and sturdy, and his. “You are so kind. The world is so lucky to have you. Thank you for quitting your job.”

A kiss found the shell of his ear. Logan’s grip hadn’t eased up, either. Finn would wake up to this in the morning, and the one after that, and after that. There was no countdown clock to the next call. They could have opposite shifts for months, and Finn would still be happier knowing Logan was within the lines drawn on a local map instead of lost in the mountains somewhere with only his crew and a pair of kittens for company.

His hair was satin-soft under Finn’s fingertips. “I’m excited about the cats,” he said, in case Logan still wasn’t sure. “Honest.”

“I know.”

“I’m more excited you’re home.”

“You have no idea, mon amour.” He was playing with the neckline of Finn’s shirt. The kind of tugging that came with rolling the fabric between the pads of his fingertips, not the pull of twisting it in nervous swirls. Logan nosed along his neck until chapped lips found space on his neck for a kiss. “Mon beau, mon choupinet.”

“You’ll French for me now that you’re back, right?”

“For and with,” Logan confirmed.

Logan had plenty of fire of his own. In Finn’s humble opinion, he didn’t need to chase anyone else’s anymore.

“We’re calling this one Smokey.”

Finn turned his head and cracked one eye open. Leo had both cats, now, and held the black one up like a prize fish. Logan sighed heavily. “Seriously? Cliché, much?”

“I love him,” Leo countered. “You were gone for three weeks. I literally watched to make sure you weren’t dead on the news. I’m naming the cat whatever I want.”

“That’s fair. Thoughts on the other one?” His chest shifted. “Harz?”

Finn hummed. “It’s orange?”

“Oui.”

Logan’s jacket smelled like him around the collar, after everything. Finn soaked it in for a long moment while he thought. “Orange Juice.”

“Yes.” Leo sounded thrilled. Finn smiled to himself. “That’s the spirit.”

“Esquire,” Finn added.

“Fuck yeah. Last name Pocket, so we don’t argue.”

“Woah, no,” Logan immediately argued. “I picked them up. I kept them alive. I scheduled their vet appointment. They should get my last name.”

God, Finn couldn’t wait for him to stay.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event v 2025

Reader Style: fem!reader Character: Law/Smoker Vibe: dub-con Rating: Eviscerate Me Ending Style: Ambiguous Prompt: Threesome Gift Giver: @devilfruitdiaries

Summary: Smoker was stalking you, and Law was stalking him, and now you're trapped between the two.

Content Notes: Inappropriate use of Law's DF, Ope Ope no Mi styled dismemberment, double penetration, vaginal sex, anal sex, overstimulation, fingering, 18+ minors dni

You’re mostly face to face with Smoker.

You can look around a little bit, but since your body stops just below your breasts, and your arms and legs are bound to Smoker’s torso and legs, your options are limited. Smoker’s face is a little below yours, his arm, from the elbow up, on either side of your breasts.

Just enough movement available for him to bring your nipples to his lips.

Seastone chains are wrapped around your removed limbs, not that you have a devil fruit, but the bindings keep Smoker under his control.

Him being Trafalgar Law, the surgeon of death. 

He’d snatched you off the streets, and used you to capture Smoker. A tense argument between the two had revealed several things in quick succession. 

Smoker was stalking you, and Law had been stalking him. Once he realized the marine had someone else in his sights he’d turned his golden eyes to you. At first he meant only to remove you from the equation, but then he saw what Smoker saw, and decided if the most important person to him loved you, then so did he.

And he was going to prove it.

Law’s hand was on your back, pressing your stomach into his desk while his other, gloved hand, was working lube into your ass, slowly stretching you and prepping you. Tears were drying to streaks on your cheeks, between the two of them you’d long since managed to calm down.

Smoker fought like a man possessed, but once Law got the upper hand he seemed to accept his fate, and changed his focus on keeping you calm. You thought he was just a nice local marine, and learning that he had you under surveillance was something you were still trying to process.

Though it was hard to think about anything with him licking your nipples, while Law starts to work lube into your vagina.

“It’s a clean pair of gloves.” Law assures you, even though you didn’t ask. “I know what I’m doing, so you can relax.”

You want to say that it’s hard to relax given everything that’s happened, but Law had set aside your vocal chords earlier and put them in a jar when you couldn’t stop screaming. It had taken them both nearly an hour to do so, and that was after their fight.

To their credit, Law let you ask questions and hurl insults for a lot longer than he needed to. Something you came to understand implicitly when he took control of things completely, dismantling your bodies and forcing you both under his control. Smoker had accepted your anger and fear as well, though he had little choice, considering Law aired all the dirty laundry.

“I’ll put his here,” he says, as though you can see what he’s talking about. “And mine here.” 

You can feel two cock heads press against your holes, one lined up with your pussy, the other pressing into your slick ass. All the lube was making it easy for both to push into you, leaving you panting and shivering. Smoker was giving your breasts plenty of attention, making you a little overstimulated between the two of them.

Tears pricked at your eyes this time from the intense stretch, as both cocks slowly fill you up. Despite being in pieces, your body parts shiver and flex. 

“This way he can fill your womb.” Law explains, fingers teasing your clit as he grinds both cocks into you. “Babies between you two would be better, yeah? No one wants a freak like me to have kids,” He starts to move his hips, fucking you with both his and Smoker’s members.

“Though, any kids you have would be cute,” he admits, picking up his pace while you silently pant and squirm. “I bet you could even make Eustass’ genes look good.”

Between Smoker’s attention, and Law’s prep, you can’t help but feel good. Smoker’s thick cock fills you almost to the point of it being too much, and Law’s cock in your ass feels like it should be too much, but your body accommodates them, and the steady rhythm set by the surgeon is making your body feel nice regardless of what you may, or may not, want.

Your body starts to shiver, and you shake your head even as the inevitable builds. There’s a strange shift in the air and suddenly your voice is spilling out past your lips. You barely even recognize it as your own for a second, before you realize that the sounds are yours.

Sounds that spur on both the men you’re trapped between, as Law’s thrusts become heavier, letting the wet sound of skin slapping skin fill the air. One hand holds your torso in place, and the other teases your throbbing clit mercilessly. Smoker rolls his teeth against your stiff nipples, his tongue teasing the tips while your legs shake against his and the chains binding your legs together.

It all feels so good, it’s easy to forget you’re in separate pieces in the room, being railed by someone you just met, and worshipped by your stalker.

Your breathy panting becomes more tremulous whining, shivered swears slipping from your lips as the orgasm builds. All the stimulation is too much, but you know you can’t stop it, all you can do is sob and cry out into the air as both of them push you over the edge.

Your body tenses so hard from the orgasm that you can hear both of them grunt. Smoker cums inside you first, Law overstimulating both of you as he slams a few heavy thrusts into your ass, filling you up before he finally stops playing with your clit.

Law pulls out, reveling in the whimpered whine that escapes you as you’re left empty after being so full. He pulls your head back by your hair, making you look up at him, and pulling your breasts away from Smoker.

“Now… who’s going to be the good pet, and clean these up?”

[soyouliketotalk]

Jax caused Ribbit’s abstraction by being a bad influence.

The post was inspired by this tiktok I watched. It’s a really good analysis watch it. I’d recommend watching it first at it explains better than what I’m about to write about lol.

There is something about Jax and Pomni becoming close and Ragatha’s growing concern for it, and how it all ties to the hints the episode has been giving about a late cast member’s demise: Ribbit.

To start off, I feel that most people are viewing Jax/Pomni growing bond, Ragatha’s point of view of said bond, and what was Jax’s relationship with his old friend like on a surface level. So this post will highlight some things and hopefully good reasons to why I think it’s HIGHLY POSSIBLE Jax was the reason the closest person to him is gone and how it’s gonna contribute to his deteriorating mental state into committing worse acts as he and Pomni grow closer.

This is also to consider the theories going on about Jax likely going to commit something horrible as he gets worse; the main one being he causes one of the cast to abstract or to a near point. But who’s to say he hasn’t already?

This is not to say he intentionally killed Ribbit or had any malicious intent, but more like the impact he had on his friend and how it constricted their wellbeing and views in life, and it got groomed into the way Jax sees it as a nihilistic instigator. It influenced Ribbit to a certain point and then this “something” happened that we have yet to know about. And, like what happened to Kinger when his wife abstracted, Jax got highly affected too but worse in a much darker tone as he might’ve took his friend for granted, just as he might with Pomni.

Jax still does care for his late friend a lot but there’s a possibility he either does not take accountability for his actions or doesn’t want to face the possibility he could have led his friend down a dark path. So Jax prefers to not talk about it as a way to survive in the Digital Circus, and a whole lot of other things not just that. But he does seek comfort, which is what he confides to Pomni about since she’s new and doesn’t have any past ties with as of yet.

It was when Jax opened up to Pomni in the stargazing scene, he likely finds he wants her as a friend. But because of who he is as a person, he goes with it by also using Pomni as a way to get under Ragatha’s skin and influence bits of himself onto her. It’s not to say he’s faking his interest, but he sees this opportunity as more of a two for the price of one kind of deal. And Ragatha is automatically noticing the red flags.

Then you have throughout the episode of Jax asking Pomni a lot of questions about herself very very subtly. (This video gives a good rundown so you can see what I mean. This is probably irrelevant to this post but cmon)

-

By the way, by influencing bits of himself onto Pomni, this is what: When Jax makes a comment about Gangle’s batting performance to Pomni, Ragatha argues with him to stop trying to force Pomni to act like him being the insensitive jerk he is, in which Jax, being the silent instigator casually deflects if it’s better to force her to be happy all the time. It gives off something that has happened before with someone they knew.

-

We get these detailed scenes of Ragatha’s ever growing concern the more she witnesses the two bond.

I hope I don’t mean to put this as picking sides or that this is villainizing Jax. He’s definitely a complex character who’s definitely losing it the longer you stick in the circus. Just as Ragatha has a streak of toxic positivity that has affected her relationships with the rest of the cast, Jax’s toxicity affects his as well. But this is giving something that either only Ragatha and Jax know about; and Pomni doesn’t. So if not Ragatha, now Pomni’s going to first see it from Jax point of view. They both don’t get that Pomni is in the middle. Literally.

Considering gooseworx does say Jax and Pomni’s relationship is described as “messy”, as wholesome as they were in episode 5, it’s probably messy as in there’s a toxic friendship in development. And it doesn’t seem Jax is stopping the cycle from continuing with how he gaslights Ragatha that she told Gangle to kys when bro literally told Gangle to her face he likes her better when she’s sad.

Now, how does this all mean he caused his friend to abstract in simply terms?

This is mainly going off on what gooseworx has said about Jax becoming worse and his messy relationship with Pomni that is soon to be by how Jax is supposed to be a bad guy and by how concerned Ragatha is about it that it’s hard to ignore this has likely happened before with Ribbit (plus Pomni and Ribbit look a bit alike). I don’t know if it’s he became bad because of his friend dying? Did they get sucked into the circus together like Kinger with his wife? Or perhaps being friends with Jax is a bad idea.

The true thing we know is that %$& rabbit is going to get worse and jokes on you I’m into that shit.

[fallen-goldfishcracker]

Love reminding myself of how actually pathetic Mizora was. You are a millennium old devil- a literal devil- and your greatest pride and joy and the highlight of your day in your 9-5 hellish grind is bullying a 24 year old with one eye and a 2010 YouTuber complex. Could you be any pettier?

[goldentigerfestival]

Yuri's dialogue (JP) is so fascinating to study, like... the repetitive use of certain words/phrases that others use sparingly but he uses constantly. the way it feels like his vocabulary is more expansive than what he uses, but he defaults to a "comfort" level of speech. the way it mixes in with his sort of "street talk" words and the sheer level of informality. the way his "street talk" phrasing is contrasted by the tone of his voice (on that note, people I know who also know JP are also very endeared by these aspects of him so I KNOW IT'S NOT JUST ME!!!).

'cause the thing is, he uses phrases that yeah, other people do use, but he uses a handful over and over and over (contrast to other characters' sparing use of repetition). it's actually... really refreshing? it sounds more relatable and less "video game/anime/JRPG/RPG" writing or something, idk. like closer to how a real person would speak.

I do my best in my translations not to make things sound too stiff across the board, but Yuri makes it so easy. it's why I'm so interested in translating all his lines in Vesperia, like... the actual, original tone for him with his original wording because it's smth Eng only players don't get to experience ('cause even if you listen with JP audio, if you don't know the language, ofc you're gonna miss out on context. it's nobody's fault for not knowing, just... they unfortunately miss out). the thing is, there are a lot of times when the lines in and of themselves are not contextually incorrect in the English ver (usually the situation for smaller scenes, because they altered the text outright for more important stuff which was the stuff that originally set me off, but there were also plenty of cases of just vocal tone shifting with the correct context that still gave off the wrong impression), but Yuri's tone is shifted away from the original in Eng even though it's completely and perfectly translatable.

I am by no means about to translate the entire game because let's face it, I really don't care that much for Vesperia on the whole. I'm kinda stuck with it because Yuri's there lo and behold I actually am WAY more engaged in his stories in Rays, Link and Asteria because it's an amazing character put into circumstances where he actually gets to shine and feels more alive, which Vesperia did not provide nearly as well with its very disjointed story. also, Tales gachas have banger stories that are arguably better than the mainline games, and they regularly make Yuri a very central character to the gachas. Crestoria was also about to do it until they pulled the plug on that game and I'm pretty confident something interesting has been lost to the world. also I just generally don't have the energy or motivation to do that, so... I'll only be focusing on Yuri's lines, especially because his stuff is where the bulk of the messing around was. he's just insanely fun to translate for and I love burying myself head first into his speech.

will I actually finish this project? dunno. will I get around to posting it? whatever I get done (so all of it if I complete it), and if I decide to call it quits then I'll post what I have at the time I decide that. will it take a long time? probably, but I can always mention stuff along the way...

[stealingyourspins]

As an very big comic lover can confirm. after a point, knowing comic lore becomes a near personality trait. Though the Administration might try to remove those memories, he just wont forget that Starfarer comics, made by Yin Comics, created by Brent McKullin and Joe Shoester, first published in XXXX. Was the first Big Sci-Fi action drama comic book that hit the market. And the now well known characterization of Fritz Donnegan was actually solidified in #32, his backstory still remains incredibly similar, the only main difference is his parents profession, and not only that, the now famous lazer swords were actually introduced in episode 5 of the Starfarer radio show, and-

I just think it would be really funny if Jay remembers nothing except for every single piece of lore about Fritz Donnegan and the Starfarer comics. He may suffer from amnesia, but not even the FSM can erase this man’s audhd hyperfixation on this space comic book series. Every agent and all of Ras’ team wish he could.

(Partially based off of this)

[nanamisgirly]

you gotta win if you wanna cum ྀི

“keep playing” gojo murmurs barely audible, almost embarrassed to say it—but his fingers are already slipping under your shorts like he's done this in his head a hundred time. “i-i wanna see if… my good girl can win…like this.” his fingers slid past the hem of your shorts. 

It was supposed to be just another quiet night. you, your switch, and your nerdy boyfriend with messy hair and a half-finished soda on the table. you were in his lap, like always, thighs straddling his left one, back against his chest. His glasses were crocked because of your head resting on the side of his face. his hands had been resting, harmlessly, mid-thigh.

but tonight it seems like they had a mind of their own. his palms slided up, awkward at first, like he was working up the nerve. and once he brushed your inner thigh and felt how warm you were—how you were already grinding a little without realizing, he sucked in a shaky breath.

“y-you’re, um…" he chuckled nervously, “you're kinda…really…wet already. that's-uh- that's cute.” you can feel how red his ears are. can hear the shaky exhale he lets out as he presses two fingers against the damp fabric of your panties.

you tried to focus on the screen, but his fingers pushed beneath your panties, hesitant but hungry, dragging along your slit with a low groan. his voice was uneven when he spoke again—like he was trying to sound teasing but couldn't hide how wrecked he was.

“wh-what kind of gamer gets this needy holding a controller?” he stammered.

you jolted, hips twitching into his touch, and he gasped softly against your neck—his cock straining against his sweats, and he bit down on a shaky moan.

“i—fuck, wait—don’t cum yet,” he breathed out quickly, as if panicked by how close you already felt. “you—you can’t. not unless you beat the level. that’s the rule.”

you whimpered, legs trembling, gripping the controller tighter as his fingers toyed with your clit in little circles. It was almost clumsy but somehow that made it worse. and the nerdy tone he used—the one when explaining game stats or why a manga panel made him cry—being used, now, to deny your orgasm was really hot.

“i just—it's stupid, but i get turned on seeing you so focused,” he admitted, voice breaking with a shy laugh. “you always look so serious when you play, and i just—kinda wanna mess that up…” when you buck forward, your hips grinding down onto the firm flex of his thigh, he gasps like he’s the one being touched.

“you’re—ngh—you’re seriously doing that on my leg?” His voice cracks in disbelief, cock twitching in his pants. “d-didn’t know you l-liked that…”

his hand creeps up under your shirt with all the subtlety of a boy who’s fantasized about this a thousand times. he palms your breast awkwardly at first, afraid he’ll mess it up, but once his fingers find your nipple—he’s not shy anymore.

he groans, deep and sharp, twisting the sensitive bud between two fingers. “f-fuck, that's so soft,” he breathes. “you're not allowed to b-be this soft when i'm trying…when i'm trying to be m-mean.”

your hands are trembling, buttons mashed half-heartedly as he toys with you like you're his favorite collectible. the pleasure clouds everything. your character on screen stumbles, gets hit, and before you can react—

game over. you freeze, the screen flashes in cruel pixelated defeat.

gojo blinks, “you lost?” his voice is unfortunately too high to be cocky, too breathless to be smug.."c-c'mon you're supposed to be my elite little gamer." you squirm in his lap, frustration boiling in your cheeks—not just from the lost, but also from the aching throb between your legs. “you k-kept distracting me!”

he hums, almost pathetic. then he presses two fingers against your clit, “close doesn't count,” he whispers as he pinches, a sharp flick to your swollen bud. the arm around your chest tightens, his thumb rolling your nipple like it's a fidget toy.

you whine, your head drop on his shoulder, “i w-will win.”

“that's ma girl,” he kisses your temple before licking a stripe behind your ear. “b-but until then…” he presses his thigh up, grinding it into your core while teasing your nipple between sharp tugs. “you're m-mine to play with.”

your fingers tighten around the controller, eyes locked on the screen. and every time you press a button, he mirrors it with a flick or a pinch or a firm grind of his thigh into your pulsing heat.

“shit—satoru,” you breathe, trying to keep your avatar alive.

“keep g-going, you're doing just r-right." he mutters, voice shaky. his glasses are fogged, his hands aren't steady, and his cock is rock-hard beneath you, straining uselessly against his sweats as your soaked core grinds down, again and again, onto his tense thigh.

“you wanna cum?” he asks as he licks the shell of your ear—shaky and wrecked. “t-then win… be my good gamer girl. beat the boss f'me, please...” he presses down harder, rubs the letters W-I-N in slow motion on your sensitive bundle. the pressure is maddening—never enough, always just shy of what you need—and it drags you into the haze of overstimulation.

the motion causes your character to stumble, again, and the screen flashes—again. 

gojo groans, high-pitched. “babyyy—c'mon, you can do better,” he pants, cock twitching. “th-that's a little pathetic, don't make me beg f'you to win…”

you try to grind against his hand, desperate and needy to soothe the ach between your legs. “p-please—satoruu, just let me,”

he chokes out a laugh—breathless and delirious—his grip on your nipple tightens, making you whimper. “s-sowwyyy,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like an apology from someone completely gone. “rules are—ah!—rules, i gotta stick to 'em, right?”

but you lose. again and again.

and by the fourth try, you're barely able to see straight. your legs are trembling, pussy drooling over his pants, leaving an enormous wet patch on his thigh.

he buries his face against your neck, glasses slipping sideways, voice a ragged mess of broken need. “we’ll keep playing,” he groans, like it physically pains him, “until my perfect gamer girl learns to beat the boss while g-getting ruined so bad she forgets her own name.” you moan uncontrollably at his words, tears forming at the corner of your eyes.

his nose nudges your temple, “you sound so pretty when you whine like that.” his voice is so soft. “you feel even better.” your grinding gets slower, deeper, and gojo's hands go from gripping your breasts to fumbling—desperately—with the waistband of your shorts. 

“he-he, wait—" his sentence breaks off in a cracked moan as his thumb drives back to your panties, finding your clit, drawing unfocused circles like he's forgotten what rhythm even is. his face is flushed, so desperate it's almost pitiful—fingers slipping and smearing your slick everywhere, breathing out broken pleas between every twitch. “y-you're so wet, i can't—fuck—i can't—t-this is so fucked up, i can't think—”

gojo groans through his teeth, his whole frame trembling. “fuuuuuck, y-you gotta stop, i'm-i’m…gonna…” he's desperately trying to keep it together but failing spectaculary. his cock jerking under you with every buck. “s-shouldn't feel this good—fucking h-hell, i'm gonna cum—gonna cum in m-my pants…OHSHITOHSHITFUCKSHITFUUUCK”

his whole body jerks, sudden and absolutely out of his control. an embarrassed moan bursts his lips as he ruts up against your ass—cumming hard, painting the inside of his sweats in sticky heat. his cock twitches helplessly, completely untouched. he whimpers your name into your shoulder like it's a confession. his glasses slip right off, forgotten, as his head lolls against you.

gojo still tries to move his fingers on your stimulated clit, as his mouth leaves open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder. he draggs his hand up back to your hardened tits—palming your breasts, rubbing, squeezing, thumbing your nipples with pure, overwhelmed need.

“we're not done,” he groans, like it's hurting him that you're not cumming. “you're dripping all o-over m'thigh, i c-came like a loser—please, win already, pretty.” he whines, “i-i'll help, i swear, just—fuck—win!”

his hand never stills. slippery fingers flick your clit in desperate, uneven motions, his other hand clutching your tits like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. you’re drooling against his neck now, wrecked and teetering on the edge, and gojo’s crying out every time you shift your weight.

“win,” he sobs, high and broken. “win, baby, please—i’ll cum again too, I will, I’m so close again, y-you feel sogood—“

And the boss’s health bar drops. One last combo. You slam the button.

Victory!!!!

you’re shaking, grinding down with abandon, the game forgotten for just one second—because it’s too much. he’s still whispering praise like he’s praying, hips jerking like he might cum in any second just from the way you clench around nothing. you scream, messy and guttural, because you need it—need him—and it’s all spilling over.

“'t-toru, i win—please, w-wanna cum—please ‘toru—pleaseee,” tears streak down your cheeks as you sob into his neck, twitching with every stroke, every messy rub of his soaked fingers. “c-can’t—’toru, i can’t—too much, ‘s too much—“

he’s not stopping. he whimpers your name, glassy eyes locked on your face memorizing every broken cry that falls from your lips. “you won, y-you get to cum now—I have to make you cum—” he sounds just as wrecked as you, maybe worse. his fingers finally slip inside—two of them, thick and long—he curls them immediately, searching that spongy spot, desperate to please you.

your walls clamp around him so tight he nearly cums again. bullet of sweats are dropping down his neck as he wines, “y-you're squeezing me reallyy good—shit” his breath stutters against your neck, sobbing out broken, pathetic moans as his fingers drag over that spot again and again.

“Let go for me,” he begs. “Please, please, I need you to—need to feel you cum, please, baby—" you're a mess in his lap, crying and convulsing, thighs slick and shaking—his fingers keep pistoning you as he babbles some uncoherent praise and filth against your hot skin.

“g-gonna make you cum so hard,” he pants, sounding half-feral. “gonna feel you soak m-my fingers, fuck—wan’ it messy, baby, wan’ it loud—”

and when you do, when your body snaps and you wail into his shoulder, soaking his hand in a gush of warmth—he lets out the filthiest, most broken moan you’ve ever heard as he cums a second time.

 Unprompted. Pathetically. Just from feeling your cunt pulse around his fingers.

[oblique-lane]

References for Anomaly Diversion!!!

Official!! finally!!

I wanted to make their design stand out, so I created them from scratch; they're not loadouts you can find in-game. Plus a little bit of character description because I'm dying to talk about them and their roles in the story (*wearing a shirt that says "please talk to me about my fic"*).

Now I can finally draw them often!!

Somewhat goofy clothing sheets under the cut↓↓↓

I tried to design them the way their silhouettes and colors stay recognisable, as if they were meant to be used in-game later, to not to break the gameplay rules. I also wanted them to look as tf2-like as possible, I studied the hell out of the 3d models and on the last three I guess it started to turn out decent. Drawing Spy is still pain though.

Or maybe it's just that I'm not attracted to the majority of the mercs visually?? That's why they don't look satisfying?? Lmao. Need to adjust them to my tastes later.

I'm not sure I can exactly explain my design choices with these... How exactly they correlate to their characters. There is something, but I went for it fully intuitively.

//

For BLU scout I went for the softer, rounder oversized clothing to accent his insecurity and the need to shield himself for comfort. It still needed to shape his torso (game rules) but his hood and sleeves do the deed. There is also a strict rule in how to draw his freckles: they look more like moles and there's 7 or 8 of them. You won't believe me if I say this is lore relevant.

For RED Scout, I went with the more aggressive military style. I think I literally took this jacket design from a real military one. There should be an accent on his heavy relations with the army. His clothes are tight because he still likes himself.

RED Sniper is giving hunter vibes, forest type. BLU Sniper looks more like a fisher or a winter hunter. Not sure what deeper meaning I could assign to this except that BLU Sniper was heavily referenced on Ogata Hyakunosuke.

BLU Spy should radiate tiredness. His look is quite unkept for his standards but at this point it doesn't matter anymore. The turtleneck and the boots are special requests from @/gentlesurgeryenjoyer (xoxo)

BLU Medic just looks so freaking cool in a black shirt. It was a vision. I'm not sure if black and white accents mean anything in terms of which side those characters are on. I also wanted to separate him from another famous horror witnessing Medic.

And Miss Pauling was the most satisfying to draw, it was a gift to draw her last... I gave her pants because it's getting cold outside at the time when the story takes place. I also find it very impractical to go killing job in a pencil skirt, I'm sorry. She probably also wears snickers underneath.

And also thanks to @nightly-headache for helping out and assistance!

[endursent]

My Partner Turned Into A Cat And I Don't Know How To Fix It (2)

【 content; established relationship , fluff , humour , slight shenanigans , gn!reader 】

【 characters; alhaitham , arataki itto , baizhu , cyno , dainsleif , diluc , kaedehara kazuha , kaeya , kamisato ayato , kaveh , neuvillette , tartaglia , thoma , venti , wanderer , wriothesley , xiao , zhongli 】

【 premise; " Your partner has been struck with a curse of some sort which has turned him into a cat, you have no idea how to fix it nor how long it might take. Yet you also cannot help but be rather amused by the situation despite the uncertainty…" 】

【 note; made the genshin version... no reason for this to be like 19 pages 😭 】

【 word count; 8.723 | read on ao3 | hsr ver | hsr reader ver | gi reader ver 】

Alhaitham ;

Kaveh gaped at you when you brought a cat into the house, one that… looked eerily similar to a certain blockhead. “I can explain,” you say as you set the cat down on the floor, he doesn’t enter the house further than you do, instead sitting down by your feet and observing the interaction with… interest? Amusement…? 

  Kaveh didn’t need much to be convinced, and immediately he thanked the Archons for giving him a few days of respite. Even just a few days of Alhaitham being unable to comment on what he does or nag him is a blessing.

  For you, it’s a bit of a hassle… because he keeps disappearing! Not in an alarming way, because you find him again in the most secluded, quiet spots you would never even think of. Under your laundry, in an empty box that Kaveh hadn’t put away after getting a delivery, and even under the desk in the study—Kaveh accidentally kicked him and got a feisty scratch on his ankle. He learned his lesson. 

  He follows you around and—though he let you pick him up the first time—doesn’t let you carry him around, preferring to walk on his own… and wander off to explore nooks and crannies he has never been able to see, but he always shows up again before you reach your destination. 

  He has also claimed your pillow as his own and refuses to let you use it, loafing on top of it exactly when you thought you could get there before him. Which… in hindsight is fine, you’re not opposed to using his pillow, it smells like him after all. 

  You decided to test how much of a cat he really is, whether it’s appearance alone or instinctual as well and bought a cat toy with a whisker on the end as well as a small bell below it. You expected him to perk up and try to whack or catch it as soon as you wriggled it beside him… but his grey furred ears just lowered in annoyance and he hopped off the kitchen counter, it seems like having even more sensitive ears in this state makes his dislike for uncomfortable noises more intense. 

  He forgave you when you spent ten minutes scratching the itchy spot behind his ears after tracking him down. A small, rumbling purr left his chest as you moved your hand to scratch under his chin—he was, however, more curious about this instinctual reaction and demanded you continue after you drew your hand back.     Despite it being very much an unspoken rule between the two of you that neither of you should be disturbed ‘needlessly’ when reading or working at home, when you borrowed a few books from the Akademiya to try and figure out how to turn your partner back to normal, Alhaitham decided it would be very reasonable for him to lay down over your book… which you are very much trying to read.

  But when you ask him what he needs, he just blinks at you three times, very slowly. You’ll likely never be able to crack that brain of his, even in a form that is somehow far more expressive.

Arataki Itto ;

It’s difficult enough to keep track of him—and keep him out of trouble—on a normal day… now? You took your eyes off him for a second, and he’s gone. Shinobu split up with you to cover more ground while the rest of the gang scoured the streets of Inazuma City, at least as much as they could.

  You peek between baskets, crates and stalls, walk through tight alleys and even squint into a few windows… nothing!

  You had been very close to giving up and returning back to the meeting point by the bridge… until you heard a very distressed, very loud meowing. Following the sound, you come to a tree stretching over the gardens of a teahouse. What looks to be the owner of it stands below the tree with a basket, trying to ask Itto—stuck up on a wobbling branch—to jump into it.

  Exasperation is one way to describe what you feel as you approach the old lady, you put your hands on your hips and Itto notices you immediately. His meowing turns from frantic and panicked… to a sheepish pleading. Every movement he makes causes the branch to sway and wobble, and it looks like it could easily bend and break—and you don’t want to cause any trouble for the teahouse owner. “Itto, come on, hop down.”

  He meows and shakes his head, white fur swishing dramatically. 

  A sigh leaves you as you step closer and hold your arms open. “I’ll catch you, trust me,” you encourage him… and he finally relents, with wobbling paws, he leaps from the branch—fur shining in the sun as he practically flies in the air towards your open arms… and lands on your head. He panics and tries to adjust and not fall off, and you try to pry him away from your face as his belly nearly suffocates you—it’s a scene from a comedic play.

  Shinobu is glad for her mask, because when you return with Itto under your arm you have scratches on your face and forehead, and Itto is whining and meowing sorrowfully. 

  He spends the entire evening licking your ‘wounds’, dragging his coarse cat tongue over every spot so often that the licking starts to become more painful than the scratches themselves. But you let him, it makes him feel much better than you—and you don’t particularly need comfort, but if he doesn’t get it, he will whine all night. 

  So you let him knead your thighs and stomach even as his claws prick through your clothes and you make sure to pet him and stroke his fur when he snuggles against you… and then you wake up in the middle of the night, suffocating with his furred belly against your face when the lies on top of you.

Baizhu ;

You’re very happy that Baizhu is catching a break—something you often try to convince him to do—despite the strange way of being forced into it… however, it’s very difficult to focus on running the pharmacy in his place by yourself while also trying to make sure he doesn’t roll off the shelf he’s napping on… especially because Changsheng wriggles in her sleep and keeps nudging him closer to the edge.

  You decide it’s easier if you have them sleeping on separate surfaces and reach up to pick up your pliant partner-turned-cat. He effectively falls into your arms and blinks lazily, slightly confused by the sudden transport. “Just moving you so you don’t hit your head,” you dodge around Qiqi as she runs past you with an armful of jars and set Baizhu down on the counter, his tail sways lazily and he immediately flops on his side as a beam of sunlight sneaks through the window and directly onto his fur.

  Every time a customer comes by—with approval—they give Baizhu a small pet or scratch before leaving, as if paying tribute to the good doctor. He doesn’t seem to mind.

  Unfortunately, you’re not fit to take Baizhu’s place for consultations, and thus they all get delayed—which was a hell of a lot of work to contact everyone and change scheduling—until Baizhu is back to normal. The usual hours of consultation in the morning are therefore replaced with longer opening hours of the pharmacy and by pulling some strings, an increased stock of rarer products at a discounted price. 

  Changsheng does not let poor Baizhu catch a break, she wiggles her tail and swipes it in front of his paws, and unable to control the feline instincts harbouring his body—Baizhu chases after her tail like a kitten playing with a toy. He whacks at it and tries to capture it, but the white snake is far quicker than even you expected her to be as a sudden game of cat and mouse (snake) takes over your living room.

 The feline form, however, doesn’t come with free stamina—and Baizhu is not in good shape. He flops down on the carpet, exhausted from the play even as only seven minutes have passed. You feel a bit bad and scoop him up for some cuddling, which seems to be just the remedy he needed. 

  Baizhu is very careful around the clinic, he doesn’t knock anything over—even though he REALLY wants to sometimes, and is mindful of not getting fur or saliva on anything that could potentially be consumed by anyone with allergies. Changsheng has taken to wrapping herself around your shoulders instead, and though you’re used to her, it’s a little annoying to get a comment on every little thing you do. 

  But at the end of the day, Baizhu curls up next to you and you wake with him lying over your chest, belly to the skies and paws in the air, comfortable and content. Though you will always prefer him in his normal state, he is very cute like this.

Cyno ;

You look around the large front hall of the House of Daena, panting slightly as you try to catch your breath… that damn Cyno! Making you chase him across the entire city! 

  You spot some pawprints and squint as you look around… he’s not bringing all that dirt into the house—you were just going to rinse him a bit, but he’s run off! You finally spot dark and creamy coloured fur… perched up high on a massive decorative piece of the wall. He looks down at you with a swaying tail, completely at ease knowing that you won’t be able to catch him all the way up there.

  You almost consider inquiring about one of those massive ladders the library has to reach the high shelves, it might be long enough…

  But very well, he wins this round. 

  Once he turned into a cat, you were very excited about petting him, rubbing his ears and stroking his tail—but he’s not having any of it. Sometimes, you wonder if someone stuck a firework in his ass and lit it up, because the bouts of zoomies he gets is so frequent you wondered if there was something wrong—but you couldn’t catch him to take to a vet either! 

  After the first few days, Cyno seems to calm down… a little. He still prefers to survey the area (your living room) from above (your bookshelf) and watch you go about your day. It’s quite cute how his perked ears twitch every time you make a noise, as if he’s completely focused on what you’re doing.

  You soon find out after stepping a bit too close to the bookshelf that he might have just been waiting to strike, because he leaps onto your head as soon as you’re in range. 

  The only reason you know he’s fully conscious in that furred head is because while you were cleaning up after dinner, you spotted him sitting next to a cup of tea that was half-filled. You tense as you watch his paw raise to knock it off. “Cyno! Don’t,” you try to sound scolding.

  He looks up at you, he lowers his paw… then raises it again, making you glare at him. He lowers it again, turns away… you turn back to wiping the dishes and look over your shoulders after a few seconds—his paw is raised again!

  This back and forth continued until he finally knocked it over.

  And then he has the audacity during the next day’s dinner to sound like he has never been fed in his life while you’re trying to eat in peace. Meowing at you so loudly one would think he was terribly injured, eyes wide and mouth open. You hope your neighbours don’t think you’re trying to starve him, or treat him horribly.

Dainsleif ;

He’s not happy about it, he has things to do—places to be and investigations to make. Thankfully you’re familiar with where you were going next… but Dainsleif is very limited in what he can do. You decide to give him the task of scouting and sneaking around, something he’s used to doing anyway… but he finds that it’s much more effective to do so as a cat. His footsteps are completely silent and his senses are much sharper.

  Though, he had an instinctual need to swat at a glowing orb that you found in a strange vault half-buried in a cave in Fontaine before he could stop himself—which closed the two of you inside the vault. Thankfully he is now small enough that he could slip out between the bars and unlock it from the other side.

  It is quite cute how his ears flattened as you walked out, as if he was sorry. Though he seemed okay after you scratched behind his ears and assured him it was okay, he was here to help you out after all! His tail swayed in satisfaction to your assurance.

  You start to set down camp for the night, having just one pair of hands makes it a bit more of a lengthy process, and Dainsleif can only sit and watch as you put it together. He’s usually quite distant, even in a relationship—but as you straighten from squatting to fit something down, you feel something press against your leg and see him rubbing his furry cheek against you, then walking around your legs, tail trailing behind.

  He’s usually quite wary and alert, even during the night when you try and convince him to sleep—and it’s no different now. He sits poised and ready… for what? He’s a cat. But you appreciate the effort. 

  Surprisingly, he’s very active at grooming himself, the two of you usually have to bathe often anyway as you frequent dusty caves and muddy backwaters, but every time you make a stop, he sits down and starts licking his fur—at first you wondered if he was frustrated by something or had hurt himself, but as you picked him up to examine for any injuries or strange patches, he just blinked at you, tongue still half-hanging out.

  Dainsleif is rather laid-back when it comes to your relationship, there are times where you want to stay in a larger city for a few days or weeks in between travels, to have a soft bed and four walls around you—which Dainsleif doesn’t mind, there are places he wants to look into where he’d prefer you are safe elsewhere. He knows where you will be and will stop by to ask if you’re ready to continue days or even sometimes a few weeks later, to which you—recharged and rejuvenated—jump at the chance to follow him out of the city.

  But now, as a cat, he doesn’t leave your side for a minute—not even when you need to use nature’s bathroom. You went into a small village in Sumeru when passing through and a vendor was particularly pressing about selling you some type of perfume that you had shown brief interest in—Dainsleif had enough of you being pestered and whacked his paw at the man’s leg, hissing. He would usually be more subtle about guiding you away, but he doesn’t have the presence he usually does as he is now, so he must utilise the aggressiveness given to him in feline form. You take the chance to scoop him up and hurry away before the vendor can get upset, petting between his ears and thanking him for the help—he rubs his cheek against yours. He’s surprisingly more affectionate like this as well.

Diluc ;

Your nose itches… you try to hold back—achoo!!

  Diluc jumps, claws scuttling against the ground and he leaps from his resting spot and hops down to the floor. You sniffle and shake your head. “Sorry, it’s not your fault,” you stand from his chair and round the table to squat down next to him, reaching a hand out. “Did I startle you?”

  He makes a ‘hmph’ sound, fur red as freshly bloomed roses. Diluc bumps his snout into your palm and huffs into it, you turn your hand and pet along his back. “Aaah… you’re so cute~ so soft,” you near coo as you scratch behind his ears—

  Diluc shakes himself and ducks under your hand to walk past you—how dare you baby-talk him?! He’s not an actual cat! The scritches felt too nice, and his ears flicked when you cooed at him—it’s embarrassing…

  He sits down by the door, tail swaying lazily as a small meow leaves him. Let me out. 

  You pout, how can you not convey how cute he is? You want to rub his cheeks. But fine, you  walk over and open the door for him to slip out of. 

  Diluc likes the lounge around the fireplace in the estate, there’s not much work he can do  while you try to figure out how to turn him back—preferably without alerting his brother or any of the knights… or just anyone in general. Unfortunately, he can’t hide it from the staff of the Winery as he is a spitting image of himself in cat form, and you’ve caught more than three people trying to feed him expensive cheeses. 

  It’s only in the recent days that you’ve convinced him to settle down and use the time to rest and nap as much as he can, but Diluc was extremely restless at first, you had to trap him inside a room and trick him into lying down with you.

  One day, Jean came by looking for him, and you had to think fast to come up with an excuse while he had just leapt under the sofa to hide. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to need him urgently, so she just left a message behind and went back to her day.

  You fell asleep in Diluc’s study, trying to keep up with his paperwork—Adeline offered to help you, she’s very familiar with his work, and it’s not like it’s been a long time since he wasn’t there to do it… but you wanted to help, and as the sun sank below the horizon, you laid down on the sofa in his study next to a tall bookcase—only closing your eyes was enough to pull you into deep sleep.

  Diluc hops onto the sofa next to you, he carefully walks over your thighs and settles on the armrest where your head is. His fluffy tail sways and strokes your chin and nose—nearly waking you as you almost sneeze, you don’t have to work so hard for him, he knows you want to help. He wishes he could tell you, and he will, when he’s back to normal. For now, he rests alongside you, head leaning against the top of yours and tail tucked against your neck.

Kaedehara Kazuha ;

Kazuha is a very chill cat, he doesn’t get into trouble, he doesn’t cough hairballs on the floor and he doesn’t knock things over.

  (Instead of coughing hairballs on the floor he swats them off-deck with his paws, Beidou caught him doing it once).

  There’s not much trouble to get into on the ocean, and he’s rather good at keeping out of trouble overall on land, sticking by his side is a sureway to a boring day of exploration or lounging around—which is your perfect type of day.

  You help him into your bag as the Crux ‘boards’ by Liyue Harbour (it stops a bit away and tucked by a cliffside to avoid attention) and you make sure he doesn’t accidentally fall into the ocean as a few crewmates row to land. You’re stopping for a few days, so you make sure to use the time to relax and take in landside air and wander around the expansive Harbour. 

  Kazuha likes to take life at a slower pace, and thus your walk to the Harbour took longer than you expected… as you thought Kazuha was doing his normal meditation on a warm, sun-kissed rock along the road…

  But he was asleep, sitting up and enjoying the sun. It took you thirty minutes to realise—a sitting cat with its eyes closed and a sleeping cat in a sitting position is the exact same.

  He very much likes to people-watch, but in this cat form, he seems even more engaged—he can hear sounds more clearly and he seems even more perceptive than usual. Watching a tea maker brew a cup on a teahouse table you had sat by to rest and ordered some snacks. He sniffs at the tea as it’s placed in front of you—he’s perched comfortably on your lap, you’re surprised the teahouse even allows him inside—and seems to appreciate the detail he gets from this new perspective, af if it smells different in this form.

  He tries to taste it and your food, but you have to block his snout with your hand, you’re not sure if the food you were having would give him a stomach ache or not. 

On a walk on the outskirts of the city, you look back and see Kazuha carrying a stick in his mouth…?

  He’s not a dog, so you’re not entirely sure why he’s doing it, maybe cats do that too? The dogs that hang around the bridge leading to the southeast outside of Liyue Harbour try to approach him with the stick, thinking he was playing, but he hops into a tree to keep it to himself. You’re not entirely sure what’s happening, but he seems to be having fun.

  Kazuha wanders off oftentimes, just in his normal, usual body… so you’re not sure why you’re surprised when you suddenly find him missing from your side—perhaps it’s because he’s a cat and you’re unsure if he can defend himself as well in that form, but you hurry to look for him.

  You practically run in circles until you find him pressing his paw to a brown, crusty leaf… again and again, as if listening to the crunch of it in a rhythm. You sigh and scoop him up into your arms. “Don’t wander off like this,” you scold and poke his nose. Kazuha sneezes from the poke, but blinks up at you and nods his little furry head.

Kaeya ;

Unbothered, in his element. Kaeya sleeps in your windowsill and bathes in the sunlight all day while you scratch your head over how this could’ve happened. You try to leave for work and he practically screeches at the door, likely pleading you not to leave—he does that normally as well, except without the loud meowing. 

  Kaeya finds appreciation in the flexibility and grace that comes with this new body, he easily leaps up on shelves and dives under the sofa, he chases flakes of dust and seems to be having quite a good time—perhaps it’s because he has no responsibilities in this form, he can’t go to work like this and has no control over it. And the loss of control is strangely freeing. 

  You scoop him up into your arms and his tail swishes happily, he grabs his claws into your shirt and purrs as you rub his ears, happy and content with the additional affection. He loves all affection he gets from you no matter what form it takes, and being a cat has given him the opportunity to be pampered in ways he never could experience as a human. 

  He does need his free time as well and he uses it well while you’re out of the house—though you were very optimistic to think that closing the windows would keep him contained, Kaeya easily flips the handles and slips out of your home. He enjoys the attention he gets from any passersby, but is careful not to be too affectionate and get picked up by someone who thinks he’s a stray. 

  His usual guarded front lowers in this form, he feels like he could slip out of any situation—and he doesn’t have to be careful with his words or actions. No one expects a cat to have alternative intentions. 

  He jumps up in surprise as he hears footsteps rapidly approaching—he had fallen asleep on a ledge and the sun was already down. Kaeya blinks as you pick him up, breath heaving. “There you are, I’ve looked everywhere for you! I thought something happened when I couldn’t find you around the plaza,” you sigh a breath of relief and practically crush him to your chest. Kaeya wriggles a little but gives up and nuzzles into you, pushing his forehead into your cheek. 

  After a number of days, Kaeya gets bored, as fun as lounging around and being pampered it… he misses real food, and dragging you away from your work to have lunch—and holding you properly, he can only lay on top of you like this, which doesn’t exactly feel like holding.

  And Kaeya being restless… he gets whiny. 

  He would usually be more subtle, but now that he feels the rush of freedom his feline form gives him, he uses it to protest by loafing on your clothes after you fold them to put away, laying over your lap when you need to get up—even though he’s not really a cat… kind of, you still get the same feeling of not wanting to move him off no matter how much space he’s taking.

  But that’s okay, because he just has to slow blink at you and nuzzle into your hand and you forgive him, how could you not?

Kamisato Ayato ;

Ayato is an unreasonably pretty cat. His fur is soft and silky, he has this… smug kitty-smile at all times, and it makes you want to pinch his ears. He sits on your lap and peeks onto the low table inside his study as you go through paperwork. Just because he’s become a cat doesn’t mean his workload just miraculously lessens. 

  Thankfully, after a few days of trying to juggle his work—how does he do it?!—even with him by your side, albeit in a form that can’t properly communicate… Ayaka decides to lend a hand, she takes it upon herself to attend meetings and represent the clan and Commission in Ayato’s stead. Thankfully no one has questioned where he is yet.

  Or why there is a suspiciously similar cat trotting around the estate in his place. 

  You fish into a bush in the courtyard gardens, hand feeling around—until you find fur and yoink it up. Ayato blinks at you, tail swishing as he has a piece of grilled fish in his mouth that he stole from the kitchens. “You know… you can have all the fish you want—you don’t have to steal it,” you say as you lift him into your arms.

  His ears flick as you talk, but he eats the fish happily regardless. You shake your head in mild exasperation. Looks like he’s using the opportunity to engage in… more mischief than usual. Perhaps a different kind. 

  Ayato likes to use his newfound stealth and agility to his advantage… to torment you.

  You put away some laundry and turned to a shelf to fetch something—only to come face to face with Ayato’s cat-face, making you jump as he meows happily—as if happy to see you! He knows he’s just trying to startle you!

  He winds around your feet when you walk around the estate and purrs happily when you squint at him.

  Ayato knows the limits, he stops before you can lock him inside a room for the remainder of the day. His fur is so soft as you pet him and a rumbling purr leaves him, he knows it’s silly—he’s not really a cat, at least, hopefully not for long. But you keep petting and stroking him while he does. 

  He takes good care of himself on normal days, and as a cat, it’s no different—he grooms himself meticulously, though finds it rather embarrassing if you’re looking, so he tries to do it out of sight… it's very instinctual, but he also likes to feel clean and groomed. 

  You once passed the great hall and saw Thoma wriggling a toy with a bundle of feathers on it while Ayato chased it… it was pretty cute to watch, but you hurried along before either of them could notice you. 

  He hogs the futon, you don’t want to push him to the side and get pushed to the edge of the mattress yourself. Ayato doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. 

Kaveh ;

Distressed, not having fun, he wants to go home.

  A series of meows in varying states of distress and confusion follow behind you as you walk, you stop and turn around, peering down at the strange cat that’s been following you around since you left the Akademiya. You were about to ask what he wants… but as you squint at the cat… doesn’t it look familiar?

  Kaveh doesn’t stop when you do, he raises on his hind legs by your feet and sinks his claws into your pants, a shrill, distressed meow leaves him.

  You reach down and pick him up, holding under his front legs as you inspect him… hm, golden fur with tints of a darker, sandy brown… those big red eyes.

  “... Kaveh?” you must be crazy, there’s no way your partner is a cat, and followed you around without you realising, but you know those eyes very well. It’s him.

  Alhaitham just stares at you like you grew three additional heads, he looks at Kaveh in your arms and then back at you. “... it looks like him, but that’s not proof enough—have you asked him to write his name?”

  You look at Kaveh and he tilts his small head to look up at you. Write his name…? He doesn’t exactly have thumbs… but Alhaitham has a good point. What if it’s just a very persistent cat? 

  Then again… where would Kaveh be? He’s usually home by this time.

  Alhaitham fetches a pen and some parchment and you put Kaveh down on the table. He tries to use his paws at first but just spills ink all over the place—but as he grabs the pen with his mouth and clumsily scribbles his signature, Alhaitham just hums while you scoop Kaveh up again, holding him up. “It is you! What happened to you, Kaveh?”

  Of course, he can’t give a proper answer, he wriggles his paws around and meows in a long dialogue—but it’s entirely incomprehensible. 

  While you and Alhaitham try to figure out how to get him back, Kaveh tries to adjust to his… predicament. He doesn’t do it with any grace, though… his leaps and jumps across furniture are miscalculated and he falls to the ground or hits his head more often than you can count.

  But your worried petting and rubbing the aching area makes him purr and nuzzle into your arms.

  He does hate the heightened senses, he jumps at the smallest noise and scuttles across the room if anything startles him—and he gets startled very easily like this.

Neuvillette ;

You call his name, looking around his office… you scratch your head, he can’t have gone far, you just left to fetch some tea for a few minutes. It’s not like he can open the door or window and slip out—why would he anyway?

  You hear a very… pathetic meow, from next to you—but there’s nothing there, just a sofa. You hear it again—under the sofa…?

  Ducking down, you see that Neuvillette is stuck, he seems to have been trying to squeeze himself under the sofa, and rounding the furniture, you see his hind legs and tail flat on the floor… it’s a bit amusing. “There, I got you,” you say soothingly as you lift the sofa up a little so he can back out. Neuvillette stands up and shakes his body.

  You squat down and smile. “How’d you get stuck under there?” you hold out your hand and he presses his head into your palm, nuzzling against your skin for comfort as you turn your hand to scratch and pet him.

  He’s not very good at resisting the instincts and temptations that come with this form—you’re unsure why he seems to struggle so much, but you try to help him as much as you can, and not laugh.

  You saw him chase a shadow, there is an ornament on the raised blinds that hang above the large window in his office. It's attached to the strings that lower and raise them and it sways slightly—casting a shadow across the floor.

  Another time he was grooming his fur and struggling, he has a thick, long coat and had to lean far back to reach the end of his fur as his tongue dragged along the hairs… causing him to roll backwards off the arm of the couch and into the pile of pillows.

  Innocent, small things that make you smile, but you’re careful that he doesn’t see it.

  He loafs over a stack of court documents as you organise his desk—might as well use the opportunity to clean up while he won’t be making a mess. He doesn’t seem satisfied with his place on the desk and stands… and spots a box on the ground, it’s stacked halfway with old documents to be taken to storage… but it also looks like the perfect spot to rest. He hops down from the desk and circles a few times on the papers to get comfortable. He wriggles a little before sitting down.

  It takes him a minute to realise that he was kneading into the paper when he hears the sound of it tearing under his claws in an instinctual need to make the bottom of the box comfortable. 

  Safe to say, he was mortified to have destroyed the top four documents, but thankfully they weren’t shredded and you managed to salvage them with some memory of what had occurred as well as piecing them together.

Tartaglia ;

You look towards the window above the kitchen counter, cold air brushes into the house as Childe enters through it—with a mouse in his mouth.

  You leap up and push the book in your hand against his face and push him straight back outside. “No! Absolutely not! Leave it outside, not in the house!!” You close the window behind him and sigh in relief, brushing stray snow into the sink. When you look up again, He’s sitting there, big eyes and ears flat against his head… but no mouse.

  Sighing, you open the window a smidge so that he can step inside, where he shakes himself and tosses flakes of melting snow all over. 

  Childe sits down, tail swaying—as if waiting for something.

  You set your haps on your hips. “What?”

  “Mrrow…” he wriggles his head, he wants a pat. 

  … fine, just because he took the mouse outside because you ‘asked’, you raise your hand to stroke his head and he tilts it to lick your palm—but you pull back. “No, you just had a wild animal in your mouth, wash your mouth!”

  What is this?? He feels like a criminal, all he did was bring you a prize… to be fair, he realised how silly it was to bring you a dead animal when you leapt up to push him back out, but it felt completely natural up until that point!

  He whines and meows for forgiveness for the rest of the night, and you do eventually ‘forgive’ him and let Chile lounge around on your lap while you pet him and continue reading.

  He picks fights with swaying curtains, chases your broom when you’re cleaning and even whacked your cup of coffee off the dinner table—spilling it everywhere. He’s a nightmare in this form, because no matter the scolding, he just stares at you with excited, large eyes and a swaying tail.

  Nothing you say gets through his head. In one ear and out the other. 

  He does not give up either, if he wants affection, he will get it one way or the other, even if he has to whine and meow endlessly, follow you around—fake a limp! You shake him a bit after he worried you and you almost went out in the middle of the evening through the snow to take him to a vet when he just wanted scritches. 

  In all fairness… this is just typical behaviour, but now he has the kitten eyes to break your self control and composure within seconds. 

Thoma ;

He tries to do his job even in cat form, using his tail to sweep, he even takes his duster into his mouth and tries to sweep on surfaces he’d usually need ladders to reach, and now he can just leap to them.

  But he also has a problem…

  He has an instinctual need to create a mess, knock things over or sit on things—when he catches himself in an act of pushing Ayaka’s discarded tea off a table, he nearly leaps away to stop himself. 

  Thankfully, everyone around him doesn't mind—and it’s a bit relieving to see that Thoma retains a sense of himself. He finds time where he would usually go into town to instead nap—and the Kamisato estate has perfect napping spots. He lies sprawled across the engawa surrounding the eastern part of the estate near the back gardens, and lets the warm beams of the sun warm his belly—only to shoot up in surprise when he hears footsteps, embarrassed to be caught lounging around. 

  Ayato sometimes plucks him away to keep on his lap for hours while he sorts through paperwork, petting and scratching behind his ears while his other hand signs documents. Thoma gets a bit restless just loafing on his lord’s lap and meows in relief when you come along to fetch him. 

  Ayaka leapt at the opportunity to sew a few accessories for him, guised under the excuse of “practise for smaller bodies” and Thoma ends up with half a wardrobe by the end of the week. 

  But he prefers to be around you, you don’t trap him on your lap (even though Ayato gives very good scritches) or make him model for three hours (even though Ayaka gave him snacks). As you work around the estate, he gets tired—curse this cat body and it’s perpetual need for napping!—and you tuck him gently into your eri*. Thoma lays nestled against your chest warmly, his body light and still as you continue your work. 

  The gardens of the Kamisato estate is a disaster zone, and after the first few days, thoma knows to avoid it. 

  He had strolled past, early in his transformation—and been startled by his own reflection in the pond he passed by, the fish swimming away in a hurry as he ran across the gardens in surprise. A second time, he had spent twelve minutes chasing a butterfly while Ayato watched with a signature smile… he will likely not let him forget it. 

  Thankfully, he’s not needed much in the gardens, and he sits perched atop a high shelf in the kitchens, his tail sways as he leans forward… very much ready to leap and steal some food—before you pluck him up and raise an eyebrow.

  His ears flatten in realisation, but you rub his cheeks and tuck him back into your clothes—grabbing some leftover pears from the dessert the kitchens were making, letting him munch on it while you get back to work. 

Venti  ;

You didn’t think Venti could become even more of an airhead on a typical day as he does when he becomes a cat. He gets distracted by the smallest things and wanders off—leading to a wild goose chase where you have to ask around for a small darkly coloured cat with blue highlights on its ears and tail—a very distinct cat!—and being pointed in every direction possible.

  Only to discover him napping in a crate full of apples in an alley you walked past at least six times just in the last fifteen minutes. 

  He is also very vocal, Venti says anything that comes to his mind… which is unfortunately nothing but meowing nonsense to your ears, but you nod along as if you understand, having a halfway conversation with the lively cat. 

  Somehow, he very much likes to play and nap like he’s being paid to do it at the same time. In one moment, he’s swatting at your clothes and trying to get to play with your fingers—which he accidentally bites and scratches in his excitement, quickly rectifying it with some licks and nuzzles—and the next, he’s passed out cold in a box or on a shelf for five hours.

  He doesn’t seem embarrassed by these new catlike instincts, such as the need to groom himself—he even starts grooming you halfway through his coat, you’re sure your skin is very much clean by the time he finally turns back to himself. 

  Unlike normal cats, who move and settle down elsewhere when the person under them gets up… Venti is not happy about being disturbed nor that you’re trying to get up, he whines and kneads on your clothes to try and get you to stay a little bit longer, giving you the best big kitten eyes he can muster.

  And damn him, it works. He knows what he’s doing. 

  You had been looking for him one morning, thinking he just wandered off again and you’d find him napping in some corner of the city… when Diluc approaches you with a sheepish looking Venti-cat, holding him by the scruff of his neck. “This yours?”

  Diluc doesn’t even seem surprised that the bard is a cat. At least he isn’t an allergy risk when he’s human-like and trying to get into his wares. 

Wanderer ;

He is very aware of himself, he knows he looks stupid (cute) and that everything he does will be looked at through the lens of a typical cat and not someone stuck in its body.

  And thus, he does all he can to be as eerie and unnatural a cat as he can be.

  He doesn’t make a single sound, no meowing, no purring, nothing. He doesn’t walk like a cat—thankfully he doesn’t walk on two legs—nor does he exhibit any of their typical behaviours.

  At least, that was the plan. 

  Every single time Wanderer catches himself doing anything that could be considered “cat-like”, such as grooming himself, chasing a loose string, or gods forbid… kneading—he will immediately stop and compose himself again.

  As opposed to some others, he absolutely hates the loss of control that follows becoming a cat. 

  He can’t write properly, he can’t communicate—and if he tries, no one but you and perhaps Nahida takes him seriously—he’s always sleepy and aware at strange times… he hates it! 

  And once when he was just trying to have some grapes for snacks—you suddenly leapt towards him to stop him, taking the bowl off the table with a relieved huff when you noticed he hadn’t swallowed any of it… after you pried the grape out of his mouth. At his hissing, you explained that cats can’t have grapes. 

  He gave you the cold fur-shoulder for at least two days. 

  You brought him out one time to get some fresh air—since he’s fully aware of himself, he shouldn’t run off and get lost, or into a dangerous situation like an indoor cat might. But when you gave some other cats around the streets of Sumeru attention, he quickly meowed in protest and whacked the other cats away. 

  It’s a bit cute… he doesn’t normally act so forthcoming, and as he bumps his head into your knee afterwards, you rub his cheeks and pinch his ears despite further protest. How cute!

Wriothesley ;

At first, you weren’t even sure if Wriothesley was just a “cat”. He’s huge*. 

  You put a bowl in front of him, filled with foods that are okay for cats to eat but also not… gross, as Wriothesley is very much aware in that cat-head of his. “C’mon, there’s nothing wrong with this, I even tasted it—it’s a bit bland ‘cause we can’t put any seasoning, but it’s food.”

  He leans down, and for a second you think that he’s going to eat it—but as his whiskers brush against the sides of the bowl, he lifts his head abruptly and swats at the bowl, clattering it to the ground—he didn’t mean to hit it at all, but also not this hard. 

  You scratch your head, you just can’t figure out why he won’t eat—you’ve tried everything!

  It took you several hours of back and forth questions and meowing to realise that it was the shape of the bowl that was the problem and not the food itself.

  On another day, you reach down to pet his soft, thick fur—only to get a static shock, it zaps your fingers and both of you jump back. You always have to be careful with petting him, as there’s always a risk of getting zapped at any time. Worst part is, it’s not even every time! It catches you off guard!

  He likes to climb and jump on the pipes that web around the fortress, getting into places he’s never even considered before—and sometimes you look around for him for hours before giving up… only to suddenly be leapt on from above by a nine kilogram heavy cat half your size, knocking you over.

  Siegwinne noticed that he had been brooding lately, he had been stuck as a cat for five days now and it was beginning to frustrate him. So she decided to soak a small blanket in tea mixed with catnip—after it was dry and she rubbed some more on it, she laid it out in his office…

  You watched him for a good long while as he rubbed against it, meowed and rolled on the blanket. It was unbearably adorable, but you eventually pulled him away after a while—worrying it might be too much.

  He’s so large that it’s almost like sleeping with a person, just a very furry one. He lies halfway over you and as you wake in the morning—he refuses to get up. You give in and relax in bed for a while… until he starts kneading your cheeks, leaving small scratches with his big paws and claws. You don’t stop him—it doesn’t hurt, he looks so focused, like he’s trying to squeeze something out of your cheeks. 

Xiao ;

He meows and wriggles in your arms, but you try your best to hold him until you reach the top of the inn—he swats at you and you finally let him go when you enter his usual reserved room. Despite being paws up when you let go of him, Xiao lands perfectly and immediately hops up to the highest vantage point in the room he could reach. 

  You don’t get him down by yourself, he only comes down willingly after a few hours when he’s calmed down and adjusted a bit to this form. You’re not entirely sure what happened, you had just been exploring a cave that was strangely entwined with a temple of sorts, when a bright light appeared behind you, and Xiao—who had been accompanying you—was suddenly a cat. A very small cat. 

  He loafs on the windowsill in the night, his tail wrapped around his paws as he peers towards the sky—at the slightest noise, his ears flicker towards it and he squints at the roads below that pass and surround the large inn. 

  He is unbothered. Firm. Stoic.

  … after getting wet under a pouring rain that persisted all day, he pretends not to be bothered by his wet fur and the uncomfortable existence he leads under this blanket of wet fur…

  But he can only pretend for so long. You turn away and pretend to busy yourself to allow him some privacy to reluctantly lick along his fur and smooth it down, trying to clean or groom it in a way that makes it less sloppy. 

  He hates it, this weird satisfaction that comes with this very primal instinct, and yet, he does still feel the satisfaction.

  Xiao is difficult to read on an average day, he’s very used to controlling his emotions and maintaining a front that’s difficult to get past.

  But as a cat… he’s an open book, he approaches you with a curled tail, he slow blinks at you when you drag your fingers through his fur as he loafs on the windowsill. 

  But he does. Not. Meow. 

  Except for that time you hauled his ass back to the inn… and when Zhongli makes a sudden appearance, he hops from his perched position and snakes around the former Archon’s legs, purring and meowing as he’s being petted and spoken to. He doesn’t notice his own behaviour…

  Not until the following night after Zhongli leaves, and Xiao is mortified that he behaved like an affection-depraved cat in front of Morax.

  Thankfully you sliding a comb through his fur and untangling some knots from the day distracts and calms him down in the evening.

Zhongli ;

At first, you weren’t even sure if Zhongli was actually aware he was a cat, he follows you around, sits on a bench and licks his paw to clean it while you shop for groceries… he chases anything shiny that you come across and swats at it with his paws, leaps at it and tries to capture it—usually rocks or mora people drop. Maybe he likes the mineral, maybe it’s the shine. You can’t really know.

  You try to give him some nice food, cut down nicely so he won’t accidentally choke on it… but he won’t eat it, not unless you plate it properly…? At least, when you rearranged it better and separated the meats from the greens, he seemed to like it more. Maybe he thought you were treating him a bit too much like a pet rather than a partner that’s unfortunately become a cat for a (hopefully) limited time.

  After a long day of… not doing much, Zhongli realised he had left scratches on the sides of some furniture and he tries to hide or cover them up for the time being, dragging a blanket over the arm of a divan in the living room… hopefully you won’t discover them and he can fix it after he’s back to normal before you notice.

  You do notice that he very much prefers specific textures, he doesn’t like walking on the hardwood floor of your home and instead prefers to lie down or sit on blankets or the silken sheets in your shared bedroom. 

  Despite the strange predicament, Zhongli is very calm, he’s both patient and has a good sense—if this was a dangerous curse or spell that was difficult to reverse, he would likely sense it. Instead, he considers using this time to show and receive affection in a way you haven’t been able to before. 

  He often sits by your legs or thighs, he winds around them and rubs his furry cheeks along your clothes and pretty much anywhere he can reach. Your legs when he’s winding around them, your hand when you reach out to pet him, your cheek when he stands on your chest when you’re trying to read in bed before sleeping. 

  He purrs and cuddles with you, laying in your arms or over your lap—he even hid in your bag once when you went out for the day, and you discovered it too late to take him back home (you did wonder why your bag felt heavier than usual) and thus, he has the pleasure of accompanying you to your work—something he doesn’t often get the excuse or time to do. 

  Thankfully, Hu Tao didn’t question it when you came to her and said that Zhongli couldn’t come to work for a few days (hopefully just a few days). If anything, she sighed in relief and said something about him finally using his paid time off and sick days. Then thanks you for taking him out of commission??? 

  You pour over some scrolls and papers to try and figure out how to turn Zhongli back, and he hops onto the desk in the study, nuzzling against your arm before sitting down, tail swaying as he joins you in searching for ways to bring him back to you in a more familiar form. Despite how cute he is like this. 

* eri is the collar-flap on the front of a kimono/yukata that crosses over the chest, he's tucked into it and lying on his back. if you know about the nioh cat clock scene, yeah.

* wriothesley is supposed to be a maine coon type of cat, just huge and heavy. but not wild cat huge.

[feeshu09]

What if Shen Yuan gets a petty princess boyfriend because the universe (I) said so.

-wrote a little ficlet about them under the cut ✨-

Shen Yuan's (very confused) POV:

You know, there are days you wake up and think, “Wow, life is weird.” And then there are days you wake up and there's a beautiful, irritated, probably-came-from-a-period-drama man sitting on your couch like he owns the place, glaring at your toaster like it personally offended his ancestors.

Yeah. I’m talking about that kind of day.

It started, as these things always do, with a thunderclap, some suspiciously glittery mist, and the next thing I knew, there was a very angry, very elegant man standing in the middle of my studio apartment. He looked around my humble little man-cave—okay, fine, it was a bit of a pig sty. I wasn't expecting visitors—and sneered so hard I thought his face would stay that way forever.

“This is your abode?” he asked, with the same tone I use when I accidentally step in dog poop.

“Uh,” I said intelligibly. “Yes…?”

He hissed. Hissed. Like a very angry, very pretty feral cat. It was alarming. And a little hot? No, stop that, Shen Yuan. Bad. No petting the murder kitty.

So. A quick summary: the stranger introduced himself—begrudgingly—as Shen Jiu.

A handsome stranger.

And he was in my house.

Living in my apartment.

Breathing my air.

Criticizing my instant ramen choices like he wasn’t literally eating all of them.

“You eat like a beggar,” he said yesterday, sipping tea he made himself after complaining my kettle was ‘barbaric’. “This isn't sustenance. It's punishment.”

Okay. One: accurate. Two: rude.

But we fell into a rhythm after a few weeks, somehow. Like a weird little odd-couple sitcom. Every morning, I’d wake up to Shen Jiu curled in a pile of throw blankets on my futon, looking like a disgruntled Persian cat. He hated the TV but would still watch it with a kind of horrified fascination. He especially hated anime. That was… a problem.

The turning point came when he caught me watching some over the top shonen anime and heard me make a passing comment about the protagonist’s abs.

“You like that?” he asked, voice tight. “You like him?”

“What? No, I—” I laughed, awkward. “It’s just anime—”

He made a sound like someone dropped a piano on his pride and turned off the laptop with a single disdainful poke of a button.

“You’re not allowed to look at other men,” he said, eyes narrowed.

“…What?”

“You heard me,” he said, as if that explained anything and then settled on my lap.

Then he stole my glasses.

He literally plucked them off my face like a bully on the schoolyard and perched them on his own perfectly arched nose.

I stared. Squinted, really. “I’m legally blind.”

“Good,” he snapped. “Then you can’t ogle those fake men anymore. Who draws them like that anyway? It’s obscene.”

“Jiu-ge,” I said gently. “Um… Can I have my glasses back please?”

“For what? To look at other men? I don’t think so.”

Never—and I mean never—has anyone been so furiously jealous of fictional anime boys that they physically robbed me of my glasses. It was almost impressive.

And I let him keep them.

Why? Because the alternative was him going back into Feral Mode™ where he hisses and threatens to set my bookshelf on fire with qi that I still don’t believe exists in this universe.

Besides… I didn’t mind the glasses thing so much when he was situated on my lap like I was his personal throne.

“You’re warm,” he said, nonchalant, like this was normal. Like he didn't came from a completely different reality.

“Cool,” I wheezed, not cool at all.

“You’re flustered,” he added, smug.

I was. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of admitting it. Instead, I tried to focus on the dead screen of my laptop, even if everything was blurry.

So now I’m trapped in a never-ending loop of being lowkey bullied by a man with cheekbones sharp enough to commit murder, who eats all my ramen, hoards my glasses, gets jealous of anime characters, and has absolutely no concept of personal space.

And you know what the worst part is?

I think I might like it.

Please send help.

…Or not.

[missadangel]

⊱AMOR MEUS AETERNUS⊰ I Masterlist

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

little preview is under the information!!

Summary:  You are an assistant to a costume designer on a busy movie set, where the pressure is high and the work is exhausting. One difficult evening during a lunar eclipse, you suddenly spot a man in a Roman military outfit materializing out of nowhere. At first, you think he’s just a drunk or a bit off his rocker. Unbeknownst to you, he is General Marcus Justus Acacius, who has time-traveled from 205 AD to 2025. authors note: It's a bit of a romantic-comedy-drama stuff because Marcus doesn't know that he traveled to 2025, LMAO poor baby (and you know I'm a hopeless romantic). I'll explain in more detail in chapters why he ended up here and what led him to meet the reader, but I'm avoiding spoilers. And the reader will help him get back to his time but accidentally travel to ancient Rome because of something; i can't talk more, lol. Wait for the episodes, please thank youuuu. if you wanna be tagged lemme know! every chapter will be its own warning and music theme Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 45, reincarnation my masterlist

Little preview from chapter 1....

-------This wasn’t the first time you’d encountered someone like him. He had to be one of those extras, probably underpaid and known for causing trouble on set. He likely hadn’t bothered to change out of his costume and was relishing his small role in this odd setting.

“Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, but I really need you to take off that costume. I’m responsible for the outfits, and if anything happens to it, it’ll come out of my pay, okay? Didn’t anyone give you a heads-up about this?” You stepped closer, but he just froze like a statue, clearly sizing you up. 

Taking another look, you noticed the armor under his robe was totally different from anything you’d ever seen. Were they filming something new without you? That couldn’t be right—or worse, what if he’d swiped it? Great. You reached out for a closer look, but before you knew it, he grabbed your wrist, spun you around, and shoved you away like it was nothing.

“Aaaah!” You winced, clutching your sore wrist, glaring at him in frustration. “Are you out of your mind? Get those clothes off right now! Can’t you hear me? Are you deaf or what?” 

The guy sighed as he wiped his sword with the hem of his robe and sheathed it as if he were doing it every day. He did it with such flair that even a top-notch actor would be impressed.  

“I see you’ve been really getting into character. Nice job!” you quipped with a hint of sarcasm. “But like I said, I need to grab the costume. So, come on, take it off.”  

"What kind of shameless woman are you to demand that I undress?"

What the hell was that? The accent, thick and unfamiliar, rolled off his tongue in a way you had never encountered before. It felt like a whisper from another age, as if echoes of ancient times were woven into each word he spoke.--------

ao3 link

I. Sol Invictus

II. Tensio

III. Amor Primus

IV. Matrimonium

V. Confessio

VI. Memento

VII. Praeterita

VIII. COMING SOON

[the-s1lly-corner]

Wearing their jackets (slasher edition)

I need to write slasher stuff more.... I also need to watch scream like I said I would... and other films... but alas cotl rot is too strong

Characters: Jason, brahms, bubba, Thomas, Michael

Notes: reader is gn, cold weather baby!!, in Michael's bit yoy wear his coveralls because he refuses to throw a jacket over it

CWs: none

JASON

Built like a polar bear, he's so used to the cold that he just shrugs it off as he goes into the woods to get fire wood for you

Actually offers his jacket to you until he can get a fire started to keep you warm- he doesn't want you to get sick! Don't worry about him! Especially if this is zombie Jason, the cold doesn't really.. effect his undead body that much...

Doesn't mind it if you steal his jacket from him, he takes it as you being cold- but if you explain that it's partly because you miss him he feels.. bad.. he didn't mean to take so long in the woods he promises

Even if you said it jokingly he's going to do his best to make up for his brief absence

BUBBA

let me tell you, as someone who lives in texas: the winters get brutal. Incredibly cold, he's definitely got at least one coat somewhere... and even if he only had one he would let you take it

But... please stay close to him by the heater, he knows you probably want to go do something else with him but it's truly too cold to not be able to do much else without freezing in their old house- even worse if this takes place in their new home in the second film... underground

He thinks you look really cute in his coat and he tries to let you know that- hes... a little bashful but you think it's sweet

You both probably end up cuddling into one another under the coat together

THOMAS

Once more: texas gets incredibly cold in the winter depending on the time of year and where you are. He's got a coat somewhere

Not that that he really uses it, built like a polar bear like Jason. He tolerates cold pretty well, hardly seems phased by it.. he's so laser focused on his chores and work around the house that you often find him still working outside

And he's given his coat to you because you have a lower tolerance than him... maybe you can convince him to come snuggle with you under it? Maybe? He'd hate to leave his chores unfinished but he doesn't like saying no to you

Very heavy coat, very thick

MICHAEL

Completely unphased by the cold, he also doesn't have a jacket. The best you can do is take his coveralls when you FINALLY convince him to take them off so they can be washed

Does not like sharing his things, the likelihood of him humoring you after you put them in is low. May actually take them off of you himself... not incredibly rough but there's intention to yoink them back

If you're cold then go get a blanket or you're own jacket... why steal his things without asking?

It completely flies over his head that jacket (or rather clothing) stealing is common for couples

BRAHMS

Move over give him his sweater back he's FREEZING! If he needs to he's going to wear the sweater with you in it!

HATES the cold and he's going to make it everyone else's problem, please don't let him catch a fever reader! Please!

Fire place? Lit. Blankets? Gathered. Sweaters? Worn. You're more likely to see him leave the walls during the colder months so he can snag your body heat, too

Lets it go to his head if you let slip that you stole his sweater because you missed him... hes basically hovering over now- well, more than he did before