#but i confess that i might be doing this for a little while

[ay0nha]

When the Music’s Over | Dr. Jack Abbot

SUMMARY: Jack’s mouth opened like he might say something else—something honest, something heavy, but the words caught in his throat and never came. Instead, he gave a short, quiet nod, like he was tucking whatever that was into his chest for later.

Creative Event: A Doctor A Day 27, Prompt: "Even though the road to get here was long, at last I am home." (I reworded it to fit a little better sorry x) Color: Green

PAIRING: Dr. Jack Abbot x f!reader (physician assistant)

WORD COUNT: 7.6K

WARNINGS: Canon-typical things, tension-filled confessions, veteran affairs (I have OPINIONS on the care of veterans and today's political climate/military industrial complex BUT held back from making this political but fuck the government), group meeting/therapy, allusions to PTSD and what comes with being a combat veteran, prothesis/amuptation conversations, religious jokes-ish, smoking, mainly just all angst to fluff, NOT proofread so be kind, movie magic plot, etc.

A/N: This was so much fun to be a part of! This was really cathartic to write as it hits home some, so I hope you all enjoy. Thank you to @fuckoffbard for listening and helping. Thank you for creating this @ananonymousaffair, @clubsoft, and @letsgobarbs!

COMMENTS ENCOURAGED! THEY FUEL ME!

The clinic lights always tried to mimic the morning light, but it was always too sterile, too awake. There was no natural gradient to welcome you into a new day. Instead, it was the kind of light that made you feel like you hadn’t slept enough, and never would, even if you had.  

You were the first to arrive. It was hard to lose the habit, but it gave you time to review the backlog of missed calls. The quiet preparation was the only time you had to decompress before the day, but the rusted bell rang, knowing you never truly got reprieve. 

Not many came in this early. Certainly not without appointments. Most regulars were punctual, others late, flustered, avoiding eye contact like the entire hallway and staff were some kind of moral jury. 

Yet, this man was already looking at you. You turned, and there he was. 

You were met with an already long day’s worth of stubble, a jacket zipped halfway, and a UPMC badge dangling low like a relic from a night shift not long ended. His shoulders filled the doorway like he hadn’t quite committed to being inside yet. 

However, you recognized him immediately. Abbot, Jack. Early 50s. Transtibial amputation of rthe ight leg. Two canceled appointments in March. One in April. No follow-up scheduled. 

His chart was one of those you flagged mentally; he was the kind of patient who only walked through the door once a year, just long enough to keep his services active before disappearing for another twelve-month stretch. 

Jack cleared his throat, low. “You take walk-ins?”

You blinked. Technically…no. Not this early. Not without calling ahead. Not when it was a physical rather than an urgent medical concern. Yet, your mouth moved before policy could catch up. 

“Give me a moment to get you checked in.” You nodded, words automatic and practiced.  “First and last name?”

He looked like he might leave right there. But then he exhaled—just enough air to say: Okay. I’ll stay.

“Jack. Abbot. Had an appointment a while back…” He spoke like his confession would make up for wasted time and resources. “...couldn’t make it.”

You hummed, tapping the keyboard, pretending to scroll through the records you already knew by heart. 

“Well,” You stared, standing. “Third time’s a charm.”

Guiding him through the narrow hallway, your shoes hit softly on the tile, linoleum too thin to hide the grout lines from the floor beneath. The overhead lights buzzed in that tired, mechanical way fluorescent bulbs always do after too many years and too few replacements. You moved past mismatched wall sconces and half-peeling placards that still bore the faint imprint of a previous tenant’s brass plates.

This place used to be a law office.

You could see it in the layout; the corner turns that led to nowhere, the heavy wooden doors that didn’t quite fit the newer hinges. Even the break room still had a long strip of polished wood where the receptionist’s counter once stood. Someone had slapped a rack of patient forms on it. A forced transformation.

Rented-out facility. Government-issued furniture. Nothing quite fit. Everything was too small, too sterile, or too hollow. And somehow, that made it perfect for a VA satellite clinic. A place repurposed by necessity. Like most things touched by war.

Jack didn’t make small talk, and you didn’t push. Glancing back, you could see the way he moved, shoulders slightly hunched, but still alert. He walked like someone used to being in charge of emergencies, but bone-tired from them, too. Like the ground might shake, but if it did, he’d know what to do. He just didn’t want to anymore.

Exam Room One. 

You gestured him in, and he stepped through without hesitation. The room was small, cold in the way all clinics are. Pale blue walls, a single high window smudged with old tape residue, and an exam table that creaked when he sat on it, the paper crackling beneath him. 

You picked up the prepared clipboard. 

“Before we get started, any changes in your health since your last visit?”

Jack’s mouth twitched like he might say something sardonic, but it passed. He shook his head.

“Still breathing.” He gave a slight nod. No argument. No complaint. Just a quiet readiness, like someone used to being told what to do in a language he didn’t bother translating anymore.

“Good place to start.”

You ran through the intake questions like you always did, but you kept your tone light, measured. You knew better than to fill silence with something unworthy. Especially not with veterans like Jack; men who’d learned how to hear the things people didn’t say.

You moved slowly, on purpose. You’d learned, over time, that fast hands spooked the ones who carried invisible wounds. As you stepped closer to take his vitals, you noted the small details: the subtle shift of his leg as he adjusted, the way he sat still, like movement required permission now, but his gaze tracked you steadily. Quiet. Present. 

Different than most.

Most avoided eye contact when you got close. Looked at their shoes. Or the ceiling. Or the floor that looked like it had been washed a thousand times but never once looked clean. Jack didn’t. His eyes followed your hands, your shoulders, your breath. Not intrusively. Just like someone trained to read a room for danger. Or maybe reassurance.

You wrapped the cuff around his arm, checking the alignment. The Velcro hissed softly. He didn’t flinch.

“BP’s holding steady. Good.” You murmured more to yourself to note. Then, you glanced up at him with a touch of dry levity, “I’ll let you keep your driver’s license.”

That got a small exhale of amusement.

Encouraged by the break in tension, however slight, you reached for the stethoscope slung around your neck. The room was cool, and the metal already had that unforgiving chill to it. Out of habit, you rubbed your hands together briskly, trying to warm your fingers before touching him. The stethoscope, however, was another story. 

You curled the diaphragm in your palm to try and bring it to room temperature, but you knew from experience it would still be cold against skin. Jack didn’t comment, just pulled the thin cotton of his shirt up without being asked.

You stepped closer, moving to his left side, and placed the warmed back of your hand against his ribs first as a courtesy, a warning. 

“This’ll be cold.” You commented apologetically as you pressed the stethoscope against him. 

Jack gave a small grunt in acknowledgment, but didn’t pull away.

The chill made his skin prick instantly. You saw its trail along the slope of his side, pale against old scars and the faded outline of a long-healed abrasion near his flank. 

“Deep breath in.” You instructed gently. He inhaled. You listened. “Again.” 

The sound of his lungs filled the bell, steady, hollow, the faint pull of old tension sitting low in his chest. You knew what clear lungs were supposed to sound like, and Jack’s weren’t far from it, but there was something shallow in the way he exhaled. Something practiced. Measured, like he was holding back.

“Again.”

He breathed in deeper this time, like he wanted to prove something. You moved the stethoscope slightly, trailing it across the muscle between his ribs.

You were close enough to feel the shift in his posture, how still he went once your hand touched him. Not rigid. Just very aware. Another breath. Another exhale.

“Any shortness?” You asked, moving to his back, your hand brushing the curve of his shoulder blade.

“No.” He breathed out. “Just tired.”

You let out a small hum in acknowledgment, pressing the stethoscope to the space between his spine and scapula. The hush of his breathing filled your ears again.

He inhaled. You listened. Something shallow in the left lobe, but not worrying. Just tension. The kind that never really leaves the body once it learned the shape of impact. You noted the way his shoulders resisted it, like his ribs had forgotten how to fully trust their own expansion.

You placed the stethoscope lightly to the left of his sternum first, where the apex beat lived beneath the ribs and years. You could feel the rise and fall of his breath under your palm as you steadied yourself. The silence narrowed around you.

His heartbeat thudded into your ears: slow, firm, echoing.

“Heart sounds good.” 

Normal S1 and S2 heart sounds. No murmurs, gallops, or rubs auscultated. You knew he knew this. 

You pulled the stethoscope away gently, but your hand lingered, resting for just a second longer over the center of his chest. You didn’t know why you did it. Maybe you just wanted to feel it. Really feel it.

That was the thing about hearts. You could listen all day, but you never really knew what they were holding until they trembled under your palm.

You scanned his chart again, thumb grazing the line that made you pause the first time. Chronic low back pain. No follow-up. Recommend monitoring posture w/ prosthetic use.

Still unresolved. You moved behind him, palm resting lightly between his shoulders.

“Your last visit flagged some lower back strain.” Your tone was neutral, leaving space for more. “Flares up when you’re on your feet too long?”

Jack gave a faint grunt. “Sounds like something they’d put in just to make me come back.”

“Well—” You applied gentle pressure down his spine. “—if that was the plan, it worked.”

He didn’t respond, just sat steady as your fingers pressed lower, feeling through the tension under his shirt. When you neared the curve, you slowed, palpating carefully on either side of the spine. You knew where to look, especially with someone bearing the uneven weight.

“It’s important to check for overcompensation.” You continued quietly. “If the alignment’s off, you’ll feel it in the back long before the leg.”

“I’m fine.” Jack huffed, low. 

You looked up at him. “Do you ever rest the site? Or let it breathe?”

He hesitated. “Sometimes.”

Which meant rarely. You marked that silently.

“The hospital isn’t exactly known for scheduled rest periods.” He spoke, and you could hear the smirk in his voice even if he didn’t turn. “If I sit, it’s to chart. If I stand, it’s to fix something.”

You pressed your thumb a little deeper, just left of his spine, right above the sacrum. He flinched, just a little. The smallest involuntary grunt, like a breath caught the wrong way. You let your hand settle there for a moment. Not scolding. Just noting.

“Right.”

He didn’t reply, but you felt the faint shift in his posture. Not defensive. Not defeated. 

You made the mental note and stepped to the cabinet without a word, retrieving the otoscope. The instrument clicked softly in your hand as you turned on the light. It cast a warm glow between you in the still room, humming faintly as if to fill the space your fingers had just left behind.

“Ears, then eyes.” You spoke gently. 

Jack turned slightly, letting you tip his head the way you needed. Your fingers were light under his chin, at the hinge of his jaw. The otoscope glinted softly as you angled it toward his ear.

But while you worked, Jack watched you. You could feel it, his gaze not just drifting but reading. Like he was still deciding what kind of person you were. Still trying to place you.

“You new here?” Jack finally asked. “You don’t seem like the city type.”

“Bold assumption to make so early in the morning.” You teased, pulling the light back and moving to the other side.

“Just an observation.”

“I was born here, actually…” You answered the question you always got casually. “...left for a long time. Transferred back this year.”

“VA brought you back?” Jack tilted his head slightly. You checked his pupils next, flicking the light across his eyes as they adjusted, one at a time. He didn’t squint or shy away. Just let you look.

“God, no—” You cursed. And then, to cover what threatened to leak out around the edges: “—I just sleep better here. Can’t fall asleep without the noise.”

That made the corner of his mouth twitch. “Most people say the city keeps them up.”

“I like knowing something’s still moving out there,” You laughed lightly through a huff. “Ambulances, garbage trucks, people yelling outside bars. Need to fall asleep to a world still spinning…”

Jack adjusted his scrub top absentmindedly, the material wrinkled from a long shift and a longer week. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead, clinical, unforgiving, same as the ones he worked under most nights. But here, in this quiet exam room with your back against the counter and your arms folded, something about the hum felt less surgical. 

“Silence gets loud, y’know?” He’d said it like a joke, but you could tell it wasn’t one.

You tilted your head, watching him—not with pity, but with that quiet, observational calm some people wore like armor. He recognized it. Carried the same kind of thing into trauma bays.

You nodded, but said nothing. You knew better than to fill the pause.

He gave a faint, humorless huff. “Anyway, that’s why I stopped in. Better here than my apartment, staring at the ceiling with my ears ringing.”

“So this is a drive-by enrollment renewal?” You smiled softly. 

“Don’t act like that’s the worst thing you’ve seen in here.”

“It’s definitely in the top ten.” You replied dryly.  “Right between the guy who thought 'disability claim' meant show-and-tell, and the Marine who cried when I told him to hydrate.”

Jack didn’t laugh, not really, but something in his posture eased, like he was letting himself rest against the moment for the first time all day. Maybe all week. His hand brushed over his knee, fingers tapping a quiet rhythm, restless in that way only people wired for emergency ever were.

He watched you write like he wasn’t used to being on the other side of the clipboard. The subject instead of the observer. It wasn’t shameful. It was something quieter than that…displacement, maybe.

“You okay over there?” You asked, teasing just a little.

“Yeah. Just...weird.” He blinked like you’d pulled him out of a thought. 

“What is?”

“Being the one getting charted.” He nodded toward your pen.

You smiled faintly. “Yeah. I get that.”

He raised a brow. “Do you?”

“Honestly?” You thought for a moment, tapping the pen against your thigh.  “I can’t remember the last time I went to the doctor.”

That got a real look out of him. Not disbelief, just confirmation. That quiet, private awareness: Of course. You too.

“It’s hard…” You admitted. “When you’re used to being the one who knows the systems. Knows what they’ll say before they say it. Harder when you can’t picture someone on the other side knowing what to do with you.”

You watched him for another beat, then let your gaze drift to the clock. Not rushed, just reminded. You were still working. 

The rhythm of the clinic moved on, woke up, even when the air between you had stilled. Somewhere down the hall, a printer coughed. A phone rang and went unanswered. Staff clocked in.

You cleared your throat. “Regardless, everything looks good— I’ll send the go-ahead so your enrollment stays active.”

Jack gave a short nod, business-like again. Like a door had been pulled mostly shut, though not all the way.

You stepped away from the counter, your hand brushing the edge of the sink as you crossed the room. He rose at the same time, out of courtesy and instinct. 

“I’ll walk you out.” You held the door open for him.

The hallway outside was waking up,  the liminal space between morning chaos and whatever came next. Jack walked beside you, not hurried, not tense. You both moved like people who’d learned how to conserve energy in sterile places.

You waited until you reached the corner near the exit, the spot where patients usually asked about paperwork or turned around to remember they’d forgotten something.

Instead, you spoke up, “We run a group. Off the books.”

Jack glanced sideways at you.

“Thursday nights—” You went on, like you were reciting a neutral fact. “—across the street, at the church. It’s in the community room. It's unofficial. No sign-in, no rank, no talking if you don’t want to. Just people who prefer the noise.”

Jack said nothing, but you didn’t mistake silence for disinterest. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to figure out the angle. But there wasn’t one.

You didn’t fill in the rest. Didn’t say for people like you. Didn’t have to.

He nodded slowly. Like he didn’t know what to do with the information, but he understood it wasn’t being handed out lightly.

“I know you work nights. It probably doesn’t fit your schedule.” You couldn’t help but encourage, continue. “But in case it ever, you’re always welcome.”

Then, you pushed the front door open, holding it just long enough for him to pass through. The morning was bright out there, harsher than the lighting inside. He squinted against it.

“I’ll keep it in mind.” He answered finally, voice quiet but deliberate.

As he stepped out, you said, without ceremony, “You already did the hard part.”

He turned halfway, brow raised. “Which part was that?”

“Walking in.” You made it sound so simple. Maybe it was.  “Letting someone see you before you’re bleeding.”

Jack stood there for a breath longer, the door propped open between you. You were close enough to see the small shift of his jaw, the ghost of tension at the corners of his eyes, like something flickered through him and caught behind his teeth.

He nodded, then he left.

—

The room smelled like burnt coffee and whatever detergent the janitorial staff bought in bulk. One of the folding chairs was broken, so you’d leaned it in the corner, hoping no one would try to use it. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, indifferent. Outside the windows, dusk hovered like it wasn’t sure whether to stay or leave.

You were halfway through introductions when the door opened.

Late. Not by much—seven minutes, maybe—but still, you glanced up instinctively, ready to gently redirect whoever came in. And then you saw him.

Jack Abbot.

He was still in scrubs, jacket thrown over the top, collar slightly wrinkled like he’d wrestled with whether or not to come and only won five minutes ago. His hair was a little longer than the last time you saw him, older somehow, even if it had only been a few weeks.

He hovered in the doorway, one boot inside, the other not. Caught between the hall and the possibility of something uncomfortable.

You felt the shift in the room. The group noticed him how he carried himself. It wasn’t just his build. It was the posture. That straight-backed, high-alert bearing you only ever saw in two kinds of people: soldiers and people trying very hard not to fall apart.

You stood slowly. Smiled like you weren’t surprised to see him, even if a small part of you was.

“Hey.” You were warm.  “Come on in.”

Something in Jack’s shoulders eased, just slightly. You turned to the rest of the group, your voice calm, unforced.

“This is Jack. He’s joining us tonight.” No last name. No backstory. Just the gesture of arrival. That was enough.

A few nods, murmured hellos. One guy said, “Welcome,” like it was a rule. Jack gave a chin-dip in return.

A man, Martin, shared first,  talking about how his daughter stopped calling in March. Two others chimed in with variations of the same wound. The room did what it always did: it stretched itself to hold whatever pain it was given, without fixing it.

Jack didn’t speak. He didn’t fidget either. He sat still, eyes forward, but not glassy. Listening. Taking inventory. And you watched him. Subtly, out of the corner of your eye, like you weren’t waiting for the moment he’d stand and say he didn’t belong here because you could feel it.

He looked like he was scanning every word, every crack in the ceiling tile, trying to make it make sense. His eyes occasionally drifted to the door. His hands stayed in his lap, steady, but his foot tapped once—twice—before stilling again.

He wasn’t unsettled because it was a group. He was unsettled because, for the first time in a long time, no one needed him. No one was coding. No alarms were beeping. No one called Doctor Abbot.

He was just Jack.  And that didn’t feel like enough.

So, he didn’t speak for the first thirty minutes. Instead, Jack sat like he was made of poured concrete: solid, unswayed, unmoved. But the stillness wasn’t ease. It was maintenance. A posture that said: Don’t look too long or you’ll see the cracks.

The others took turns with practiced vulnerability. Another veteran, Lisa, talked about the baby next door who cried at night and how it sometimes made her want to knock on the wall and scream. 

Someone else recited their weekly mantra about how small talk at the gas station kept them tethered to the world. Every voice added weight and oxygen to the room in that strange way group therapy worked: no one fixing, no one solved, but everyone surviving, together.

You didn’t push Jack, but when the lull came, when the air went quiet in that half-second of unclaimed silence, you turned to him. Not a spotlight, not pressure, just an open door.

He shifted, as if preparing to run, though he didn’t. His fingers rubbed the side of his leg, slowly. You saw the muscle clench in his jaw before he spoke. “I traded my shift to make it here.”

It came out simple, but the effort behind the words was unmistakable. He paused after that,  long enough for it to seem like he might leave it there.

Yet, he exhaled, glanced toward the window, and you could almost see the gears turning behind his eyes, searching for a safer way to say what he meant. Something polite. Digestible. 

And then he gave up on that,  letting his tone drop into something flatter. Colder. Not harsh—just clinical, like he was delivering bad news to a patient’s family through a closed curtain.

“This isn’t a waste of time.” He started defensively, scared to offend your effort. “But sitting… idle like this for something I can’t even name… feels wrong.”

A few people looked up. He didn’t meet anyone’s eyes now. He kept speaking, as if he didn’t let the silence in, he wouldn’t be so measured.

“I don’t talk about things unless they have names. Symptoms. Patterns. Diagnoses. That’s the trade. You name it, we treat it. That’s how I work. That’s how I stay upright. But this…”

Jack trailed off again. Then shrugged, a short, tired motion.

“...this doesn’t bleed the same way.” He finished. 

The words didn’t land like a dramatic revelation. There was no gasp, no cinematic hush—just the steady hum of a room that knew the texture of what he meant.

Jack’s fingers stilled against the side of his leg. He looked down at his hands like he half-expected them to be covered in something—blood, maybe. Or purpose. But they were clean. Still. Useless.

“I spent my whole career knowing what to reach for,” he said. “Chest compressions. Epi. Clamp and cut. Even when it was bad, even when it was too late, at least I could do something.”

He leaned back slightly in the folding chair, the metal legs creaking faintly beneath him. The gesture made his prosthesis shift under his pant leg, and he winced, not in pain, but in awareness.

“But this?” His voice dropped, vulnerable now. “This is like watching a code slow down in real time and realizing you’re not the one running it. You’re just watching the monitor. And the line’s not flat yet, but it’s close.”

He didn’t say what he was thinking, but you could feel it hanging in the air: I traded a shift. I changed my whole night. I said yes to something I barely believe in. And this—this silence, this seat, this half-truth I just spoke—is all I have to show for it.

So, the quiet held. 

Not heavy. Not awkward. Just present. The way it got in that room—when someone finally said something so honest it didn’t need embellishment.

No one jumped in to reassure him. No one offered clichés. That wasn’t what this space was for.

You didn’t speak yet, either. You just sat with it. With him. The same way he’d done for the last thirty minutes. Like the room itself was trained to carry the weight for a while. He stayed, and that was what mattered.

Finally, Martin, the same man who had spoken first, shifted forward in his seat.

“I get it.” He agreed. “Post service, I became a firefighter…After I retired, I couldn’t go to the grocery store without looking for exits, looking for a problem.  Couldn’t sit in my living room without wondering what the hell I was doing just sitting there.”

Jack didn’t nod, but he didn’t flinch either. He just stayed where he was, breathing evenly, like the effort of being in the room was more taxing than a double shift.

Lisa spoke next.

“It took me a year to figure out I wasn’t broken. Just… not useful in the way I was trained to be. No one ever tells you how to exist when there’s no task in front of you.”

Jack swallowed, his throat working hard against nothing. He blinked slowly, then glanced your way, but only for a beat.

The group kept moving, circling. No one tried to fix him. They just laid their pieces down beside his. You waited until the conversation had stretched on, shifted. Until someone made a dry joke about how the snacks were always good, and the weight in the air lightened just enough to carry again.

Only then did you speak—quietly, but clearly to everyone in the room.

“Remember, it’s now always about coming here to feel better.” You didn’t pose the sentiment to be questioned. “You can always come to not feel alone while it’s bad.”

The rest of the session moved on. The others began to speak again, and Jack stayed silent for the rest of it. Not because he didn’t want to be part of it, but because that was his part. The kind of sharing that left your bones hollowed out afterward. Like saying anything else would cheapen the breath it took to get that out.

Even after the session, when the folding chairs had scraped back across the linoleum and the regulars had filtered out with their usual half-smiles and murmured thanks, Jack lingered. Not awkwardly. Just unhurried, like his body hadn’t yet caught up to the fact that the talking was over.

Lisa was the first to approach him. Extended her hand, firm and sure, and told him where she served. Jack didn’t flinch, just nodded and returned the shake.

Someone else, Curtis, Navy, chimed in with a timeline, a base. The names passed like currency. The kind of shared vocabulary that didn’t need to be explained.

You were still inside, tossing coffee cups into the trash, wiping down tabletops that had already been clean.

By the time you stepped out into the night, the group was gone. The lot was nearly empty except for your car and one old truck idling at the far end. 

The sharp chill of early spring hit your neck, and you hunched your shoulders as you reached into your coat pocket. Keys. Lighter. Cigarettes. A ritual, half-forgotten.

You moved toward the concrete steps at the front of the church, letting yourself exhale for the first time all night. You sat, letting the cold seep through your pants.

It was a habit, really—staying much longer than needed. No one around to clock you. No rules left to follow.

You tapped a cigarette out of the pack and slid it between your lips. Lit it with a tired flick of the thumb.

“Now that’s one hell of a sight.”

You startled. Jack’s voice came from the shadows, dry as whiskey left out overnight.

You turned to see him leaning against the stone railing, just out of reach of the yellow glow from the overhead bulb.

Then, you let out a soft huff. “It’s medicinal.”

“Oh yeah?” He nodded toward the cigarette. “What’s that treat?”

“Empathy fatigue.” You deadpanned. “And low-grade moral despair.”

Jack laughed, really laughed. Not loud. Not long. Real.

You glanced at him, surprised to see he was still here. Even more surprised by what his presence was doing to your posture, you weren’t standing straight anymore. You weren’t leading anything. You were just here.

You gestured to the space beside you on the steps.

“Come on then. You’ve already seen me sin. Might as well sit through the confession.”

Jack hesitated, then climbed the two steps and lowered himself beside you. He sat with the same precision you’d seen in the exam room, like even resting was something to be executed properly.

You flicked ash to the concrete. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

“Didn’t want to go back yet.” He admitted.

You both looked out across the street, quiet for a moment. He didn’t seem rushed now. He was just untethered. 

“You know, this is the first time in five years I haven’t done a night shift.”

You turned to him. He wasn’t looking at you, his eyes were still on the street, jaw set like he’d said too much.

“It’s killing me—” Jack added. “—sitting still. Watching the hours pass without something bleeding or burning or breaking.”

You didn’t interrupt. You let the weight of the admission settle.

“You could’ve gone home.” You said eventually.

“I wouldn’t have stayed.” He looked at you then. And you saw it, clear in the way his green-hazel eyes softened; this wasn’t just a delay tactic,  it was survival. “Don’t know what to do with the quiet.”

You offered the cigarette pack, not pushing, just holding it out in case. He didn’t take one, but he didn’t recoil, either.

Jack scratched his head in thought, looking sideways at you. “I don’t mean to unload on you, I know you already—I’m just—

“Don’t worry, I stayed for the same reason.” You cut him off, unwilling to entertain something so wrong. “Company makes it better.” 

You looked at him in the glow of the streetlight, noticing how different he seemed outside the exam room, outside the group. How strange it was, seeing someone become real right in front of you.

His eyes flicked to yours, then, briefly, but steadily. A flicker of something like recognition passed between you.

“You’re different out here, you know?”

You raised an eyebrow, lips quirking around the filter. “Different how?”

“No clipboard. No script.”

You huffed a little, dragged the cigarette again before flicking ash to the side. “You say that like I’ve been reading off cue cards.”

“I don’t mean it as a bad thing. Just—” Jack leaned back slightly on his elbows, letting the stone of the step press cold against his back.  “You’re quieter. Less… contained—wasn’t expecting it.”

“What were you expecting?” You gave him a sidelong glance.

“Not someone who needs to stay behind.”

That, more than anything, made something ache behind your chest. You looked away. Let the ember of your cigarette burn a little too long.

“Well…” You were gentle with the thought. “Not all of us know how to leave.”

You don’t continue  right away. Just let the silence sit between you, a low hum of nothing but the wind moving along the street, the overhead lamp buzzing faintly like a broken thought. Yet, Jack knew the thought wasn’t through.

“...out here, I don’t have to keep anyone upright” You’d never said it aloud, afraid the guilt it would bring, but it was so relieving to admit.  “...I don’t have to hold my own spine so straight either.”

Jack nodded slowly, gazing forward again. “That sounds nice.”

“It’s not.” Your tone wasn’t bitter, but sometimes honesty read that way. “It’s just true.”

Another car rolled past, headlights stalking across the sidewalk and over Jack’s boots. The beam caught the tired set of his jaw, the way his eyes had sunk slightly into their sockets from too many nights that didn’t end the way they should have. 

Still, Jack looked better in this light. He looked less sharp, less made of stone.

“You ever try to quit?”  He turned his head slightly, demeanor ticking in quiet acknowledgment of your cigarette.

“Ever the doctor.” You gave a dry laugh, slow and low. “Every other week I think about quitting, and then someone tells me they still remember the weight of the body they had to leave behind, and suddenly I’m outside again with a lighter.”

“Guess I should thank you for staying out here long enough for me to loiter.”

“Loiter?” You echoed, glancing sideways. “You’re giving yourself a lot of credit.”

He huffed a laugh. “Fair.”

The lull between you had settled into something companionable.  A mutual endurance, like you were both learning how to be still in the same moment.

Jack shifted, like he had something else on the tip of his tongue but wasn’t sure how to give it shape. His gaze dipped to the cigarette now crushed out beside your shoe. Then, to your hands, your sleeves pulled down over your wrists like instinct.

“Gimme your wrist.” He cleared his throat.

You blinked, confused. “What?”

He held out a hand, patient and palm-up. “Your wrist. I’m being serious.”

A smile pulled at your mouth before you could stop it. “Jack, you trying to hold my hand outside a church?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “I’m offering you a free exam. Since you admitted it’s been years.”

You laughed, not quite believing him, even as your heart gave the smallest thud of something unexpected. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” There was a new wave of confidence as he spoke. “A licensed PA, going around telling people to take care of themselves, but too stubborn to schedule a check-up? That stuck with me.”

He flexed his fingers slightly, still holding them out. You let out a long, amused sigh—but gave him your wrist.

Jack took it carefully, cradling it like it was something breakable. His fingers were warm, steady. He glanced at his watch, brow furrowing in quiet concentration.

“You’re stalling.” You teased.

“I’m being thorough—

He kept counting. His mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk, but when he finally looked up, his eyes caught yours and something shifted in the air between you. It was heavy and new.

—If I’m doing your first physical in however many years.” He clicked his teeth. “No way, I’m cutting corners.”

The line landed harder than he meant it to. You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe for a second too long. Neither did he. Then, without fanfare, Jack released your wrist, like he was afraid of making it mean more than it already did.

Jack’s eyes skimmed your face, thoughtful, quiet. Not searching for a reaction, just weighing something. Whatever hesitation had held him off earlier was gone now, replaced by a kind of gentle stubbornness that to you felt more him. 

Jack lifted his hand again, slower this time, and brought his fingers to your jaw. He said nothing, just let the touch land carefully, fingertips warm beneath the edge of your cheekbone.

His thumb shifted slightly, pressing beneath the hinge of your jaw, then slid up toward the curve beneath your ear.

You didn’t move, not because you couldn’t, but because you didn’t want to. There was nothing performative in the gesture, nothing flirtatious. It wasn’t about romance or pretense or asking for more.

It was just Jack, still trying to be useful.

You tilted your head without thinking, letting him trace the side of your neck. His thumb swept slowly beneath your jawline, feeling for your lymph nodes.

His movements were sure, practiced. Not clinical in the cold sense, but precise. Tactile. Like each step in the exam was tethered to something older than routine.

“You had to do all this in the field?”

Jack nodded, his touch moving to the base of your neck. “Every day. No machines. Just hands and instincts.”

You heard something shift in his voice with a quiet flick of gravity. That subtle weight people carried when they weren’t talking about the past so much as living in it again.

“Vitals were all manual. Pulse checks. Respiratory counts by ear. Skin temp by touch. No monitors, no steady beeping to tell you who was slipping.”

Jack’s thumb passed gently along the tendon at the side of your neck, and for a moment, you forgot what the street sounded like. You were suddenly aware of the shape of your body in space, of the parts of you he could feel ticking beneath his fingers.

“At night we worked in blackout conditions.” He murmured, continuing a ritual he’d never forget. “No headlamps. No lanterns. Just stars, if we were lucky. Used the North Star to orient when GPS failed. Checked pupils by moonlight. You’d learn to tell cyanosis from normal by feel, not sight.”

You swallowed, but didn’t pull away. His hand was still there, anchored lightly against your throat. Not gripping, not holding. Just witnessing.

“And you trusted yourself to get it right?” You asked, not doubting him, but wondering what it had cost.

“You didn’t have a choice.” Jack’s gaze met yours again. And this time, something flickered in it, something bigger than both of you.  “When someone’s slipping under your hands, you either learn the difference or you lose them.”

You swallowed again—and he felt that, too.

Jack moved to your collarbone, pressing lightly, checking along the line where lymph nodes would swell. Your eyes flicked up to him at that, but his gaze was steady on your shoulder, his hand still carefully mapping the shape of your body like it was a page he needed to memorize. 

“You’re tense.” His fingers paused at the base of your neck.

You let out a breath. “Occupational hazard.”

Jack pulled back slightly, eyes finally meeting yours.

“Could say the same.” He said. 

There was a stillness between you then full of something else. A thread tied between memory and presence. Between what he’d once done to save lives, and what he was doing now to feel human again.

You shifted, giving him a small, crooked smile. “This what you pictured for a night off?”

Jack didn’t answer right away. His eyes lingered on yours, thoughtful, like he was weighing how honest to be.

“Not exactly.” He confessed. His hand dropped from your collarbone then, the air between you still carrying the weight of his touch.  “But it’s the best one I’ve had in a long time.”

“My health that riveting?” 

Then, with a faint smirk, Jack returned to himself.  “You’ve got a hell of a resting heart rate.”

You pealed with laughter. The grin tugging at the corner of Jack’s mouth softened everything in him.

“That’s your fault.”

He shrugged.

You sat back a little, feeling your own body again; your neck still tingling faintly where his fingers had been. He hadn’t lingered to touch you, not really. He’d touched you because that’s how he knew people. That’s how he made sense of the living.

And tonight, for once, he wasn’t too late.

The streetlight above flickered once, then steadied. The night still buzzed faintly with the sound of spring creeping in, but the world, for a moment, had gone small; just the church steps, the two of you, and the unspoken admission that this, whatever it was, had been needed.

And maybe, you thought, that was what healing sometimes looked like. Not talking.  Not explaining.  Just letting someone check for signs of life and finding them.

There was a kind of reverence in that. And you hadn’t expected reverence tonight.

You rubbed your fingers slowly along the fabric of your pants, grounding yourself with the texture. The quiet stretched again, but softer this time. Less like the end of a conversation and more like the lull before the next thing.

Eventually, you straightened, reluctantly peeling yourself away from the cold stone steps. Jack’s movement followed yours like a reflex;he stood, not with purpose, but with you, shadowing your motion, the way people do when they’ve been through long shifts together. When the silence between them means something understood.

Neither of you said Let’s go. But you both started walking.

Down the worn church steps, your shoes thudding softly on old cement. Gravel cracked beneath your weight as you crossed the narrow lot. It had gone almost fully quiet, just the low hum of the power lines, the wind slipping through the trees like a passing thought.

Your car sat waiting beneath a crooked lamp, light flickering as if undecided. Jack’s truck was parked a few spaces down, dust settling on the hood like it always did when someone stopped moving long enough.

You stopped at your door, keys already out but untouched in your hand. You didn’t unlock it. Jack didn’t walk past. He hovered there instead, just close enough to share the moment, just far enough to leave you room if you wanted to step away.

He rocked once on his heels, then cleared his throat. It wasn’t a nervous sound—just a nudge. Something that bridged the quiet without breaking it.

“You think that group’s got space next week?” He asked, his voice shier now, like he didn’t want to spook the stillness you’d both earned.

“We don’t do headcounts.” You smiled.  “Just chairs. If one’s open, it’s yours.”

Jack considered that. Nodded once, brows drawing slightly inward with the thought. Then, a faint smile, tired around the edges, but real in the center.

“Alright.”  He murmured, agreeable. “Might do that.”

You leaned your weight gently against the side of your car, letting yourself rest into the shape of the night for a breath longer.

“You know, Jack—” You started confidently. “—you don’t have to wait for Thursdays to talk to me.”

His brows twitched in the faintest flicker of surprise and confusion. The kind he tried to swallow but couldn’t quite manage, the suspense too enticing. 

“I mean, if something comes up.”  You smiled subtly.  “Or if you need anything. Or just… if it’s late, and things are too quiet again….”

You trailed off and held out your hand, palm open. He blinked once, the weight of your words landing slowly.

 “Your phone. So I can give you my number.” You kept your tone light. Gentle. “I’ll type it in for you. Easier than calling the front desk and pretending it’s about a referral.”

Jack hesitated, just for a second, but reached for it. His phone was warm from his pocket. The screen was still open. You clicked into his contacts, typed in your name, and entered your number without comment. No title, no clinic.

Just you.

Before handing it back, you paused with your thumb hovering over the message field, but you didn’t text yourself. Didn’t give him that easy opening. You locked the screen and gave it back.

“There.” You said, brushing your fingers against his as the phone changed hands. “If you want to reach out, you can. If not… no pressure.”

Jack looked down at the phone in his hand like it might bite back. The contact glowed softly on the screen—your name, simple and unadorned.

“You’re giving me an out.”

“Or an invitation.” You shrugged. “Depends on what you do with it.”

He didn’t answer right away. Just thumbed the edge of the screen, eyes distant for a moment. Processing. Weighing.

“You don’t give this to just anybody.” He realized quietly. It wasn’t a question.

You tilted your head. “Neither do you.”

Something flickered across his face and spread through his body. The road to something like this was never clean, and it sure as hell wasn’t straight, but this? This felt like rest. Or more like something unfolding, slow and tentative, in the center of his chest. A warmth he didn’t expect to feel tonight.

Jack’s mouth opened like he might say something else—something honest, something bold, but the words caught in his throat and never came.

Instead, he just held your gaze for a beat too long to be casual. Like he was still cataloging something he hadn’t named yet.

Not attraction exactly—but something adjacent. Something measured. Careful. Like he hadn’t let himself think about hope in a long time, and didn’t want to touch it too directly now in case it vanished.

You didn’t break the moment either.

Eventually, he stepped back, nodding once—not goodbye, just a shift in posture. A soft signal that he’d give you your space.

You watched him walk back to his truck. His gait was slower now, less formal than before. Shoulders slightly hunched, but looser. Like he’d left something behind on those steps and wasn’t sure yet if that was a loss or a relief.

You stood still until he opened his door.

He didn’t look back. But he didn’t rush, either.

And when the engine turned over and the headlights swept across the lot, you didn’t flinch from the brightness. You let it pass through you.

There wasn’t anything to say. Not tonight.

But the air had shifted.

Like something in the dark had turned to face the light again. And maybe next Thursday, you thought, when the chairs were pulled out again and the coffee burned a little on the bottom, maybe there’d be two people left sitting under the sky.

Still not talking. Still not explaining. But quietly, unmistakably—staying.

[socialobligation]

Salutations. 🤓🤚 (this is kinda rambly sorry)

How we feeling about Todoroki not understanding social cues and completely messing shit up w/ shawty. (Personally I think it's a hilarious idea.) "Ommgg get outtt" "...okay?" Dips the fuck out. I think it could be a funny smau thingy or a drabble or WHATEVER it'll be good cus ur hella funny!! (ALSO I SAW UR KIRI× ALT-ISH READER AND I KNOW THAT WOULD ALSO EAT WITH LIKE AN ALT READER X TOKOYAMI OR SHOJI literally my favorite characters and I always thought that alt reader was very similar to dadzawa reader person so aizawa v. Readers bf would be funny too) okay I'm stopping nooowwww much love

get out | s. todoroki

what starts as a miscommunication lesson slowly unravels into something much softer, where teasing turns into quiet confessions, and maybe—just maybe—you're both a little more obvious than you thought.

it’s been months now. the two of you have fallen into that rare kind of friendship that feels effortless—the kind built from shared late-night study sessions, stupid inside jokes, and a surprising amount of mutual patience. shoto isn’t someone you expected to become your closest friend; he’s too formal, too literal, too composed. and yet somehow, he became your person. steady. dependable. stubbornly honest.

he's smart, meticulous, and considerate in ways that sneak up on you—the way he memorizes your coffee order, the way he lends you his umbrella without comment when he knows you forgot yours, the way he notices when you're tired and offers to carry your books without asking. but even after all this time, he still stumbles over basic social cues like they’re potholes on an otherwise flawless street.

and honestly? it's a little endearing. a little dangerous, too, when you’re harboring a crush you can’t quite figure out how to hide.

case in point: today.

when you shove his shoulder lightly, laughing as you say, "oh my god, get out," he reacts without hesitation.

he stands up.

"okay," he says, already halfway to the door with the solemnity of someone obeying a direct command.

you blink at him, stunned. "wait—no, i didn't mean—"

he halts mid-step, looking at you with genuine concern. "you told me to get out."

"it’s a figure of speech, dude," you groan, dragging a hand down your face. "like… 'no way!' or 'shut up!' it doesn't actually mean leave."

he blinks, processing this new data. "i see."

"do you?"

"not entirely."

you laugh, shaking your head as you pat the cushion beside you. "sit back down, you're fine."

he hesitates, then retraces his steps with careful precision, lowering himself stiffly into the chair across from you, posture perfect like he’s bracing for another misunderstanding.

you snort into your drink. "you're so formal. it's like hanging out with a very polite cat."

he tilts his head slightly, considering. "is that meant to be a compliment?"

"sure," you say, grinning.

he looks genuinely pleased, though the slight furrow between his brows suggests he's filed the statement away for later analysis.

you pull your legs up onto the couch, scrolling lazily through your phone while he watches you with quiet attentiveness, like you might do something critical at any moment. it's not weird. or at least, it’s not weird to you anymore. shoto pays attention to people he cares about.

he just doesn’t always know how to show it.

"you can chill, you know," you say, glancing up.

"i am chill."

"you're sitting like you're about to recite the national anthem."

he straightens further. "good posture is important."

"relax, mr. posture," you tease, grabbing the nearest pillow and tossing it at him.

it smacks him in the face with a soft thud. he doesn’t even blink.

he catches it carefully, setting it on his lap like it’s a fragile object.

"thank you," he says, genuinely.

you burst out laughing.

"okay," you say, setting your drink down, "lesson one. when someone says 'get out' while laughing, it usually means 'i can't believe you just said that, that's hilarious.' not 'please leave.'"

he nods slowly, committing it to memory with grave seriousness.

"lesson two," you continue, leaning forward a little, "if i call you 'stupid' or 'dummy' while smiling, it doesn't mean you're actually stupid. it usually means i think you're being… cute."

he processes this with a blink. "so verbal insults can sometimes signal affection."

"exactly."

he nods again, more confidently.

"lesson three," you say, gesturing to the pillow he's still holding, "if someone throws a pillow at you, it's usually affectionate. like, it means they like you."

he stares at the pillow. then at you. back at the pillow.

"oh," he says simply, like a puzzle piece clicking into place.

you clear your throat, suddenly needing to look very intently at your shoes.

"not—not always like, like-like," you add hastily, stumbling a little. "sometimes it's just friendly. but… sometimes it’s… y’know."

he watches you for a long moment, his gaze steady, thoughtful.

"is it… like that?" he asks.

you glance up, heart hammering.

"maybe," you say, soft, unable to summon anything cooler or smarter.

he tilts his head again, as if weighing the information.

"good," he says finally, in that same plain, almost reverent voice.

you blink. "good?"

"i like you too," he says, with all the certainty of a fact he's double-checked.

he tosses the pillow back at you—lighter this time, more casual—and there's a flicker of a real smile tugging at his mouth.

"reciprocal," he adds, because of course he would.

you catch the pillow against your chest, laughing despite the way your heart is doing somersaults.

"lesson four," you say, regaining your composure, "if someone says something obviously ridiculous, like 'i could totally fight a bear,' you're supposed to play along. not start listing reasons why it's inadvisable."

he looks genuinely troubled by this. "but fighting a bear would be strategically unsound—"

"shoto."

he stops. reconsiders.

"you could absolutely fight a bear," he says, voice deadpan.

you cackle, tossing the pillow at him again. he catches it without effort, a glint of humor in his eyes now, subtle but unmistakable.

"you're getting there," you say, sinking back into the couch with a grin.

"thank you," he replies, a little looser, a little lighter.

he's still shoto—precise, literal, impossibly sincere.

and now, maybe, a little yours too.

[inks-writing-space]

could you please write something with elijah's hands? Like hand kink and the reader being obsessed with them?

Suspicion- Elijah Mikaelson x f!reader

My Masterlist <3

1.9k words: You are very fond of Elijah's hand and he has his suspicions...

Warnings: fingering, choking, Elijah's hands, veiny hands, hand kink, light dom!Elijah, dirty talk

A/N: I have so much to say so get ready: 1. God Elijah's hand. He is so daddy, I need his hands oh my god, please, please, please. I would never reality shift for a man, guys, but Elijah's hands are a big motivational factor. Thank you for this request!!

2. I am so sorry for posting nothing for over a month. I finished school, went on a trip with my entire grade to Croatia, and forgot every motivation to write back at home. Now I am back and I sleep all the time, and I am tired. That's also why this is so short, I'll try to make the next longer. But I have to admit I am running low on ideas so I wouldn't mind requests.

3. Thank you for almost 600 interactions on "Checkmate"???? I love you all so much you are so cute <3

~~~~~~~

You swore he knew.

The way Elijah Mikaelson used his hands should be illegal. Elegant, precise, always clean, he moved like every gesture was choreographed by himself. Every flex of his hands seemed on purpose, because with Elijah Mikaelson nothing happens on accident. He could flip through a book, pour bourbon, or adjust his cufflinks, and somehow make it feel like foreplay. At least for you, because you were slowly losing your mind over it.

You’d been dating him for weeks now, and while there’d been kisses, he hadn’t once pushed further. Ever the gentleman.

Which was the problem. Because you were going insane, and his hands were playing a big part kn it. The way they brushed the small of your back, the way they held the edge of your chin when he kissed you… even the way they turned the pages of his damn journals. You could have made the first move but you were slightly intimidated and didn’t want it to feel forced.

You were seated in the library tonight, legs curled up on the sofa, pretending to read while he played piano. You looked up from time to time, having to swallow as you saw his hands and the way they moved over the keys. The veins…oh god those veins. Your heart fluttered like the one of a teenage girl watching her high school crush. You felt his eyes on you before you heard him approach.

“You’re distracted,” he said with his low voice.

“I’m reading,” you replied, totally unconvincing.

He smirked. “You’ve been stuck on the same page for ten minutes.”

You avoided his gaze, not trusting your own face to hide the truth. His footsteps were soft, deliberate, and then he was standing beside you offering you a glass of wine.

As you reached to take it his fingers touched yours and you had to swallow an image of his hand wrapped around your throat suddenly in your head.

His eyes dropped first to your lips, then to your hand still holding the wine. “May I ask you something?”

“Anything,” you said, a little too fast. “Why do you always look away when I touch you?” he asked softly. "I...I do not," you whispered looking away

“You do. Every time.”

You stared into the glass, your pulse embarrassingly loud. “It’s… distracting.” He leaned down slightly, his voice a whisper against your cheek. “What exactly do you find distracting, sweetheart?”

You closed your eyes and sighed, your cheeks heating up and you shivered as he ran his thumb over your lower lip. "Your...hands," you whispered as if you had shared a long kept family secret.

“I see,” he said, voice velvet-smooth. “That’s why you flinch. Because you’re imagining what I might do with them.”

You couldn’t speak.

He reached out, trailing one finger slowly down your throat. “You could’ve just told me,” he said quietly. “But I must confess that I like watching you squirm.” Your breath left your lungs in a rush, “What do you want me to do with my fingers?”

Your mouth went dry. You opened it, then shut it again, because the truth burned hot behind your lips, too humiliating to say aloud. But Elijah didn’t move. He was just listening and that made you even crazier. His warm and composed eyes and his crooked smile encouraging you to say it. And God, you wanted to.

“I…” Your voice cracked, “I want them…”

“Say it,” he coaxed, gently. “There’s no need for shame, darling. Not with me.”

Your cheeks burned as you whispered, “I want them around my throat.”

He stilled. The silence that followed was heavy but not judgmental, it just seemed electric. His hand didn’t move right away. He studied you for a long, measured second, and when he finally spoke, his voice was lower than ever.

“You should be very certain when you ask me for something like that.” “I am,” you whispered, breath trembling. “I’ve thought about it… too many times.”

A long pause.

Then, finally, he brought his hand to your throat, slowly, reverently and rested it there. No pressure. Just the presence of it. His fingers curved along your neck like they belonged there, thumb brushing your jaw, his palm warm against your skin. Your pulse raced beneath his touch. "Shh, feel it," he whispered

And then, very gently, he tightened his grip.

His hand tightened just slightly around your throat, firm but not rough it was a promise more than a threat. Your breath hitched as your head started to feel light from the lack of air. You love it. You loved the way he looked at you as if you were something precious.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “Trembling from slowly choking on my hand.” You were slowly getting dizzy and he released you letting you gasp for air. He pulled you closer your mouths connecting. You groaned against him and before you could overthink it, your own hand moved.

You reached up, shy but determined, and took his other hand and guided it down, slowly, over the curve of your chest. His palm dragged over the fabric of your shirt, and his brow arched slightly, almost amused, but he let you lead.

“This,” you breathed. “I want… more of this.”

“You want more of my hands.” It wasn’t a question. It was a confirmation, spoken like a man who already knew the answer.

You nodded. “I think about them all the time.”

His hand paused over your breast, fingers resting lightly. “Then don’t just think,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over your nipple through the fabric, just enough to make your hips twitch. “Feel.”

Your lips parted, breath shaky as he dragged that hand lower watching you, not his hand, as he moved. He leaned in, brushing his lips against the shell of your ear.

“I’ll give you everything you want, sweetheart,” he whispered, “but only if you tell me. Use your words.”

Your hand curled around his wrist, guiding him lower, over your hip, your inner thigh.

And softly, barely audible, you whispered, “Please, Elijah…”

You guided his hand lower until his fingers brushed over the heat between your thighs. Even through the thin fabric, it was obvious how badly you wanted this. Wanted him.

Elijah groaned low in his throat his control obviously starting to slip.

“God,” he muttered, voice suddenly thick. His hand cupped you gently, palm warm, and he let it linger, just feeling the way your hips arched into him, the quiet desperation in every movement. “So warm. You’re already soaked through.”

You whimpered again, your hand still around his wrist wanting to guide him further, guide him deeper, but he didn’t move. Not yet. His voice dipped lower, nearly a growl.

“Tell me something.”

You blinked up at him, pulse in your throat still pounding under his grip.

“Do you touch yourself at night,” he asked softly, “thinking about my hands?” He flexed his fingers just slightly between your legs. “About them wrapped around your throat, or buried between your thighs?”

You inhaled sharply, ashamed at how easily the answer threatened to spill from your lips.

He leaned closer, brushing his mouth along your cheek without kissing you. Just letting his breath whisper over your skin.

“Do you choke yourself,” he asked, “wishing it was me?”

You closed your eyes, and whispered, “Yes.”

He stilled again. You could feel the weight of your confession land in the space between you, crackling like fire.Then his grip on your throat shifted still gentle, but more possessive now. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes.

“Show me how you do it,” he said quietly. “Show me what you do when you’re alone.”

Your hand trembled as you reached down, fingers brushing his. He didn’t move, just let you take control, even though you both knew who truly held it.

You swallowed. “I usually… start here,” you whispered, guiding his hand a fraction lower.

His eyes never left your face.

You pressed your thighs together slightly, the friction making you gasp, and when your fingers curled tighter around his wrist, he finally let his breath hitch.

“Do you imagine I’m watching you?” he asked, voice velvet and sin. “Or do you imagine I’m the one doing it to you?”

Your answer was a broken moan, "Both," you whispered before he finally dragged your undergarments down your legs.

Elijah smirked as he slowly inserted a finger, his thumb circling over your clit again and again. You whimpered and bucked your hips up into his hand. His finger was a lot thicker than yours and you loved the way it filled you. As he started to move you groaned loudly watching him inserting a second one. "Hm, how am I even supposed to fit my cock into you?," he whispered, "You are so tight, such a naughty girl and still so tight."´

Your legs were trembling while his fingers moved with such devastating precision curling deep, stroking that spot that made your vision blur, while his thumb never stopped circling your clit in slow, tight spirals. It was unbearable. It was perfect.

“Elijah,” you gasped, voice cracking.

He exhaled a soft laugh against your ear, voice low and reverent. “That’s it, sweetheart… You’re close, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips lifting, chasing every movement of his hand. His free arm curled behind your back, holding you in place as you writhed beneath him, and his fingers didn’t falter.

“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. “Falling apart for me like this. You’re so beautiful when you’re desperate.”

Your mouth opened in a silent cry as your body began to tighten, all that heat and pressure building toward something uncontrollable. You were so close it hurt.

“Let go,” Elijah whispered, his grip on your throat turning possessive, his fingers working deeper inside you. “Come for me. I want to feel you fall apart.”

That was it. Your body broke open around his hand, pleasure crashing over you like a wave, it was sharp and consuming and unstoppable. You cried out his name, voice wrecked and raw, as you clenched around his fingers, thighs shaking, your back arching helplessly off the couch.

He held you through it while never looking away. Watching every tremble, every breathless gasp, every flutter of your lashes as your orgasm ripped through you like a confession.

When you finally collapsed back into the cushions, dazed and trembling, Elijah withdrew his hand slowly, like your orgasm was a gift you had given him.

“Good girl,” he whispered, brushing his fingers tenderly along your thigh. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”

You fell back onto the couch, your breath still hitched, legs weak beneath him, heart pounding like a frantic drum. Elijah’s fingers finally slipped from your throat but the lingering warmth of his touch felt like fire beneath your skin. You gasped, finally able to breathe fully again, only to find his eyes glinting with that mischievous spark.

He chuckled low, a sound full of both amusement and something darker. “Oh love I thought that tonight I might finally have you,” he said, voice teasing but firm. “But seems like you need to recover from this first.”

You blinked up at him, breathless and confused.

Elijah leaned down, brushing his lips softly against your temple before pulling back just enough to smirk. “If I took you to bed now, you’d be too exhausted to give me what I deserve.”

You whimpered softly, in protest “So… what do I do?”

“Rest,” he whispered, his hand tangling in your hair, thumb stroking your cheek slowly. “And when you’re ready… you come find me. Because this is only the beginning, darling.”

Then, with that signature quiet confidence, he stood and disappeared into the shadows, leaving you aching and horny.

[neiptune]

assessment gone wrong

cw: 2.5k wc, female reader, miscommunication trope, very self indulgent, quite sappy by the end, yikes yikes yikes, oliver comes up with a not so brilliant idea to test out how much you actually like him and it blows up in his pretty face

“I think we should have a threesome”.

You damn nearly choke on the piece of whipped ricotta toast you’re eating, eyes darting to where Oliver is sitting across from you at the breakfast table he so kindly set.

“What?”, you swallow, trying really hard to hide your astonishment. He just smiles.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that for a while. What do you say?”.

You clear your throat, gaze low while you keep your fingers occupied by tapping them on the mug filled to the brim with freshly brewed tea.

Oliver relishes in that agitation and, as he brings a spoonful of spinach tofu scramble to his mouth, he secretly congratulates himself on the brilliant idea his brain came up with while on his morning run.

The thing is, you two have been dating for a while now and he truly likes you. That’s precisely why he would like to confirm that you like him too. No, more than that: he wants to understand just how much you like him. So of course the mature and adult thing to do would be to test whatever feelings you might or might not have for him through a silly trial. An assessment, if you will. All you have to do is say no, confirm that you don’t want to go through with something like that because you want him and no one else. You don’t need anyone else. He’ll take any confession, really, from the sweetly embarrassed one to the heartwarming, touched, emotional one.

It’ll be his cue to tell you, too. Tell you that he doesn’t want anyone else either.

It’s the perfect plan: you’re nervous, surely debating how it’d be best to tell him that it’s not a good idea. Victory already tastes so sweet on his tongue, like a ripe mango or a drizzle of honey…

“Okay”.

Oliver blinks.

“Sorry?”.

You offer a smile.

“Fine. Let’s do it”.

Suddenly, the taste in his mouth is sour. He clears his throat.

“You sure?”.

“Yep”, you pop the ‘p’, “how about Itoshi?”.

Oliver calmly swallows another bite of his breakfast and washes it down with a generous sip of coffee. He didn’t expect you to accept, let alone to have a preference. What the actual fuck.

“Which one?”.

“Either”, you grin, “Sae, if I had to choose”.

Why do you want to choose in the first place? He can’t wrap his head around the unexpected result of his experiment. He wasn’t prepared to face this specific scenario.

“Will you ask him?”, your tone is so sweet, as it always is when you want him to do something, “or were you thinking of someone else? Sendo is cute but I thought it’d be weird since you two are practically brothers and, like, he’s the straightest guy I know. How about Isagi or Karasu? Oh, I know! Shid-”

“I will ask him”, Oliver sternly interrupts the little philippic of possible men you’re apparently dying to sleep with. He only has one remaining wild card to play.

“How about a woman? I was thinking Anri, she’s really hot”.

Oliver almost smirks when his question is met with the hesitation he was looking forward to at last. It only lasts a second, then you offer the biggest smile as you shrug.

“Yeah, she’s beautiful. Why not?”.

The wild card burns to ashes right in front of his eyes. Fuck.

“Okay, then”, he chirps, ever the charming liar.

“Okay, then”, you say back and if Oliver wasn’t so focused on contemplating how every single one of his certainties was disrupted like a house of cards left in a rainstorm, maybe he would’ve noticed the tense corners of your smile.

A few days go by without the stupid agreement being mentioned and part of you hopes that practice and games and silly family drama will be enough to take his mind off of it. But you also know that once Oliver sets his mind to something, it’s nearly impossible for him to reconsider it.

Honestly, you were completely blindsided by the threesome idea. Not letting it get to you, not falling into the trap of thinking you may not be enough for him, has been hard. The past few days have been hard. You’ve been replying to his texts normally and it’s still quite early for him to notice that your smiles are all forced, your enthusiasm fictitious.

It’s just that it kinda felt like the dating stage was finally about to transform into something different, something more. Perhaps you’ve been too naive but the thought was there: you couldn’t help but believe he likes you as much as you like him, enough to not feel the need to see other people anymore. Clearly, not only he still wants other people, he’s also been wondering whether you’d want them too. Which is fair. Unexpected but understandable. He’s not your boyfriend, is he?

It’s your fault for having been dumb enough to say yes to something you don’t actually want to do. But the thing is, you panicked and feared that refusing would have automatically led to him breaking things off.

It’s embarrassing how badly you’re falling for Oliver Aiku, enough to blindly accept a goddamn threesome apparently. Enough to be scared of not living up to his standards as a partner. But if this is what he wants, if this is what he needs, clearly you’re not the right person for him and prolonging what’s not meant to be will only result in heartache.

Still... are you ready to just let him go? Couldn’t you maybe at least try, for his sake? Isn't this how you get to prove that you like him enough to do something like this in the first place?

These thoughts have been tormenting you day and night, you’re too embarrassed to mention the issue to any of your friends so you’re just letting the endless pondering eat away at your sanity.

Oliver casually swings by your place after practice, takes your face in his hands to kiss you when you open the door for him.

“Can I shower here? I have a change of clothes”, he murmurs against your mouth and you kiss him again, tell him he already knows where the clean towels are.

Your apartment is considerably smaller than his, so it’s easy to chat while he’s in the bathroom and you’re putting together dinner for two in the kitchen. The familiarity you have so easily fallen into feels comfortable and warm in your belly, the tune he hums in the shower making the perfect soundtrack for your quiche to bake in the oven.

Oliver smells of your shampoo and body wash when he wraps his arms around you by the kitchen counter, hair still damp tickling your collarbone when he kisses your shoulder.

“How was practice?”, you ask with a smile.

“Pretty good. Guess the best part”.

“Mmm. Sendo finally scored with a corner kick”.

He chuckles.

“He was in great shape today but no. The best part is how close practice is to your place”.

Your heart fumbles in your chest at his words and when you turn in his arms he instantly presses you against the counter to give you a proper kiss. It’s slow, sweet, his hands squeeze your hips and you angle your head to kiss him deeper, your lungs unfairly claiming their fill of oxygen too soon. You’d give up something as trivial as breathing instantly, if it meant you got to kiss Oliver forever.

“Stay here tonight?”, you ask sheepishly, thumb stroking his skin where your hand rests on his cheek. He smiles.

“If you want me”.

He’s so beautiful. And so stupid. Occasionally makes you want to hit his pretty head with a baseball bat.

“I may”, you grin, “if you wash the dishes”.

Oliver rolls his eyes with fondness.

“We have a deal”.

He pecks your lips again, then offers a sly smile.

“By the way, I just saw that Anri is currently abroad. Guess she’s off the list for now”.

You blink, then blink once more, something sour suddenly simmering in your stomach.

“Yeah, saw that too”, you lie easily, “we can wait. Or ask someone else”, clearing your throat, you slip away from his embrace and shuffle to your living room, where you let yourself fall on the couch. He soon follows, eyes wary in a way you can’t quite make sense of.

“I asked Sae”, he says quietly, “he said yes”.

You look at him, surprised.

“He said yes?”.

Oliver nods, feeling nauseous.

He is at his wits’ end and the amazement (relief? Excitement?) in your gaze isn’t helping at all.

That’s it, he decides. He’s just going to tell you it was all a giant bluff, the very reason why he stopped by in the first place. To be brave, to finally come clean and admit that his plan wasn’t so brilliant after all. And that maybe, just maybe, if this is what you really want perhaps you’d be better off with Itoshi Sae. Or Isagi. Or Karasu. Or fucking Shido-

“Oliver, I don’t want to do it”.

He looks up from his lap, lips parted.

“What?”.

You look mortified, which makes him feel like a monster.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but I really don’t want to”.

“But”, he pauses, “you said-”

“I know what I said”, you sigh, exasperated, “I lied. I wanted to make you happy but I can’t watch you kiss, let alone fuck anyone else”.

“I wanted it to be all about you, I don’t have to-”

“Oliver”, you interrupt his stupid nonsense, too distracted to notice the joyful glint in his eyes, “I don’t care. I don’t want to bring anyone else into this, even if this is just dating casually. It’s fine if you want to, uh, end it here though. I’d get it. I wouldn’t want to hold you back or anything”.

He’s too engrossed in the way your voice trembles, in the sadness reflected in your eyes, to focus on the actual relief flooding over his chest. He just feels like a dick.

“I came here to tell you I never really intended to go through with it”, Oliver takes one of your hands in his, brings it to his mouth to kiss your wrist, “I’m sorry. It was stupid”.

“What?”, you furrow your brows, “are you joking?”.

He offers an embarrassed smile.

“I only now realize that it might’ve been a bad idea. But the way you responded… I thought you actually wanted to! You had a list ready-” 

“You’re an idiot”, you release your hand from his grasp and punch his shoulder, “are you stupid or something? And fucking insisting even after I said no because it’d be all about me! God, I’m gonna go fuck Itoshi Sae out of spite right this second”, you are snatched backwards as soon as you get up from the couch, pulled by the arm and then caged in a strong embrace you wouldn’t be able to free yourself from if you tried.

“I don’t want it to be casual”, he murmurs into your shoulder. You freeze into his hold.

“What?”.

“Not only I don’t need to bring anyone else into this, I don’t need anyone. I don’t want anyone”, Oliver rests his chin on the juncture between your neck and shouder. You can feel his breath hot on your skin when he speaks next. “Be my girlfriend”.

When you look at him, your heart squeezes at the sheer vulnerability in his hopeful gaze.  

“Like… in a relationship?”, the question makes him chuckle.

“Yeah, like in a relationship”.

“An exclusive one”.

“That’s what I had in mind, yes”.

“In a way that would make you my boyfriend”.

Oliver laughs again, the sound lighter this time.

“I believe that’s how relationships usually work”.

Your irritation dissipates, which annoys you to an extent but there’s no time to focus on that because Oliver Aiku just asked you to be his girlfriend. You never even got to dream about this scenario, that's how out of reach it felt.

When you gently take his face in your hands, something melts in your chest at the way he leans into your touch.

“I’d like that”, you murmur and Oliver smiles so big before kissing you, arms wrapping tighter around your frame.

“You have goosebumps”, he whispers, the pads of his fingers gently tracing your arm.

“Shut up”, you mutter, burying your face in his neck. He adjusts you better against his chest, kisses the crown of your head.

“S’that because I’m your boyfriend now?”, Oliver’s teasing doesn’t actually feel exasperating for once, not when it sounds so sweet. You just hum against him, an affirmative sound that makes him smile. He decides against admitting it out loud but he feels it somewhere in his chest, loud, clear, eager. He’s falling in love with you.

“Can I ask you something?”, you speak quietly after a moment of comfortable silence.

Oliver knows exactly what the question is going to be because he knows you.

“Shoot”.

“Would you have wanted it? If it was a woman or if… you know. It was all about you instead”.

He hums, pensive. This is not your way of invalidating his attraction to both men and women, it’s an insecurity he’s somehow responsible for. You’re asking because you’re still wondering if there is something else he may need from someone who is not you. You’re asking to make sure he’s sure. You’re asking because his dumb plan backfired and now there are still too many uncertain thoughts in that pretty little head of yours, the most urgent one leading you to ponder whether jealousy is the one thing holding him back. If it would’ve been different, with a swap of the right variables.

“I don’t need a man the same way I don’t need a woman”, he simply says, “I just wanted to know if I’m enough for you. The way you are enough for me”.

“You could’ve just asked, you know”.

“Where’s the fun in that?”.

He groans when you punch his shoulder again, with less strength this time.

“You’re such an idiot. I’m still mad at you”, you click your tongue.

“I’ll make it up to my girlfriend”, Oliver smiles, half apologetic, half cocky. The term conjures a storm of butterflies in your stomach, their little wings fluttering restlessly along with the pathetic muscle in your rib cage.

You choose to taste the word on his mouth, feel the texture of it with every brush of tongue against his. The way you kiss him may feel like you’ve already forgiven him but Oliver knows better. He just shuts up and counts his blessings as his hand slides up to cradle your neck and jaw to angle your head the way he needs to kiss you deeper, until you make that sweet little sound that is usually his cue to flip you on your back and devour you whole.

But then you suddenly pull away, eyes wide.

“What’s wrong?”, he asks, gaze hazy, lips swollen. You’re distracted by how beautiful he looks for just a moment.

“What are we going to tell Sae?”.

Oliver blinks once, then throws his head back in laughter.

“First, I think I’m done hearing that man’s name coming out of your mouth”, he grins and you roll your eyes, “second, I never really asked him”.

You stare at him for a moment, incredulous. Then scoff.

“You’re the fucking worst”.

“Maybe”, Oliver shrugs with a smirk, “but I’m still your boyfriend”.

[mari-starz-writing]

I feel VERY weird asking so often :V

but hellooooo :3 Tysm for answering my asks! I ate them up ITS SO GOODAUGISKSGUKSS

next could you do 007n7 x reader? Headcanons list :}

my headcanons:

• 007 is slightly taller than average (idk where this comes in lol)

• he is a very shy, quiet and polite dude once you first meet him but when he warms up to he gets more comfortable and acts out a bit more, being goofier and making more jokes

• (design hc) he has small horns poking out the front of his head! (like his ms4 but all the time)

• his love language is gift giving! even if it’s just a flower or two, he gives gifts often!

• he is slightly jealous, in the sense of he is scared you’ll leave him. he knows deep down that you probably won’t, but the worry remains

• he is really good at cooking! not baking though. don’t trust him in the kitchen to make a cake. but he makes pretty much anything really well if he’s cooking and has a recipe!

• he is always cold. Cold to the touch, and often seen wearing a jacket.

• slightly chubby

that’s all of them! <3 take your time on this, I have a fanfic to write anyways lol :3

-Cody

You don't have to worry, Cody. I truly appreciate them, they make me feel happy. 💙 I hope you enjoy the food.

007n7 x reader dating headcanons

・When you first met, 007n7 was a stuttering mess. Blushing a little bit, fumbling over his words, and not looking directly. It was the same when you confessed to him. But as you grew closer, he started becoming more outgoing and dorky. ・He loves making your favorite food for you. Don't ask him to make a cake or muffins, though. It usually ends with you wiping batter off his face while he blushes because of the distance. However, if you do ask for something that doesn't have to be baked, 007n7 will try his best to make it. Usually ends up pretty good.

・If he sees you with someone else, you might have to comfort him a little bit while kissing his horns and cheek. He's aware that you'd never leave him, but just the thought of it makes him overthink that you'll disappear, just like...him.

・You'll often see a gift beside your bed. It's always some sort of technology to help with something annoying, but occasionally, it'll be some snacks or some flowers. 007n7 loves seeing your smile, and the way you hug him. It makes him happy.

・Sometimes, if you wanna be the big spoon when cuddling, you'll gently kiss his horns while he smiles goofily. They were always an insecurity of his, but maybe due to that, he'll like those horns more.

・007n7 would give you the best hugs imaginable. First of all, he's quite plush. Secondly, the jacket adds more softness. And thirdly, he's an amazing hugger. Sometimes you'll run up to 007n7 just to give him the biggest hug imaginable.

・(PRE-FORSAKEN) The two of you go on dates fairly often, and they're usually to places such as the park, small, family owned restaurants, and occasionally a movie night at home. For those movie nights, you'll have to go to Builder Brother's by yourself, because of c00lkidd...

・The way he confessed was boring and simple; yet it brought you so much joy. He was adorable when doing it. He gave you a bouquet, some chocolates and a note attached to the bouquet read, "Will you be my partner?" Obviously you said yes.

・However, the way you and 007n7 met was a bit more intense. You were panicking as that famous exploiter ravaged your neighborhood, and he saw you. He stared a bit before continuing. After that, you wondered if he truly wanted to spare you. And you met again when after he adopted c00lkidd, at a local cafe...

・(PRE-FORSAKEN) Car rides with him would most likely be loud. You'd be in the passenger's seat with c00lkidd in the back, and 007n7 in the driver's seat as c00lkidd rambled about his "team", you and 007n7 listening in interest.

Hope you liked it, Cody.

[lxffy]

❦ one piece men as hosts !

with: ace, sabo, luffy, zoro, sanji, and gn!reader

synopsis: one piece host!au headcanons where your favorite men try their hand in stealing your heart ! ❤︎

note: instead of saying madam/sir, i just left it as [term] so you can pick for yourself!

A host club had appeared in town, and while it usually wasn’t something you’d indulge in, you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of guys you may meet…

Sometimes Ace wonders if he truly belongs in the host club, but he just can’t find it in him to leave. He certainly doesn’t hate the attention, but sometimes it just overwhelms him, that’s all.

Learning the ways of a host was challenging, but he grasped it quite quickly, and his fan base grew immensely. He had a boyish charm about him, revealing a vulnerable side of himself if prompted carefully.

If you’re too affectionate with him, you might find yourself with a blushing mess! So please do refrain from complimenting his beautiful freckles, tell him he smells nice, or look at him too lovingly or he might combust!

“You’re too sweet to me, [name]…”

But all in all, he’s an amazing host. If you have a request, he’s quick to set a plan in action, ushering you around with a respectful arm around your waist. When he’s not trying to die from all the affection you give him, he’s quite confident and that playful smirk never leaves his lips.

He’s bold and suave, and makes grand gestures a part of brand. He spins you around, gifts you flowers, compliments your beauty and gives you an unforgettable experience.

Sabo is probably one of the smoothest hosts that this club has ever seen. He has a way with words that have his clients dropping to their knees, and he ends up with racks and envelopes of confessions from every client imaginable.

But you, on the other hand, are certainly his favorite. Even when he first met you, with the mannerisms of a prince, he took your hand and spun you around until you fell in his arms.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, my beautiful flower.”

His smile was deadly and he made sure to use it right, often after a little teasing so you’d forgive him for playing with you so much. He often smelled of citrus and leather, and every time you left him his scent lingered on your clothes. He has no problem being a little handsy once you give him the green light.

If you're interested in someone you'll struggle to keep up with, Luffy is your best choice. Some may wonder why he's a host, but his playful and inquisitive manner makes him a natural in some eyes.

The moment you step foot into the hall, he greets you with an all consuming hug.

"[Name]! You made it!"

You're smothered with his scent as he pulls you into a welcoming embrace. He's genuinely eager to meet you, but someone in the background quickly reminds him to address you correctly, and he certainly does try going forward.

He quite honestly takes you for a ride! He has so many things he wants to do and he wants to do them all with you. If he wasn’t confined to the host clubs premises, the two of you would probably explore the entire city! But please tell him if you’d like to slow down—he may be energetic but he refuses to neglect your needs.

For starters, Zoro doesn't know how he ended up as a host. Rumor has it he lost a bet or was challenged by a fellow host sanji and went along with it. But he is the hardest host to book with—if it wasn't for the weekly quota he had to make he probably would've found a way out by now.

He may be a bit gruff, but he certainly is intentional. When you arrive to the club, Zoro is already waiting for you, his back on the wall. When he looks up to see you, only a faint blush is noticeable on his ears. His hair was partially combed back, but stubborn strands littered his stoic face.

"I've been waiting for you, [term]..."

Zoro tenderly reached for your hand and bent down with his eyes closed to place a delicate kiss on your fingers. Your senses were suddenly invaded with the scent of sandalwood and musk, strands of hair falling to cover his sincere expression.

When he looked up at you with hooded eyes, you almost had a heart attack. His gaze was intense—you’d think he was trying to seduce you if this club was meant for other purposes, but the faint blush that dusted his expression revealed he was just as shy as you were.

Unlike the rest, Sanji had the most experience when it came to hosting since it’s simply in his nature to treat his interests like royalty. His beguiling smile and sweet words have many head over heels for him.

Every time he spoke, a string of saccharine compliments followed—you’d think he was a poet the way he his each compliment effortlessly rolled off his tongue.

“I could give up my dreams for you, but something tells me you’re the dream I was meant to chase, mon chéri.”

He was quick to serve you by pulling out a chair, twirling around you to compliment your style and your absolute beauty. His treats and tea were his speciality—he made sure to ask in advance if you had any allergies or preferences.

[theh0lylyre]

That necklace... and a start of a love story 💘

(V x F!reader, friends to lovers)

yes this user starves for V content so she makes her own

I actually got DMC5 last week and V is so fun to play…. my favorite character is obviously not V 🫩

Also I might not post for a while. Uni starts next week, so I’ll be busy. Gotta pass before I get V’s ass. I’m sorryyy ✨

“V, I think this girl likes you.”

You were beside Lady and you guys were chatting. You’ve been wanting to confess to your long-term crush, the emo boy, the human half of Vergil. You both have been close friends but you’re afraid that V might not even understand how you feel towards him.

You didn’t expect Lady to take the first move. Fuck. This was never part of the plan. You were supposed to confess before New Year. Or maybe mutter out words during an intense demon battle to give him motivation. You both approach V, walking towards him while his back faces you. You were already very, very flustered. And what’s worse is, Griffon adds fuel to the fire.

Griffon is well aware of how you feel towards V, and he promised to keep it a secret. Now, he’s on Lady’s side this time. You wish a qliphoth root could just take you right now and seal you away forever.

“O-Oh! Right! She has a crush on you—“

“Shut up, annoying chicken!!!”

You shout at Griffon, making him stop instantly. You knew he was afraid of you, yet he still spilled the honest truth to his summoner.

V faces towards the two of you, eyes locking with yours. Lady smirks, and runs away.

“Trish is calling me. See you later!”

You wanted to slap her but it has sinked in, that maybe this is the day where you lose your very best friend. Thanks to some annoying blue chicken and a short haired girl.

“….What is a crush? Like you want to crush me into pieces?”

V questions, still looking at you. He notices your flustered, red-as-a-tomato face, and a slight smirk forms on his lips. Maybe he does understand after all.

“Ha! Q-Quite the opposite actually—“

“—Stupid chicken! Ignore him, V. I-I don’t even know what he’s saying…”

“You will pay for this, Griff…” are the only words you can formulate in your head. Your mind is totally blank, afraid of what fate has in store for you. It’s over, you think. You still try to think.

With the help of his cane, he walks toward you, your faces now inches away from each other. You can feel the heat from his body radiating.

“Tell me, y/n. What is this… crush thing…?”

“U-Um… Nothing really! I don’t know what—“

V starts to feel a little frustrated. You were quite the honest girl to him. He knows all your secrets. And what makes it even painful is, he holds the necklace you gave him tightly. You gave it 3 years ago as a gift, and from that day he never took it off. But it seems that he’s about to rip it off his neck. 3 years down the drain. Fuck your devil-hunter-in-love-with-an-emo-boy life.

“Aren’t we close after all, y/n? You don’t keep secrets from me.”

You felt a pang of guilt. You now think it’s your fault. For admitting your crazy feelings to Lady and Mr. Annoying Chicken. You should’ve just kept it inside. Until you can’t hold it in anymore. Regret has bloomed in you.

Suddenly, you feel a gloved hand on your cheek. It was V’s hand. He checks on your temperature.

“Are you alright? You don’t look well. You’re quite red, too.”

“Ah…. Yeah! J-Just feeling a little cold…”

“You’re lying, aren’t you? I know there’s something deeper.”

You stay silent. At this point, you are completely surrendered by his touch.

“Uh oh… this is getting spicy…”

Without a word, V snaps, and Griffon disappears in an instant, leaving the two of you.

“I do not desire to conceal this feeling any longer, either.”

He drops his cane, both hands cupping your cheeks, and he pulls you in for a kiss. His lips feel soft against yours, and you instantly kissed back. You can’t believe that this boy stole your first kiss.

You both pull back, looking into each other’s eyes passionately. You did it. You finally confessed your feelings for him.

He suddenly pulls out his book, holding tightly onto the necklace you gave him, and reads one out loud to you.

“…I shall write your name here then. This is our book now.”

Little did you know that the poem he read was just one of the poems he wrote for you. Half of the book are full of poems about you, and V can’t wait to show them off throughout your brand new relationship. 🖤

[wisterianightmare]

So I’m still newish to LADS (started after Caleb’s debut) and while I have a decent number of memories I do try to pace myself with the content outside of the main story. I’m careful to avoid spoilers and admittedly don’t read many fanfics (since there’s risk of allusions to content I haven’t seen yet), so take this with a grain of salt.

I love a problematic fave more than is probably psychologically healthy, but something about Caleb and the intentionality in his writing hits a very raw nerve with me. I’m beyond hooked by it. The deep appreciation I have for the writers of this game cannot be expressed enough. His nuances and the way that he loves is meticulously well thought-out and honestly addictive. After watching Rain’s Embrace for the first time though, today I’m focused on his flaws. Join me for a cup of tea while I ramble?

Big Caleb rant incoming: if you’re not fond of takes that are critical (even coming from a self proclaimed Caleb fan) then this might be one to scroll on! Also spoilers for Homecoming Wings and Bond story: Rain’s Embrace.

TW for use of the word “abuse.” Please do not respond with further spoilers!

So, tell me why every time I do engage with more of Caleb’s content I get invariably upset. Tell me why every time I get my suspicions confirmed about his “nature” pre-Boom it gets me more invested in him but also makes me want to throw up. Explain to me how I can love him SO much but can’t even put him in my café right now because the way he spoke to MC in Rain’s Embrace makes it hard to look at him. (Ironically he dressed himself today and wore the “let me think” troubled squiggly lines that hover over his head. Yeah.).

Having completed Homecoming Wings, it’s not the first time I’ve heard the “you think you don’t need me” speech, but the version in his Bond story would’ve had me crashing and burning. The kind of hysterical, self-destructive spiral that would’ve sent me on (after alluding to the fact that getting locked in the attic had been traumatic and then confirming that with the final thunderstrike?): just nah. His cruel little smirk when he realizes that MC suspects that he was responsible for that (absolutely phenomenally rendered btw - I had to watch it twice because I thought I imagined it)? The masterful way he uses physical and emotional discomfort/dominance to control where the conversation is going, and how he plays it off as harmless teasing? Diabolical. Practiced. And a gold star to the VA, because at first Caleb’s tone and words don’t quite match the expression and body language that screams covert intentions, but as the conversation continues that tone shifts to match his conviction. He knew she wouldn’t find that confession cute. He knew she was upset from the start. He still used the story as a twisted teaching moment to reinforce his necessity in MC’s life. That wasn’t an attempt to bond. MC tries to bond by tickling him and pinching his cheeks (read as: friendly, playful affectionate gestures to reinforce safety in what could be a vulnerable moment). Caleb’s confession was an effort to reassert MC’s dependence on him by contextualizing her own personal mythology as being by his guiding design. And the way it ends??? I guess Caleb just fucking off after an uncomfortable conflict of values is a pattern of behavior worth keeping track of (current tally: 3).

I stg I don’t need more projects, but tell me why every tiny story we get between Caleb and MC makes me want to rewrite all of their scenes together to reflect a more “reasonable” reaction to the gaslighting and threats - not because I hate him for them but because it would just be so. Interesting. To play with. So interesting to see how he would respond to such an overt expression of distress at his control tactics. Would he be able to continue justifying what is essentially abuse (don’t come at me - we can love it and acknowledge it) if the reaction he received showed that the harm he was causing was both obvious and was disproportionate to the fears he lets fuel those decisions? Because I think in the case of the Bond story, it is disproportionate. It’s projection in part - which Caleb acknowledges himself in the scene and with his decision (lie) to once and for all let go. We know that the acknowledgement is genuine here because it’s said to himself! MC isn’t even awake in the moment (and did she cry herself to sleep? Because that’s how I interpreted that transition).

Or… would it result in the opposite? Would a more extreme reaction only incentivize him more? Would it confirm MC’s fears that Caleb is right about her capabilities and result in more fawning? There’s evidence of this too (Rain’s Embrace, Endless Summer, Exclusive Aftertaste, etc.) in MC’s response to him pulling away: to plead with him not to. In multiple memories now when MC asks Caleb to respect her autonomy, Caleb does so by removing his presence from her life. We as the audience know that he continues to keep an eye on her from afar, but MC doesn’t know that. Does he disappear for stints (aside from, you know, dying - which is a whole other can of worms) with the intention of punishing MC for standing her ground, or is that just a functional side effect? Is he trying to prove her wrong when he lets MC stand on her own without him? Or is he trying to prove himself wrong, only to be thwarted by outside forces at every turn? Is that why I continue to forgive these choices - because it’s so extremely difficult not to empathize deeply with someone who is proven correct to the point of devastation even when they wish for nothing more than to be wrong? (Again, Infold, remove yourself from my cranium please).

It’s obvious as to why MC cannot react in either extreme within the canon narrative by nature of it being self-insert and also because of the potential to undermine the strength of her personality. But given their codependent bond and her obvious trauma I don’t find her responses to these situations entirely convincing. Necessary to provide a platform for Caleb’s characterization - absolutely - but not entirely reasonable. Not unless MC’s behavior is meant to be read as wishy-washy because Caleb’s push and pull is confusing and conflicting (his love and his control, his reliability and his alienation)… which yeah. This is obviously consistent behavior from him that MC is conditioned to. Are we meant to read this as Caleb’s gaslighting being effective? It would certainly explain how MC handles the reunion a bit more through the framing of Caleb handling all conflict between them with this same kind of coercive emotional aggression. Is that why she’s seemingly so used to the games-that-clearly-are-not-games that Caleb corners her into before feigning nonchalance? Why is she so willing to accept these “hard truths” he drops with such pointed cruelty just because he behaves reassuringly and care-free directly afterwards - and effectively making MC responsible for any escalation by cutting off communication and acting like she’s crazy for being upset? Perhaps like MC, I cannot wrap my mind around what is true, and what Caleb believes is true enough to justify it all.

And I just cannot stop thinking about it.

How am I supposed to not turn this into 3,471 meta-focused fanfics that nobody asked for?

[lilyw0lf]

I think I'm missing some context, but I've been seeing a bit of controversy about the LU and LoZ fandom this past couple of days and I'm pretty sure that this issue comes from way back.

And I just want to say that most of the people that I've met in this fandom are so sweet and welcoming. Maybe I was just fortunate to interact with the right people, but I know for sure that those little interactions have been what makes me love this fandom so much. I think a healthy community is even more important than the source material when it comes to shape one's vision of a fandom, at least for me.

I must confess that I've been a lurker for most of the time that I've been here, mostly because my own fear of giving my opinion or asking questions that could seem dumb and not wanting to go out of my confort zone. That said, I couldn't have been more wrong.

If you are new to a fandom, and not just LU or LoZ, any fandom, or even if you've been here for a while and you are just a fellow lurker I want to tell you:

Don't be afraid of interacting with other people

Don't be afraid of giving your opinion

Don't be afraid to create

Don't be afraid to share

And don't be afraid of asking questions

I can't promise you that you won't encounter a jerk sometimes, but mostly you will find great people willing to share their own opinions and knowledge with you. Who knows, you might meet some of your greatest friends that way.

The interactions between people are what define the hearth of a comunity. And that's why I want you to always try to be polite and treat everyone with kindness first.

Don't impose your own headcanons to anyone, hell don't even impose canon, people love to create and go wild with their own imagination and if that makes them happy let them be happy.

You can always share your knowledge about the games, LU or whatever you want, but please do it politely. The other person might not realise that their take on a character or story is not canon or they might know and just want to ignore it. And that's alright too, at the end of the day we are here to have fun. You can share your own headcanons if you want.

If you don't like something or a person is just being straight rude, then you can always block them, you have all the right to do it. But please try to make sure you don't become the one that's rude with others without reason.

Also about the games, you don't have to have played to every game to interact with the fandom, you don't have to have played to any of them if you want. You can just have read the comic and that's totally fine, like I said earlier if you want to know about something just ask politely, really don't be afraid to ask. And to the people that answers please don't be rude about it. Most people don't have the money or the time to play every game, but that doesn't mean that they can't learn about them if they are interested.

Don't assume anything about anyone, for all you know you could be talking with a literal child that just found something that seems cool and is so excited to learn more about it or to share their own stuff with others. And how would they feel if the first reaction they got to their question or opinion was a negative one? And not just children, anyone who wanted to interact with a fandom and just got rude reactions would probably just want to go away and not even want to keep learning about the thing that had them so excited. So please, please always try to be mindful with others, you don't know their circunstances, kindness shoud always be tried first.

And mostly to new users but this goes to everyone, about taging no LU stuff as LU, please if you are not sure try to check the original tags before reblogging. It takes just a few seconds and is the best way to avoid confussion and innecesary arguments. On the other side, if you see someone misstaging let them know, but please do it politely, they might be new and not understand how the tagging works.

What I want to say with all of this is please always try to be kind, everyone has their own circunstances. Don't let issues like these that can be easily avoided rot the core of a beautiful comunity. You'll find some people that are just jerks, is unavoidable on any group of people, but don't let them make you become one of them, just block and keep living your life. Most people are sweet and great and it's a pity if you miss out on everything good just because a few idiots.

[kitkat13001]

hi kittykitita I JUST WATCHEF THE VIDEO FOR YOUR 1K EVENT AND OMGGGG?????? THIS IS SO CUTE PPPRR, THE MUSIC AND EVERYYJING???? OMGGG ILY CONGRATS AGAIN!!!

okok for my actual request!! may i get. heh. tomura shigaraki + rom com, my job: actor/ actress, his job: CEO, the soundtrack as Margaret (feat. Bleachers) by Lana Del Ray. ending in a kiss in the rain??

what an INSANE combo LMAOOOO l'm excited to see what your brain will Cook up!! Congrats again!!!!!

★ OPENING SEQUENCE

🎞️ STARRING: tomura shigaraki ! this is a simple song, gonna write it for a friend my shirt is inside out, i’m messy with the pen

“i don’t want to let go of you just yet.”

you and tomura shigaraki knew each other before the fame. 

before your name was on movie posters and his on magazines, you were classmates sitting in the back of a film lecture hall in some middle-of-nowhere college

those memories surface when his name pops up (you’d forgotten you had him saved in your contacts still) on your phone, accompanied by a single text

“i need a favor.”

it turns out that tomura shigaraki, the man who “reinvented horror,” wants you to feature in his next motion picture 

he claims he has a very specific role in mind and none of the people who have auditioned have cut it

you’re between projects right now, and while you’ve never really worked in horror, you decide sure, why not? (the fact that you kind of miss tomura and your college days may have factored in a little…)

you would think that maybe the fame had changed tomura, but when you meet again on set he’s pretty much the same as you remember. direct (blunt, even), with that quiet intelligence and sharp ruby eyes

he is a little more confident now, though — that you do notice. he commands a certain presence on set that’s honestly…quite attractive

you had informed tomura previously that you’d never worked in horror before, but he assured you that wasn’t an issue — he actually needs the new perspective 

shooting the movie ends up being a lot of fun — you and tomura have an undeniable chemistry that makes filming almost easy. his guidance and your vision are creating what’s seeming like an absolute blockbuster 

you’re all on pins and needles after submitting the preview for critique, an anxious but excited energy about the set all day

you’re wandering around after shooting has stopped for the day when you come across a forest set where the ‘rain’ is still pouring from the sprinklers overhead 

tomura’s sitting on a log in the middle of the clearing — the very picture of hauntingly forlorn beauty. he could truly star in his own movie, you think

you try in vain to shield your head from the downpour as you approach, calling out his name. he’s solemn, almost detached when he replies

“they cut the funding.” “what?!” “critics said it was too far out. they’re pulling the plug on us.” “after everything?! but we worked so hard!” “yeah, well…look, i could honestly care less about the movie. i just…” “what?” “i just don’t want to lose you. again.”

you stand in silence at his confession for a long moment, the water soaking through to your bones

it feels like a dream — surrounded by this make-believe forest with tomura, an ethereal entity drenched in rain and staring up at you with those ruby eyes gone soft around the edges 

but it’s not enchantment when you grab his face and lean in to kiss him. it’s intentional

he’s almost surprised for a moment before he gives in fully, neither of you caring about the cold or the water or the fact that the cast might be able to see you on the still-rolling cameras

nothing else matters but you

© kitkat13001 ★ do not copy/translate/repost dividers; sxmmerberries — event info + masterlist

KISAAAA love of my lifeeee heh >:) HOPE U LIKEEE i made it special w/ loveee i actually had a lot of fun w this heh MWAH thanks for the req <333

[lunareclipse-writes]

Eddie Munson NSFW🔠 w/ gn reader

---

A = Aftercare

Eddie is ridiculously doting after sex. He’ll clean you up with whatever’s closest—probably a band tee—and then pull you close, mumbling sleepy praise into your hair. Expect him to keep a water bottle and snacks on the nightstand like the chaotic little caregiver he secretly is.

B = Body Part

He loves his hands—calls them “magic fingers” (which… he's not wrong). On you? He’s obsessed with your thighs, regardless of size or shape. Whether he’s gripping them during oral, marking them up with love bites, or laying his head there post-orgasm, they’re his comfort zone.

C = Cum

Messy. So fucking messy. He lives for the sight of you dripping, or being coated with his release. Might mutter shit like “look what you do to me…” and smear it across your stomach or lips like a worshipper painting his deity.

D = Dirty Secret

He’s jerked off in his van while thinking about you riding him right there in the driver’s seat. More than once. He might’ve even stolen a piece of your clothing for a while. Don’t ask what happened to that bandana…

E = Experience

More experienced than he lets on. He’s fumbled through enough casual flings to know his way around a body. But he gets especially good when he really cares. If it’s you? He’s patient, attentive, and eager to learn what makes you whimper.

F = Favorite Position

Doggy, with a fist in your hair and your back arched just right. But he also adores riding—whether it's you on top of him or the other way around. He loves watching your face contort when you take him deep.

G = Goofy

He’ll crack jokes, do a bad porn voice, or make a pun mid-thrust—but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t take your pleasure seriously. Expect to laugh and cum. Sometimes at the same time.

H = Hair

Messy, unkempt, definitely a thatch of curls down there. He trims just enough to not get caught in zippers. And no, the carpet doesn’t quite match—it's darker.

I = Intimacy

He pretends he’s just in it for the fun, but when it’s late and you're chest-to-chest and he’s whispering “you’re perfect” like a confession? That’s real. His touches are always a little worshipful, like you’re too good for him.

J = Jack Off

A chronic masturbator. He’s absolutely touched himself to your voice, your scent left on his clothes, even texts you sent. Sometimes multiple times a day if he's not seeing you. He’ll totally tell you about it, too.

K = Kink

Bondage (especially makeshift—ties you up with belts or guitar straps), praise/degradation mix (“You’re such a good fuckin’ slut for me”), a touch of voyeurism, mutual masturbation, and maybe some exhibitionism. He lives for getting you to moan in risky places.

L = Location

Anywhere that feels just risky enough: backstage at the Hideout, the van, your childhood bedroom when your parents are downstairs, the school auditorium after hours…

M = Motivation

Your sounds. You moaning his name or gasping into his ear? Instant hard-on. He’s also turned on by emotional vulnerability, weirdly—catch him after you’ve cried in his arms, and he’ll treat you like the most precious thing while fucking your brains out.

N = No

Anything that feels cold or overly clinical—he’s not into strict dom/sub protocols or totally silent sex. He needs emotion, mess, you reacting. Also no shaming; he's been shamed enough in life, he won’t do that to you.

O = Oral

Giving? Oh, he’s obsessed. Will spend hours between your thighs, moaning into you like he’s starving. Receiving? He loves it, especially when you’re watching his face and talking dirty. “Come on, baby, suck me like you mean it…”

P = Pace

He can go rough and fast, especially if he’s been teased, but most often it starts slow and builds. He loves dragging it out, letting you feel every inch before he ruins you. Alternates between deep strokes and frantic ruts.

Q = Quickie

Hell yes. He loves quickies, especially when he can bend you over the bathroom sink or drag you into the back of the van. They usually end with both of you giggling, sweating, and needing to fix your clothes.

R = Risk

Big risk-taker. He gets off on nearly being caught. He’ll try anything once if it sounds hot and isn’t harmful. He’s got that chaotic gremlin energy, so don't be surprised if he suggests sex on the school roof or while driving (bad idea, but hot).

S = Stamina

He can go at least two or three rounds if he’s well-fed and hyped. He’s not a marathon man, but he will edge you and himself until you’re both desperate. His refractory period shortens if you're touching him post-orgasm.

T = Toys

He’s curious and a little kinky—might have a vibrator or two, maybe a pair of cuffs from a Halloween costume that ended up being very real. Loves using toys on you while he watches you squirm.

U = Unfair

Master tease. Will absolutely edge you with his mouth or hands until you’re begging. Might hold you down with a smirk and say, “Not yet, sweetheart.” But he’ll always reward you in the end.

V = Volume

Loud. Whines, moans, breathy curses—he talks you through it the whole time. “You feel so good,” “You’re fuckin’ perfect,” “That’s it, take it.” He praises and swears like a rockstar in the throes of ecstasy.

W = Wild Card

Eddie has definitely written a dirty song about you. A whole filthy guitar riff matched to the rhythm of your moans. He’ll never play it in public—but you’ll hear it in private, with his fingers between your legs.

X = X-ray

He’s got a decent size, but it’s the curve and the way he uses his hips that’ll wreck you. Just enough girth to stretch without pain, and a thick vein that drags along every sweet spot. Plus, he knows how to use his fingers and tongue.

Y = Yearning

High. He’s always down for sex, but when he’s in love? It’s not just physical—it’s clingy, needy, borderline obsessed. He’ll touch you constantly, even if it’s just slipping a hand under your shirt or mouthing at your neck in passing.

Z = Zzz

He crashes fast once he’s worn out—but he has to be curled around you, preferably skin-to-skin. You’ll wake up tangled in limbs, his hair in your face, and his hand on your ass.

---

“Make Me Beg”

Eddie Munson x GN!Reader | Smut | ~1.2k words

The van rocks with every thrust of his hips.

Parked deep in the woods just off the main road, the sounds of cicadas and distant thunder are completely drowned out by Eddie’s ragged moans and the wet sounds of his mouth working between your thighs.

He’s been down there forever.

Pinned on your back across the backseat, shirt pushed up and pants discarded, you're a wreck—legs trembling, breath hiccupping, and hands fisted tightly in the tangled curls of Eddie’s hair. And the bastard’s loving it.

“You should see yourself,” he mutters, voice muffled as he kisses your inner thigh again, dragging his tongue along the skin there just to hear you whimper. “God, I should film this. You're shaking, sweetheart.”

You glare weakly down at him. “Eddie… please.”

“Please what?” His grin is all teeth and sin, chin glistening with your arousal. “Need me to use my magic tongue a little higher?”

You squirm and whimper when he doesn’t. Instead, he licks a slow, lazy stripe back down your thigh, mouthing at the sensitive skin again until you’re gasping, legs twitching around his shoulders.

His voice drops an octave, and his fingers dig into your hips. “I love your thighs, baby. You know that? Could fuckin’ live here. Bury my face in ‘em forever.”

“You’re not even touching me—”

“I am,” he argues, sucking another bruise into the soft skin, eyes flicking up at you like a challenge. “Just not where you want yet. But I will. You just look so fuckin’ hot like this.”

“Eddie—!”

Suddenly, he moves. One thick finger drags through your slick, slow and filthy, before he presses it into you with a groan.

“There we go,” he growls. “God, you're tight. Look at you—already clenching, and I haven’t even used my tongue yet.”

You whine so loudly it echoes, and Eddie smirks like he’s just won the lottery.

Then he devours you.

There’s no other word for it—he latches on like he’s starved, tongue fucking into you as his finger curls just right, just enough pressure to make you cry out and arch off the seat. He moans into it like you taste better than any drug, sloppy and loud, a mess of spit and slick and desperation.

And when you start to twitch—start to beg—he pulls back with a filthy pop.

“Not yet,” he pants, eyes blown wide, lips swollen. “I wanna hear you scream when you come.”

“Eddie—!”

He shoves his tongue back in before you can curse him out.

You come hard, with your thighs clamped around his head, his name ripped from your throat like a prayer and a curse in one. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t fucking stop until you’re crying, twitching, overstimulated, pleading.

When he finally pulls away, his chin is soaked and he looks wrecked, pupils blown wide with lust and pride.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, climbing up to cage you under him, pressing his still-clothed cock against your spent heat. “You’re so fucking perfect.”

You don’t even have the strength to sass him, but he’s already kissing you—messy and deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, whispering:

“Round two, baby. You’re not getting out of this van until I’ve fucked you into the cushions.”

---

Masterlist

[yeonbinwyd]

demon pact pt. 2

pt. 1 here

You’re on the verge of passing out but Yeosang is profusely apologizing still.

“So everything Wooyoung was saying was right? You’re a demon?” You question. He nods

“Yes 1 of 7. Wooyoung and I are the only ones that share. I saved him after our leader chose to kill him. Now thinking about it, I regret it.” Yeosang explains.

“I see..”

“I know this might not be the best time, but do you think I can stay? I still haven’t recovered fully. Wooyoung took most of the power and I need a bit more time.” He asks. Being with Yeosang felt good even if it was a short time. Wooyoung was unbearable but a good time still.

“Ok you can stay.” You reassured. He hugged you without a second thought. His warm embrace, settled your thoughts.

“We just have to be careful” he warns.

“I can come back…”Wooyoung fights back for control in an instant. Your eyes widen as you see Wooyoung holding you now instead of Yeosang. He cups your cheeks.

“Ready for more?” Wooyoung teases. You push him back instinctively causing his black wings to deploy like an airbag. They catch him before he hits a vase in your room. Wooyoung shakes his head.

“I’ll be back” he warns. They make the switch, with Yeosang looking guilty again. This was definitely something you had to get used to.

The next day was interesting. On your way home from work, you had felt like you were being watched. You had felt a pair of eyes on you but didn’t pay any attention to it. You managed to make it home to Yeosang.

“You’re home~!” He coos

“Yes! Do you think you can go to the store with me today. I felt a little uncomfortable walking home” you ask him.

“Of course. Was it someone following you?”

“No I just felt like I was being watched.” You confess.

“Yeah no problem. We can go right now if you want.” He grabs his shoes and extra shopping bags from behind the door. You both head out and his energy had changed. Just walking outside the apartment had Yeosang feeling uneasy. Not even halfway down the block he stops in his tracks.

“Why don’t I just pick up the things you need and you can rest at home.” He suggests.

“Oh but I like to pick out my own fru…” you start but Yeosang grabs your hand to lead you back to your apartment.

“Send me a text and I’ll get everything. Don’t worry.” At this point he’s dragging you back. Something felt off but you didn’t know how to pinpoint it.

“Ok let me give you some cash..” you take out a few $20s from your wallet. Yeosang grabs it without a second thought and dashes away.

Yeosang wasn’t sure how to describe it but he knew someone was there. Their aura was strong. He turned down an abandoned alley and made sure no one followed him.

“Come out” he demanded suddenly a tall figure approached him.

“Well hello brother Yeosang. It’s been a while” this man had been looking down to him.

“Where is she?” He questions

“What are you talking about?” Yeosang questions in return. The man had dark hair and it seemed like his skin was a bit pale but his cheeks were red.

“You know I don’t play games. There was a large power source giving off power yesterday. I was sent to investigate. I know Wooyoung was receiving it. His greed disgusts me”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.

“Yeosang. Don’t play dumb with me. It’s best I find out first before the rest do.” The man gets closer to Yeosang’s face with a snicker. He knows he doesn’t have enough power now to go up against him. Yeosang is a confident demon though.

“I’m not telling you anything Yunho. There’s nothing to find” he says with his chest. Yunho has never crossed Yeosang but was prepared to with the amount of power he’d soon possess. Yunho took a step back.

“Ok I’ll leave you be for now.” Yunho turns from him and disappears without a trace.

Yeosang comes back to the apartment with everything you needed.

“Is everything ok?” you ask. Yeosang nods looking completely drained. He sighs while setting the bag down. He remains silent keeping to himself as he puts everything away. You couldn’t help but feel guilty for asking him to go out there. He looks at you and gives you a pat on the head.

“I’ll walk you to work in the mornings just so that you’re safe.” He said with a grin. You nod in agreement. You both lock eyes intensely causing Yeosang to come closer. You were turned on by his assertiveness but you weren’t sure if this was the right time. You began to unbutton your shirt while maintaining your eye contact. He sees your actions and watches you intensely. Yeosang couldn’t help it but his kind made him a weak man.

“I’ll pick you up too if that’s ok?” He asks. You nod back slowly. Yeosang leans in for a kiss and without hesitation you let him in. He continues to unbutton your shirt moving the kisses to your neck. He hungrily places soft kisses going down to your breasts. He gives them a light squeeze making you let out a low moan. He lifts you off your feet, ready to devour you. He sets you down on the couch, then starts to peel the rest of your clothes off.

“You’re so sexy.” Yeosang compliments while pulling away your underwear. He pushes your legs forward, having your knees to chest. You were a bit lost at this move but he knew how he wanted you. He starts to kiss your pussy lips. Lapping and sucking each fold with your clit, he then slips a finger in your tight hole. You let out a sharp moan this time. Yeosang continues with rubbing your clit and fingering you going deeper with his hand.

“Yes please.” You cry out. He then starts to kiss your neck, but it switches to aggressive bites. The deep finger fucking switching to two more fingers with an ass slap. He lifts up to be none other than Wooyoung with a dark laugh. Your heart drops but his touch was unmatched.

“Miss me?” He genuinely asks. You swallow your breath. Without a second thought, he lets his cock free, ready to penetrate. He pins you down, going in between your legs. Wooyoung keeps eyecontact with you as he slides it in. He wanted to see your face once you were reunited with his lentgth. Wooyoung slowly guides himself in causing you to shut your eyes tight, to get use to him. He lets out a hot breath againt your skin, satisfied at the sight.

"Moan for me. I wanna hear it louder" Wooyoung pushes againt you harder, elevating his thrusts. You moan for him with sharp breathes. He could feel the power building up in him, he couldnt stop. You could see his eyes turn darker and his wings projecting from his back. He was addicted.

He pauses suddenly, fighting back the urge to stop.

"No" he says sharply. Wooyoung comes to a stop, head down on your chest. You manage to prop yourself up on your elbows to catch your breath. Yeosang comes back without missing the motion. Back in your neck like hadn't missed anything. You felt a bit off.

“I’m sorry I won’t share you today.” Yeosang whispers in your ear. You wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, feeling more secure. He groans lowly as he pushes himself back in. He finds a steady rhythm, pleasing you with each thrust. It was sending you. Yeosang was so gentle compared to Wooyoung. He touched all over your body, taking in each plunge like it were his last.

“I’m close.” You moan clinching onto him. Yeosang picks up the pace, maintaining his eye contact with you. It’s so intense that you shut your eyes for a moment.

“Please look at me. You’re so beautiful. I need to see you.“ he requests while brushing your hair out of your face. You lock eyes with him once again. Yeosang’s face softens catching that glimpse of you. He can’t hold it in anymore. At this point, you’re going to burst too. You dug your nails into this back giving him permission to go harder. Yeosang let’s out a whimper so loud, you’re sure your neighbors heard. He cums violently but doesn’t let up until you do the same.

“Yes just like cum for me” he coaches. After a few thrusts, you tighten up around him. You match his yell with your own in pure bliss, nails still digging into his skin.

You let go and he releases his hold from you allowing you to rest. Yeosang goes into the other room, trying to get dressed. He spots Wooyoung in a mirror.

“Oh they’re coming now.” Wooyoung teases. Yeosang rolls his eyes in an attempt to walk away

“I hope you’re prepared to fight” Wooyoung chimes in before he’s out of earshot. Yeosang was a bit nervous at the thought of the rest of the clan coming but he was ready.

[starkura]

when giving words of encouragement, you're met with words of a confession

pairing w/ viktor from arcane

might be a bit ooc, lowkey idk if this makes sense, gn reader (however if i accidentally used any female pronouns pls lmk), not proofread

late in the evening, the lab of the academy was nearly silent, the light bulb made slight sounds of tinkering, and the wind blew quietly through the hallways. there sat in the lab was you and viktor. viktor had plans to stay up for the rest of the night in order to finish his work. what it appeared to you was gibberish only someone as intelligent as viktor could ever understand. there were multiple equations, science vocabulary, and other nonsense written on the board. you were solely present for moral support for viktor. viktor was one to never keep his health in check, which was why you felt to need to be by his side at times. you would ensure he'd be taking breaks and eating proper meals throughout the day, although you couldn't be sure if he would take breaks throughout the night. you tended to naturally fall asleep once it got late. at times while you were asleep, viktor would do his best to make little movements to prevent you from waking up. there was one time he accidentally knocked over a hard covered book off a table. he tried to swiftly catch it, but was unsuccessful. the book ended up creating a loud sound that echoed in the lab once hitting the ground. fortunately for viktor, you were quite a heavy sleeper, so luckily for him he didn't wake you. as carefully as ever, he picked up the book and moved it far away from the edge of the table, as a way to prevent it from falling down once more.

funnily enough, that isn't the only thing viktor has done for you. purposefully, he clears an area on his desk for you to observe him working. it be quite awkward for you to sit where all of his unfinished work laid out. it was his best attempt to not look so unorganized whilst you were present. he won't admit it but whenever you reside in the lab with him, he loses concentration and focus at times. in those times, his eyes would dart towards you and he'll glance at you momentarily. he noticed how you would bring a stack of books to read as he worked on his projects in order to pass the time. there would be times that you would look up to check to see the progress he made on his chalkboard. in doing so you would catch viktor's gaze. very quickly, he would jolt his head back towards his board, acting as if he hadn't been observing you. you let out a little laugh at his visible embarrassment.

sometime deeper into the night, you did your best to stay awake. usually by now you'd be knocked out cold, however you chose to drink coffee in order to remain awake. you heard viktor take a few steps backwards while supporting himself with his cane. he tilted his head up and gazed upon his work on his board, and you assume he finally finished his chalkboard. "did you finish viktor?" he turns around to face you. you had your arm propped up on the desk and your hand held your leaning head. "yes, I finally worked out the equations and problems." he said proudly. "however, I'm just not sure if I should present my work." you, a bit confuse of his comment, asked him what he was meaning. " what do you mean vik?" viktor a let out a small sigh, he slowly walked towards you. his cane hit the floor lightly as he made his way to you. he sat in a chair placed beside you before speaking once more. "my professor is opposed to all of these new discoveries. me and jayce are doing our best to work things out with him, but even jayce is unsure if this is the right time to show the world." he takes a pause to organize his thoughts. "conducting studies and figuring out ways in order to improve life is what I strive for. however, maybe now isn't the right time." he falters. clearly these thoughts had been consuming viktor's head for the past few days. only in a few days it made him have second thoughts about his life's ambitions. his eyes reach the floor, zoning out a bit. "if you truly thought now isn't the right time, why did you finish your chalkboard?" you questioned. he slowly looked back up towards you meeting your eyes once more. "i suppose i don't like leaving work unfinished." he softly tapped his fingers mimicking a ripple affect on the desktop. "you know, if you always wait for the right moment to come, for the right thing to happen, you'll be waiting for a lifetime." you briefly pause. "there is no right time for anything, you choose what to do next and see if it works out." viktor hummed in response to your comment. you both sat in silence, the room seemed more echoey as it filled with silence. it seemed that viktor was lost in thought about your words.

meanwhile, you analyze his chalkboard, even though you wouldn't be able to understand anything written on the board. every corner, and every inch of the chalkboard was filled. little to no space was left untouched on the board. as viktor sat beside you, you glance over at him, still lost in thought. his eyebags were a bit heavy and shadowy. it was pretty apparent that he was lacking sleep. despite his harsh eye bags, his eyes were the opposite. his eyes reflected a tired look, but whenever he gazed at you, his eyes would noticeably soften. this was accounted for by jayce, who told you himself that he saw the way viktor had looked at you. it was almost like a look of yearning and longing for you. you brushed jayce off and didn't take his words seriously, but you did think about it in the far back of your mind. "you know, besides all of these hextech ideas that take up most of my thoughts, the only other thing that runs through my mind is you, lasko." you turn your head abruptly, startled by his sudden honesty. the sudden use of a endearment term leaves you surprised and in awe. never before had he ever called you that before. you could feel your face warm up over the next few seconds. "so, can i ask, would now be the right moment to say that i've loved you from the start?" viktor held his breath for a long while, waiting for your response. nervousness was pouring over him and he wasnt thinking straight. absentmindedly, he gently placed his hands around your jaw, holding up your face almost. he allowed for a few moments to pass, giving you enough time to pull back if you weren’t feeling it. but you didn’t.

he bent down, closing in on the distance between you and him. he hesitated before placing his lips onto yours. both of you slowly closed your eyes, relishing in the moment. it was soft and sweet, he was ever so gentle with you. after you both linger in that moment together for a long moment, you slowly pull back. you stare up at him, interlocking eyes together. you settled your hands on viktor’s shoulders, trying not to put too much pressure on him. he could tell you were afraid of somehow breaking him, even though that wouldn't be totally possible. "you don't have to be so careful, i won't break." he reassured. you slightly nodded your head in response. with that being said, you felt a bit more free flowing, although you still were hesitant and careful. you brushed over the moles on his face, delicately circling them in admiration. in contrast to his eye bags, the other features of his face were quite serene. you admired every bit of his complexion. in your eyes, he was beautiful. you started placing kissing on his moles on his face. during this very moment, viktor's heart was racing. he could wholeheartedly feel it in his chest, he thought you could've heard it too. it felt heavenly to be with you. maneuvering down to his neck, you tugged down on his shirt, revealing the moles that resided on his neck. you peppered kissed down his neck, being ever so soft in your movements. whilst you kissed his neck, his eyelids were closed and he was savoring this moment. he tried steadying his breathing, but it felt almost as though he was losing his breath slowly.

you stopped once more to look up at him. his eyes fluttered opened and he looked at you lovingly. you could see his pupils dilate slightly as he gazed into you. he moved pieces of your front hairs and tucked them behind your ears. it allowed him to see you completely. it was clear that he'd been waiting for this moment for awhile. waiting to be able to look at you in such a way that explained his love for you, and to be able to be in your grasp. not enough words could explain his feelings, so hopefully his actions did.

you truly owe it to him. thus in this moment you nearly jump from your seat and encircled him in your arms. you wonder how you ended up so lucky. as your arms were wrapped around his neck, he held a blank expression for a split moment. this sudden form of affection made him surprised. returning back to reality, he closed his eyes and buried his head in your neck. both of your breathing slowed down, returning to a normal and calm pace. without counting time, you stayed in that position with him for a long while. enveloping yourself in the sweetness of the moment, not ever wanting to move forward from this calming moment.

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek: June 23

2019

All Tied Up [david/sebastien, E, 856, CW: rape/noncon] by elucidate_this

David does not like being tied up especially with rope. Sebastien doesn't care.

2020

[Podfic] I don't gamble but if I did I'd bet on us [david/patrick, T, podfic] by Amanita_Fierce

“Thank you for calling 94.1 CBC Radio, this is ‘What the Folk’, my name is Patrick and you’re on the air!” His voice sounds too loud in his headphones, and he hopes to God he’s not shouting. Shouting at his first ever on-air caller would be just his fucking luck. “Hi, Patrick? Yes, who do I speak to about the fact that you’ve played six Lumineers songs in the last hour?” * Patrick is a late-night folk radio DJ, David is the owner of a car with a broken radio dial and opinions that need to be shared. [Podfic of I don't gamble but if I did I'd bet on us, written by ships-to-sail]

big (baby) news [david & alexis, G, 2,719] by orphan_account

Instead of confessing to the fact that, while she is pregnant, she hasn’t really made any decisions regarding the future of the pregnancy and baby, she pretends to be offended, like she might have been had she not been pregnant, dramatically crying, “Oh, my God, that’s so mean!” (what if alexis was actually pregnant in "the pregnancy test"?)

Do I want to fall in love with you? [david/patrick, NR, 4,429] by For_pucks_sake

Alternate Universe where Patrick is still figuring things out and is still unsure whether to act on his impulses towards David. Having just moved to Schitt’s Creek, he visits the Wobbly Elm regularly to drown his sorrows in alcohol.

Nice Guys Finish Last [david/patrick, E, 5,080] by @spiffymittens

A little part of David hoped that, if he played his cards right, Patrick might help him relax the way they sometimes did for each other when one of them had had a rough day. Because nothing says 'I love you' like a glass of wine (or in Patrick’s case, a tumbler of bourbon) and a blowjob on the couch. Or, David has a bad day, and Patrick makes it better—but not quite how David expected.

The Beauty of Ordinary Days [david/patrick, E, 20,404, CW: MCD] by Tailor1971

This fic is inspired by unfolded73’s “To Come Out the Other Side”, a story about Patrick’s death. This is the story of his last day. It was a good one. (Patrick’s death is referenced in the Epilogue but not explicitly described, other than a very brief reference to a recurring nightmare.)

What a Mess [ted/alexis, NR, 2,374] by BiblioPan

What if Ted cancelled his date with Heather and instead Alexis and Ted got drunk and had an intimate night? What if Alexis decided to terminate the pregnancy and David showed her how much he has been and always will be there for her? OR The Softest Story Featuring Abortion Since Obvious Child **Please heed the tags but know there are absolutely no descriptions of the procedure in this story and in keeping with the spirit of SC, no angry confrontations surrounding Alexis's decision either.**

2021

A Hand to Hold [david/patrick, T, 3,246] by @chelle-68

He should have stopped it. Maybe. Yeah. Marcia Clark joke aside, he should have stopped it from happening. Right?

All Shook Up [david/patrick, G, 994] by @mostlyinthemorning

After the robbery, David spirals about what might happen next until Patrick makes it better. Coda to S05E02 Love Letters.

Hearts' Awakening [david/patrick, E, 36,057] by @ineveryuniverse-sc

David’s living in New York, and trying to make something of himself without having to rely on his parents. He’s working as an assistant at an art gallery. For the first time in his life, he's willing to work hard to succeed. Patrick Brewer is a well known singer/songwriter – locally at least. He's thriving professionally, but struggling in his personal life. He’s looking high and low for an awakening. Will these boys find what they're looking for?

it can't be that bad [david/patrick, G, 402] by petrichor_apothecary

This little fic was inspired by Dan's moustache lolEnjoy!

2022

(Not) Being Left Behind Again [david/patrick, E, 4,141] by @shimmies

He’s never, not once in his life, felt this much nervous excitement, and definitely not with Rachel. Part of him wonders if something about the emotions or adrenaline of the day they met inflated the idea of David in his mind, that having David as more than a fleeting memory would somehow diminish the reality of him. But in his gut, the instincts Patrick's trusted to get him this far, he feels anything but that.-----Or, a sequel to Canadian Roads.

Coming Home [patrick/rachel, T, 9,866] by @brokenchairwrites

David is set to be the bestman at Patrick's wedding, but their history is standing in his way.

Problem [david/patrick, T, 1,005] by @treluna4

Based on the prompt from tumblr user seldom-what-I-seem: “Patrick thinks he has a sexual disfunction- has difficulty getting an erection and maintaining it- he’s tried a few different remedies but nothing has helped… until the day he meets David and everything springs into action 😉” That’s it. That’s the fic.

the hardest part [david/patrick, M, 4,095] by @wild-aloof-rebel

Even the best players go through slumps. Patrick is no exception.

Well, You Are The One, The One That Lies Close To Me [david/patrick, E, 1,285] by @fictasticvoyage

It's been a busy and stressful few weeks and once that passes, David and Patrick need to rest and reconnect with each other.

2023

if you promise me you'll stay in my vicinity [david/patrick, G, 451] by @aoubooming

*shrugs* the tags pretty much say it all

Put Your Hand in Mine [david/patrick, T, 438] by @fictasticvoyage

On their second wedding anniversary, Patrick and David reflect on their wedding day and their love for each other. Very schmoopy!

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2024 2019: 1 fic/856 words 2020: 6 fanworks (5 fics, 1 podfic)/35,032 words 2021: 4 fics/40,699 words 2022: 5 fics/20,392 words 2023: 2 fics/889 words Total: 18 fanworks (17 fics, 1 podfic)/97,868 words

[if-seal]

(Personality anon again, re asking this to remove the name of a game title I mentioned)

For the personality system in my IF, I was thinking have a lock in point for it for flavor text and I had an idea for the MC to be able to do something 'out of character' and have NPCs respond to it. This doesn't really seem to be a popular approach though (as in I rarely see this style used), I think because it gives players more control of their MCs? Since personality based flavor text might not be what a specific MC would do/think/say

This isn't really asking for advice, but I'd just like to know your thoughts on this and maybe any pros or cons for each style

Dear Personality System Designing Friend,

O, you do not need to worry about removing the name of a game - I originally specified that on my pinned post but have changed it just now to request that questioners do not mention games negatively. Your mention was not negative, but I confess I deleted the original message when clearing out the inbox a little while ago and do not now recall which title it was...

I am a sleepy seal today. Onwards!

It's useful to figure out how you'd like to measure your personality stats. You might have a spectrum, like "Rebellious/Obedient", "Hot-Headed/Cool-Headed", and so on. You might have numerical or descriptive scores in, for example, "Quiet", "Ruthless", "Bold", etc.

In short-form IF it can work to just pick one personality, for example choosing a single trait from a pool such as "Naive", "Sarcastic", "Impetuous", etc. I am not sure if that is the kind of thing you're envisioning when you say you're considering locking in the traits, or whether you're thinking of having several different traits that can be confirmed over the course of the game.

My advice for long-form IF is that it works better to have at least a few so that the MC's personality can be more detailed.

For instance, with multiple personality traits a player can play as someone who is high Ruthless, high Bold, and low Quiet (a loud, brash, ruthless person!) or low Ruthless, high Bold, and high Quiet (a soft-spoken, compassionate person who's keen to rush into action!), and many more combinations.

The same idea applies if you using personality spectrums. Having a few different traits means there is more room for an MC to express their personality in different ways, and for other characters to respond to it positively, negatively, with surprise, or any number of other ways. Just as with creating a single personality trait to choose from a pool, it also gives room for those moments where the MC is acting "out of character" or aligns with the expectations the player has set for their behaviour.

It is wise not to gate off options based on the personality the player has established - players like to have the choice to behave in ways that depart from how they have previously. It is also delightful when another character is shocked when a previously wallflower-ish MC suddenly shouts at someone in public, so I believe your thoughts about acting out of character are solid.

As for how traits get assigned, it's reasonable to have the player lock a trait early on with a choice such as:

I usually respond to public speaking with... -Delight [Set Outgoing to Very High] -Anticipation [Set Outgoing to High] -A shrug [Set Outgoing to Mid] -Nervousness [Set Outgoing to Low] -Horror [Set Outgoing to Very Low]

Equally, you could track how Outgoing the MC is being over time and write flavour text or NPC responses to reflect that. This can sometimes feel less clear/visible to the player, so there may be a point down the line in which a character says "but you're usually so shy" and the player goes "eh? But I've been outgoing the last few choices, why isn't the game responding to that?". That issue can be mitigated by tracking particularly important Outgoing moments and thorough playtesting (and if using ChoiceScript, RandomTesting to check the spread of stats that players will be regularly hitting).

Broadly, I feel the former can feel a little more game-y with more distance between the player and MC, where the latter may close that distance. But both can be handled in perfectly effective ways, and it's really up to what feels intuitive to you.

There is no point in getting tangled up in one personality system or another if you find it hard to envisage what the MC is actually doing and saying. The numbers and personality descriptors are the machines driving the story under the hood, but what's important is how those personality traits affect the MC, their journey, and how they interact with the world around them.

Best of luck with your writing!

[amaraxgujral]

Amara's lips curved into a soft, genuine smile, the kind that didn’t come with agenda or polish—just quiet appreciation. “You’d be surprised how many people write the checks and still never bother to show up. So yeah, I’m here. And it means something to me that you noticed.” She followed Nayeli’s glance toward the playroom, watching the blur of small bodies and big emotions racing around inside. Her voice lowered, not heavy, just real. “The truth is, I’m used to being the one with the plan. The one people expect to have answers, strategies, solutions. It’s efficient, but it’s lonely sometimes.” Her eyes flicked back to Nayeli with a hint of dry amusement. “I think I envy the wings a little. You get to walk into a room and become someone the kids just accept instantly. No charts, no signatures required.”

She paused, then added with a half-smile, “But I’d take snacks under the table over a catered board lunch any day. So maybe this team thing has legs after all.” And then, more softly—almost like a confession: “Besides, a little fairy dust might do me some good once in a while. So if you ever need an extra fairy--please give me the chance to prove I can look half as good as you do."

Nayeli’s gaze lingered on Amara for a moment longer than she intended, her thoughts spiraling into an uninvited comparison. The pristine blazer, the effortless poise - it all screamed a world she’d never belong to. "The wings are the easy bit, really," she said, trying to sound calm. “It’s the glitter that’s the real menace. I’ll be finding it in my hair for weeks.” She tried for humor, though the weight of Amara’s words about roles and appearances lingered. “But hey, if you’re offering boring money talk and I get to stick to fairy dust, I think we’d make a decent team. Just don’t expect me to sit through one of those meetings without sneaking snacks under the table.” She paused, glancing back at the playroom. “And for the record, writing checks and nodding in meetings ... that’s not nothing either. You’re here, right? That counts for more than you think.”