#it’s giving… doesn’t enjoy happiness

[andersonfilms]

KNUCKLE VELVET, TORN ON MY TEETH

❝ VI!ONE SHOT ❞

pairing. pitfighter!vi x bartender!reader

warnings. eighteen+, nsfw content: arcane season two spoilers, soft angst, smut, bartender!reader, crashout!vi mends her cold heart, inexperienced!vi, switch!reader + vi, fem coded reader, coded alcohol addiction, slight spit kink, strap use.

KNUCKLE VELVET TORN ON MY TEETH, there's something charming about the pitfighter who doesn't stop drinking until she reaches the bottom of the barrel and the bartender who keeps walking her home.

wc. 7k+

rayray yaps. popping my vi!oneshot cherry, hehe, and i'm happy to do so. the vi brainrot has been real as fuck lately. i fear it's not going away anytime soon. but i wanted to give a special shoutout to @hypnagogics for proofreading this fic, means sm to me ily + my sweet bubba, @absfawn for the title name, i could kiss you until my lips fall off. the best people ever, i love them so much. okay, now i have yapped enough! happy reading, hope you enjoy.

Trapped in the abyss, just when everything had been taken from her life seems to sacrifice another offering on a silver platter. Something else that she thought could be hers, but wasn’t. In the end, all of it was the same. Life is the same. She takes three steps forward, circumstances out of her control take her apart like enforcers imposing their will on Zaun, and she’s forced to move five steps back. It’s all she feels, powerless. 

Wanting nothing more than to drown her sorrows, forget all that she's lost. For everything that’s been taken, Vi feels an overpowering loss, threatening to take over everything she’s trying to build. But Vi thinks of none of it now, she can’t afford to think of one more thing. So, she doesn’t. All of her mind forgets. She forces herself to. 

Zaun, Piltover, Jinx, Vander, Silco, and Cait. 

She drowns in blood, sweat, and liquor for nights to come. She forgets everything and you are just the cherry top on this one shitty sundae. Anytime she’s here, Vi manages to get herself into a fight. Each time. Every time she tries to apologize or hold an ounce of guilt in her eyes, you see right through her crystal blues. From the very first night, you called her bullshit. Even if Vi didn’t give in, it was hard to hide her small smirk. 

She lets herself think it’s because you’re a bartender. You practically get paid to read people, listen to them vent about shit you probably don’t give two shits about and break up the fights that erupt every thirty minutes. Overinflated egos and drunken assholes weren’t a great mix. The jury was still out if you though Vi was one. She could have both, she didn’t really talk much. Vi fought, drank until she couldn’t see straight, and you helped her up to her small apartment right across the street and up the steps into her said apartment. 

No matter how hard she tries, it always ends the same. Vi looking like an imbecile and you, the pretty bartender who shuts down every advance she throws your way. Vi wonders who had a stronger shell, what you’re hiding in order to protect yourself. 

Maybe she is just an asshole. 

“You don’t have to walk me up here. I-I can make it just fine on my own.” 

As soon as your fingertips let go of her fragile frame, Vi’s inebriated body collapses on the concrete steps, grabbing onto the metal framing as if her life depends on it. 

“Really? Now you wanna prove a point?” 

“For your information, I’m always in it to prove a point.” 

Even if your words are harsh, with a soft smile and a hand open, Vi takes it as you let her lean on your weight as you assist her up the steps. There’s little shame to be had once the two of you make it in. It isn’t like the first time and when she noticed the scrunch of your nose in taking the smell, tequila and grease. Vi thought it was cute but she halts any further thought. 

Quickly, Vi disposed of her leather jacket and pants she’s left in boxers and the wrap protecting her chest. The part of her life that seems to be kept together. She doesn’t really mind it though, you. Seeing her like this. Even more so, she enjoys it. You’re always so dismissive at the bar, hardly holding eye contact, turning down any flirting she hurls your way. Just like the vomit Vi had nearly thrown up on your shoes but made a quick diversion for the bush to the right of her instead. 

This is truly the only time she knows you want her. Not so subtly, your eyes trace her like each pinpoint of your gaze is painting her on a clean canvas, one Vi wonders if she’ll like or not. When she’s been around you, she’s been wondering about a lot of things — thoughts she quite literally can’t afford. 

It’s her, nothing ever ends well when her feelings can get crushed on the other side. 

Everything she touches burns to ash before she can even hold it for a moment, a second of symphony retaliates with years of misery. How could you be any different? She wishes you would burn her underneath your gaze, put her out of the misery she feels growing every day, but you don’t. You’re always pulling her out of trouble when you truly don’t have to. It’s not your job to take care of her or hell, even look after her. 

But you do and she can’t seem to figure out why. 

“Why are you doing this?” 

“Just shut the fuck up and let me help you. Not everyone has a motive. Some people just like to help when someone is so clearly struggling.” 

“I’m not—” 

You give her a glare that seems to shut her up. You draw a bath for her. It’s easy to find her towels in the only cabinet. It’s an acute studio apartment. More so of a small room with a stove stop, minimal counter space, and one bathroom enough to bathe and brush her teeth in. There isn’t much left of it but it’s hers. Grabbing the first aid kit, you kneel between her legs, the mattress sits on the floor, her legs spread and stretching out in front of you. 

“Let me help you. Alright?” Vi grumbles, a incoherent complaint, but she lets you tend to her wounds. 

It’s mainly just cleaning off her dry blood as she still complains in the process, but there’s a few cuts on her face and her cheeks are already beginning to bruise. It’s not a secret, she bruises like a peach but she always makes sure her opponent is leaving a lot more with just a few cuts and a bruise the size of a plum. 

It’s then, when you’re concentrating on the cuts on her face, the busted lip she’s sporting; she looks at you. Maybe it’s the first time she has, but without even realizing it, she gets lost. Not in the way Vi doesn’t know who she is, that she’s completely lost on, but Vi sees you. 

Bright-eyed, optimistic, helpful, kind — all attributes she couldn’t claim but wears like a badge of honor. As if helping others instills you with a sense of purpose, something that’s always been a lost cause to her. Fight until the next fight, and the next, and the next. That’s what she’s done, she's always been a fighter. She’s fallen back on it when needed. It’s clear to her. Like a vision she could see, crystal clear through some stupid ball, it’s always been about survival. 

But how much longer does she want to fight and how much more does she have in her? 

“Thanks.” Vi speaks softly. 

Not knowing where to place her palms, she settles for her thigh. Silent as she watches, nearly analyzing every moment, every glance, every little thing you’re doing. It’s sobering to say the least. You don’t need to be delicate but you are. It’s more kindness than she deserves, nearly leaving a bitter taste on her tongue but when you offer a small smile and a soft whisper, you’re welcome. 

It’s the sweetest thing Vi has ever seen. 

There’s something different in the way you look at her. The soft omission exposes how sweet on Vi you may be. Definitely more than you’d let on, which was well…none. Up until tonight, she thought you hated her. With each word uttered in your direction, Vi assumed you’d rather swallow bile than stomach her slurred, flirty speech. 

“Why do you want to help? It’s not like I’ve exactly been—” 

“Kind?” 

“Yeah, something like that.” 

This time Vi lets the smile reach her eyes and your smile gets even sweeter. She can practically feel the sweetness rotting her teeth as she speaks. It’s the first time she feels something new, something as bright as the light radiating through your eyes. 

“You just seem different. Even if you do try to hide it.” 

With a flush of crimson coating the apple of her cheeks, she’s never been quite as exposed as this. The next few weeks are spent with less drinking, but Vi frequents the bar just as much as she did before. She orders a few pints just to talk to you. She’s learning more about you, slowly but surely, you’re opening up more. Divulging information you wouldn’t have before, trust is earned. It’s something you told her the first night you met and to this day, Vi still remembers it. 

Regardless of how drunk she’d been when you said it. 

It’s a typical night. Vi flirted with you but you aren’t being dismissive tonight but you’re careful enough to not let her know exactly how you feel. Everything you say is guarded enough you keep her on her toes, for a moment she thinks she might have to become a ballerina. It’s a slow night, Wednesday. Go figure Vi thinks. There was a woman who’d also been flirting with you all night. Vi thought she was beautiful, sweet, funny…certainly was making you laugh all night. 

Part of Vi wanted to feel jealous but it feels too good hearing you laugh, she says nothing. Maybe you just don’t like women. Vi was known for reading into things too much, thinking everyone thought with their heart first just like she did, and assuming every hot and attractive woman was into other women — just like she is. 

But the brunette left before closing, leaving Vi and a few other regulars paying their tab as they stumbled home with a belly full of liquor of their choosing. 

“Alright Vi, don’t you have somewhere to be? Maybe getting some sleep for the night?” 

“I don’t sleep much, it’s better if I don’t.” 

“Keeps the nightmares away.” 

All Vi does is nod. 

“Story of the century.” You take Vi’s empty pint before washing it dispersing in the sink before cleaning up the remainder of the bar top. “Everyone’s got one around here and the new one is usually even more depressing than the last.” 

“What about yours?” 

“If you wanna hear that, I’ll have to be the one doing the drinking.” You smile but it’s the first one Vi recognizes as insincere. 

“Yeah, seems to be the stone cold requirement for a heart to heart.” 

Vi’s silent as you vent to her about the customer who refused to pay up tonight until you threatened to kick his ass and that wasn't enough, you threatened Letty on him. Vi found herself only slightly entranced as you spoke with such color, your animated voice doing impressions of the stubborn patreon, moving your hands as you speak, eyebrows furrowed as you finished the story. 

You’re done cleaning and are ready to close by the time you finish, locking the door as Vi stuffs her hands in her pockets, “Can I ask you something?” 

You cling to your bag like a lifeline. Vi notices how tight your grip is on the strap, almost as if you’re afraid. Of what? She has a craving to find out. “Why’d you turn her away? She seemed plenty interested. Not your type?” 

You take a step forward, just as close as the last time you were in her apartment, tending to wounds she wouldn’t have really cared about but still she let you clean them. 

You didn’t have to know that. Not yet, anyway. 

“No, not really. I like my women a little rough around the edges, stumbling out of bars so wasted they can’t even walk home by themselves.” You smirk, grabbing the lapel of her leather jacket as you tug her closer to you. “Or is that what you want me to say?” 

“Is it true?” 

You both know the hope in her eyes is dangerous. 

Hope. 

A foreign concept in Zaun. If you get too close to the flame, you’ll get burned, dusting into ash as if you never existed. It’s what shimmer did to people, wipe them off the map until they reformed into a shell of what they used to be. You didn’t just get out of a place like this, not without some help. Vi could barely even help herself. 

The both of you know it’s a bad idea. A terrible, god awful idea, but you still move in closer to her. Vi notices and she wipes the smirk off her face, your warm hands finding purchase on her exposed hips, drawing soft circles on her hip bones. She likes it, even when her heart feels torn from being blown to bits by a certain blue-eyed beauty. 

Vi likes you. 

“Your skin is softer than I thought it would be, smooth like pure silk. Not that I’ve ever touched it before but I’ve got to believe it would feel a lot like this.” 

Vi feels a tingle up her spin, your touch is overwhelming, more than she bargained for really. A stumbling, messy kiss is all she really expected if anything. Not this. Clearly, you knew what to do. Leaving Vi a little clueless in that department, she’s knocked off her feet once again but this time in a way she wants to be. But actually bringing something this special to anything more than a few flirty quips? It never seems to be her strong suit. 

So, she puts her best foot forward. Her big stupid mouth, one she can never quite fully silence. “I can guarantee my lips feel a lot softer.” 

“Vi—” You speak her name like a warning, an unspoken law you’re breaking by entertaining your feelings and the bubbling sentiments you hold for her close to your heart. You know better than to keep it so close, but the halo in her eyes blinds you to reason and you let it. 

“It’s Violet but you can call me whatever you want, sweets.” 

You chuckle at the pet name. 

“Just one night. That’s it. Just to get it out of our system.” 

“One night, sweets. It’s all I need.” 

— 

It’s how you ended up here, the third night in a row since the first, trapped under the web of Vi and her eager mouth. Slender, perfectly sculpted fingers feel like a hex to your cunt, every moment causing you to fall further into her spell. To say she has a certain talent would be considered an understatement. It’s clear Vi’s enjoying herself, fuck, damn near suffocates herself in your weeping cunt. Last night wasn’t nearly enough, she needs to have you, again. Not that you were complaining. 

As much as you hate to admit it, there has been no one as generous as her. As good as her, as sweet, as kind, and she did whatever the hell you asked for. Nothing has beaten the first night, her thumping clit nudging against your as she hiked one of your legs over her toned shoulders. 

It’s not a secret how built she is, far from it, but it’s another thing entirely to watch her flexed bicep ripple with every grind of her hips. Each movement seems to be calculated with precision, focused on doing more than just making herself feel good. With pure determination, glazed over crystal blue eyes, and a pouty scarred lip, she makes sure you’re enjoying this as much as her. With each moan you let slip, her confidence only grows until she’s commanded full control over you. She takes what she wants from you and in return you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, constellations created in the shape of her name as you come. 

“That’s it pretty girl, just for me, yeah?” Vi talks you through  as she works you through your orgasm with her strong hips, not stopping even after you’ve cum. She wants more and Vi pulls three more orgasms out of you before she’s done for the night. You expected her to be good. There was no shocker there but you didn’t expect her to be so sweet afterwards. Vi is a drunk, an addict, whether she wants to accept it or not. You could be just another object she’s addicted to. Somehow, you convince yourself it’s just a one time thing. It doesn’t mean anything, it won’t. 

Truthfully it feels much more than just a one night stand, more than an itch being scratched — the blossoming ache in your soul feels tethered to your heart every time Vi makes you feel an ounce of love — even when she tries to hide it behind a wall. Whether you’re aware, the wall can’t seem to stop crumbling. Brick by brick, it’s coming undone just as you have. Weak-willed and with purpose, you fall into her. 

There isn’t an inch of your body Vi didn’t kiss. Her lips tattooing every inch of your skin with marked affection, almost as if she’s mending your skin with the burn of her lips. When she claims your soft lips, haunting you with the salvation of perfection as her velvet tongue invades your mouth, the taste of you melting from her tongue to yours. The silent declaration you didn’t ask for but craved, the carnal moan leaving her mouth as she chuckles when your hips pathetically grind into hers. 

Vi enjoys your company, that much is clear, but this time you bring her to your place. It’s more or less the same. Both of you coming down from the highest of highs, you feel sticky, dirty, and damn right heavenly. Vi disappears into your bathroom, grabbing a wash rag before dampening the material underneath a warm faucet. Carefully, she kneels by your hips, legs twitching softly as her skilled fingers find your slit before Vi’s sucking the digit in your mouth. 

“I just wanted one last taste before I clean you up.” 

As she has before, Vi makes good on her promise and cleans you up. She enjoys when the pad of her thumb grazes against your clit, terribly overstimulated, your stomach twitches. All Vi can do is chuckle. 

“I’m just a little—” 

“Sensitive?” Vi smirks as you hide your face in the palm of her hands, the pad of her thumb gently caressing your skin.  

It’s the lightest she’s felt in weeks. Almost as if she’s floating on a cloud, she wants to stay up there in the cloudiest of nines. Just you and her and an aging mattress as she offers you everything she can give. Albeit, it isn’t much but she’ll still freely give. 

Like a dog with a bone, Vi corners you on the third night when it’s just you and her in the bar. Closing time has long since arrived and vanished into the crisp air of the night but Vi has you bent over the bar, desperation clawing at the weathered countertop of the bar as Vi’s fingers fucks your pretty little hole while her tongue laps at the slick that’s dripping out of you. Your pretty little skirt pushed up, your panties pushed to the side as she laps and sucks at your juices. She can feel you dripping onto her chin and it only makes her that much more eager to swallow every bit you have to offer. 

“We shouldn’t be doing this—” Fuck. Vi starts doing tricks with her tongue, sliding in another finger, pushing against the soft spot buried deep as she toys with you in the way knows best. “We, um, Vi we said just one night.” 

“Shut the fuck up and take it like a good girl. Or did you forget?” Vi moans into your cunt, the vibrations causing your thighs to shake under her mouth. “It’s not like you were complaining last night.” 

Vi silences you as her pace picks up, her fingers fucking you at such a pretty pace, feeling the build grow in the pit of your stomach edging to come to a full bloom. 

All of you begging for it to be released. Vi uses her free hand to slap your ass, sending you moaning and lurching forward. You push yourself back grinding against her tongue, before she removes her divine mouth as she kisses up your spine, her fingers stuffed inside you not faltering for a moment. 

Vi continues to kiss up your spine until she reaches the nape of your neck, her breath kissing your skin, your body shivers into her touch. Full lips ghost over your ear before whispering quietly, “Are you sure you want me to stop? I will if you want me to. I just thought you might wanna, you know, take my cock tonight. Give it a good ride.” 

The moan you let out would put Aphrodite’s to shame, needy and choked sobs escape you as her fingers thrust inside you faster than they have before. 

“Oh? Do you like the sound of that, babygirl? Want to show me how good you can be for me?” Vi doubled down on her efforts, enjoying how much you arched into her body, your hips pushing back as you grind into quick fingers. She’s fucking you better than well…anyone. 

“Vi, please.” Your voice catches in your throat, hoarse and full of need. An insatiable craving; one you fear only she can provide. A few mindless days and careless flirting to land in her sheets, her in yours, the details didn’t truly matter. A vampire out for blood, almost more venomous than precious canines breaking the skin, you yearned to suck on every last drop. But she didn’t seem to be in a mind frame to relinquish control. 

“Please what? I’m not sure if I understand you.” 

All of it, so tantalizing, so fucking infuriating. Three fingers inside you, effectively making you silent, shutting you up as she brings you closer to the edge. That’s the thing, truthfully, Vi has you right where she wants. Only a few thrusts away until you come undone around her. The black haired succubus increases the pace, thumb playing with your clit, her calloused fingers increasing your high as she applies more pressure on the thousands of nerve endings on your precious pearl. 

“Shit. You’re gonna pay for this.” 

“What? For making you come? I hardly constitute that as a crime.” 

Your hands reach for the counter top, you’re not sure what exactly you want, but Vi makes you come for the first time that night. It’s a game, the push and pull. Dangerous. Intoxicating. Some disposition falling far from your fingertips, a game to her and a downward hill spiral for you. Addiction festering next to an open wound and the only antidote can be found on her tongue. Tasting the devil’s mouth is one thing but swallowing the sensation of the woman you’re beginning to love is something else entirely. 

Vi, despite her best efforts not to, makes you fall over the edge. It’s more than her eager tongue and expectant mouth slurping at the vindication of your taste. The craving builds like an exposed vein. Her confidence irrevocably soars like a raven through the midnight sky. Even if Vi acts like she’s done this before, you could pull the curiosity intertwined with naivety a mile away. Violet has never done this before, not with a woman at least, you’re sure of it. She’s a fast learner and such a great accomplishment should replenish such a reward. 

With the energy you have left, you push your skirt down first, as Vi puts your underwear back in place. She doesn’t stop touching you. She can’t. There isn’t much she feels she has control over, this arrangement being one of them. She’s good at this and Vi enjoys it. Every other part of her life, failure surrounds her, her ability not to please anyone in her life. 

In a constant loop, she finds herself caught in the crossfire. Tugged between sister and lover, family and righteousness. Her enemy becomes her lover and lover becomes enemy — all of it poisons her blood and cures her core — and all of it makes her hear a voice she doesn’t recognize but it’s just as true as the four walls surrounding her. 

Oil and water. 

Collecting like scars on her porcelain skin, Vi feels herself sink like an obliterating star. There’s a wonder settled in her chest, it feels heavy and weak, two incapable fists unable to surround her heart with anything but loss, betrayal even. She can’t punch her way out of this one.

All of it wakes a fire in her chest, a dagger being punctured in her heart by the one Vi thought she could trust the most. She doesn’t want to admit it so she doesn’t. 

But this? It feels easy. 

She needs easy, light, even good. Maybe she doesn’t deserve it. 

Vi definitely doesn’t, the sentence flows like a never-ending stream of waterfall continuously drowning her. The blood on her hands stains her perception of all things pure, she wonders how she even sees you at all. How you see her more vividly than anyone, possibly even Cait. There’s no judgment, no snarky remark of where she comes from. Even if she thought there had once been love, Vi questions it now. 

When you come, it feels like a breath of fresh air, a golden wave washing over her sinful hands. Each stroke of gold, your grit and blind hopefulness soaks Vi’s entity. This is what she wants. There’s nothing more than this, someone she could love, who loves her. It’s uncomplicated but the feeling flees as you come to it. Vi can’t help but feel regretful as you cover your ass, it’s such a pretty sight. She can’t stop that she’s greedy, you’ve fed her for the first time in her life and now Vi feels full but she’s only human. 

A sinner always craves more. 

She lets her touch linger on the gold between your thighs, pushing the white substance back into you before Vi lets you feel how wet you are, the dripping slick feels uncomfortable caged into cotton underwear and she wants you to feel it. The breath Vi hears are still heavy, impossibly heavy, and there’s pride in hearing you center yourself, back pressed against her chest as Vi keeps you in place. 

The pleasure within your body begins to slither away as you come back into the angel you are and not the sexual deviant bent over the woman who never pulls her punches. 

“Felt good, yeah?” Vi says. Her angelic, sweeter than the cotton candy stick in your teeth, voice penetrates through. You like it too much. It shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does. Desperately, you want to keep this casual but you’re even losing your footing. 

You pride yourself on the lack of attachment; you don’t need it. Never really had. But then with her it seems to change even faster than the seasons, your wall breaks somehow in between from spring to summer. With intent, you move around, her bright eyes have darken a bit but the fading light looks brighter than you’ve ever seen it. 

Fuck, Vi is making this difficult. 

“You could say that.” You speak softly, a tremble in your voice occurs but Vi says nothing but she does smirk. “Can I ask you something?” 

You turn around and suddenly Vi is staring at your exposed cleavage, the one you use to draw in patreons and to fill your pockets with as many tips as one can muster. Vi had been one, a faithful one trying to drink her away to the bottom of every bottle until she found something else for her. Something that didn’t leave a burn in her throat. 

“What is it?” 

“Was it your first time? The first night?” 

Sheepishly, Vi blushes. For a second, she contemplates lying but you’d see right through it. Right through her. It would only take one look in her blues and you would know. 

“That obvious?” Vi struggles with her words next but she manages to murmur a lame excuse. “Stillwater didn’t leave much time for this.” 

“And after?” You tease but the sincerity in your eyes soothes her. 

“There could have been but there wasn’t. Some things just don’t fit.” Oil and water is what she wants to say but she bites her tongue. 

“You should have told me. I wouldn’t have been so, I don’t know, selfish?” 

“There’s nothing selfish about it. I wanted to make you feel good. Did you enjoy yourself?” This time she makes your skin feel hot. Fuck. 

“Yeah, I did enjoy myself,” you pressed against her as your arms loop around Vi’s necks to bring her closer “but I think it’s officially my turn to offer my services. Don’t you think so?” 

It’s how Vi ends up here, in your place, in your bed — soaked. 

If there was one thing you knew, it was how to please someone. You managed to pull whimpers out of her she didn’t even know existed. The desperate plea coming from her shivering body as she spilled in your mouth the first time sent a shiver down her spine, the band in her stomach snapping as you sloppily spit on her cunt, constant circles of pressure on her clit seeing nothing but your eyes look up at her. 

Not letting a single drop go to waste, you fucked Vi through it, swallowing her completely. Vi shed the wrap covering her chest next. Her body bruised from the pit fights but you couldn’t think of anyone more beautiful than her. You paid attention to her collarbones, neck, and her tits. Sucking on her nipples as Vi tries to come down from the high you placed her on, she doesn’t think she ever will. 

She tries not to think that she wanted these things with Caitlyn. Cait. Cupcake. 

Vi only allows herself to think of her when she’s dreaming, visions of what that could have been, what she used to be. All of it so trivial, so senseless when she thinks of you. How you make her feel is different and she tries not to think of what it all means. 

One night. 

Then two. 

Now three. 

In another life, maybe she was stronger, and didn't need to be wanted. Hell, even needed. She could wait for someone who she thought loves her but the other part of her doesn’t want to think, she wants to feel. Vi likes feeling the softness of your skin, the light in your laughter, the swell of your exposed chest, the way your greedy eyes take in her abs, your soft lips kissing every part of her skin. The smooth, the scarred, the unworthy — you take it all in such stride. 

“Do you want to stop? I think I lost you for a second.” You inquire to the pretty girl beneath you, her hands find your waist, creating makeshift circles on your hip bones. 

“No, that’s the last thing I want.” Vi brings you to her lips, capturing your bottom lip, tongue invading your mouth. She tastes herself as your tongue melts with hers and the rest of her worries melt away. It’s just you and her. “I want to keep going.” 

“Then tell me what you want, baby. I’ll do whatever you want. It’s yours if you want it.” 

It’s spoken as a reminder. All of this is her decision. Vi decides when she wants this, how she wants it, and you’re letting her take all of it in the way she needs. Vi tried not to think the first couple times, she never wanted her first time to be a big deal. Maybe with Caitlyn it could have been, but then she changed. 

Vi thought maybe she could too. So, she did. 

“Can you—” Vi stutters. Yet again her attention gets pulled to your tits, the softness of your stomach, she can’t stop looking at you. As if she’s trying to remember everything about you. She’s committed to it. Vi wants to remember the soft curves of your hips, the way you moan when she comes on your tongue. 

The sight of you looking down at her makes she lose every rational thought, she wants to commit to memory forever. It won’t be something she easily forgets. 

“Gotta speak up, babygirl. Especially if you want me to keep my attention focused on this pretty cunt of yours.” 

You sit between her legs, tilting your head, you look at her glistening pussy, the way it shines with her cum and your sloppy spit. It would look even more exquisite with a little more. Taking a beat as you take your time, you gather enough in your mouth before spitting slowly, Vi whimpering as your spit makes contact with her lower pair of lips. She couldn’t stop it, it slips and you’re grinning, hips desperately bucking to feel more of it. 

“F-Fuck, need your cock. Please? I need it more than anything.” Vi confesses. There’s no need for dignity, especially if she keeps it and you won’t give her what she’s itching for. 

“Yeah? Are you sure about it? Don’t want you backing out just in case you can’t be a good girl and take it.” 

She can take it but she can’t take the countless teasing, trapped underneath the images drowning in her mind. This is what she wants, someone to dissolve into her, make her forget everything that has happened, just a pretty girl with some pretty tits who knows how to fuck. Right? That’s all this is. It’s all it can be tonight. Her lip is busted from the fight tonight, knuckles bloodied and bruised, but you don’t seem to mind all that much. It’s all the same to you. Vi is all the same, that’s been clear from the start. 

Then, she decides to let her mind get shut off, let herself fall into you. You did know how to take care of her and tonight she would let you. 

“Let me know if it’s too much, okay?” 

“I promise.” 

Once the harness is on, you wedge yourself in between her thighs, tattooed and toned, brave and brawny but she transforms into someone else entirely once you’re sinking inside her warm walls. You think about what it would feel like to feel her. Is she clenching around your cock? Would you feel the throbbing heartbreak of her clit? What you can hear is the whimper, uncontrollable and breathtaking, you slip further into her as you make home in her beautiful cunt. 

She’s made it yours to take. You’d do anything and everything for her, the thought alone scares so you do what you do best, you grind your hips slowly. Not wanting to overwhelm her too quickly, it’s the first time she’s taking penetration and you want it to be good for her. 

“You’re so perfect. Doing so good for me, taking my cock like a fucking champ.” You whisper out, taking too much enjoyment in her getting lost in your soft thrusts. Vi’s chest starts to heave as her hips roll into yours. Vi never even imagined wanting this, or that she could really have it with someone else. It’s not like she’s experienced, she has nothing to compare it to, but it feels incredibly intimate. 

She likes how you’re being with her. Soft, gentle, delicate. Vi thought she’d never want to feel that way, but maybe it’s just under the right circumstance in the right light. 

“Shit, shit, shit” Vi chants as your hand grabs the headboard, giving her one particular powerful thrust. Perky tits spring to life, jolting against the sudden movement, her moan so fucking load, as you continue your movements. This time not as hard, but you pick up your pace, wanting to see if she would have any arguments against it but Vi doesn’t. Profanities and whimpers leave her mouth as you split her on your cock. Face half-smashed into the pillow, trying to muffle her moans and you offer this one mercy. 

She’s still shy. 

Now is a good time as any to fuck it out of her. 

“Do you want more Vi? Want me to go…faster?” Placing a hand on her abdomen, the abs defined and clenching as you halt your thrust for a moment. “Do you wanna feel me in your stomach, baby?” 

“Can you even do that? I’m not so sure you’re even capable. Looks like the rookie knows more moves than the veteran.” Vi bites back. But it doesn’t last for long. Vi thinks she must have said the wrong thing, pushed you too far, you slipped off her but only to move her body to the edge of the bed, placing her on all fours right in front of a very convenient mirror. 

“Fine. Thought I’d be sweet but that isn’t what you really want. If you want to get treated like a whore, I’ll fuck you like one.” You take a beat to appreciate her wonderfully sculpted back, the artwork is truly exquisite. It feels so much like her but the foolish girl is smirking at you through the mirror. 

You know you’ve been caught ogling at her body, checking out every inch of her exposed body, you slap her ass in retaliation but she just grinds her ass back onto you. 

“I’m waiting.” Teasingly, Vi arches her spine more. “Where’s the whore fucking you’re muling about?” 

In one move, you’re inside her, fucking her beautiful face into the mattress. Never in her life has she felt so full, so good, so sweet. You grab her by the meat of her hips, bringing you back on her repeatedly. Vi wonders what she would give to have this, have you, and the thought scares her just as badly. She instead focused on you. 

Tits bouncing as you thrust into her at a punishing pace. Divinely and so perfectly you, making her see stars, she feels trapped. Not in a punishing way, but in a way that has her never wanting to leave the entrapments of your coaxing cock. At this moment, this is where she’s meant to be, just a toy for you to use. 

But it’s more than what meets the eye. If Vi was just a toy, you’d be done after the first night. Tonight, you weren’t using her for your own pleasure. You seemed perfectly content to give. The shine in her eyes gave you something only she could, edging you even further, a constant wave hitting Vi like a tidal wave making home on the shore. 

“God, you’re just too perfect. Fuck, just like that, take what’s yours.” Bouncing back on the strap, the words fall from her lips before she can’t stop them. Overflowing like a water fountain, it’s before she really even realizes what she’s saying, it just feels right. 

“Mommy, please.” 

Vi has had those words on the tip of her tongue but not that you’re fucking her into a different dimension, she lets the aching plea slip from sinful lips. It’s only once but it’s enough to set you off. You pull Vi up, her gorgeous back pressed against your chest, sitting on your thighs as you fuck up into her. Brutally, she takes everything you have to give. 

Sweat glistening across her body, accentuating her chest as she tries to compose herself  but you don’t give her the option. No. It would be too easy, wouldn’t it?

“I want you to watch, Violet. Watch yourself when you cum, be a good girl and show me how pretty you look, hm? Wouldn’t wanna disappoint, Mommy, now would you?” 

Vi sucks on your middle digit, tongues swirling as she feels the tight band in her stomach, threatening to snap. She’s close. When the sensationally soft pad of your thumb applies pressure on her clit, Vi’s done for. 

“Shit, oh my fucking god, baby baby babbyyyyy.” Incoherent murmurs and moans come in abundance as Vi bounces herself your cock, falling right apart as you toy with her clit, fucking her through the impending high. Your other arm tweaks around and up, fingers squeezing her tits, over stimulating her as she slumps against you. 

It’s the easiest task ever done. Submit to you, your skilled fingers, the power of your sinfully sensational thrusts, she comes all over you. The powerful demeanor weakens before your very eyes. When you gently move her back on the bed, slipping out of her, Vi’s eyes begin to water from the loss. 

The first time getting strapped down is always a lot to handle, you’d still taken it easier on her, too afraid you would push her too far but by the blissed out eyes, she’d enjoyed herself. She had enjoyed herself and you couldn’t really ask for much more. 

When the both of you are cleaned up, Vi cuddles into your frame and you let her. Even if your first instinct is to push her away, saying something you know that’ll hurt her, none of it finds any merit on your tongue. For the first time, you find it difficult to turn away a pretty girl, her lips kissing your collarbones, up your neck until she finds home on your own lips, sloppily invading your mouth with your tongue. 

Hitting you where it hurts, she moans your name in her mouth, unable to contain the neediness she feels around you. It’s worse than Cait. This is pure addiction entangled with something carnal. Vi knows if she doesn’t get to fuck you again, you fucking her cunt again, she might as well give up on life now. 

“I could go again.” 

You chuckle. Of course she could. 

“Don’t know rookie, that might be all you can handle for the night.” 

It’s a challenge and you know she’ll bite the bait. 

With ease she gets on top of you, and just as if she’s done it a hundred times, Vi sinks on your cock, “I think I can handle another ride, don’t you?” 

[mixingandmelting]

Secretly Admiring You Artistically

Summary: How he's expressing that you're in his mind through art

a/n: based on scenes in the comics as civilians

Dick: Doodles

He’s dying. Actively decaying in real-time. Why he brought back the notepad from his day job as an officer home or why Haley pulled it out from his bag and gave it to you, he has no idea. To make matters worse, he’s crouching on the ground with both hands covering his very-much burning face as you stand in front of him silently, flipping through each page that’s filled with doodles of you rather than work notes he should’ve been taking for the cases he’s working on.

 It isn’t an exaggeration to say his world revolves around you. He’s not ashamed or has any problem expressing how much of a simp he is for you whether it’s to you or everyone both verbally and physically, 24/7. Seriously, he can’t go a day without getting a kiss from you or telling you how much he loves you, no matter the situation. He’s constantly stuck to your side, always smiling from how you showered him with affection back, spoiling him silly to the point he’s thinking he’s the luckiest man in the world. But artistically? He drew a stick figure once during a game of Scribble. Tim was for sure that it was a basketball hanging on a fishing pole. Bruce had told him he can help him get enrolled for art classes. 

“So, did the sarge or corporal see any of this yet?”

“No…,” He manages to wheeze out. He needs the ground to swallow him up right now. He still can’t believe this is how his (poorly and very much terribly drawn) doodles of you are discovered and exposed to you of all people. When he hears the notepad being closed shut, he musters all the strength in his mind and body. “...Can I please have my notepad back now?” He knows the answer. And he knows what’s about to happen next. But maybe today he’ll be lucky he’ll get it back- 

“Nope.” The way you pop the “p” at the end of the word - of course you wouldn’t. He doesn’t even need to look at you to know the type of grin you have on your face.

With that, he gets up and yells your name as he gets up to chase after your running form. Sure, he’s dreading what exactly you might do with the doodles but his heart is filled with adoration and warmth from how he still managed to give you happiness from them. You are the most lovable person in the world to him - he can’t wait to kiss the ever living lights out of you when he gets you.

Jason: Poetry

Oh. Well. This is embarrassing.  He rubs the back of his neck, face completely dyed red. You snuggling your face into the crook of his neck while embracing his biceps is fine. In fact, he loves waking up to see you sleeping peacefully next to him. His heart always swells with affection from how you feel so warm and right in his arms while being reminded how you genuinely enjoyed and appreciate him and his presence.  The problem was the book lying open on the coffee table next to him. The book filled with romantic poems that he placed on his face after deciding to take a power nap which obviously ended up as a snooze session.

He had been reading each poem, using a sticky note and red pen (because he’s not a heathen to ruin such beautiful and sacred text) to mark which parts or lines reminded him of you the most. Each sticky note had arrows drawn with whatever note he’d make about you, placed on the long-edge of the pages. It was obvious you had found out the contents of the book before joining him on the sofa as you had done the same, only your sticky notes were sticking out from the shorter-edge. 

“Jason… What’s wrong?” He quickly turns his head away, covering the lower half of his face. The fact you aren’t even letting go when you usually would makes things worse, especially when he feels the grip on his arm tightening rather than the opposite. He doesn’t need to turn around to see what expression you’re making, feeling you nuzzle into his side.

“...Are you telling Roy or the others about this?” 

“What? Hell no. This is only for you and me- why would I want to share it?”

With that, he topples over you and wraps himself around you like a giant, warm teddy bear. On top of relief, he’s filled with childish glee from getting to share something that’ll only be meant between you and him. It gets a chuckle from him when you laugh at how ticklish he makes you as he snuggles into you, eventually making you two fall asleep in each other’s embrace with smiles on your faces.

Tim: Photography

He’s pacing in circles in his room. Then he’s flopping onto his bed and screaming into his pillow. Pacing in the room. And again, screaming into his pillow. He’s been repeating this exact pattern for ten minutes straight now after finding the photo album on his desk. How Stephanie found out about them or why she showed them to you when you stopped by while he was out, he doesn’t know nor want to know. But he’s pretty sure  that he's doomed. Best case scenario is break up. Worst case scenario is you choosing to never see him again because you found him creepy. 

But, it’s not his fault, okay? He’s really down bad for you. Even when he’s dating you, he keeps finding himself falling for you deeper and deeper to the point he doesn't want to miss a single moment whenever he’s with you. So, every time the two of you went on dates or plainly hung out, he’d take pictures of you. You standing on a hill during a sunset, looking outside with the window down in his car, laughing in front of a bonfire with a marshmallow on a stick in your hands. He can’t imagine life without you. He needs to be with you even if it’s in a photo. 

Finally, he  gets back up and dejectedly drags his feet to the desk. Might as well put the album away before more people find out about it. Or so he thought when he suddenly freezes at the sight of a note sitting on top of it. There’s only a single sentence in your hand writing, making him do what it says. Having memorized the order of the photos in each album, he immediately finds a photo of him laughing while sitting on top of the hood of his car. It sits adjacent to a photo of you doing the same, making it look like the two of you were laughing while looking at each other. Heart skipping a beat with tears threatening to spill, he doesn’t look away when he grabs his phone and dials your number. 

“So? Are we hanging out tonight?” 

“No, we’re doing more than that. We’re going to go all out, my treat.” 

The way you chuckle does so many wonders to him. With that, he rushes to get ready. Even if he can’t give you the whole world now, he plans on making tonight the best night of your life since there’s no other way for him to express how much he loves you when words can’t cover half of them.

Duke: Notes

He’s an idiot. That’s what he mentally screams to himself when he drops the pile of handwritten notes right in front of you. Not once had he ever mentioned that he had collected all the notes you wrote and slid to him including the ones back before the two of you even got together. All of them were written as your way to cheer him on, sliding them to him in every way you possibly can. It’s as if nothing could stop you from passing him a note, whether it’s during class, passing in the hallways, eating lunch, or slipping them in his school bag. There were even times you managed to place them in his textbooks, right where the assigned reading starts.

All those notes you passed to him, he found solace. He feels that he’s being mentally and emotionally supported unconditionally, no matter the circumstances . You don’t know how he cherishes the smiley faces you draw on them or the words you write. Each and every note he treats like they are a piece of you. It led him to keep a few in his pocket, pulling one and reading it to get the extra boost he needs to get through whatever he’s doing even if it’s homework or patrolling the city. 

Now here he was, caught red handed. He’s so nervous and on the verge of a mental breakdown, fearing that you might think he’s strange. Immediately he starts to ramble, spewing every excuse in the book while watching you pick the notes that dropped from his pocket off the ground. 

“They were growing into a pile inside my bag, so I was kind of in the middle of-”

“Do they work?”

He stops and blinks at you. What do you mean they work? There’s a light blush coloring your cheeks, your hands gently straightening each note to stop them from wrinkling and getting damaged further. 

“Are they making you happy?”  Oh. Oh. He pulls you into a strong hug, hoping his actions convey how he feels about you. It’s not the notes that’s making him happy- it’s you and your efforts to make sure he is that makes him the happiest man in the world.

Damian: Sketching

No. Just no. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t muster a single word right now. You were teasing him a minute ago about how he must have sketches of you when he refused to show you his notepad he carries around. Little did you know and much to his horror, you were completely right and that exactly was the reason why he didn’t want to show it to you. In fact, he had been finishing another sketch of you before your so-called attempt to sneak up on him. You being you, you kept probing him into showing his sketches and with him being so flustered, he ended up getting the notepad snatched out of his hand leading to the current situation where both of you are standing with the biggest blush to be seen from mankind. 

It’s not two sketches he’s drawn too. There’s a whole comic strip he drew in there featuring one of his favorite moments he had with you on top of all the other sketches, some being portraits, some being a compilation of various expressions you make on a daily basis. The way he’s constantly stuck about you has gotten to where Jon had gotten smug at guessing what he was thinking of when Jon found him suddenly grinning to himself. That day, the two of them got grounded by their parents once Damian started to threaten Superboy by getting kryptonite out and the other shot lasers out of his eyes as self defense. 

“They’re so beautiful.” Your muttering snaps him back to reality.

Not wasting a second, he grabs his notepad back. Pride damaged and completely panicked by showing a pathetic side to himself to you, he tries to go somewhere, anywhere, away from you. Only to stop when you grab his wrist. 

“Damian, you're absolutely talented.” 

He mentally groans. He hates how you’re sincere and genuine in these moments. You don’t know how much he treasures you because of this - being open, honest, and accepting of his every being. Worse is you not being aware or truly choosing your battles - it’s how you are; it’s part of your nature. Accepting his loss, he sits back down. He refuses to admit how affected he is by the way you smile with excitement when you pick up his sign. Letting his shoulder brush against yours, the two of you go through his drawings with you commenting on each one while he snarks back though it’s softer and filled with fondness.

[undead-discourse]

It’s the alienation that does it for me, and that doesn’t ever go away. Even among other aroace people who are sex/romance-favorable, even when we’re discussing a character who’s like us both in canon, I still don’t get to feel included because I am aroace and sex/romance-repulsed. That sense of being alone in a room doesn’t go away, even and especially when you’re in as close company as you could possibly ever get. We are still too Weird even among the Weirdest fandoms known for accepting people no matter how Weird they are, even when they’re trying as hard as they can to give a space to aroace people. We’re just that incompatible with the rest of the world. We don’t get to feel included in larger society, we don’t get to feel included in niche internet communities, and we even still don’t get to feel included in spaces revolving around being aroace. We don’t even get any escapism. I think feeling like a spectator is just part of it.

“Good representation” isn’t the key to feeling seen or included in fandom spaces for people like me. Other people have gotten to see themselves in Alastor, portray what their own relationships might look like, feel seen or heard or bond with other people similar to them they might’ve thought just didn’t exist, just like I do right now. Other people got to learn they aren’t alone, even if those communities are so so so niche, there is a community there for them— people out there who not only are just like they are, but who enjoys similar things to them and they can get along really well with. They aren’t entirely alone anymore, and they get to enjoy their own experiences through Alastor. Which I greatly respect, that’s beautiful and I’m happy for them. But I know I will never get to experience that the way they do, and it is heartbreaking to watch.

I learned that not only will good aroace representation never give me that sense of belonging or community like everyone else gets to experience, that there isn’t a magic little character that’ll fix everything and give me that connection to other people, but I’ve also learned that fandom spaces are just inherently not designed to include me, even and especially when there is that aroace character in the mix. I really am going into the kitchen and being shocked when there is food there. I will never feel like more than a spectator or an outsider listening in on a conversation I have no right being a part of, standing on the outside of people laughing and enjoying themselves and considering if I should just leave yet and if anyone would really notice, and I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high just because he’s written to be like me. Alastor (or anyone else for that matter) being aroace in canon won’t bring into existence a community that just doesn’t exist. I’m looking for a unicorn trying to feel included, even in a space as catered to me as I could possibly ever get. Being aroace and feeling like an alien are the same thing to me. And no matter how long I keep searching and searching and searching and finding nothing, it will never take me off of a planet I do not belong to. That’s what I’ve gotten out of Alastor being aroace.

It’s crazy how many people just don’t understand why a lot of aro and or ace people don’t like that Alaster gets shipped. It’s not that hard to understand we don’t have a lot to let ourselves lose. I mean can you name 10 asexual characters? 5? Can you name two aro characters. There’s the guy from Archie who they made have a sex scene in a movie version. There’s a few books. I think a background character in Heartstopper? Do you see the theme here??? You’re all queer people, do you not get it? How it feels to have nothing? Is it so wrong to be upset that there’s finally an outwardly aroace person in popular media and instead of people embracing that they’re fighting on the internet about why it’s ok to ignore it? And I will never in my fucking life have anything against the people who are aro and or ace and portray him in THEIR experiences, even if it is a romance or sex favorable experience, but it is obvious that way too many of you guys are allo and it just leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I don’t even like him as a character that much, he isn’t even made by an aroace artist. The show isn’t even that fucking good, I just want to keep someone like me for once in my life. If there were a million other aroace characters I wouldn’t care, but it just hurts seeing erasure coming from my own community. It just sucks, man, I don’t know. It just sucks

[machveil]

Maybe Konig and a very tired reader?..... someone who just needs him to help her get up in the morning and lay back down in the night. In return, she's the most affectionate towards him.

I also love (I mean obsess over) your works with him thank you so much<3

I am Sleepy!Reader, Sleepy!Reader is me - I feel them in my tired bones😔✨

König adores slow mornings with you - even if it’s a weekday, he’ll pause and hold you before needing to get up. his heart flutters when you ask for, “Jus’ a couple more minutes…”, squeezing when you tug the covers up over your head. he doesn’t have the heart to disturb you so he gets up, abandoning the warm sheets. he’ll get started on his morning routine while you doze, prepping breakfast, reading a couple pages from his latest book

König who gently stirs you from sleep, one big hand cupping your face, thumb smoothing over your cheek. his mama always woke him up like this as a kid, cooing softly that it’s time to start the day, opposed to his father who would just knock loudly on his door. he wants you to wake up relaxed and happy, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you yawn. you look so soft, pillow lines on your face and hair a little messy. his own Briar Rose, and he’s your Prince Charming bringing you something to drink - be it coffee or tea, water or juice, it doesn’t matter as long as you like it

König really shines with you after a deployment. achy and sore, he’ll collapse on the couch, tugging you down with him. early morning? midafternoon? dusk? I hope you’re ready for König, human furnace that he is, to cuddle up to you. he’s in a state of exhaustion and hunger after being in the field, half asleep and eating something. he runs incredibly warm, and being tucked against him? it’s nearly guaranteed to have you drifting off. the combination of his steady heartbeat and the warmth radiating off of him is wonderful, he takes his job as a pillow very seriously. if you fall asleep on or next to him he won’t move. does he have to use the bathroom? he can hold it, he doesn’t want to disturb you

once it’s time to actually get ready for bed he’s making sure you’re nice and relaxed. are his hands rough and calloused? yes they are, but if he puts a little lotion on them and gives you a massage? oh, it’s lights out for you. if you let him, König will work his hands from your shoulders to your feet, concentrating on making you go boneless. he’ll get you a cup of water in case you get thirsty in the middle of the night good luck getting to it if he has you locked against his chest. he lives for pampering his sleepy little Maus, tucks you against him while playing with your hair. combing through your hair with his fingers, gently scratching your scalp, it soothes him as much as it soothes you

König absolutely adores how clingy you get when you’re drowsy, butterflies fluttering in his stomach when you seek him out. he doesn’t have the heart to push you away, he never will. his lap is always available to you, whether you want to use his thighs as a pillow or straddle them and lay against him. he’ll let you absentmindedly toy with him, enjoys the feeling of your hands messing with his hair or kneading his muscles. he lives for the way your eyes droop, eyelashes hanging low as you fight off a nap. if you want, he’ll let you dumbly suck on his neck or fingers, the soft repetitive feeling relaxing the both of you - he doesn’t mind a little drool, don’t worry Schatz

CW: Fem!Reader, safe, sane, consensual somno, sleepy sex, cockwarming, fingering (fem!receiving), handjob, no condom - wrap it before you tap it, manifesting needy gentle big guy König (my heart— [explodes])

König loves soft sex before going to bed or early in the morning when you wake up. if you need a little extra warmth, other than his body enveloping you, he’ll gently prep you before sinking into you. it always feels better when you’re both relaxed, König’s barely-there thrusting and your halfhearted grinding. delightfully full, warmth pooling in your gut, sometimes you both fall asleep before anything really gets going. it’s not something you can really escape in the middle of the night, König’s thick arms secure around your waist, his face pressed to your neck. he can get a little twitchy, lost in his dreams and breathing against you, he can’t help the way his hips jolt a little every once in a while

he’ll make it up to you in the morning if you’re in the mood, soft groans and choked moans leaving him as he gently works himself into you again and again. between your sleepy moans and how warm you are against him he doesn’t last long, overstimulated from being snug inside of you. he’ll go until you orgasm, muffling his whines against the crook of your neck. helps you clean up, sweetly kissing your thighs while gently cleaning up your slick skin. he’ll help you to the shower, both your heads a little fuzzy from a blissful morning. he’ll shampoo and condition your hair for you if you want, careful not to be too rough. it makes him smile when you yawn, leaning into his touch as your eyes flutter shut - warm water lulling you back into a comfortable headspace

König who’s apprehensive about touching you purposely in your sleep - even when you tell him it’s okay, that you’d like him to. he just doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to ruin your beauty sleep and accidentally wake you up. “You don’t have to, you can if you want, König.”, your tired smile easing his nerves. nothing happens for a couple days, business as usual as you go about the normal routine. until one night, the cold air outside forgotten with the temperature of your room, the blankets draped over you warm and cozy. König stares at the ceiling, aching cock restrained by his boxers. five minutes, five horrible minutes of waking up and not moving, thinking about taxes and deployments - anything to get his early morning wood down. when you shift beside him he glances at you, heat rushing up his neck to his face

he’s quiet when he tugs his underwear down, wincing when the mattress dips as he shifts. his gaze lingers on your face, soft and calm as you breathe out. he doesn’t think he can properly fuck you, not like this, but he’ll make it work. careful as he shimmies your underwear down, breathing a little heavier as he runs his index finger across your slit. he’s a little mesmerized as he works his digit into you, gaze switching between your cunt and face whenever you make a small noise. his middle finger slips in too, coaxing you open as you sleep. honestly, he gets a little caught up in it, momentarily forgetting about his weepy cock. you’re just so pretty like this, body limp and relaxed, letting him touch you like glass. pulling his hand away, the moves a little closer, slowly rubbing his tip against your clit

he’s carefully, a little nervous as he presses himself to you. shuddering when he bullies his head into you, little, controlled bucks of his hips making him whine softly. he doesn’t want to push his luck, stilling himself as he breathes out. he can do it, he’ll make sure you don’t wake up. swallowing thickly, he moans quietly as he pumps his cock, shallow little movements as he fucks his tip into you. you feel so warm, slick around what he’s worked into you. just a little faster, he’ll be quick - jerking himself off with his leaky tip snug inside of you— you’ll wake up with him leaking out you. that’s what you want, right? your half-lidded eyes looking up at him when you told him, voice low and raspy from the nap you had taken, sleepy smile on your lips. it’s okay if he uses you a little, liebling, he’ll make it up to you when the sun rises, eat himself out of you if you want

the thought alone has König shuddering, his hand gripping himself a little firmer as he works just a little more of himself into you, nerves searing up his spine as he gasps. it’ll keep your tummy nice and warm, maybe you’ll thank him with a dopey little smile, soft spoken praise for doing a good job. he’s quick to pull out afterwards, gently tugging your underwear back up. chest raising and falling, he sits back, eyes glued to the little damp spot on your crotch. you were so good for him too, sleeping through his depravity and dreaming. he’s careful as he settles back under the covers, tucked himself back into his boxers. he’ll worship you in the morning, kiss you like porcelain and handle you with care. his sleepy girl deserves to be comfortable

bonus thought because the voices won’t shut up

CW: still Fem!Reader and sleepy sex, stuffed animal

König buying the softest, cutest stuffed animal. he knows you like them, and he thought it’d be a nice gift. it’s good to cuddle with at night, especially when König is on a deployment and can’t be there for you. it’s hardly a replacement for the behemoth of a man, not nearly as warm and firm as he is, but the little stuffie does it’s job. and, oh, is it worth it to come home to you padding around with it, tired little yawn leaving you as you hug it to your chest. he’s tired too, kicking off his boots as you happily approach him, a little lethargic and dreamy as you hug him, your precious little stuffie squished between him and you

it’s not his fault you look adorable, taking his hand before leading him to bed. resting sounds amazing, compared to the piss poor cot he had to sleep on while deployed, your shared bed is a luxury. but he isn’t lulled to sleep when he gets into bed, and it’s not too long until you’re moaning prettily for him. eyes fluttering closed and clinging to your gift from him, you look so soft. he’s a little rougher than usual, murmuring soft apologizes that are in one ear and out the other. he’s filling you up so nicely, his pace is still comfortable - a consistent rocking that leaves you dizzy and blissful. you’re sure that you’ll be drifting off as soon as you’re done, mind already foggy. content, his chapped lips pressing a featherlight kiss to your forehead as you moan, stuffie held close to your chest as you nod off, König slowly pulling out and petting your hair

[soaps-mohawk]

Pre-Dinner Activities

Summary: Simon is horny for his wife. That's it. That's the plot.

Pairing: Simon x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ explicit sexual content, p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, Simon is a little shit

A/N: I saw a post about writing filthy smut and posting it today so people have to read it while at dinner with their families. So Happy Thanksgiving for those of you in America, and for those of you not, uh Happy Thursday/Friday whatever day it is for you. This is shit, I wrote it yesterday, but enjoy!

MASTERLIST

“Simon, we’re going to be late.” 

“There’s traffic this time of night.” He says, ignoring your protest as he kneels down behind you. “Can come up with a believable excuse.” 

“I’m not going to dinner with your parents looking like I’ve been fucked three ways to Sunday.” You say, finishing your mascara. 

“That’s what makeup is for.” Simon mumbles, hiking your dress up around your hips. 

“I already did my makeup.” You say, grunting as he pushes you up against the bathroom sink.

“You can touch it up.” His lips brush your inner thigh, his fingers slipping around the hem of your panties. 

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t get turned on every time we go out to dinner.” Your voice gets breathier as his face pushes up between your legs. “Guess this is better than fucking in the parking lot after.” 

Simon hums, the sound vibrating against your pussy as he mouths at your folds. “That’s definitely happening too.” 

Your complaint is cut off by a breathy moan as he drags his tongue through your wet slit. Despite your protests you can’t deny how wet the anticipation of his mouth on you has made you. 

“Fuck.” You breathe, leaning further over the counter as he pushes further between your legs. “You’re going to suffocate yourself.” 

“Good.” His voice is muffled as he presses further between your thighs, sucking your clit between his lips. 

Your panties are looped around one ankle, giving you room to spread your legs for him. Those big hands wrap around your thighs, pulling you back against his face. His lips suckle at your clit, and you know he’s getting absolutely drowned by the slick dribbling out of you.

He offers up no complaint though as he drags his tongue across your clit, his nose pressing against your folds. He draws circles around the sensitive bud, his mouth slurping at the slick starting to seep out of you. 

“Fucking hell, Simon.” You moan, your legs jerking as he scrapes his teeth against the underside of your clit. 

He lets out a muffled grunt, his tongue alternating between circles and teasing flicks against your clit. You’re going to cum and fast with how worked up he’s making you. He loves eating you out, his head between your thighs every chance he gets. He just loves you in general, but he also loves your pussy. 

“Fuck,” You moan as his tongue flicks across your clit. He’s groaning into your pussy, the sound vibrating through your slick folds. 

He pulls away just slightly from your clit, just enough to drag his tongue through your folds again. “Gonna cum?” He asks, his voice still slightly muffled. 

“Yeah,” You breathe, dropping down onto your arms on the counter as you push your hips backwards into his face. 

He uses the new position to his advantage, sucking hard on your clit. Your hips jolt from the pleasure, needy moans leaving your lips as you lay there against the counter. 

Your knees buckle as he continues to suck hard on your clit, his pleased groans vibrating through the sensitive bud. You're so close, your orgasm rapidly approaching. 

You’re right there, right on the edge of your orgasm when he pulls away, completely withdrawing himself from between your legs. You let out a disgruntled whine, lifting your head to stare at him in the mirror as he pushes himself up to stand. 

“What the fuck Simon!” You say, watching him as he frantically undoes his belt. 

“Can’t stand it any longer.” He shoves his pants and briefs down, his cock rock hard and angry red. 

He doesn’t give you any warning before he’s pushing into you, splitting you open around his thick cock. His hand pushes against your upper back keeping you pinned as he begins to snap his hips against your ass. 

“We’re really going to be late now.” You gasp, pushing your hips back against his, meeting his thrusts. 

“Can’t show up to dinner with my parents with a raging boner.” He says. 

“I could have given you a hand job in the car on the way.” You whine. 

“Can’t show up with cum on my pants either.” He grunts, pushing his cock as deep as he can inside of you. “Much prefer this anyway.” 

“Damn it, Simon.” You groan as he shifts his hips, dragging his cock against that spot inside of you. 

“You fucking love it.” He grunts, his hands dropping to your hips. 

He's not wrong. 

His thrusts are rough and sharp, pointed with a purpose. His cock drags along that spot inside of you with every thrust, pushing you closer and closer to the orgasm you were denied just a few moments ago. You’re not going to last much longer, not with his cock bullying itself into you like that. 

“Fuck, fuck-” Your back arches, pushing your hips back against his. He keeps the pace, thrusting into you hard and fast as you cum around him, gushing all over his cock. 

“Fucking beautiful.” He groans, his eyes cast downward at your ass as his thrusts start to get sloppy. 

You watch in the mirror as he gets closer and closer to the edge, his eyes still cast downward, his lips parted as he breathes. There’s sweat beaded on his forehead, dampening the edges of his hair. You’ll have to fix that. 

His head tilts back as he cums, exposing the column of his throat. You want to sink your teeth into his skin, but that’ll be for later. He cums inside of you, filling you up with hot spurts of his seed, his hips pushed right up against your ass. He grinds against you a couple of times before folding himself over you. 

His hands come to rest on the counter on either side of you, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror. “Think it’s too late to cancel?” 

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching for a tissue to dab at the sweat beaded on your own forehead. “We’ve already cancelled twice.” 

“Fuck,” He breathes as he slips out of you. “You’re right.” 

“We need to leave like five minutes ago.” You say, quickly fixing your makeup as he helps you back into your panties. 

His hand cups your pussy as he pulls them up, his fingertips applying gentle pressure to your clit. “Keep that in there for later.” He grins, nipping at the skin behind your ear. 

“Fine,” You give him a pointed look through the mirror. “But we’re going to dinner with your parents, so no fingering me under the table this time.”

As always, if you'd like to be notified of any new stories, please follow HERE and turn on notifications.

[glitterybombshell]

Jj Maybank is a pervert. His gross and he’d take any opportunity to touch his pretty best friend.

Warnings: Suggestive (18+), Pervert!JJ x Reader, Manipulation Tactics, Groping

It starts off with small touches. Maybe he’d give your waist an extra long squeeze when your reach in to hug him. Savouring the feeling of your tight body. It gets worse. Small squeezes on your waist would soon turn into him grabbing two handfuls of your ass. “Hotdamn!You really carrying all this back here babe?” He’d play it off as normal, he was super convincing after all. So you’d just brush it off.

One particularly hot day your naively prancing around the chateau in nothing more than a bikini top and a pair of shorts that were right up your ass. It’s not right for you to be doing this to him. His on John bs couch watching you jump around while he palms his dick super oblivious. He doesn’t care if u find him doing it— he’d just play it off anyways and plus its not his fault. “Wanna watch a movie next to me sweetie?” He’d ask just so he could feel your smooth skin again.

But his little obsession with touching you takes a sick turn when he starts manipulating you into letting him grope you. He’d show up at your place with faux tears in his eyes acting all hurt and sad maybe he’d mutter out something about his dad to really make your heart burn.

So obviously his sweet best friend is telling to him “C’mere” pulling him into her plush chest. He can’t help but smile a little while he conviently ‘cried’ into your full tits. His plan starts going exactly how he imagined it now that you’re asking if he needed “anything at all.” All of a sudden his ears are perking up and his eyes are getting all wide from excitement. He’d be quick to wipe his tears with the back of his hand.

“Anything huh?” He’d ask trying to hide the smile creeping onto his face.

He’d convince you to let him feel you up, “just a little” he’d say so he could feel better. He was just so upset.

Now he had you right where he wanted, groping your tits from behind while you made him a cup of tea. After all, who were you to deny a friend in need? “This makes me feel a wholeee lot better” he’s comment while he greedily kneaded the fat of your breasts. “Your like an angel. Helping me like this” he’d say like you were doing charity work.

When his finished with the little act he put on, he’d leave your house all giddy and happy.

“Soo, same time next week?” He’d ask even though he didn’t need confirmation from you. He’d feel you up again. He’d make sure of it. Jj Maybank is gross. Let him be gross.

A/n!

I think I should become a writer on here I’m enjoying this wayyy to much

[froggiewrites]

hello i wanted to request a comfort fic with Law,Zoro and Sanji with their s/o being depressed,stressed

thanks in advance

Hi, sorry this took so long! This is the first time I've written a few smaller scenarios instead of one larger fic and I've gotta say, I really enjoyed it. It was a nice change of pace! So thank you for requesting this 😊 I hope this fic brings you the comfort you need, and that you're doing well!!

Hard Times

Pairing: Law, Zoro, Sanji x Reader

SFW

Summary: You've not been yourself lately, and he's been worried about you. Warnings: Mild Hurt/Comfort, Fluff Word Count: 1.7k total (a little over 500 each)

It didn’t take him long to notice something was wrong. There was a subtle change in you, something a less observant man would have missed. But you always had his attention, and he knew you well. You were a bit slower to respond, your eyes a bit unfocused, your smile less bright. He tried to tell himself it was nothing, that you were just a bit tired, but after the third time of finding you in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, he knew that you needed some more support. He was more than happy to be that support.

Law

Law is a deeply caring man, despite his attempts to appear otherwise, but he is also, unfortunately, terrible at showing it. So he doesn’t talk to you about it, not directly. He instead racks his brain, thinking of every possible way to reduce stress and ways to treat depression. His instinct is to opt for medicine, but he knows he should start smaller first.

“I have a gift for you.” He places it in your hands unceremoniously, trying to hide his delight at your small smile. That’s the most joy you’ve shown in days.

“Thank you, Law! That’s really sweet of you.” You carefully peel back the wrapping paper he had spent far more time than he would admit on, only for your face to show confusion. “A…lamp?”

“A UV lamp.” He says it as though the purpose is obvious.

“Okay?”

“It mimics sunlight.”

You blink at him. “I–you didn’t clarify anything.”

He shifts on his feet, eyes focusing anywhere but you. “We’re down on the seafloor a lot, so you can’t always go on deck for sunlight. And I think some sun will help you.”

Your eyes narrow as you try to put the pieces together. “Why?”

“Sunlight boosts serotonin production.”

You make a soft sound of understanding, before you give him a smirk he would normally hate to admit made his heart skip a beat. “You were worried about me.” You say it like it’s such a victory, like it isn’t something you expected. Clearly he had failed you somehow, if you thought he wasn’t always fretting about you. He typically tries to deny such things, the vulnerability making him feel unsure and small, but you were worth feeling a little weak.

“Of course I was worried about you.” He spits it, like it was so very obvious, and you laugh at him. Normally he would prickle, his defenses growing higher, but that’s the first time he’s heard you laugh in over a week. He would never admit the sound brought a tear to his eye, the relief tearing through him like a hurricane. He can’t help shifting forward, his hands cupping your cheeks as he checks to see if you’ve regained the sparkle in your eyes. It’s dim, but it’s there. He can’t resist kissing you.

You accept his warmth quickly and easily. You practically fall into his arms, nuzzling into his neck when your lips part. “You don’t have to worry. I can handle it. It always passes eventually.”

He sighs, kissing the top of your head. “Just because you can handle it on your own doesn’t mean you have to. You aren’t alone in this. You have me. You have the crew. We’re here for you, whatever you need, whenever you need it.”

Your voice comes out much quieter this time. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“You aren’t.”

“...You promise you’d tell me if I was?”

He chuckles. “I promise.” He gently takes the lamp out of your hand, places it on your desk, and guides you to your bed. “Now tell me everything you need to get off your chest.”

And, to his relief, you do.

Zoro 

Zoro is blunt. He doesn’t know how to dance around your feelings, and frankly, he doesn’t care to. The faster he breaks through your reluctance to tell him what you need, the faster he can help you, and the faster you’ll be happy.

“Why aren’t you asking for help?”

You jump, not having heard him come in, too busy struggling to ground yourself. “What?”

“Something’s wrong. Why haven’t you come to ask for help?” He’s still dripping with sweat, having just come from a particularly intensive workout that was a failed attempt to distract himself until you finally broke and came to him. He can see you try to avoid his eye, so he gently grabs your chin and steers you toward him. He tries to make his voice gentle, sweet in a way he can never quite nail. “Sweetheart, talk to me. I just want to understand.”

You still avoid looking straight at him, even now, but you finally speak. “I…didn’t want to be a burden.”

He can’t hide his obvious confusion. “Huh?”

You finally look at him, not understanding his reaction. “What?”

“Who cares if you’re a burden for a while?”

You look shocked, “I do!”

“Okay, well no one else does! Everyone is a burden sometimes. No one can do everything on their own. The crew’s job is to help each other.”

“None of you guys have ever been a burden.”

“Were we not a burden, or were you just happy to help?”

You open your mouth to argue again, but he can see the exact moment you realize you really have nothing you can say. You can’t deny helping your crew has sometimes made your life harder. He’s seen it countless times. Your Captain alone has gotten you into dozens of situations you could hardly think about without wincing. But you were always happy to help, and a burden shared is a burden halved.

“Everyone here is happy to help you if you need it. All avoiding us does is make us worry.”

You seem to shrink in on yourself. “I’m sorry.”

He pulls you close, chuckling a little at the discontented noise you make when you realize he’s still sweaty. You squirm halfheartedly, but it doesn’t take long before you snuggle into his warmth. He can feel the muscles in your back slowly start to relax under his hands as you accept his touch. “No need for apologies, sweetheart. Just fix it. Talk about it.”

You hold him tight. “I don’t know exactly what I need. Everything’s just…hard. I don’t remember it always being this hard.”

He tries to ignore the way his heart breaks at how pained you sound. He instead focuses on the positives: you’re here, you’re talking, and you’re willing to accept help if it comes. “It won’t be this hard forever. I’ll be right here to make it a little easier, alright? And you can talk to Chopper for some help, too.”

“...Do you think I should?”

“I think that’s up to you. But we’re here. That’s what matters.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon in Zoro’s arms, and if he sees you sneaking to Chopper’s office later, he doesn’t mention it, though his relieved smile might give him away.

Sanji

Sanji is very in tune with your emotions, often realizing you’re upset before anyone else, and sometimes even before you register it yourself. It’s not uncommon for him to suddenly appear, food and drink in hand, ready to pamper you to your (or, maybe more accurately, his) heart’s content. So you don’t seem to suspect a thing when he starts setting up picnics for you on the deck, each dish carefully prepared to boost serotonin production and the drinks designed to reduce stress and anxiety. You’ve probably had more chamomile tea in the past few weeks than you’ve ever had in your life. 

He sets up the picnic blanket in the perfect location: enough room in the shade for you to rest if you get too hot, but positioned in a way that encourages you to soak up the sun. As you eat, he oh-so-subtly encourages you to talk, maintains skin on skin contact as much as he can, and observes everything he can to improve the next one.

You sit blankly for a while, letting him do as he pleases but not reciprocating, before you finally speak, your voice much flatter than usual. “Sanji?”

“Yes, my love?”

“Why are you doing this?”

He freezes. “Why am I doing what, angel?”

You shift in his arms, forcing him to look you in the eye as you do so. He can’t help but brush a stray crumb off of your cheek, his thumb tracing down to your jaw. You gently catch his hand in your own, squeezing it. “These picnics aren’t just little dates, are they, Sanji? Something is clearly wrong.”

He doesn’t know how to explain he’s worried about you without you feeling pressured to speak. He doesn’t want to push you if you aren’t ready, but he can’t stand to sit by and watch as you drown in your own head. “I–do you have anything you want to talk about?”

“What?”

“You haven’t been yourself lately. I just thought…you could use something like this.”

You seem to relax a bit. “So you’ve been worried about me?”

“Yes. I didn’t want to push you, but you clearly need some help, darling. I was hoping I could make this a bit easier for you.”

You give him a real smile for the first time in a while. “Is this why you’ve been sneaking me so many little treats? And why you’ve been so desperate to keep me away from caffeine?”

He tries not to flush. “I thought you could use a pick-me-up. And I read getting better sleep can help with mood.” He pulls you closer, pressing your face into his neck to hide his redness from you. “I was hoping it’d make talking about whatever’s wrong a little easier for you.”

You snuggle into him, accepting your warmth. “Talking about it is always hard. Everything is, right now.”

“Are you willing to try? I think it might help.”

He can feel your sigh. Your reluctance. But slowly, carefully, you unfurl the tension you’re holding, and you allow him to carry some of your burdens for you. You talk for hours, about everything, including things you were clearly frightened to speak aloud. By the end, you may not be perfectly happy again, but he can see your steps are a little lighter. He’s never been more relieved.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @saturogojosgirl @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[lichenes]

Hi, could you do a young silco x nb! reader where they have been friends for years and have been pinning HARD on each other, and one of them(your choice idk who) over hears the other talking about how they feel, and basically, they are kinda forced into confessing...that kinda leads to smut with feelings..pleasethankyouso

Silco falls to his knees for you in this one btw. Just so you know. Tried to write the smut as gn as possible!! CW: vanilla sex?? nothing wild ig, no reader genitals mentioned, gn!reader, silco and reader being oblivious wc: 838 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

You stretched your body walking into the bar part of The Last Drop. “Morning.” You said to Vander who was preparing the bar for opening. “It ain’t quite morning anymore, luv.” You looked at the clock which displayed 7:30pm on the dot. “I couldn’t sleep all night...” You said still blinking back sleep from your eyes.

“Your shift starts in half an hour, by the way.” Said Silco appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “Clients don’t show up until like 10, relax.” You mused, a bit startled by his sudden presence, nevertheless happy he was there.  

You were dressed in your usual work clothing, nothing special, just a pair of slacks, a loosely fitted dress shirt and an apron meant to keep the uniform at least partially clean. You were wiping down the tables before more of the guests arrived, final touches as Vander liked to call it. You were the only person serving food and cleaning tonight so you had your hands full. 

Silco felt cornered. Mesmerised - he was mesmerised by you. Sitting at the bar and nursing a glass of whatever was cheapest, he purposefully ignored you. Were he to pay you any mind, he would go insane. Not an hour ago did he overhear you confessing your infatuation with him to your coworker.

“Okay, who is it then?” Said the newest addition to the staff. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop… truly, he was just about to ask you something menial when he heard his name being spoken. It rolled off your tongue with such adoration when you were sure he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got my eye on Vander…” Commented the girl. 

“Not my type.” Silcos heart beat faster. “You fancy Silco?” You hummed affirmatively, creating a memory for him, he was sure he’d never forget.

Vander waved his hand in front of Silco’s face, waking him up from the daydream. “You alright?” Silco’s face didn’t give away the whirlwind of emotions he was going through right in this moment. Although, he had slightly more colour in his face. “Yeah- listen.” He beckoned him closer. The bar, despite being quite loud, didn't offer enough privacy to say such things at full volume. 

“They said they fancy me.” Vander looked at him in disbelief. He then chuckled. “What, like you didn’t know?” Silco’s face went pale. He grabbed the bar’s edge. “Mate, everyone in the undercity knows this. The whole, you know, back and forth you lot have going on.”

Silco stood up. He was a calculated man. His actions were meticulous. Years of yearning. Months of planning a confession and that’s how he finds out the love of his life actually reciprocates his feelings!? He wasn’t following a script or a plan. “I need to find them. Now.”

You were taking your break in the back when Silco burst through the door. You smiled at him and just when you were about to greet him he closed the door and ran up to you. “Silco?” You questioned his erratic behaviour.

“...for years, and it feels like he doesn’t notice it!” 

He smashed his lips into your own ones cradling both your cheeks as he lowered himself to the floor, finishing his descent on his knees. You reciprocated the kiss, craning your head down so that he could stay close to you. 

You enjoyed the moment as much as you could, afraid it was to flee as soon as you separated. 

When you did, you put your foreheads together. Laughing slightly you looked at him and caressed his cheek with your thumb. “Took you long enough.” He then felt it, the hunger he suppressed for so many years. He dove back in, greedier than before. You moaned in surprise but welcomed it nevertheless. 

You battled for dominance for a moment, in the end he won. There never was questioning it. “I need you.” You managed to get out.

“I’ll make you need me even more.” 

You were resting your back on the door of the room which was locked to prevent people from interrupting your tryst. Silco had one of your legs propped on his hip, holding onto the neighbouring cabinet was the other thing keeping you upright. 

He was thrusting into you with vigour that was making you go cross eyed. Your arms around his neck were only adding to the experience, you needed him closer, right here - right now is all that counted. 

You saw white when he put his cold hands onto your most sensitive spot. A few circles is what got you to the edge and his blissed out words spilling from his lips - ‘come for me’ - for me. You’d do anything for him at this moment. 

And so you followed his instruction, causing his own orgasm after your own. He put his head on your shoulder when you both were basking in the afterglow. You brushed his bangs out of his face. His eyes were twinkling. 

“Tell Vander he needs to find a replacement for you tonight, I need you all to myself.” 

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[maybanksmusings]

THE WALLS ; JJ MAYBANK

SYNOPSIS ; when an unknown face appears in the outer banks searching for a father she's never met, she's unaware of how her life is about to be completely turned upside down.

WARNINGS ; jjmaybank x routledge!reader, strong language, depictions of violence, afab!reader, sexual content, mentions of abuse, drug and alcohol consumption, strangers to lovers, fast burn to slow burn, canon adjacent, not proofread.

AUTHORS NOTE ; there is now a taglist! to be added simply let me know down in the comments. enjoy part two!

part one.

as much as you’d grown fond of sarah in the couple of hours since your arrival, her friends made your skin crawl. topper, her boyfriend, with his dumb face and holier-than-thou attitude. you didn’t see what sarah could possibly find appealing, but it wasn’t your place to meddle.

for the duration of getting ready, all sarah did was talk about jj. more specifically, you and jj. she even offered to set you two up, but with sarahs standing with the pouges, it didn’t take a genius to figure out it's better to go solo.

sarahs cropped, off the shoulder sweater does little to shield you from the cool breeze sweeping across the beach. even stuffing your hands into the pockets of your shorts did very little.

you’d seen on tiktok, the most reliable source of information, that alcohol warmed people up which is why you were already on the fourth drink of the night.

nothing to do with finding the courage to talk to john b, that would be ridiculous.

you and sarah were sat on the opposite side of the beach to the pouges, the wooden log hurting your butt as it was used as a makeshift seat. through the flames of the bonfire you watch the pouges, laughing and drinking.

you’re looking at john b and can’t help spotting the similarities between you two, even down to small mannerisms you shared. you wondered if he had any idea about you, if your father had ever told him about you.

taking another swig, your gaze falls onto another pouge of interest. you’re surprised to see he’s already looking at you, nodding his head to gesture you over.

you smile, a genuine, excited smile. it’s too early for schoolgirl crushes, yet you can’t help it. the alcohol in your system doesn’t help it either.

you mumble a quick 'be right back' to sarah, sitting beside you engrossed in deep conversation with an unknown girl about selling sunsets' newest season. she glances at you over her shoulder, giving you a quick nod of acknowledgment and reminding you to be safe.

you head over to the pouges, a light jog across the beach brings you there faster but not fast enough. the reckless, and tipsy, part of your brain wants to get your intentions out in the open. you want to pull john b to the side and pour your drunken little heart out, and if it ended badly you could blame the alcohol.

but then you imagined yourself in his position, how you would feel if john b randomly showed up and dropped a bomb into your life unprovoked.

he looked so happy, like he was having the time of his life, and you couldn't bring yourself to ruin that. the least you could do was spare him the honour of hearing it from you when you were sober, without an audience.

"there she is," jj grins, not exactly slurring his words but you could tell he was buzzed at the very least "turn around, wanna get a good look at you."

with a playful eye roll, you give in to his request, twirling in a circle and laughing at the wolf whistle he lets out in response.

you're more than compliant when he reaches a hand towards you and pulls you closer, the same hand gripping your waist as he held you against his side.

admittedly, you're surprised when he doesn't make a move the second you're close enough. instead he holds on to you as he continues his conversation with pope, almost protectively, possessively.

"kie, back me up here," jj pleads, free hand being thrown up in the air in protest. the same girl from earlier, which you now know to be kie, throws her hands up in surrender.

"not my beef, i'm the neutral party in this war"

you can't help but laugh at the swiftness of her shutdown, your head resting comfortably against jj's shoulder as his thumb grazed back and forth against the skin beneath your sweater.

now, pope and kie are bickering back and forth, john b is flirting with what was commonly referred to as a 'touron' which leaves you and jj in your own little bubble, content and comfortable.

"so, what do you think of paradise so far?" jj asks, voice soft and a sarcastic emphasis on paradise "not too bad, huh?"

"it's growing on me," you grin, putting the sudden butterflies in your stomach down to having too much to drink "i've lived in worse places."

an eyebrow quirks, curiosity evident on jjs face, you can tell he wants to ask more, but for someone so forward he seems to be reluctant.

"don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to sticking in one place," you admit, as truthful as you can be without saying too much "kinda just bounce around."

"sounds expensive, you sure you ain't a kook?" jj teases, head tilted downward to bring you two face to face "'cause, i'm down with the whole being a sugar baby thing."

you laugh, loudly, head flung back, hair being blown in the wind as jj retains his grip on you, awestruck as he took you in for as long as he could. he wished he could freeze this moment and live in it forever, which made him want to squirm because he had just met you that day.

your bubble of euphoria is quickly burst, the beach erupting in roars as people grouped around the shore. a fight.

you roll your eyes, annoyed beyond explanation. you scan the crowd, trying to pick out any faces you could even somewhat recognise in an attempt to work out who was at the root of the fight.

much like this morning, you see that recognisable flash of blonde pushing through the crowds. your posture straightens, a weird feeling of protectiveness taking hold as her screams of toppers name rise above the chants of 'fight'.

you really did not like topper, so you weren't pushing through people for him, but for sarah.

"top! you're gonna kill him!"

and she wasn't wrong, as you drew closer to the scene you had a plain view of the scene that had the partygoers enthralled. topper holding someone under the water, obviously wanting whoever was under to not come back up.

it's only when you catch sight of who topper is trying to kill does your feet speed up, carrying you faster and faster towards the water. your brain struggling to come up with a plan as fast as you're moving.

you don't know how it happens, but you're on toppers back, your arm wrapped so tightly around his neck that you're starting to lose feeling. in some sort of femme fetal action movie, you would've taken him down.

but it wasn't a movie.

as if it was nothing, topper reaches behind himself and pulls you off him, ripping you straight into the ice-cold water.

"fuckin' pouge" he spits, hands wrapping around your throat as he forces you underwater this time. you claw and kick and squirm, but he's stronger. what feels like hours is only seconds, when you break the surface your hands are bloody and there's a gash across toppers face.

your reprieve is short-lived, only having come up in the first place because topper had recoiled in pain. you were far from a quitter, but this was a fight you knew you weren't coming out of. so when the water covered your face once more, you let it.

it was scarily peaceful, people's screams and shouts practically inaudible. falling asleep would be easy right about now, you could just drift off.

you would probably be better off.

your delusional tranquillity comes to an abrupt end when you, yet again, resurface. this time the party is well and truly over, people running in every direction.

you worried it was the cops, you really would have been better off if topper had finished the job if that was the case.

"hey, hey you good?" john b is holding your face as you cough up the water you inhaled. his voice is soft, gentle as he checks on you.

he was the big brother you grew up praying for, only he was none the wiser.

when you burst into tears it's put down to shock, and when you throw your arms around john b he doesn't question it, instead he helps you to your feet.

"come on kid, we got you."

when you wake you have no idea where you are, sun filters through flimsy curtains and you're dressed in clothes you definitely weren't wearing the night before.

before you have time to work yourself into a breakdown, a soft knock raps against the door. it opens before you can say a word.

john b gently closes the door behind him, sitting at the foot of the bed to give you as much space as possible "how are you feeling?"

"whose clothes are these?" you blurt out, desperately wanting to figure out how she got into this outfit and, more importantly, who put you into it.

as if he could read your mind, he explains "kie, kiara, had the supplies. got you changed out of your wet clothes, alone, scouts honour."

a sigh of relief bellows through your entire body, at least that was something.

"i gotta ask you something," john b starts, his tone shifting ever so slightly to one more serious "i went through everything in my head a dozen times but i can't work out why you did that?"

"did what?"

"saved my life." john b deadpans, looking you in the eye with an intensity that tells you you can't lie your way out of this one "you could have died."

without a word, you stand. you find your damp clothes tossed in a corner and pick them up. john b watches as you stuff your hands into your pockets, dread bubbling up as he tried to come up with what your reasoning could possibly be.

when you return, you sit beside him with your hands clasped around the cold metal you'd pulled from the pocket of your shorts.

"you have to hear me out." you being, hyperaware of how insane what you were about to tell him was "believe me, i know this is insane."

watching his reaction, you show him the compass your father had given you. up until recently, your mother had it tucked away safely in her room. you never met your father, you were told he died when you were a baby. but then you got a sweet sixteen card in the mail, and then there was no record of a deceased john routledge, and then, a week ago, his face is all over your television screen alongside a brother you never knew you had.

you pop the back off of the compass, revealing the hidden compartment not many people knew existed and taking a small, folded note from inside.

"hey, ducky. been a while since i wrote, you know what mom is like. listen, duck, we haven't been entirely honest with you, your mom and i. if you're okay with it, there's someone i'd like you to meet." you read out the note, voice shaky and hands trembling "he left an address at the bottom."

john b carefully takes the note from your hands, wiping away a stray tear thinking you hadn't seen it. he reads it, over and over "this is this address, my dads writing if he signed it dad that means.."

you nod, knowing whats racing through his head all too well "yeah" you sniffle, not exactly sure why you were crying.

"john b, you're my brother."

taglist!

@rainingcecilias

[sheerfreesia007]

Love Letters

Pairing: Hyunjin x Reader

Word count: 2,242

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You feel silly writing the first letter to him since you had just seen him the day before on a date. But after the first one it got easier and easier to express your love for him in typed letters. What happens when he makes you a gift involving those letters?

Yeobo: Honey

The first time he receives a letter from you he’s absolutely befuddled and confused because he had just seen you the day before on a nice romantic date walking around the Han river together before going to grab a simple lunch and ice cream. It had been a very peaceful relaxed date where the two of you had been able to just enjoy each other’s presence. But as he stares at the heavy envelope he can’t help but feel his heart start to race, no one has ever sent him a letter. And he can tell that you’ve put in a lot of effort into the letter and chosen the stationery with care, it feels heavier than normal paper and there’s a texture to the envelope that feels different. He slips the letter into his bag as he’s on his way to the dance studio and vows to read the letter on his break when he has time.

But soon dance practice has his full attention and Hyunjin forgets about the letter stored away in his bag. That is until it’s break time and Felix goes rummaging through his bag for a snack that he knows Hyunjin always keeps in there for the two of them to share before they are able to eat a meal. When he comes up with the snack hanging from his teeth and the envelope in his hands he turns to Hyunjin with wide eyes that dart between the envelope and his best friend.

”Hyung, what is this? Is this from yeobo?” He asks loudly enough to catch Hyunjin’s attention. Hyunjin turns from talking to Minho about a turn that doesn’t feel right to him and spots Felix holding your envelope in his hands causing him to rush over and grab the envelope from him.

”That’s mine.” Hyunjin says hastily and quickly tries to shove it back into his bag as his cheeks blush prettily.

”Did she really send you a love letter?” Felix asks giddily as his wide eyes follow his friend. Hyunjin can see the excitement written all across Felix’s face and his blush deepens on his face. He’s not embarrassed to receive a love letter from you, far from it actually. But the fact that Felix was able to find it so easily has him feeling slightly put off that someone else has already seen it. He tilts his head to the side wondering why he’s so adamant about keeping this for himself but he quickly shakes his head trying to clear it.

”Shush, I don’t know, I just got it today and haven’t had a chance to read it yet.” Hyunjin whines softly trying to get his friend to shut up. Felix laughs softly before nodding his head at his friend before opening the snack package and offering some to Hyunjin first. They share the snack before Minho calls for them to resume their practice, he tells them that they’ll go for another half hour and then break for lunch which they agree to.

A half hour later Hyunjin slumps onto the couch tiredly as Felix and Minho start talking about what they should all order for lunch. Hyunjin’s foot slips along the floor and hits his bag and he’s reminded of your letter once more. He bends forward and rummages through his bag before pulling out the envelope. He opens it carefully and smiles wistfully as your favorite perfume wafts through the air gently from the letter. He’s instantly reminded of the image of you laughing at something he had said on your last date while walking with him around the river, your hair fluttering in the breeze covering your face and he could only see your mouth curved in a happy smile as you laughed.

He doesn’t hear Felix or Minho ask him what he’d like for lunch or that they were going to go pick it up instead of having it delivered. But as Felix sees the letter in Hyunjin’s hand he easily guides Minho out of the dance studio so that they can give Hyunjin some quiet to read your letter to him. 

Unfolding the letter Hyunjin is surprised to see that it’s typed and not handwritten like he thought you would do. His eyes dart down the page quickly and spot your flourished signature down at the bottom of the page and smiles softly. And then his eyes race back to the top of the letter and begin to read.

Dear my sweet Hyune, This seems so silly to do but I saw it in one of the dramas that you liked and figured it would be a sweet thing to do for you. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep this up because I feel so silly typing this out but I will try my hardest. I know you will appreciate a letter even if I don’t know what to say in it. I want to thank you for always taking care of me. Your care and love that you show me all the time is so precious to me and I can’t get enough of it. I hope you can feel my love and care for you as well, because I love you so much. To the moon and back a few times round trip. Alright that’s all I wanted to tell you, I’ll see you soon my love. Love. 

Hyunjin’s heart raced as his eyes finished reading the letter as a smile graced his face, already imagining you sitting at a typewriter talking to yourself as you typed up his letter. He giggled softly at the image and felt his heart slowly start to calm down but feel slightly fuller at the sweet silly letter. Folding it back up he slipped it into his bag carefully wanting to keep it neat and pristine before he could find a way to keep it somewhere safe. Grabbing his phone he quickly typed out a sweet text to you letting you know that he loved your letter and couldn’t wait to see you again to smother you in thankful kisses. For the rest of the day he felt as if he was on cloud nine all because of that silly little letter from you.

*-*-*-*

Hyunjin walks into the recording studio and spots Felix sitting on the couch waiting for his turn to record as Chan, Changbin, and Han all sit at the long desk where all the recording equipment is and Jeongin is inside the booth recording his part. Walking over to the couch Felix looks up and smiles brightly at his best friend before scooting along the couch to make room for him to sit.

“So did she send you another one?” Felix asked excitedly and Hyunjin smiled softly at his friend before nodding his head slowly while darting his eyes around the room to make sure no one else was watching them. Felix nearly bounced in his seat and Hyunjin giggled along with him. “I love that she sends you love letters. It’s so romantic and whimsical. So sweet.” Felix gushes and Hyunjin grins while nodding. 

It’s been months now since the first letter arrived and while at first the letter had been short and silly full of your awkwardness of not knowing what to write to him they soon evolved into lovely free thought letters of things that reminded you of him and why you loved him so much. They often revolve around reminiscing about your dates but more often they just talk about things that you love about him and your relationship. The letters are like a window into your mind and he can’t help but become addicted to the view you give him.

“I love it too. In fact, I’m making her a gift that involves the letters. Would you like to see it?” Hyunjin asks Felix who eagerly nods his head with wide excited eyes.

“Yes, of course. Show me.” he gushes out and Hyunjin smiles while pulling out his phone and opening up his camera roll to show him the progress pictures he’s been taking of the gift he’s making. “Oh Hyune! It’s amazing! She’s going to love it.” Felix says excitedly in a whisper and Hyunjin blushes brightly at his praise.

“You really think she’ll like it? I’m worried it’s too much.” Hyunjin admitted and Felix quickly shook his head in disagreement.

“Absolutely not, she’s going to love this. You have to finish it and give it to her Hyune. She’ll be so happy I promise you. Look at all the letters she’s sent you. This would mean so much to her.” Felix said Hyunjin looked at his friend quietly before coming to the conclusion that he was right. It would mean so much to give this to her. He nodded his head and Felix began giggling happily before grabbing onto Hyunjin’s arm and cuddling into his side.

*-*-*-*

The evening of your one year anniversary was almost like a fairytale to you, Hyunjin picked you up in a dark tinted luxury car that drove you to a beautiful restaurant that had a candlelit dinner waiting for the two of you. You spent hours talking and laughing over dinner reminiscing about your year long relationship and how much your lives had changed for the better since meeting. It had already been such a lovely evening between the two of you and now as you stood in front of your door with Hyunjin draped over your back with his arms wrapped loosely around your waist and his necks sucking kisses and dark marks into your skin while he husked out loving words to you you couldn’t think of a better way to end your evening.

When you finally got the door open and stumbled in with Hyunjin’s weight pressed to your back you were shocked to see your living room lit up by fairy lights, a bottle of champagne chilling in an ice bucket, a beautiful bouquet of red roses and a gift bag on your coffee table, you were shocked to your core. Hyunjin giggles softly at your halted steps before he steps around you and faces you. He reaches out and grabs onto your hands before guiding you further into your apartment and towards the couch.

”I have a surprise for you.” He says softly and you look up at him dazed.

”Hyunjin this is more than enough of a surprise.” You whisper to him but he shakes his head at you in disagreement.

”No, nothing will ever be enough. But I’m hoping that this will come slightly close to it.” He says softly and you stare at him wide eyed. He guides you over to the couch and sits you down before taking a seat right next to you. He opens the champagne bottle and pours you a glass in a pretty glass flute before pouring one for himself. “To many more years together. I love and adore you Yeobo.” Hyunjin cheers and you beam up at him happily before clinking your glass with his.

”To many more years together.” You mirrored him and he leaned forward to press a quick kiss to your lips.

”Now I have a gift for you. It’s been in the making for a long time and it means a great deal to me. So I hope it means just as much to you.”  He confessed softly and you smiled lovingly at him before pressing a kiss to his lips.

”I’m sure I’ll love it since it’s from you.” You admitted quietly before turning to the gift bag and peered into it. You gently reached in and took out the large leather bound book and set it in your lap, on the cover was etched Year One and it was a hefty book with lots of pages in it. Opening the book you’re greeted with the very first letter you ever sent to Hyunjin and gasp softly before turning your head quickly to him. He grins bashfully at you and you feel tears prick the back of your eyes. “You kept them?” You ask shocked and in awe.

”Of course I did. They’re a symbol of your love for me.” He says softly and you rest your head on his shoulder feeling your heart beat erratically for him. You turned the page and your eyes widened as you saw that it was a handwritten letter from Hyunjin to you responding to your own letter. Suddenly tears began to cascade from your eyes and you set the book on the coffee table gently before turning to him and burying your face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly and kissed your temple softly.

”I responded to every letter you wrote me and bound them together in the book.” He told you gently and you sobbed loudly into his chest.

”You sweet, romantic man.” You cried softly as you gripped him tightly. “Will you read it with me?” You asked as you looked up at him.

”I would love to. But it might take us awhile.” He confessed softly. “I might’ve gotten carried away with some of my letters.” He admitted and you chuckled at him.

”Good, we can spend however long reading it together.” You said lovingly to him before pressing your lips to his in a blind move that he easily and effortlessly reciprocated. The love between the two of you growing to an all consuming amount.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[topzsun]

THIS IS A HAPPY HOUSE

── ♡ RUGGIE BUCCHI

loving you is fighting.

“Well, aren’t you lookin’ gorgeous?” The compliment is paired with a kiss to your cheek, and you swat Ruggie’s arm lightly while laughing, jesting him that all he’ll be getting on his mouth is sunscreen from the amount you lathered onto your skin. His arms snake around your waist, pulling you against him as he takes a moment to fully admire you in front of the full-length mirror. For now, it all felt peaceful and you truly believed you were going to enjoy this rare holiday with him.

You both have breakfast in the hotel, and the inevitable downslide happens and you were right to believe in the stone lodged in your throat.

You fiddle with your fork nervously as Ruggie carefully reaches for the tupperwares tucked away in his gym duffle bag. You don’t begin to point out how it goes against the strict rules of the hotel. He knows. He doesn’t care. Your eyes shift nervously across the room, a habitual instinct of searching to make sure no employees are making rounds across the hall. A few passing guests, carrying plates with greens and freshly cut fruit, give judgemental glances as they pass your table but do not intervene outside of that. You can feel your face burn.

“Ruggie, you can’t take any of this home,” You whisper to him, trying to keep your tone level so he doesn’t pick up on the frustration that is coursing through your being. “Why are you packing so much?”

He lifts his head from where he had been dumping a plate full of noodles into one of the plastic containers and only raises a brow as if the answer were obvious.

“It’s for us,” He says and elaborates when you don’t respond, “It’d be a waste if we paid this much just for breakfast. We’ll take ‘em back to our room and heat it in the microwave we got there. It’ll last us a couple of days easily.”

He gives you a grin that had once been so charming to you, back when you were a bright-eyed and overeager kid who was irrationally attracted to the excitement and trouble he brought along. Now, it’s only irritating you and his expression drops when he picks up on the slight twitch of your eye. Despite you not having said anything to chide him, his mood drops instantly along with his smile. His lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow, a clear look of contained annoyance and disappointment that you have become familiar with over the past few months.

“What’s bothering you?” He asks, but you know it’s not out of any real concern. It’s an invitation to argue, because you know whatever answer you’ll give him, he’ll defend himself with his life. You huff, lowering your gaze back to your plate rather than looking at the glacial hue his eyes have become.

“Nothing. Do what you want,” Is all you mumble and neither of you look at each other even when you both arrive back to the room and you make a half-hearted excuse about wanting a nap. He leaves for the gym with nothing more than a grunt of acknowledgement and you bury your face into the plush pillow of the bed and cry yourself to sleep.

The sun has set by the time he’s back. You blearily lift your head, the corner of your eyes caked with sleep crust, and you make out his silhouette from the dark of the room. You drop your head back into the sheets. He passes by your bed and there is silence in place of his footsteps. You feel his lips press against your temple, a silent peace offering you have become accustomed to. Despite the almost-routine nature of it, your heart still flutters in your chest.

You still love Ruggie Bucchi, even when you both eat out of tupperwares for dinner.

You admire the gold interior of the lounge with wide eyes, forgoing your initial intentions of not seeming like an overexcitable tourist. The high-rise ceilings, the luxury carpet underneath your feet and the enchanting chandelier muddle your senses together, a pleasant blur, and for these sparing minutes, you imagine a life where this type of luxury is familiar to you.

You scold yourself immediately.

There is a call of your name from a hauntingly familiar voice that did not belong to Ruggie and you whip around in surprise. Riddle Rosehearts, now older from his teenhood but easily recognisable, stands in the middle of the foyer with wide eyes. You can’t stop the grin that spreads across your lips at the sight of the redhead. While you both haven't seen each other since graduation, you did become good friends as a result of your near-constant presence in Heartslabyul thanks to Ace and Deuce. There is no better bonding than constant exposure, and that held true for you and Riddle.

You bound over to him and he makes the short walk to meet you halfway, a polite but genuine smile gracing his features.

“It’s great to see you,” He greets you and you mimic him with more enthusiasm. “I never expected to run into you like this. How are you?”

You fill him in on the events that happened since you’ve last seen each other, leaving out certain details. You tell him how you have moved into a new apartment (it’s a one-bedroom with a leaky faucet and peeling floorboards), how your relationship with Ruggie is going strong (you both argued just this morning), and that you have been doing great at work (you lost your chance at a promotion after months of overtime).

“I’m glad to see you are doing well for yourself,” He tells you and you can feel his sincerity from just how pleased he looks. Riddle had always wanted others to be at their best, including you, and your heart swelled at the approval in his eyes. You try to ignore the ball and chain on your ankles in the form of your bold-faced lies.

“Are you vacationing as well?” You ask him and he nods.

“Yes, with my wife. We were planning on having lunch at a bistro nearby,” He explains and you gasp excitedly, almost startling him.

“You’re married?” You ask him excitedly, wide-eyed and beaming and his face turns a flustered shade of pink.

“Yes,” He says and his tone is laced with unbridled affection as he speaks. “It’s going to be our anniversary soon and she had always wanted to travel around the Shaftlands.”

You can hear the simpering timbre in his voice and your chest squeezes, eyes intuitively falling on the gold band decorating his ring finger. Riddle is no longer the short-fused boy who used to tutor your trio of friends or save you a seat during tea parties. He is a married man in love, wearing expensive clothes and a happy wife he is travelling around the country with. Your ring finger remains bare and he is tactful enough not to comment on it. His phone buzzes suddenly, breaking you out of your stupor and he looks at the screen, a twinkle in his eyes.

“I should get going, she’s waiting outside,” He bids you goodbye hurriedly and you urge him to go as quickly as he can, watching his back disappearing behind the glass revolving doors. You don’t know when and if you’ll see him again, and for some reason it makes your heart sink.

“What the hell,” There is a grumble beside you and you jolt, whirling around to find Ruggie, phone in hand as he runs a hand through his hair. He looks at you suspiciously when your surprise seeps into your expression.

“What’s up with you? You look like you’ve seen a gh—are you crying?” For the first time in what seemed like months, you can hear the fret in Ruggie’s voice as he looks over you carefully and your head swims at the realisation that it’s been so long since you felt like he’s paying attention towards you. Not about the rent, not about food expenses, not about the bills. There is only you now.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” You blink away whatever tears threatened the corner of your eyes, plastering on a weak smile. He doesn’t look convinced but doesn’t push the subject anymore, fixing his gaze back to his phone.

“Okay… well, taxi fares cost an arm and a leg here. It’s better if we walk to the aquarium,” You stare at him incredulously, your brief moment of nostalgia and yearning to dissipate under a familiar spike of anger.

“Walk there? For over an hour? In this heat?” You stress between every pause and his face sours, a scowl on his lips and eyebrows pursing together.

“What do you want me to do? I’m not blowing all my money away on a single fare,” He scoffs. Your bottom lip trembles, something unkind sitting on the tip of your tongue that takes all your might to swallow away. You turn away from him.

“Fine, whatever.”

By the time you reach the aquarium, your clothes stick to your skin and your legs threaten to give out under you. The colourful fishes no longer held any appeal to you, because all you can think about while walking with your disgruntled boyfriend is how Riddle and his wife would be at a fancy bistro right now, enjoying lunch together with matching smiles, their rings glittering under the sun.

“Are you ever going to marry me?” You ask on the sullen walk back to the hotel, your gaze fixed on the twinkling stars. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Ruggie eyeing you as if you had just told him the sky is green.

“Huh?” He stammers out, and maybe his nervousness at the subject would have been cute if the both of you were still teenagers. Now, in your late twenties, all it does is make you sick to your stomach. “Why are you bringing it up now?”

“No reason,” You mumble, so quiet it could have disappeared with the passing breeze. There is a brief silence that goes uninterrupted by the chirping of the cicadas and the crunching of gravel under your shoes. Then, you feel a tug on your arm. You turn to look at Ruggie.

“I know you wanna get married. Trust me, I wanna put a ring on your finger as well,” He speaks softly, and you falter at the affection in his eyes as he gazes at you. However, his voice then takes a firm turn. “But it’s expensive and we just don’t have that kinda money right now. We don’t need to be married to belong to each other.”

“Will we ever have the money?” You snap, unable to stop the words before they leave your lips. You regret it when a look of hurt crosses over his expression, his ears flattening all the while. He turns away first as if he couldn’t stand to look at you, and you wish there was a river nearby that you could toss yourself into.

He sleeps on the couch that night.

The next day passes by in a blur. Your itinerary packed with activities goes down the drain in lieu of the argument, and Ruggie disappears before you wake up with a single text letting you know he’ll be back before midnight. You eat from the tupperware tucked away in the fridge, despite how even looking at it incites the kind of anger that makes you want to break anything within your line of sight.

You decide to treat yourself to a cup of coffee from the cafe downstairs, in hopes that it may help soothe the misery, regret and rage bubbling in the pits of your stomach.

Despite your initial assumption that you would likely not be seeing Riddle again, it’s a stroke of luck when you run into each other on the way to pick up your order. This time, however, he’s not alone.

In contrast to him, his wife is more friendly and outgoing but with an unmistakable air of elegance to her that came naturally to someone of a higher class. All he had to do was introduce you as an old schoolmate, and suddenly she had invited you to sit at their table and request you to recite stories of her husband as a teenager.

“He’s so tight-lipped sometimes,” She teases and he calls her name in warning but he doesn’t sound annoyed in the least, proving another change from his youth. You entertain her with whatever memory you can recall, such as your first-ever impression of him when he had collared Ace for eating a tart in the fridge, or how he put oyster sauce in his apology dessert. By the time you are finished, she is giggling while Riddle has resorted to giving you a flat stare, but the bell of his wife’s laughter dissipates any negative feelings.

Not for the first time, your stomach coils and suddenly all you can see is Ruggie’s toothy grin before the scene melts away to hardened, narrowed glares and the tight pull of his lips. Did his mild vexations use to fade away at the sound of your laughter, instead of starting up another round of arguments?

No, it’s unfair to an eighteen-year-old Ruggie for you to even ponder this question. There was a time when you would misspeak or clumsily drop something and break it. Instead of meeting you with ire, he would lazily toss the weight of his body behind you, his arms wrapping securely around you as he swayed you around. Back then, you felt like you had everything without needing anything material.

You missed it when Ruggie’s slouch and tired eyes were replaced with his easygoing disposition and cunning charm. Back then, being with Ruggie was exciting. You should be disgusted, ashamed even, for thinking this way of your boyfriend of almost ten years.

Yet, you feel nothing. Your own apathy scares you.

“Are you alright?” Riddle’s wife is the first to notice your disconnect, her soothing voice interrupting your depressive train of thought. Her manicured hand rests on your shoulder, concern apparent in her eyes and you feel bile rise to your throat, which you weakly swallow down.

“I’m fine,” A practised lie, almost a catchphrase to you at this point, and the couple believe you without any hesitance. You come up with an impromptu excuse that you need to meet with Ruggie, and excuse yourself from the table with polite farewells. You dare not to glance back.

“Where were you?” Ruggie asks, scaring you when you unlock the door to the room. You shift uncomfortably on your feet, faltering at your reply despite the fact you know he’s only being conversational, nothing confronting in the way he has his feet kicked up as he scrolls through channels. Yet, another lie escapes your lips.

“I went for a walk to stretch my legs,” You drop your bag onto the table, tactfully keeping your back towards him. You hear him hum at your response.

“That’s nice—” He breaks into a yawn, and flops to his side. He pats the spot next to him on the bed, and you only stare at him. “Man, I’m beat. C’mere, lay next to me.”

When his invite is met with silence, he repeats your name curiously.

“Um, sure…” You make your way over to him, carefully sitting on the edge of the bed. It’s enough for him to reach over, snaking an arm around your waist and pulling you down to rest beside him, inciting a yelp from you. “What’s the occasion?”

“I need a reason to take a nap with the love of my life now?” He questions teasingly and your heart drops. He notices your frozen expression, his hand letting go of your waist so he props himself above you with an arm. He looks down at you, downturned eyes scrutinising and concerned.

“Hey, what’s up? You’ve been acting… different lately,” He speaks gently, carefully cupping your cheek. His hand is warm, and yet it’s not enough. You are still cold. You are still cold. It’s enough to finally spring tears in your eyes, and suddenly all you can feel is Ruggie. Calloused fingers brush against your skin, wiping at the tears rolling down the apples of your cheeks. He mutters hushed reassurances, that you’re going to be okay and that he’ll love you no matter what.

Yet, you cannot echo those words back at him, even when you have calmed down and he has dozed off with you in his arms. He was yours, unequivocally and whole. You were not his.

[galpalaven]

Felassan - Inquisition Companion + Romance Option

I blacked out after work and wrote this in a daze. Enjoy?

Felassan presents himself as a Dalish dreamer mage and friend of Solas, joining up with Solas from the very beginning after the Conclave. 

He is romanceable by any gender or race, unlike Solas who is still race-locked (but bisexual — because the main gripe between the two is the topic of modern elves and anyone else being “real”). I think it would be interesting to also have specific dialogue if you try to romance both at once — Felassan would urge Lavellan to be careful with Solas either way, though it turns more clearly yearning and sad if the player has also triggered the beginnings of his romance.

Since Felassan’s addition to the group would be an extra mage, I think to balance all that out Cullen should be able to be taken at least on some outings, and we could have an extra rogue as well (Harding would fit here, I think).

more under the cut

Personality

As a friend of Solas and his direct counter, it’s immediately noticeable that Felassan is much more friendly and playful. Notably, he enjoys chatting up a Dalish inquisitor about being Dalish, and answers questions companions have about the elves with far more enthusiasm than Solas. If the two are in the party together, he will actively tell people not to listen to Solas and poke fun at him for being rude. 

He gets along well with all of the other companions. Some who get along less well with Solas will comment on how they don’t know how he’s still friends with him when they are not in the party together. He gets along especially well with Sera, showing interest in her upbringing without making her feel condescended to the way Solas does. He particularly enjoys hearing about the Red Jennies and her efforts at helping to even the playing field for the underprivileged.

He gets along with Vivienne as well — I think it would be interesting for Vivienne to be vaguely familiar with him after he had been friends with Briala. I think it’s not a terrible idea for him to have still been involved there, too, as it could come in handy during Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts.

Story Influence

The main differences with Felassan’s presence would likely come into play mostly with things to do with the elves.

Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts

Felassan is one of the most useful companions in this quest. Knowing Briala personally makes it easier for the Inquisitor to convince Briala to either:

Get back together with Celene

Become the puppet behind Gaspard

Felassan knows his way partially around the palace and is able to direct the party slightly when looking for things needed to advance the quest. He is also friends with some of the servants, allowing them access to some of the servants’ tunnels in a pinch.

He makes cheeky, sarcastic comments about the nobility when asked. He’s better at not speaking about his past, so he doesn’t get shifty during the quest like Solas does. He’s happy to dance with the Inquisitor, enjoying the scandal it will cause, with maybe a special line with a Dalish Inquisitor. Rather than single them out and make them “special” compared to other Inquisitors, it’s mostly just on principle of relating to them as another elf, similar to dialogue that can be triggered with Bull about being Qunari (or Tal-Vashoth, in that case).

What Pride Had Wrought

Welcome Felassan as the 3rd option for the Well of Sorrows!

This is where he becomes a real player on the table. He will argue with Morrigan about the Dalish, correcting her outright in places. They never gave the Dalish Inquisitor a real chance to argue with her about things, or explain things themselves, so he has snarky commentary either correcting her or being surprised when she gets things somewhat right. There are also scenes where he will take up the explanation entirely.

Felassan being present also will give the player the correct answer to the rituals. He knows them, explains offhandedly that he’s been here before as an excuse, and makes it far easier for the player to ally with the Sentinels rather than fight them.

By the time they reach the Well, things are tense. 

Solas still fights with Morrigan and the Inquisitor both. If the Inquisitor brought him and Felassan both, he will immediately reject the idea when Felassan offers himself as an option. 

Romanced!Felassan wants to do this for you — he knows what will happen, he knows the weight of this decision, and he doesn’t want this for you. He will elaborate if asked that drinking from this well will bind you, not only to the memories within, but the will of Mythal. The Inquisitor can, at this point, shrug this off if they don’t believe in Mythal or that she is still alive to control them. If the Inquisitor still chooses to drink themself, he accepts this, but tells them that he will help them with any… side effects, should they arise.

Unromanced + High Approval!Felassan will say something similar — you are his friend and he wishes to keep you safe. He will elaborate similarly if asked with high approval.

Low Approval!Felassan offers himself as a Dalish authority, perhaps derisively suggesting that he is older and wiser than a Dalish inquisitor, and that this is his responsibility, not theirs.

Either way, Solas is NOT happy, but will ultimately accept the final decision.

Trespasser

We come upon the eve of the Betrayal of Felassan.

At low approval, Felassan will have left some time in between the end of the main story and Trespasser, seeking to follow in Solas’s footsteps and find him. Despite not having high approval, Felassan is still fundamentally opposed to Solas’s decision, and will be trying to track him down alone to stop him — something Solas has been running to avoid at every turn. He does not want to see Felassan — he does not want to kill his best friend.

High approval and/or romanced Felassan is present and there to help the whole way through. 

Romanced Felassan particularly will have a scene where he will quietly pull his love aside and ask if they trust him. If they say yes (or “You’re scaring me.”), he will tell them that this will sound crazy, but ask them to listen until the end before saying anything else. He will explain the story of the Dread Wolf as he knows it — the rebellion, the Evanuris, the vallaslin, all of it — and then, at the end, explain that he knows this because he lived it. He tells the story of the slow arrow and the Dread Wolf (a Dalish inquisitor can recognize it midway and will interrupt with surprise) and explains that he was there. That he has known Solas for thousands of years, that he has walked this land for thousands of years.

He will also explain that he knows what Solas wants and that he must stop him — that they must stop him. Solas wants to fix what he thinks he broke, but the people alive today do not deserve the fate he would have of them.

And Felassan is willing to do whatever it takes to stop him.

High approval Felassan will explain in much less detail via commentary while discovering the murals in the Crossroads, leading up to eventually finding Solas.

Once Solas has been found, Felassan runs ahead of the group, disregarding calls for him to stop. The Inquisitor is left one man down as they chase after him until, finally, they reach the place where Solas waits — and they find Felassan in Solas’s arms, a knife through his ribs.

Felassan will be stabbed by Solas regardless of Felassan’s approval with the Inquisitor. However, depending on choices made during either Solas or Felassans personal quests, and maybe Solas’s level of approval with the Inquisitor, Felassan can die.

The Inquisitor who loves him or is his friend will rush forward as Solas stumbles back, catching Felassan and holding their hand over the wound, careful not to move the dagger. Between the blood and the Inquisitor’s mark consuming their other arm, they are a sad sight.

Solas apologizes, but states that it was necessary. He would only get in the way. The questioning continues as normal here, up to Solas taking the Anchor.

Romance

I’m not entirely sure how this would go yet. I think he’s playful and flirtatious if the Inquisitor starts it. He will throw out Dalish phrases sometimes “for privacy,” with a Dalish inquisitor, which comes with a very obvious, if not always visible, wink. 

His quests do focus around his identity as an elf, and around preserving elven history, whether the Inquisitor is Dalish or not. While this kind of happens with Solas, a lot of his dialogue is about how wrong the Dalish are — Felassan provides a different, more loving perspective on the modern elves compared to the ancients.

I think a love triangle route between him and Solas would be SO juicy. He wants his friend to be happy, but he knows that Solas does not believe that the elves are full people, and is concerned for the Inquisitor because of this. I think even if the Inquisitor locks in Solas, if the flirts were triggered with Felassan, you CAN actually come back to his romance after Solas dumps you (which, especially if they let him remove the tattoos, can hurt both you and him). I think it unlocking a special scene where he says that yes, he knew what they were and yes, he chose to keep his because he wanted them, would be sweet (and relatable if you chose to kEEP the vallaslin).

Overall, I think his romance would be sweet and fun. A direct counter to Solas and Sera, two elves who hate other elves. Felassan is proud of being an elf, he is proud of the resiliency of both the Dalish and city elves. He’s interested in every part of the world, including the dwarves, Qunari, and humans.

It's been a very long time since I played DAI so please forgive any inconsistencies. I just needed to write something down after work lol. tagging people who showed interest earlier! @lammstrellicon @swoleas @isayashai @witchofthewakingsea @ash-soka

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

EMG normal, not done w tests but expect those be normal n even if not, it not explain things

which. normal EMG good thing, yea. have some scary ones on own ddx that this rule out.

people be relief n happy for me n expect me feel same but. don’t have time feel that because all that feel is dread.

dread because this my frail weak last mental defense against trauma & gaslighting & internalized gaslighting “there nothing wrong” “you want something wrong” “you just crazy (derogatory).” last thing keeping me going n trying.

dread that this will (& already has) be use against me. parents already imagine future where “am” in it but am not actually in—a year three years five years later, able bodied walking talking n living independent n “finally happy.” parents encouraged to force me walk use wheelchair less speak more. as someone already with no escape from them because still severely disabled with symptoms & high support needs even if no diagnosis (some diagnosis), who already feel trapped & suffocated & hopeless with no future or escape here before this. worry life going get so much worse.

they don’t understand autism here. don’t understand stereotypical autism don’t understand not-stereotypical autism it all same coin. here see self as ultra in “not-stereotypical autism” category because autism regression include nonverbal late in life. be diagnosed by top autism place in US not matter. it didn’t it doesn’t & it won’t. for people not born nonverbal they see two option: physical muscle or vocal cord issue or psychosomatic mental illness but derogatory. its “real” in sense they supposed say that but its not real. fact that am actually mentally ill just support that more.

wheelchair bad. nonverbal bad. AAC tablet bad. no one can imagine happy life with them except me.

n no one can understand or even try to understand that those actually not what make my life utterly miserable: not have support needs met, not have communication support needs met (give me enviroment that actually feel safe use AAC then maybe will actually communicate more goddamn it), be trapped physically, be trapped mentally by past abuse with people who did that to me who currently doing that to me, have NO COMMUNITY n that there never ever ever will be any community here in person for me so long as stay here. with no end in sight. unless make one for myself. which—too fucking disabled to do that except [redacted]. which. even that, am too severely disabled thus surveillanced to do that.

not to mention those actually one of very few thing in my life give me joy right now (other joy is fiber arts. ok end of list. everything else even stuff used to enjoy is fucking chore. n even fiber arts becoming more of past time & routine than active joy)—it the only fucking thing that giving me any sort of hint of community right now (n also literally allow me do basic function in life like go places but. DIGRESS). even if it fucking small & pathetic & ironically isolating (bc my god the ableism against us. but without community will just be pathetic & isolated ALL ALONE). to advocate take it away, it incredibly cruel.

everyone expect me be able bodied neurotypical walking talking live independent n it that my personal failure not able do that because there “no medical reason” (…still have life long diagnoses but those not good enough real enough for them), faker. n just lost last mental defense against that. so yeah guess am.

dread too for what doctor going say n recommend after all this. honestly more preferable discharge me & let me go back to old life tbh.

in perfect world there be symptom management with no diagnoses & no definitive test results, that focus on work with what got, when it unrealistic or not fucking worth it try turn life upside down make “back” into “normal.” but. mm such thing not exist.

want be treat with dignity & respect & believed & agency even when don’t know what wrong & negative tests.

[cillianmesoftlyyy]

Moth to the Flame Pt. 2 | Dr. Crane x Reader

summary: Dr. Jonathan Crane isn't the only 'crazy' in Gotham City and he's about to meet his match. When confronted with an unpleasant secret from his past, he's skeptical to trust the strange young woman who calls herself Victoria Vale, the rightful heiress to Arkham Asylum (and maybe his downfall).

warnings: mentions of attempted suic*de and an insanity plea (follows the plot from the movie Batman Begins).

A/N: I really enjoy using the original DC comic lore so if you've been following me for a while, you'll recognize the backstories in this but I've tried to make a completely different plot line.

Choke- I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME 🎶

A few days pass but they feel like weeks. You’re expecting Dr. Jonathan Crane at the precinct to conduct Falcone’s psychological examination, and shift impatiently in your seat. You check your watch routinely, having assumed Crane would be a very punctual person and arrive right at 4:00. And you’re right. 

Crane saunters down the hallway like a black cat, his dark hair combed back against his head and his glasses perched perfectly on his button-like nose. You stand as you see him, pushing your chair back from your desk. You step out to meet him, keeping one hand securely on your hip to ensure your gun stays there and doesn’t get picked up by this handsome criminal mind. Dr. Crane smirks softly when he sees you and gives you a curt nod. 

“Detective Vale,” he greets you and sticks out his hand. You give a professional nod back and shake his offered hand, surprised to find it so warm. 

“Dr. Crane, thank you for coming on such short notice. One of the men we have detained in the precinct attempted last night, I’m sure you understand that we have to follow protocol- get him checked out before his trial in case there’s a more serious issue here.” You explain, knowing Crane can see right through you and your speech (just a matter of routine). 

“I’m always… happy,” he takes a breath, “to help law enforcement when I can.” The smile he gives is false, a lie, but one that you share. You nod and open your mouth to speak again when you hear Rachel Dawes’ voice splinter the conversation. 

“What’s he doing here?” Dawes stands beside you, crossing her arms over her chest in her crisp suit. You watch Crane suppress a scowl as he sees Dawes appear in front of him in her annoyingly professional suit. Though he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to having a thing for powerful women.

“Ah, Miss Dawes. To what do I owe this… pleasure?” 

“I could ask you the same thing,” Dawes retorts, her nose scrunched in distaste. 

“Dr. Crane is conducting a psychological examination on Falcone for the department,” you turn to Dawes, putting your hands casually into the pockets of your pants. 

“Is he? Then perhaps he can also explain why so many of Falcone’s men end up in Arkham because of his diagnosis.” 

Crane holds back a sigh and gives his best charming smile. “Miss Dawes, I’m simply giving professional diagnoses and my most honest clinical opinions about each of Falcone’s men. They end up in Arkham because that is where they belong. That’s hardly my fault, if criminals have a certain association with the insane.” Dawes begins to level a threat at Crane when you cut in. 

“Rachel, we’re going to get him on this one, I promise you. I’m going to oversee the examination with Dr. Crane.” You speak softly to Rachel, meeting her dark brown eyes. 

“Well I’m glad you're overseeing it, some people need it,” she glances over at Crane who looks back without speaking. You look between them before clearing your throat softly. 

“Let me know what the results are, Victoria. The judge wants to meet with Falcone on Monday,” Dawes directs her words to you and then turns to Crane again. “Falcone has no history of psychiatric problems. He got a hold of a blade and claims he wanted to hurt himself. I think he’s faking it.”  

Crane nods once, still cool and clinical despite the unspoken accusations launched at him. “We’ll see.” 

Dawes and Crane scowl at each other before you nod once again and gesture down the hallway. 

“I’ll be there to watch, Rachel, and I’ll let you know what the decision is. We all want a conviction as much as you do.” Your words sound truthful and sincere. Rachel’s pager buzzes and she looks down at it, frowning. She turns and nods at you in thanks before walking away, her black stiletto heels clicking angrily. You look again at Crane whose eyes are already on you, examining you silently.

“Very interesting…” he says coolly. You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest. 

“How’s that?”

“It’s interesting how you interact with her. You deal with her so casually.” 

“I have many talents,” you answer distractedly and turn down the hallway, beckoning him to follow, “shall we?” 

“Lead the way, Miss Vale.” His voice feels close to your neck, prickly and hot like a hand. You close your eyes for a moment and sigh, allowing yourself to dissolve in the riptide of his voice. Then you’re back, you glance around to make sure that no one has seen your “friendly” interaction and continue walking, your steps wide apart and fast. Crane follows easily behind, his gaze unfazed and silent. You stop in front of one of the soundproof interrogation rooms in the precinct where Falcone has already been placed. You step inside, Crane just behind you, and close the door, locking it and pulling the blinds.

Falcone is sitting at the table with his wrists cuffed, though there are thick bandages between the steel and his skin. He has a cigarette placed between his purplish mouth that reeks of sour milk. He raises a bushy eyebrow when he sees Crane and looks between you, unimpressed. 

“Geez doc, I gotta get help. The voices… blah blah blah,” Falcone looks around for a lighter and then turns his eyes up to Crane’s. “Got a light?” 

Crane’s jaw clenches and he sighs deeply through his nose before he pulls the lighter from his breast pocket. He flips open the cap with his thumb in one swift movement and leans over the table to light Falcone’s cigarette. You watch as this moment passes between the men, your eyes following the silver lighter as it returns to Crane’s pocket. When Falcone leans back in his chair, his cigarette lit, that’s when Crane finally speaks. 

“Now Mr. Falcone, I’m going to ask you a few questions. Answer… honestly,” Crane clears his throat and sits at the table, opening a file folder of Falcone’s medical records. 

“Sure, great,” Falcone mutters and looks at you, narrowing his eyes. “Are you staying? Is she gonna stay?” He turns back to Crane who looks up at him, frowning. 

You regard Falcone coolly and nod once. “I’m here to observe.” 

“If it’s alright with you, I’d like to get started, Mr. Falcone,” Crane cuts in, his patience thinning quickly. Falcone grumbles and nods, waving his chained hands to prompt Crane to continue. Crane takes another file from his briefcase and opens it on the table. You can sense Falcone starting to get irritated, Crane’s lips pull into a small smile. 

“I was just looking into your medical record. You’ve got a bit of a history with drug use, don’t you, Mister Falcone?” 

Falcone looks over at you for help, confused by Crane’s line of questioning. You shrug and remain silent, your arms crossed over your chest. Falcone thinks for a moment before answering. 

“Oh… yeah. Meds and stuff.”

“And stuff? In your file it says that you’re taking a prescription for a severe anxiety disorder. Is that true?” Crane raises an eyebrow, a plan brewing behind his blue eyes. One that neither you nor Falcone can predict. 

“Say, doc, what kind of question is that? You’re supposed to declare me insane and get me out of here. We had a deal.” Falcone’s tone is low and sounds slightly scared but he tries not to let it show.

Crane pauses for a moment, the statement hangs in the air like a cloud of smoke. You look between Crane and Falcone, your curiosity piqued. Crane maintains a clinical tone as he continues slowly as if he were talking to a child, “I know we had a deal, Mr. Falcone. Our deal was that I’d keep you out of jail, not out of my line of questioning…” Crane smiles, his heart beats faster with adrenaline, “I’m curious. Are you taking any anxiety medication?” 

“Sure, of course…” Falcone stutters and furrows his eyebrows. “I take all that stuff. I’m crazy…” 

You can feel the tension in the room build, and it sets your teeth on edge. You try to keep your focus on Falcone but the dull throbbing between your legs reverberates whenever Crane speaks. He reaches into his briefcase and removes a vial containing one singular pill. 

“This is an anti-anxiety pill. Quite powerful, actually. Do you know the name of this medication, Mr. Falcone?” 

Falcone’s face is a bright red now and he strains against his handcuffs. You regard Crane curiously, asking yourself why he’s asking all these strange questions. Why not just declare him insane and let that be the end of it? Crane feels a deep sense of satisfaction as he watches Falcone struggle, and you notice it evidently on his face and the way he holds his body, taut like a coiled wire. 

“Well? I asked you a question, I do expect an answer. I’m not going to declare you insane until I know for certain that you’re not faking. So, what is the name of this anti-anxiety medication?” 

"I... I don't know! Why are you asking me all of these questions? Just declare me insane already!” Falcone lowers his voice, “You know damn well I don't take any of that..." 

Crane sighs deeply and puts the vial back into his briefcase. He clasps his hands together, pleased. He smiles menacingly and lowers his voice too. 

“Here’s the thing, Mr. Falcone- that pill I was holding? It’s not anti-anxiety medication…” 

When he says that you turn, your brow furrows. Where is he going with this? Falcone rolls his eyes and stubs out his cigarette angrily. 

“You see, this medication isn’t used to treat anxiety. This medication is a powerful hallucinogenic, an extremely potent, mind-altering drug. It’s my most recent concoction, a fear toxin.” 

Falcone freezes and narrows his eyes at Crane. You feel yourself match Crane’s smile, a knowing excitement creeps into your body, your fingers flex. When he sees Falcone start to struggle even more, Crane’s smile widens. Falcone goes white and begins to panic, resorting to a feeble attempt at blackmail. 

"I'll tell everyone that I was working for you. I'll testify. I don't know what kind of drug you had us moving but I know it was something dangerous!” 

Crane lets out a small, humorless laugh and leans back in the thin plastic chair, his eyes never leaving Falcone. 

“How? You don’t know anything. And even if you did, who would believe you? You’re a delusional psychotic criminal with hallucinations. No one’s going to believe you if you tell them you’ve been moving drugs for me.”

“Get me away from this madman! I’m not fucking crazy!” Falcone shouts at you, pulling at his cuffs. You stare back, a small smirk pulling at your lips. 

“Not yet, but you will be. You see, if you want people to believe that you’re crazy, wouldn’t it just be easier to be crazy?” 

“What-what are you implying?” Falcone tries to push away from the table but the chains binding his feet prevent him from making it very far. Crane smiles and looks at you, his gaze giving you permission to contribute. 

“Mr. Falcone, I’d suggest that you shut your mouth before you say anything else you’ll regret. You’re in no position to make threats here.” You lean forward, your palms fisted on the table. Falcone looks between you and nods slowly, a slimy smile appearing slowly on his lips. 

“Oh, I see. You’re working together, aren’t you?” Falcone laughs. 

Crane’s smile drops and he turns back to Falcone, his steel gaze sharp enough to slice right through the mobster. 

“It seems we’ve reached an impasse, Detective Vale.” Crane’s voice is rougher now, more sadistic. Your whole body shivers, your cunt throbs with morbid excitement. 

 “Might I make a suggestion, Dr. Crane?” You cross your arms over your chest and rock back and forth on your heels. Crane looks you up and down briefly, discreetly. You can tell by the way he’s looking at you that he likes how your body looks in your dark slacks and a green blouse. 

Don’t get too distracted, Crane. 

Crane’s struggling to control his breathing as he watches you, his eyes lingering on the way your body moves. He tears his gaze away from you as he answers. 

“A suggestion? And what might that be, Detective Vale?”

“Well if he isn't going to be able to convince anyone that he's as 'crazy' as he says he is, maybe we should help him out. Make it more believable…” You shrug, your voice light and misleading. Falcone looks between you, his eyes wide as he tries to understand what you mean. Perspiration dots his forehead but he doesn’t wipe it away.  

Crane raises an eyebrow at your proposal but his eyes remain on Falcone, shaking in the seat across the table from him. There’s a dangerous tone in his voice as he murmurs. 

“And how exactly do you propose we do that?”

“Don't you have anything else in that briefcase of yours? Maybe something that could make him a little more... convincing?” You tilt your head towards the open briefcase, your eyes saying more than your words. Crane looks over at you, he swallows and nods, another soft smile on his face. He glances down at his briefcase and a slight shiver of excitement passes through him. Crane glances over at Falcone and feels a cruel grin spread across his face as he realizes what you’re implying. 

It’s like you’ve given him permission. You don’t need to tell him twice. Crane removes his glasses with a sigh and folds them neatly on the table beside him. Falcone watches him warily, his eyes dropping to the glasses then back up to Crane.

“As a matter of fact, I do have something else that would… help.” He slowly reaches into the briefcase and pulls out the burlap mask, his hands holding it with an almost reverent excitement. “Would you like to see my mask?” 

Falcone doesn't even respond. He's gone silent and dumb with fear. In his lack of words, You smile kindly at the man, giving him a false sense of safety.

“He uses it for his experiments, you know. It's probably not very scary to someone like you but to the crazies in Arkham… they can't stand it,” you trail off, backing away in preparation for whatever the hell Crane is about to do. 

Crane’s voice remains low as he leans forward, the mask still gripped in his fist. 

“But for you, Falcone? This isn’t just something to fear. For you… it’s going to be a nightmare.”Falcone struggles in his plastic seat, the chains shaking and clattering against each other as he tries to escape. You release a euphoric sigh as Crane pulls on the mask and gestures to the front of its burlap facade. 

His voice is no longer gentle, no longer friendly, no longer even remotely human as he continues to speak, “You’re going to spend the rest of your life in Arkham, Falcone. That’s a promise.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth his finger presses a button inside his briefcase, releasing a narrow cloud of fear toxin. It hits Falcone squarely in the face, his eyes bulge and lose their focus as some horrible nightmare overcomes him. Crane’s mask morphs into a real scarecrow, something uncanny and deranged. Falcone screams and Crane laughs, rising up from his seat and letting his palms rest on the table.

“I did warn you, didn’t I, Falcone?” 

His voice is barely audible over Falcone’s frantic screams. Crane rips off his mask, smiling contently. His hair is tousled and crazy about his head, your thighs throb. He looks over at you and you nod back, only allowing him a smirk.

“He certainly isn't going to testify now. Dawes won't be able to argue with you either.” He looks more psychotic without the silver glasses that you’re so familiar with seeing. There’s almost a ring of red in his eyes. “Impressive, Dr. Crane.” 

Crane tosses the mask aside and runs a hand through his hair as he tries to catch his breath. His face is flushed with excitement and adrenaline, and he can’t help but smile wider at you, the adrenaline making him bold.

“Thank you, Miss Vale,” he chuckles and shakes his head, looking back at Falcone, “That went well, didn’t it?”

You both look back at the screaming Falcone, smiles on your faces. A match made in hell, you and him.

“I'd stay and savor this moment with you but people will get suspicious. I'll go and arrange for his transfer to Arkham but first I need you to tell me that he's not faking it and that we need to move him to a secure wing in Arkham for treatment. I just need to hear you say it, legality,” you wave your hand about your face briefly. Crane raises a surprised brow. 

“You pick and choose the laws you follow now? How interesting,” Crane says in a soft sarcastic manner, his eyes still wide with pleasure. 

“Technically you are the expert and we brought you in here to diagnose Falcone…” you roll your eyes playfully. 

“Fine,” he takes a deep breath which is more attractive than you’d like to admit, “No, he’s definitely not faking. I believe he’s actively having a psychotic episode and will be in no position to testify. I recommend moving him to a secure wing at Arkham Asylum immediately. He’s a danger to himself and others.”

“Thank you, Dr. Crane,” you smile and turn towards the door. 

“So what? I do this favor for you, Miss Vale and then you leave me alone with the deranged?” Crane chuckles and puts on his glasses, looking you up and down. Your hand is on the doorknob but you turn and regard him, a sly smile on your face. 

“I thought you liked being around the deranged…” 

Crane raises an eyebrow back and turns his back on Falcone who continues to scream in the background. Crane’s nice dark gray suit shifts as he shifts. 

“And what does that mean for you?” 

“You’re the psychologist, not me,” you whisper back and open the door. The door closes sharply behind you but not before Falcone’s screams can be heard echoing down the hallway. You pull an officer aside. 

“Tell Prosecutor Rachel Dawes that Falcone needs to be moved to Arckham. It’s true, he’s insane too. He’ll need to be moved immediately, he’s already becoming violent. Dr. Crane is completing the paperwork and I’ll see to the transfer myself.”

… 

It is late at night when you finally finish Falcone’s transfer. You had shed your quilted jacket days before because Gotham City was in the middle of a miniature heat-spike after weeks of cold, damp weather. You check your watch and look off into the city skyline, thinking. You had followed Crane for weeks before you decided to speak to him, so you know his schedule just as well as your own. He would be in his lab at the university, working on his own projects in the secrecy of the night. His students would never know what their strange professor was up to. You make a rash decision and change directions, your feet taking you a few blocks to the left, to Gotham University. 

  Gotham University was not the type of institution that most students strive for but it still offered a good education for those who could pay. The buildings on campus were all dark and gothic, like orphanages set against a city scene. Students walking home from the library walk past you, speaking softly to one another. Some mention Professor Crane, some don’t. 

The science building is silent and empty when you break in, using the door with the broken sensor (your doing). You find Crane’s lab on the third floor, the only source of light in the dark hallway. You go to the door and open it slowly, silently. Crane has his back to you as he makes notes in a notebook with a red pen. He’s wearing a white lab coat that nearly makes his shoulders look broader, stronger. You stand by the door, watching, and waiting to see how long it takes until he notices you’re there. You pull the string that closes the blinds with a soft snap. 

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare?” Crane's voice rises from the opposite side of the room. Your eyes widen only slightly in surprise, but then you smile and approach his lab table slowly, eyeing him up and down. His gray-blue eyes remain fixed on his work. 

“Did I frighten you?” 

“Oh no, I’m not scared of anything, remember?” Crane retorts with a distracted smirk as he finishes writing a line in his notes. When he finishes he finally turns and leans against the lab table, looking you up and down. “So, what are you doing here, Miss Vale? Why’d you close the blinds?” His smirk widens, the fact that you’re both completely alone excites him. He nearly shivers. 

“No one can know that I was here. I'm sure Dawes is already suspicious of me because I 'oversaw' your evaluation and approved the transfer when the three of us all know he was fine when we walked into the examination room the first time.” You smile and mirror his posture. 

“Mmm yes, I’m sure Dawes has already had a few choice words with you,” Crane nods and looks up, remembering the exchange the three of you had earlier at the precinct: two smart, powerful women in one room, amazing. 

“I can handle her, don’t worry.” 

Crane looks back at you and shakes his head, “Oh I don’t doubt it. You’re a highly intelligent woman, I’m sure Dawes doesn’t pose much of a problem for you.” 

You smile, flattered though you don’t need Crane to tell you what you already know. You ignore the way Crane’s eyes continue to trace the length of your body, imagining what he’d find beneath your blouse…

“No, but I'm concerned that she'll prove to be a bigger problem the more she finds out. Which is why I'm in charge of the case... or at least until she kicks me off. I'll make sure she doesn't learn too much about the 'operation' you're running here. But I need something from you first.”

“And what do you need from me, Miss Vale?” Crane’s voice is low, husky, and short, like the response was second nature.

You look him up and down, a smile growing on your lips. You can tell that he wants you and it's exhilarating to be wanted by such an attractive man... but first, you need information from him. It must be so frustrating for him but hey, that's life. You walk around the lab table and put your hands over his, gripping the edge of the table. You lean forward only slightly, leaving some distance between your bodies.

“Tell me about your plans for Gotham, Crane.”

His jaw clenches but he keeps his voice calm, composed, and his eyes evade yours. “What do you want to know?”

“If I'm going to be an equal partner in this, I need to know what you've been doing with Falcone and his men.” You look down at his lips as you speak. 

Crane’s breathing gets heavier, more ragged. His eyes are still avoiding yours, but he knows exactly where your gaze is fixated. 

“I know that Falcone has been moving shipments of your fear toxin into Arkham and I noticed that the military’s microwave emitter happened to go missing recently. Did you have anything to do with that, Crane?”

Crane can smell your pheromones like perfume and he stifles a frustrated sigh. He rolls his eyes and shrugs slowly. 

“Perhaps.”

“You could have made Falcone take the fear toxin pills you had in the box but you didn’t. You used a different form, gas. The microwave emitter vaporizes water… Your fear toxin doesn’t work in water, does it? It’s water soluble. It needs to be in a gas or powder form, correct?” 

“You’re clever, pet.” Crane smirks and moves his hands away from yours to cross against his chest. “But the pill I showed to Falcone was just a sugar pill, a placebo. Here’s a little lesson in Psychology: the body’s sense of smell is the fastest to recalibrate. By putting the toxin into gas form, the subject inhales it and reacts much faster. It’s all about speed. Water washes the toxin out.” 

“So the microwave emitter?” You prompt him to continue. 

“Yes, you’re right. If it works, it will dry up the main water line on the island, then I can release the toxin into the air… Every man, woman, and child in Gotham city would be paralyzed with fear.”

You let your lips inch closer, exhaling against his lips. Crane almost believes that you’ll kiss him until you pull away at the last moment and smirk. 

“I’ve read everything you’ve ever written about the chemical components of fear. I’ve tried recreating your ‘recipes’,” you look back at the experiments on the table, “but I can’t get the same results. There’s something important missing from your original research isn’t there? What’s the final ingredient? It has to be exotic, something you could only recently get access to. Maybe you met someone with connections. Someone who also read your research and offered to fund your project….” 

Crane is still recovering from your little trick and sighs tightly, impatiently. He looks up at the ceiling, the fluorescent lighting reflecting off of his glasses. “Is that right?” 

You hum once in confirmation and reach your hand out beside his left arm, brushing his sleeve. He keeps his gaze averted, still pissed that you teased him. While he pouts, you pick up a small petri dish from the lab table. A bright blue flower is preserved inside.

“Blue poppies?” 

Crane raises an eyebrow, finally looking down at you. He wets his lips and sighs, rearranging his arms to rest over his chest. 

“You can recognize obscure botanicals now?” He nearly snaps. You flick your eyes up to his, meeting his icy gaze. 

“That was a lucky guess.” You shrug and smile, “I’ve only read about these. So how did you get these? Who are you working for?”

Crane’s body reacts strangely to your smile, his navel warms. Your smile is so wrong… he loves it. He’s still slightly wary of your skills of deduction. He looks down at the petri dish for a moment, his mind trying to get back on track before he answers your question.

“I came into contact with someone who has strong connections. He’s agreed to fund my research and supply me with all the necessary equipment and ingredients.”

“Who?” You  ask with a little less patience. Crane enjoys witnessing one of your rare moments of impatience and smiles, getting the upper-hand. Crane’s smile only widens as he leans back against the edge of the lab table again, his hands gripping the edge in a white-knuckled grip to keep his body in check.” 

“Oh, I’m sure you know him… He’s quite the controversial figure….”

You lick your lips and you try to think. Surely it wasn’t Bruce Wayne- Crane would never work with him. Not Falcone. Not Gordon. What criminal would have both the money and power to operate something like this. Someone in the League of Shadows?

Crane’s eyes focus on the way your tongue moves across your lips. His mouth waters and he feels himself start to get hard. Instead of shying away, he steps closer, one of his hands fixing the bridge of his glasses. 

“I’m honestly impressed you haven’t figured it out yet…” he tuts patronizingly. 

“Are you going to tell me or are you going to make me figure it out myself?” 

Crane laughs and shakes his head. 

“Oh, this is just too good. You’re clearly bothered by the fact that you don’t have a name yet, Miss Vale.” He leans closer to you, his head tilting to the side as he continues in a low voice, “I wonder what you’ll do to get me to answer your question…”

You scowl, Crane getting on your nerves now. You push him back gently with a few clicks of your tongue against the roof of your mouth. “It hasn’t come to that yet, Crane.” You think for a few more moments and then something you read randomly comes to you, “the blue poppies grow in South Asia… Bhutan.” 

“Ding ding ding, good girl. The blue poppies are indigenous to South Asia.” 

“There’s only one man that I know of from Bhutan, he has a warrant out for his arrest in multiple different countries… Ra’s Al Ghul.” 

Crane’s smile widens into a crazy grin. He claps softly and then takes the petri desk back from you. “Correct.”

“Does Al Ghul know you plan to lead Gotham when it’s all said and done?” 

Crane nods slowly, looking away for a moment, his lips pursed. “He believes that my methods are necessary in order to bring about the change that the city needs. We already agreed that I will have control of Gotham when my plan is successful.” 

“Then what’s in it for him, Crane?” You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

He steps even closer to you, until there are only a few inches of space left between you. His voice is lower now as he continues to speak to you.

“He gets to auction off the city back to the government, he gets the money, I get the power. Oh, I’ve also promised him a certain number of…let’s say…highly skilled individuals for his cause.” 

“People you’ve locked up in Arkham?” You clarify, thinking it all through.

Crane nods and turns back to his research, his hand moving once again to the pen to write something down, putting his arousal to the side for a moment. Work will always come first to a man like Dr. Jonathan Crane. 

“Do you trust him?” 

Crane looks at you, surprised by your obvious question. He scoffs finally and turns back to face you. “No, I don’t trust him. But I see our partnership as a mutually beneficial arrangement. And honestly, I wouldn’t be able to continue my research at the same rate without his financial support and his access to the poppies.”

“Something about him gives me a bad feeling…” you mutter, crossing your arms beneath your breasts and tucking your head slightly to think. 

Crane tilts his head to the side in curiosity, as if he’s studying you. “Why do you say that?”

You shake your head and furrow your brow. “I don’t have a reason exactly except that it’s just an instinct. Something tells me not to trust him.”

Crane clenches his jaw slightly and his eyes harden as he starts to take you seriously. He raps his fingers against his elbow and lowers his voice slightly, almost like he’s trying to be kind.

“When have your instincts ever been wrong, Miss Vale?” 

You look up at him and shake your head finally, confident. “Never.”

Crane takes a final step closer to you, his chest nearly touching yours now. He can’t help himself from being drawn even closer to you, like a magnet. His voice is even lower than before as he looks down at your face.

“So, what do your instincts tell you now, Miss Vale?”

You look up into his eyes, heavy with desire. You feel the same desire, the same unquenchable and animalistic urges. Your noses are nearly touching as you exhale softly against his lips. You swallow and then speak. 

“This...”

________________________________________________

@m0thh3ad @sl-newsie @strangeobsessed @cillamity

[the-universal-sun]

I’ve been feeling a bit “blah” and apathetic today, so I wanted to write some head canons about a regressed Stan when he has those days. As always, I’m always open to helpful comments! Please enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-It’s easy to see when Lee is feeling down-for Ford at least. Some may think otherwise given Stan’s disinclination towards speaking when he’s feeling small, but Ford can read his brothers body language fluently

-When he’s feeling…not bad but all-in-all “blah”, Lee isn’t as playful as he usually is. He just sits or lays there, absentmindedly scribbling or running a toy car back and forth, making no effort to make his cute little “zoom” noises or to draw a cohesive figure

-Lee doesn’t know why, sometimes he just feels bored in a way? He doesn’t know how to describe it. there are days where nothing really interests him and he just wants to nap all day

-Ford when this first started happening, kind of panicked and tried engaging Lee in activities he usually loved or things that were reserved for special occasions, none of which worked. This sent Ford into a spiral thinking it was something he did wrong. He just sat there, holding Lee and rocking him until he was feeling big again

-Stan explained that sometimes he gets like this for a day-kind of apathetic and feeling “blah”-but he’ll be fine the next day. All he needs is some patience. Ford of course throws himself full bodily into research. And in conclusion, whenever Stan or Lee are feeling a bit down and out, he just needs to breathe, not panic, and to be patient with him

-So, when Lee is feeling apathetic, Ford makes sure that Lee knows that’s is completely okay to feel that way, but he does give him some small tasks with clear goals to help him get engaged, just a little. He’ll ask Lee to draw or color him a specific picture, to help put together lunch or dinner-handing Ford different ingredients-or asking Lee to help him clean up the Shack/Boat. Small things that just help Lee get up and move and interact with the world. Ford always make sure to thank and praise Lee for his help and the pretty pictures too. Praise does make his Sweet Boy blush and become a bit more energetic

-Ford of course will let Lee curl up with his stuffies and weighted blanket against or near Ford and nap, checking up in him every hour or so to see how he’s doing. Lee may be mostly non-verbal when Little, but they learned some sign to communicate without forcing Lee to speak. That and, again, Ford can read Lee’s body language well enough to know if he needs help

-Lee, and later Stan, always appreciates Ford’s efforts to help him in this state of mind, and he tries his best to show it. He’s not good with words, but he’s great with physical affection. He’ll give Ford an extra hard hug, nuzzle into the junction between his shoulder and neck, and occasionally, a big, wet kiss of Ford’s cheek. Ford may act grossed out, but Lee knows his big brother likes it, his smile gives it away

-Ford will always worry about his little brother, no matter his headspace. He wants to just fix all of his problems so his brother can live happy and peacefully, but he knows that sometimes, all he can do is just be there for him and catch him if he falls. He loves Stan in all forms, so he’ll always be there for him, his good days and his bad ones.

[dragonbma]

🌲 !25 Days of Blockmas! 🌲

The holiday spirit is almost upon us! Starting December 1st, please enjoy this little board of activities I’ve cooked up for the MC:SM community. Blockmas features a handful of fun ways to partake in the fandom along with festive drawing prompts scattered in. Please note everything is optional and you do not have to complete every day to partake! Feel free to use the #25 Days of Blockmas tag so I can see your posts! Have fun and happy holidays!

✏️Day 1: Snow Day!

Toss characters into a nice chilly landscape, snowball fight, or the Icy Palace of Despair. Or perhaps just give them a nice cup of cocoa. ^^

Day 2: Scribble challenge!

Pick a character to draw using only one line. Once you lift your pen off the paper, that concludes the one line! (Feel free to color underneath the scribble!)

Day 3: Secret Admirer!

Slip an ask into the inboxes of your favorite creators and tell them how much their work means to you! Remind your beloved artists why they bring you comfort or inspiration, tell the writers how much their stories made you laugh or cry, etc.

✏️Day 4: Winter Clothes!

Wrap a character in a nice, snug sweater, puffy coat, scarf, or other festive apparel!

Day 5: Storytime!

Grab your blanket and start reading a fic you’ve been wanting to try for a while.

Day 6: The Good, ‘Ol Days…

Vibe and watch a playthrough of your favorite episodes of Minecraft: Story Mode. Alternatively, play the game yourself!

✏️Day 7: Ice Scream!

Turn a character into one of those cursed ice cream treats…

Day 8: AU Appreciation!

Send an ask to a creator about an AU they’ve crafted. You never know what may help them develop the story!

Day 9: Why is this here?

Slip some memes into a mutual’s inbox. Or many mutuals’ inboxes… Or a stranger’s inbox!

⭐️Day 10: Free Space!

Day 11: The Pen is Mightier…

Write a festive snippet about the holidays anywhere in the game! (Beacontown, Sky City, The Underneath, etc!)

Day 12: Kind Comments!

Leave appreciation on a few fanfics of your choice! Tell the authors how much they mean to you ^^

✏️Day 13: Cozy…

Time to keep warm during the snowstorm outside. Snuggle up in a blanket, sip some cocoa, or stay close to the fireplace!

Day 14: They would NOT say that—

Have fun with incorrect quotes or draw over images!

Day 15: Repetition!

Repeat any day of your choice or try one from the remaining list!

✏️Day 16: Gift Giving!

Share the holiday spirit with a few fun presents!

Day 17: Time Machine!

Revisit one of your favorite fics to enjoy the tale all over again.

Day 18: Classic Minecraft!

Have fun mining and crafting! Perhaps play with friends—

✏️Day 19: Ugh, Fine. <3

Give one of your least favorite characters appreciation. (It doesn’t have to be a lot. Just a small doodle will suffice.)

Day 20: Well-Deserved Break! Take a rest. The coming days will be rather artsy so get your pencils ready!

✏️Day 21: OC appreciation!

✏️Day 22: AU art!

✏️Day 23: Doodle a scene from a fic you enjoy!

✏️Day 24: Your choice!

^ For the prompts above, you may use OCs/AUs that belong to others!

🌲Day 25: Recap!

Sit back, relax and take a look at all you accomplished! Enjoy your holidays! If you would like, use this day as another optional Free Space!