#learning how to draw their faces better i start with a gesture and then a shape just for their face part and the eyes and nose then the helm

[numberonetribble]

Posting this separately because I really like how it turned out !

[innerfare]

Smutty Mihawk Headcanons

Summary: a collection of NSFW Mihawk headcanons

Genre: pure smut (afab!reader)

CW: a little bit of knife play (cutting clothes not skin), dirty talk, low-key masochist Mihawk, exhibitionism on the down low

———

Bisexual icon.

King of sexual tension.

Marine hunter? More like marine fucker. 

Is eternally bored, but has a keen interest in lingerie, and he rather likes cutting it off you. He never thought he would enjoy drawing a knife or sword during sex, but he finds the trust you put in him invigorating. 

A very passionate lover. His insistence on being the best carries over into the bedroom. As such, he’s no fan of quickies. He wants you tied up in his four poster bed, the curtains pulled back to allow moonlight to filter in from the balcony, your naked body sprawled across his silk sheets until the sun rises. 

Talks dirty but getting a moan out of this man is like pulling teeth. Also won’t tell you if you’ve pleased him. Your only indication is that he comes back for more. 

Of course, if you do want to get a moan out of him, the best way is to hurt him. Likes if you rake your nails up and down his back, yank his hair, bite him (especially the spot between his thumb and index finger after sucking his fingers), squeeze his face in your hands, maybe even slap him.

And then there's his bondage kink. If you tie him up, it better be to whip him. He'll start out goading you in that bored tone of his, accusing you of half-assing it, telling you to hit him harder. You know you've gotten to him when the comments cease and he bites his lip, his brow furrowing.

Doesn’t just fuck. He spars. 

Saying it again, cannot emphasize this enough, he loves a biter.  

Wants a partner who wants to be chased, as most people either throw themselves at his feet or run away with no hope of being caught. Will chase you down the halls of his castle and ravage you wherever he catches you. Poor Perona has a list of sofas she no longer sits on, counters she refuses to put food on, and entire staircases she avoids. There are even certain mirrors she doesn’t want to look in, even if the marks have been wiped away. Zoro doesn’t fully believe her when she gives him the rundown, thinking nobody can be that feral, particularly not his stoic teacher, who in his mind is the picture of restraint and civility, until he’s training by himself one day in the courtyard and happens to see you appear in one of the towers, only for Mihawk to appear after you and rather lewd sounds to follow. Also sees Mihawk fucking you hard in a window one time, and over a balcony another time. Zoro quickly learns not to enter the wine cellar between the hours of six and ten PM. 

Lives for dangerous sexual situations. Has fucked you in the woods at night despite the menagerie of dangerous beasts running around, has fucked you from behind in an open window several stories high, your front half hanging out, has even fucked you in his small boat on stormy, raging seas. Every duel he has ever enjoyed has been charged with sexual tension.

In addition to these trysts, he wants you in his bed every night after dinner. You either shower or bathe together, and then he works you into a sweat so you need another one.  

Worries deeply if you ever reject his advances, thinks it must be his fault. “Have I displeased you in some way? Tell me, my love, and I will make it right.” It’s times like this that any veneer of disinterest falls away and you see just how much he cares for you. 

Has certain pet names reserved for the bedroom. “My mewling kitten,” is his current favorite. 

Always does that thing where he strokes your temple with his thumb when he fucks you in missionary. It’s supposed to be a reassuring gesture when you’re struggling to take all of him, but it riles you up more than it calms you down. Uses his other hand to pull one of your legs up as far as it will go, so he’s pinning you down but comforting you about it. 

Loves to feel you up in the bath.

If he has more than one glass of wine, he will be going down on you. The more wine he has, the bigger his appetite for you. It gets worse with stronger liquor. When the Red Hair pirates come to stay and Shanks insists on breaking into the whiskey Mihawk keeps for that very occasion, you know you won’t be sleeping until they leave (and that Shanks will be going down on you, too). 

His favorite is to go down on you on his dining table. It makes you feel very exposed considering he strips you down but remains clothed (as is common with Mihawk when he's domming) and the dining room is very large with many doors that anyone could walk through. But that's what Mihawk enjoys about it.

If you go down on him, his hands will most certainly be in your hair. He loves smoothing your hair, and if it’s long, pulling it back into a makeshift ponytail to get the best possible view of your pretty face. 

Once moaned Shanks’ name in bed. Neither of you ever addressed it, but you do always flirt with Shanks when he and his crew come around because it seems to peak your lover’s interest. You haven’t proposed a threesome because you don’t want to share him with the Red-Haired drunk. 

———

Hope you enjoyed it! If you want more, you can check out my masterlist here!

[cami040405]

Vincent Sinclair courting headcannons but the reader does not know asl and tries to, but it’s very hard for her to be interested in it? Maybe they text each other? You can choose the genre

Vincent Sinclair Courting Headcannons

Summary: Vincent Sinclair quietly courts you, you struggle to learn ASL despite wanting to communicate with him. Though frustrated by your slow progress, you continues to try, and you rely on texts, sketches, and small gestures to connect. 

A/N: I loved writing this request, imagining how Vincent Sinclair would communicate with the reader. I found this approach interesting because in my story, Between Art And Silence, Vincent speaks. If you want to check it out, the link is in the text.

When Vincent first starts to court you, he tries to communicate mostly through body language and gestures — soft touches on the arm, a hand held out to guide you somewhere, or leaving little sketches for you to find.

He doesn’t expect you to know ASL at all — in fact, he seems almost guilty or hesitant to use it in front of you, not wanting to make you uncomfortable.

Bo teases him, of course: “Tryin’ to woo someone who can’t even read your love notes, huh?” But Vincent shrugs it off, used to being misunderstood — until you try.

You suggest texting. Vincent doesn’t like technology much, but for you? He adapts.

He keeps his old, beat-up phone charged just so you two can have late-night text conversations. He’s not wordy, but his messages are always careful and intentional.

“Did you eat today?”“You looked sad. Want me to sit with you?”“The stars are out. Thought of you.”

You try. You really do. But ASL doesn’t come naturally to you — the grammar feels strange, and your hands just don’t move the way you want them to.

Sometimes you mess up signs badly enough that he chuckles silently and gently corrects you, guiding your hands with his own, warm fingers. It’s frustrating — not because he’s impatient (he never is), but because you want to understand him better. Still, it’s hard to stay interested when your brain just doesn’t click with it.

Vincent notices right away. He sees the tension in your shoulders, the way your eyes dart away in embarrassment after a failed attempt. He never pressures you. Instead, he starts drawing more — sketching out how he feels, what he wants to say, or what he notices about you. You have an entire drawer full of little drawings he’s made just for you.

Sometimes he’ll use one hand to sign something simple and the other to type it on his phone — a hybrid method that eases the burden for you.

Vincent expresses love in actions: brushing your hair behind your ear, fixing a squeaky cabinet in your room without asking, leaving your favorite tea beside your bed. He sometimes signs I love you slowly, just so you’ll recognize it. Even if you can't respond in ASL, you always press his hand to your cheek, showing that you know. One night, you sign something almost right — “You’re beautiful,” maybe — and he just stares at you like you hung the moon, his face flushing under his mask.

You might not become fluent in ASL, and that’s okay. Vincent never wanted perfection from you. He just wanted your effort — and you gave him your heart, one crooked sign and midnight text at a time.

.

You sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, a pit growing quietly in your stomach as you stared at the screen.

Your latest attempt at learning ASL had ended with a migraine and three nearly-broken fingers from accidentally jamming them trying to mimic a video. The app had long been closed. You were done for the night.

The silence in Ambrose was heavy, as always, broken only by the low hum of the cooling fan in Vincent’s workshop down the hall. He had texted you an hour ago:

“Working. Come by when you’re tired. Want you near.”

You had smiled when you saw it. He rarely typed that much.

Still, you couldn’t help but feel like a disappointment. It had been weeks, and you could barely manage the alphabet. Meanwhile, Vincent was patient — too patient — like he knew you’d give up eventually and was already forgiving you for it.

A soft knock on your door.

Not Bo. Too gentle.

You opened it to find Vincent, mask reflecting the faint glow of the hallway light, tall and silent. He held a sketchpad in one hand and his phone in the other. He tilted his head.

“Hi,” you whispered.

He nodded once, then tapped on his phone.

“Can I come in?”

You stepped aside and let him in. He smelled faintly of wax and pine, and the sleeves of his long shirt were pushed up, revealing pale arms marred with old scars and dried streaks of charcoal.

He sat on the floor, cross-legged like always, and you joined him.

You watched his hands carefully as he began to sign something — slow, deliberate. You caught maybe one word. “You…”

“Wait.” You reached for your phone and typed:

“I don’t know what you said. I’m sorry.”

He read it, then looked at you. There was no disappointment in his eyes, no hint of judgment — only that quiet depth he always carried, something heavy and old and kind.

He pulled his sketchpad into his lap and flipped it open.

The drawing was simple — the two of you sitting together, knees touching, your head leaned gently on his shoulder. Your face was wrong — lopsided, eyes too big — but you recognized the moment. It had been three days ago. He’d remembered.

You blinked back the sting in your eyes.

“I’m trying,” you whispered. “I just… it’s hard.”

He nodded. Then, slowly, he lifted his hands and signed something else.

You didn’t get it. Not all of it. Maybe “feel” or “you”. Something about safe. But you couldn’t be sure.

Your hands lifted without thinking. You fumbled to shape a sign you’d practiced — badly — one you hoped you wouldn’t screw up again.

You signed “beautiful”, aiming it toward him.

Vincent froze.

Not like he was offended. More like… stunned. Like he didn’t understand the word could ever apply to him.

He reached slowly and took your hand — large, warm fingers wrapping around yours, guiding them, correcting the shape gently.

You laughed nervously. “I messed it up, didn’t I?”

He shook his head. Then, he signed again — slowly, so you could follow.

“I love you.”

Three motions. You’d seen them before, sure, but never directed at you. Not like this. Not from him.

Your breath hitched.

You didn’t know how to sign it back.

So instead, you leaned forward and pressed his hand to your cheek, closing your eyes.

He held still.

He didn’t pull away.

And in the silence that followed, in the soft weight of his fingers against your skin, you realized that love wasn’t always spoken — not in words, or even in perfect signs.

Sometimes, it was drawn.

Sometimes, it was typed out awkwardly at midnight.

And sometimes, it was felt in the gentle way someone stayed, even when you didn’t know how to say “I love you” the right way.

.

[blaydie]

ᥫ᭡ LEARNING TO ACCEPT — “If I ever return home, I’d like you to accompany me. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Dan Heng x GN reader.

Word count: 2.9k

Contains: Dan Heng x GN reader, Dan Heng IL, affection, kissing, making out, cuddling, NSFW content, love bites, scratches, brief (singular) mention of blood, handjob, brief oral, penetration, aftercare

How long has it been? Since completing his duties on the Luofu, Dan Heng has hardly left his room. It doesn’t go unnoticed by any passenger of the Express; even Pom-Pom has begun voicing their concern over the situation. He has always been distant, but not to this extent. Ignoring text messages, leaving knocks on his door unanswered—it’s as though he’s no longer here. 

To say it hasn’t been bothering you would be a lie. You don’t blame him for wanting to be alone. Anyone would feel the same way if they had to relive every torturous memory of a past they cannot control. You just miss him—you never thought it would be possible to grieve the presence of someone who is only a few steps away from you.

Walking out of the parlour cabin, you pass by the archives, noticing the gap from the slightly ajar door. As you were about to carry on, you bumped into someone, unsure of who else could be lurking outside of their room at this hour. It was dark, but regardless of light, you know whose hands are gripping both of your arms to stabilise you.

“Dan?” You kept your voice low, respecting his means of privacy. If he doesn’t want anyone to see him, it would be unfair to reveal he’s finally taken a step outside of his room.

“Hello.” His voice was soft, the grip on you loosening while you find your footing. 

Without thinking twice, you step towards him and wrap your arms around him, your head resting against his shoulder. As though relieved by your gesture, a huff of air exerts from his mouth as he holds you in an embrace. It’s been a while since he last saw you; he had come to forget how you felt in his grasp.

Just as you were about to talk again, he pressed his finger to your lips. You notice a light flick on down the hall, your bodies slowly backing up into the archives. When safety is ensured, Dan closes the door and brushes past you, clearing a space for you to sit down on his mattress.

The lights remained off, giving the impression to outsiders that no one was home. You take a seat, eyes glued to the messy pillows and blankets beside you. Dan stands at the databank, finalising some pieces while you get yourself comfortable. 

“Are you feeling any better?” You inquire, snuggling one of his pillows to your chest.

“Not really. I’ve been trying to take my mind off of things.”

“That’s okay, take your time. Everyone understands, but we all miss you.”

“I missed you too.” Dan smiles to himself, his steps drawing closer. “I left you a gift; it’s outside of your room door. I thought you’d be asleep by now.”

“I’ve had trouble sleeping recently. What is it?”

“It’s a teddy bear. I bought it for you when we were in Belebog. I couldn’t find the right time to give it to you—so much has happened since then.”

“Thank you. I’m guessing I’ll be kicked out soon; I’m running all my luck dry.”

“You can stay if you’d like to. Remember to keep quiet about it though, please.”

“I’m good with secrets.”

“I’ve been taking a break from work for a change. I watched all of that series you recommended to me. It was good.”

“Really? You liked it? I have so many more!—”

“Shh.” Dan laughs, keeping his volume down as he places his hand over your mouth. When you settle, he retracts his arm and wraps it around your shoulders. “I did. We can start a new series together if you’d like.”

“I’d like that very much. One that we only watch together.” You beam, poking around his face with your finger until you find his cheek, giving it a light pinch. “That means you have to see me every night. No watching it alone.”

“That would be nice. I’ve been meaning to catch up with you; I’m sorry for leaving your messages unopened. I do see them all. Your words are sweet.”

“Did you see the little kitty plush? It looks just like you!”

“I did. It’s too cute to be me.”

“I think you both look alike. I haven’t seen your face for so long; how do I even know this is Dan Heng? What if you’re a Dan Heng imposter?”

Leaning over you, he flicks on the lamp which produces low lumination, allowing you to gaze upon his facial features. He was in his nightwear, his lips pursed together.

“I know you’re still confused over what you saw on the Luofu. You can ask questions if you’d like.”

“I don’t want to pry. I am worried though.” Upon saying this, his features soften. “You’re not going to leave the Express, are you?”

“Not anytime soon. Don’t stress about that.” Dan reaches for his phone, opening up a streaming app. “I have my reasons to stay.”

“Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” You poke your head over, looking at the series he’s selecting to play. “You don’t have to hide your form when you’re with me. I didn’t find it weird; you looked beautiful.”

“Ah, it’s… It’s not like that. I prefer this one. That’s all.” His cheeks flush, eyes flickering up to you then back down to his phone. “There’s too much negativity tied to it. Plus, I don’t exactly blend in.”

“Can I see it again?” You brush your thumb over his hand, a small huff exiting his parted lips.

As your thumb continues to travel his skin, he locks his fingers with yours. Your eyes drift up, the change in his appearance evident. His hair flows behind his back, ears pointy. You instinctively reach to feel the horns crowning his head, but he stops you, holding your forearm in place.

“Let me do it for you.” He speaks in a hushed tone, guiding your fingers around the curve of each horn. The feeling is unlike anything you can think of. They’re much smoother than you imagined.

“Dan, they’re so pretty. Wow…” You’re in awe, captivated by the beauty of the man in front of you. Freeing yourself from his clutch, you tuck a long strand of hair behind his ear and run your finger over the cartilage.

“…” The faint blush on his cheeks darkened, spreading over the ears you have your hands all over. He clears his throat, doing his best to shake the feeling of the way you’re touching him. “Thank you.”

“I think you look amazing. This is who you are; you shouldn’t have to hide it because of a past that’s gotten stuck to you. You’re much better than he ever was.”

As you move back, you catch a glimpse of the wide-eyed expression he’s giving you, his eyes glowing and his mouth twisted into a wide grin. With his arms weaved around your waist, he tugs you closer, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck.

“I want people to see me for who I am. I’ll never be him. I want all of my accomplishments to belong to me. Nothing of mine should be tainted with his name.”

“That’s how it should be.” You bury your hand in his hair, nails scratching his scalp.

“I truly did miss you,” Dan mumbles against your skin, planting a kiss on your collarbone. “You understand me better than anyone else does. I appreciate that.”

“I try my best. I want you to feel that you can come to me for anything. You don’t have to resolve everything alone.”

Planting more pecks along your flesh, he returns to your neck, his tongue trailing up a patch of skin. His fangs graze you, nipping you abruptly. It felt like a needle, causing you to gasp, gritting your teeth while he quickly pulled back.

“I’m so sorry.” He wipes his mouth, a small trickle of blood escaping the puncture. “My teeth are sharper like this. I forgot…”

He places a kiss on top of the small bite mark, lifting you so you straddle his lap. Both of your hands remain on his shoulders, your foreheads pressed against one another. Pulling down his bottom lip, you lean into a kiss. He holds you tightly, allowing you to take the lead. In all truth, he’s terrified of hurting you. It’ll take some adjusting to get used to interacting with others in this form, particularly in more intimate ways.

Your tongue brushes against his, winning the battle and continuing on. It’s clear he’s holding back, but you aren’t willing to push him. Taking things slow will help him; the last thing you want to do is make his discomfort in this form grow worse. You and Dan have established in the past that this relationship has far surpassed friendship, though there’s yet to be an official label. Whatever reason there may be for that is unclear, but you both know your hearts belong together. Neither one of you would look for this with another person.

Fabric rustles while your hips wind against him, too lost in the moment. His hands tremble as they dip under your clothes, index finger gliding around your waistband. You disconnect the kiss, chest heaving. He pulls his sweater from over his head, rolling to the side to trap you under him. One of his knees is lodged in between your legs, pinning you flat to the mattress.

You drag your hands down his torso, dancing over his pecs and down his abs. His breathing turns heavier, eyes half-lidded as he fumbles with undoing the buttons of your attire. Whether it be due to his recent heightened emotions, he almost seems desperate for your touch. Desperate to touch you.

By looking at him, a pang of guilt ripples through your heart. You can’t imagine being subjected to a life like his, having to deal with the sin of something you wish to not associate with. Dan doesn’t deserve to be treated or viewed the way he is. Sitting back up, you wrap your arms around his neck and drag him into another kiss, causing him to fall with you.

This time, you roll on top, holding both of his hands against the pillow. His lips pout, almost as though he were encouraging you to go further. Due to all of the touching, he became hard a while ago. He was waiting for you to be the one to initiate things.

“Sometimes I wonder if you’re the only blessing this life has to give me. I must’ve used up any remaining luck I had to cross paths with you.” He rests back against the headboard, breaking his hands free so he can hold you.

“There’s so much more out there for you. We’ll find them together. We have an entire galaxy to search.”

“And much more beyond that.” He adds, the warm smile reappearing on his face.

You nod, returning your focus to his body beneath you. Sliding down his pants, you see his hardness outlined in his boxers, a small damp spot where pre-cum leaked out. His arousal for you didn’t bring him shame; he was pleased to allow you to see him this way. Vulnerability is something you only share with those you trust most.

Sliding them off, you take his dick into your hand, giving it a stroke before rubbing your thumb over his tip. The sensation shoots tingles up his body, goosebumps appearing up his skin. You continue rhythmically stroking his length, focusing your lips on leaving a trail of marks across his collarbone. He leans forward, allowing you easy access to the back of his neck where his hair covers. Swooping it out of the way, you leave a distinct hickey in a place no one will see. The only two people aware of its presence are you and him. It wouldn’t be the first thing you have both kept secret from everyone else.

Since he was already sensitive, it didn’t take him long to build up a climax, edging closer to an orgasm while you continued your motions. He panted, mouth directly beside your ear as you continued to decorate his skin with kisses and elaborately placed bites. A droplet of cum drips down onto your finger and you stop, wrapping your lips around his tip to clean him up. He swallows the lump in his throat, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand while you sit back up.

After removing your underwear, Dan guides you into the correct position, his tip pressed against your hole. He tilts his head to the side, waiting for you to tell him when you’re ready. With a nod, you lower yourself onto him, feeling him thrust up to speed the process. It didn’t take him long to bottom out inside you; your body is already familiar with his shape, fully accustomed to his size.

You both fall into the natural rhythm, your hips grinding against him while he pushes himself in and out. While he never fails to make you feel good, you intend to dedicate this night to him. He deserves the relief more than you. The longer this played out, the harder it became for Dan to suppress his urges, his knuckles turning white from the force he’s gripping your hips. A bead of sweat rolls down the side of his face, raising your concern. 

“Are you all right?” You whisper, planting a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m—” He bites his lip, suppressing the groan that tried to escape. “—I’m fine. It feels nice.”

Gradually, he begins thrusting into you with more power, your body falling forward, unable to remain upright. He rubs your back, now carefully nibbling the exposed section of your shoulder. His teeth glide over you like a dagger, sending a shiver through your core. You reach the peak of your climax, back arched as he continues to fuck into you, relishing the way you react.

His breathing pattern resembles that of a predator in the wild, the deep grumbles and pants revealing how much of his energy he’s exerting to get you this way. Unable to hold on, you release your orgasm, repeating his name quietly as you ride out the waves of pleasure. His nails dig into you, his final few thrusts sloppy. He held you close to his chest as he came inside of you, refusing to break the connection just yet.

Both of you are gasping, exhausted from the intimacy. Taking advantage of his current position, he litters your arm with kisses, lifting you up to get a look at what he has managed to do to you. Your neck has bruised, alongside a few of the bites on your collarbones; a breathtaking sight to see. You’re marked up by him, completely spent. All his.

The silence between you remains until the sound of heavy breathing dies down. When composed, he slips out of you, watching as his cum spills out of your hole. Reaching for a packet of tissues, he cleans himself and then wipes you down, removing the sticky fluid from your body so you don’t become uncomfortable. You roll off of him, lying on your stomach while he stands. As he’s walking to grab you a more comfortable set of clothes to borrow, he catches a glimpse of his appearance from the reflection of a frame on the wall. He had completely forgotten he revealed his true form, not feeling the horrors associated with the person of his past.

Returning to your side, he helps you up and slips a sweatshirt over your head, readjusting your hair for you. Large scratch marks trail down the length of your back, something he’s too ashamed to tell you about at this given moment. You were a mess, but you’re still as flattering in his eyes as you are usually. 

“Go get your teddy. It’ll look strange in the morning when people pass by your door. I’m going to use the restroom.” 

“I’m tired.” You yawn, pressing your forehead to his chest while he slides back into his pants.

“I’ll grab it for you then. We can watch the first episode of that series while we try to get some sleep. It’s late.” He flashes his phone screen at you, the large numbers declaring 1:01AM.

Silently leaving the archives, Dan grabs the teddy he gifted you from the floor of the passenger cabin as he redirects himself to the restroom. While in there, he can’t help but stare at himself in the mirror, realising he has a smile on his face as opposed to the usual sombre expression when he sees himself this way. A snicker leaves his mouth as he notices in detail each tiny mark you left on him, rendering it equal to the damage he left on you.

Tossing the teddy at you, Dan climbs back under the blankets and rests his head against yours, clicking play on the first episode of a series he had been hoping to watch with you. Even though you were drowsy, you kept yourself awake with small talk, grateful he trusted you enough to allow you to enter his personal space during such a tough time. As the episode plays out, you can see Dan waiting for the correct opportunity to speak.

“If I ever return home, I’d like you to accompany me. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” His tone was matched by the tender smile on his face, squeezing you tighter in the cuddle.

“I’ll go wherever you go. We’ll stay by each other’s side for the rest of time.” You reply, closing your eyes with a passionate flare sparking flames in your heart. You can rest peacefully knowing that no matter how long it takes, you’ll ensure he can live freely in his own body, being able to experience all the joys life has to offer without feeling the need to hide. 

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 4)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds Part 11 - Caught Part 12 - Eddie

Part 4 Enough

Alastor struggled with the prior expectations others had of him, but you eased them away with gentle hands. And to your great comfort, Tommy’s absence is noticed but not entirely shocking to anyone. With that concern behind him, finally, Alastor gives in to his own selfish wants and asks for your help with his “work.”

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! No pussy eating! No fingering! It took away from the important events and Alastor’s mental health (I know he’s not real but he’s KINDA REAL?) so I didn’t include it. Next time! , Murder, dead bodies, allusions to bad things by bad men, Alastor has had bad times and will have bad times, bad kind of choking, domestic shit, Detective Brady, Obvious Sin」

You let Alastor start the shower, remembering people often complaining you turned it too hot. Stepping into the tub and drawing the curtain around, you told him to face the water so you could clean his back. It wasn’t dirty, you just wanted an excuse to touch and stare.

A moment of silence, you were a little scared to speak but had a question burning a hole in your pocket, “Do you like sex?” You ran the bar of soap down his back, no wash cloth in sight.

“It’s … pleasurable.”

Your mouth twisted, “I thought maybe…it didn’t work.”

He laughed, “You wouldn’t be the first. Works fine. I just don’t care to use it much. I don’t-“ a pause, he considered how to say it as he had never said it out loud before, “I don’t see the appeal, typically. There’s better ways to enjoy my time and chase pleasures than sweating over a stranger,” The word stranger floated in the air around you. Alastor felt the need to push it away, dispel it as quickly as he could, “Dancing is basically the same thing, which seems to be the issue with current society.”

“I can respect that. Well, I’m relieved you aren’t dependent on murder for an erection because I don’t think I can hide that many bodies.” A chuckle from him, but you grimaced. Not now, don’t joke now. Stop hiding from the uncomfortable vulnerability of blunt honesty. You were glad he couldn’t see your face, resting your head between his shoulder blades as you lazily washed his lower back and down, “Don’t push yourself. I know I’ve been-,”

“Affectionate?”

“Aggressive.” You winced, “your word is better. Just, I wont… I can't enjoy something you don’t want.” Your traced circles onto his skin, “I can't get my rocks off to someone’s bad time.” A smile you couldn’t see, small and warm. “I hope it’s obvious I won’t go anywhere.”

He laughed louder, offending you a little.

“Sorry, it’s just— yes that’s been made clear. I quite literally told you to stop following me and somehow here we are.” He looked over his shoulder at you and gestured for the soap. You shook your head no.

“Turn around.”

He paused.

“Not— not like that. Unless you want me to?” You would drop to your knees so fast you would damage the tub if he said yes.

“I’m good dear, thank you.”

The tub was safe.

You took your time, covering his chest in suds, his arms, his sides. You did get on your knees after all to wash his feet, his calves, his thighs. You stopped short of going any higher.

He looked down right bashful. It was so cute you wanted to shove your face into his crotch and scream. 

Alastor wasn’t used to people handling him. Not outside of uncomfortable situations. The order of events typically went as follows:

Date makes a move. Alastor politely redirects. Date gets annoyed because it’s not the first time he’s done this. Alastor offers other ways to please them, be it his hands or his mouth. They either get sad (‘You think I’m repulsive, don’t you?!’) or angry (‘What kind of man are you?’). 

If he didn’t find them worth the effort, he would simply end the date then and there. But if he liked them enough, enjoyed their company enough, needed them for some purpose enough, he would acquiesce. They would touch him, and he would react like the touch-me-not plant he used to harass as a child, moving without thought from the stimulation. And he’d think about more engaging things until he got them to  finish or he could say he did. 

And it would buy a little more time with good enough affection and good enough company and good enough reasons. 

Good enough. ‘Enough’ was right there in the phrase. 

And then it would repeat until someone gave up.

When he didn’t move or reply as your hands sat where his thighs met his hips, lost in some train of thought, you left it be and stood. Lathering your hands, “One spot left!”

He suddenly looked so tired, eyebrows rising as if to ask you ‘what’s that?’ yet the dullness of his eyes indicated he wasn’t actually asking. 

But like a fall from a mildly scary height into the sea, thrilling but safe, he tensed as your hands moved. When you began to wash his face, he hit the water feet first.  His shoulders noticeably relaxed, and you thought you saw his chin shake a little, but you let it go to rub circles on his cheeks. You got behind his ears and under his chin. You tried to make a mustache but the soap didn’t lather well enough for that.

“You’re not missing out. I don't look good in facial hair.” He said, and you believed it. 

You handed him the soap and let him finish cleaning himself, trying to steal looks without being too obvious. Making a mental note to yourself for every piece of him to compliment later when he was more comfortable.

It tickled when he washed you, those soft fingers making bubbles across your skin. The steam was dampening his hair. Ah, you just noticed he wasn’t wearing glasses.

“Can you see? Without the glasses?” He was down now, cleaning your already clean legs.

“Ah, well, no.”

You held up 7 fingers.

He squinted then made his eyes wide, “Hmm…. Two hands.” You pushed him down with your foot to his chest, him catching himself with his arm. “At least I didn’t say three, dear.” 

You play kicked, “Unfunny!”

When he laughed now he looked boyish. His laughter bright as a bell. It was so jarring that it made your subconscious remind you of the dead man lying in the other room. The juxtaposition impossible to ignore.

Alastor noticed the shift in the air, getting up and setting the soap down on the lip of the tub. His hands rubbed your cheeks, your chin, your nose.

“You can leave after you’re all cleaned and dressed.” He was looking at your nose as he spoke.

“I can do anything I damn well want.” Your eyes skirted around his face before making him meet your gaze, “Atleast to the car. Okay?” Suddenly insecure about how aggressive you were, “Please.” 

Alastor nodded, could he see your smile? You could see his.

It was unspoken, and somehow equally shocking as the night you grabbed a dead man by the legs, that you dressed each other. Domestic was the only word for it and it was downright frightening for you.

But your body didn’t stop, some magnets in your fingertips drawn to the buttons of his shirt, to the collar you adjusted, to his glasses that you rested on the bridge of his nose.

Alastor hadn’t any idea what he was doing, perhaps his mother had told him to do this and he had long forgotten it. Maybe he saw it in a movie. Or read it in a book. But gingerly, as you sat on a side of the bed away from Tommy, he knelt and rolled up your stockings, watching as you clipped them to the garter belt. He slipped on your shoes and took your hand to help you stand. As you put on your dress his hands took the buttons at the bottom and yours took the top, meeting in the center. His newly clean fingers straightened out the wrinkles.

He avoided looking you in the eyes, something heavy in the space between you two telling him the air might catch fire if he did. He didn’t know what that meant, and he had done enough new things for one evening. 

“Can I ask you something?” He took the twine that tied the clothes together and began looping it through eyelets in the canvas.

“Of course.” He could ask you anything, if you answered was still up in the air.

“Why did you work for a man like that?” Continuing to avoid your face, he busied himself with drawing the sides and corners of the canvas up like a giant sachet.

A good question. One you would think he’d have asked before the murder. “He wasn’t like that before. This whole… thing was a recent shift. I know it was gambling but I think he was getting into some hard drugs too. His behavior had just gotten erratic.”

He tied the twine tightly, “It seemed impulse control was an issue for him, given his brief conversation with me. This-,” he pointed at you, suddenly full of passion again, “This is what I meant. I don’t talk to men for long. What a terrible conversation that was.” You fought back a smile. “Was he bragging? You wouldn’t believe the number of men— well I suppose yes you would.” He pushed up his sleeves and held them in place with arm bands, “If that is the typical sexual tendencies of men then I’m glad to see I evolved past it.” Alastor was spewing a stream of consciousness that even you could tell was out of character. 

Or perhaps, “I have a feeling you’d be saying all this if I were here or not.” You stared down at the canvas bundle.

That smile again, “Normally it’s under my breath but— they don’t seem to mind!” He gave the bundle a tug, checking for the sturdiness of the twine.“So, usually I do this closer to the car…” 

It was unladylike and you loved it, legs open wide as you lifted your half of the bloody package. You lumbered down the tight stairwell as he went backwards, insisting it was the gentlemanly thing to do. There was a moment you were alone at the bottom of the stairs as Alastor brought the car around. You gave the body a little kick, “Why’d you have to go and be such an ass?” Mumbled under your breath like a professional.

As you both stood there, trunk full of Tommy between you, you were unaware of what little wildfires you’d set off in the other.

Alastor felt his stomach flipping, an impulse to grab your face with both hands and kiss you making his fingers tap the roof of the car. He was worried if he did, he wouldn’t be able to stop. An issue he had never had before, but it still felt like an issue nonetheless. It was, wasn’t it? An issue?

Something in you felt like the good wife in the doorway, waving your darling off to work in the morning. Wanting to plant a kiss on his cheek and straighten his bow tie. If you’d seen a neighbor do it you’d roll your eyes and fake a gag, but you wanted to give it to him. You wanted to give him consistent adoration he could rely on and that was the only example you could think of. A nervous hand considered clawing the feeling out of your chest entirely.

You both decided to play it cool,  Alastor dialling back the urge and planting a single kiss to your nose. You hummed, “If anyone asks…”

“You saw Tommy take the cash and leave.” Alastor said quickly, so confident you could believe maybe you had.

You nodded. Biting your bottom lip you stopped the urge to offer more help. Trust needed to exist that he’d ask for it if he wanted to. 

Maybe your face was losing its skill, mask dissolving under the events of the night, because a grin spread across his face, “Baby steps.”

Always scared of letting him slip through your fingers, you tried to hide how badly you needed another date to look forward to. Pursing your lips, “Speaking of, we’ve checked off public acts of indecency, a dance hall romp, and now some gentle sex near a formerly living man. Would you like to get coffee this week?”

“In the daytime?” False incredulity

“Fully clothed.” You added.

If he hadn’t stifled his laughter, it could have been dangerous, “Scandalous.” A small panic, he hadn’t actually agreed yet. An unfamiliar feeling of insecurity came down on you like a mistimed curtain fall. 

“I’ll need a few days…Saturday, at ten, the little cafe at the west entrance of our favorite park?”

Our. Your knees buckled a little. 

“Sounds positively deviant. I’ll be there with bells on.” Why was your heart pounding now. Why now?

“It’s a date then.” A kiss to your cheek, he tensed, holding back. “Can I drive you home?,” it was spoken into your skin. His lips not leaving your face. 

“I have to go back in. Tell everyone how much of an ass Tommy is for leaving me all alone with that wealthy bore.” Your cheek leaned into his kiss. His lips dragged across your skin to find your mouth, still open.

He exhaled, shakey and slow. Your eyes saw something new; dilated pupils staring down at you. A heat was pooling in your lap again, never so receptive to a pair of eyes before.

“Should I come back?” He knew he shouldn’t.

Luckily so did you. “You know I’m not far from here. Just get home, or wherever you're going, safely.” He finally let his mouth capture yours, his hands roaming the soft fabric of your dress. Red, smooth, warm. You broke away, pulling from some well of strength you didn’t know you had, “If the girls see— there’s no motive quite like a jealous man.”

That grin erupted, beaming a toothy smile that warmed you to your core, “Endlessly fascinating.” His fingers lingered on you until they were pulled away by the limits of his reach, him backing up to the car door, “Be safe. Good night.”

Your legs crossed one in front of the other, had a man ever considered your safety enough to say it out loud? Without adding some patronizing addition like “little lady” or “pretty thing” to it that felt more like an admission of intent? “Good night.”

Alastor rode home in silence, sometimes so lost in thought he would snap back to reality and realize he had no idea how long he had been driving. It would take a second but he would confirm he was still on the right path. 

It was too soon to bring you to his home. He knew that was a logical statement. However, every other part of him wanted to carry you over his shoulder into his house and show you around, excited to hear your responses to the details of his safe harbor. He could cook for you. You two could push the sofa back and dance in the sitting room. The back porch was lovely for early morning reading.

An incorporeal pain tore through his stomach. 

Hands gripping the steering wheel, bright eyes popping up from the tall grass as he rumbled past. 

He was getting ahead of himself again. All of the idioms he was taught were going up in flames. 

‘Don’t put the cart before the horse.’

Unfortunately he had guilded the cart as well, so weighted with the gold of his hopes he was worried the axis would snap.

‘Don’t put all your eggs in one basket.’ 

He had saddled you with an entire coop of his joy. Unfair and unwise.

‘Pearls before swine’

He was, like many men, reduced to a greedy mouthed animal at your feet, incapable of appreciating your attention as it should be. But he didn’t want you to stop. Perhaps a pig could learn?

So much for evolved. 

As he pulled into the dirt driveway of what was his father’s home, then his mother’s home, now his own, he wondered what your first thoughts would be. Would you like it? Were you expecting something grander? Something shiny and new? 

When he was backed up to the greenhouse he rested his head against the steering wheel. 

The smell of the soap was heating up with his thoughts, remembering your hands. You smelled the same now tonight, the same soap. What an intimate thing to share. Could he ever hope to share such things with someone, or was it foolish to spend time thinking about it? 

Alastor would give nearly anything to share a set of plates with someone gentle, to have a set of hand towels in the bathroom for himself and someone patient, to warm two mugs in the morning with coffee for himself and someone understanding.

A secret little dream he threw away shortly after entering adulthood. Which was fine for him. If having those niceties meant having to fake that a part of himself mattered more than it did, he didn’t want them. Not that much. He was already putting on a show outside, he couldn’t bring the audience into his home. His mother’s home. 

As he grappled with Tommy’s impromptu shroud, he considered his outward image. 

He was proud of it. He chose to have it, it was a tool that got him far in life and elevated his status. No qualms. Just, when you expect to do something all of your life alone, it’s foundation shaking to learn perhaps you didn’t have to.

He had convinced himself he preferred to be alone. But now it seemed maybe he had been lying to himself. At some point he confused accepting a situation with preferring it. 

He stared down at Tommy’s pale face, clothes dirty and body stiffening on the metal work station of the greenhouse. He probably would never have learned about Tommy if not for you. No rumors or whispers or warnings about a theater manager abusing the artists in his employ were floating around.

Again, he felt his chest tightening. It didn’t matter if he had had the man already in his sights or not. He would have killed him. Alastor ran his hands through his hair. Would you have stopped him, would he have let you, if you swore Tommy didn’t deserve to die?

No. A silly rhetorical. Had you begged on your knees with tear stained eyes he’d have kissed your cheeks and said whatever you asked to hear. And then he would wait for Tommy to be alone in a dark place like he did the others. And he would avoid looking you in the eye for as long as he had to, until you forgot about the former employer.

With a single and soft clap of his hands he shut his mind off and went about his work. Now wasn't the time for questions and what-ifs. He needed to make Tommy disappear as soon as possible. He didn’t usually kill so close together in time. A brief thought slipped through the cracks of his walls, This would be easier with help. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

No one noticed Tommy was missing until the following night. But given he’d gotten a considerable payday Monday the staff just assumed he was off snorting his profits. 

It wasn’t until Wednesday morning did police come by, Tommy’s mother having called in a missing person’s report.

You heard the girls speaking to the detective outside the dressing room before rehearsals. 

“This is typical Tommy.”

“He’s been dabbling into some heavy stuff.”

“You didn’t hear it from me, but! I heard he got,” you couldn’t see what she was doing, “ya know?”

When the detective looked into the dressing room and asked who he hadn’t spoken with, your eyes met in the mirror, recognition painting his face. 

“Detective Brady! The assistant manager can talk now.” Someone called from down the hall. You continued covering your bruises, hoping he hadn’t noticed them. With a pat to the door frame, metal ring clinking, he left.

He didn’t have time to speak with all of you before it was doors open and left before the show began. As soon as you got home you fished around in your key bowl for the crinkled card.

You dropped it back in, hands coming to your face. Of course. Why would it be any other man?

Deep breathes. It isn’t strange he ran into you before, you worked and lived in the area. He probably handed that card to every woman he passed at night. 

Slow breathes. The girls did the legwork, just follow suit. You were a single woman. No one would suspect you of anything unless they found a smoking gun under your pillow. Even then, if you could bat your eyelashes enough and find a  dainty enough cross necklace you could beat any rap. 

All you wanted now was to see Alastor and tell him. Three more days.

Surprisingly, the theater ran perfectly smoothly without Tommy. James, the assistant, stepped up and everything carried on as usual. The detective didn’t come back, either. Rumor in the dressing room was that Tommy had been an open-and-close case of bad decisions leading to bad outcomes.

There was a sadness at the theater regardless, no one having heard any news. He had wandered off before but he always returned in time for the big weekend shows. But Friday night came and went and Tommy never showed. Which for you was expected, but the other staff seemed worried. The girls, not so much. 

You weren’t as scared as you had thought you’d be. For yourself, atleast. You would rather die than let Alastor be found out because of you. Maybe he would have advice to ease you. Even if he didn’t, you’d be comforted getting him up to speed.

Knowing you’d see Alastor soon was like knowing when the next big rain was coming. You spent all week planning your time around it. 

Except for the small detail that you hadn’t actually known where the west entrance was to the park, or even that the gates had names. But you found it easily enough. As you approached you could see him waiting, a blue suit without the jacket, was there a color he wouldn’t look charming in? 

No. Silly questions seemed to be in the air lately.

You slowed as you approached, him hearing the click of your shoes and turning before you could gather your thoughts. This was the first time to see him in the daylight. 

His mouth was moving but you didn’t hear anything, brain short circuiting. His hair looked so much brighter in the sunlight, sun passing through brown locks. You could see his eyes looking at you, brows rising as he questioned something, but your thoughts were arrested by the color of the gaze you’d spent weeks trying to get into the focus of; a bright honey brown that seemed to shimmer. A little pop of light bounced off a button of his vest, his smile gleamed as he leaned towards you.

Run. You had no business here. A possibly soon-to-be criminalized dancer and him. You should have worn a better dress. Should have gotten your hair done. Should have better.

Alastor couldn’t figure out what your face was saying. He was proficient in reading the expressions of others, in discerning the changes in the air of any given room, but this… he couldn’t place. Your eyes were wide, smile taut and flat as you took a step backward. His hand reached out to stabilize you, your heel catching on the uneven pavement of the lesser cared for wards of the city.

“What’s wrong?” His smile softened. 

You spoke without thinking, something you never did, “You’re too beautiful. I should go.” Your attempt to turn away only half in jest. His bright laugh rang out, melting the muscles of your legs. 

“That’s a new one.” His fingers lingered on your arm, “You can pick a seat, I’ll grab coffee. No staff on the patio.”

Considering fleeing still, you thought about how sad he would be standing there with two coffees in his hands. The weather was quickly cooling, but in the early sun the outdoor seating was perfect for a coffee date. 

Shaking off the nerves, you tried to get a fucking grip. You adored your physical form, you had no issues thinking you deserved whatever you wanted to have. But, well, it was like he was glowing from the inside out. Even his skin seemed to catch the light. There was that quick heart beat again. You looked through the glass front, Alastor in line. If you had gone through with the plan to rob him, and had he returned in the daylight to argue with you… you’d have just handed back his wallet and maybe even your own. 

The least attractive thing about him was his money, strange considering it was normally the most important thing a man had in his pocket for you. 

Did he know? That you had been-

“Autumn, was it?”

You heard something in your neck pop as your head spun toward the voice. The color left your face, you stood so quickly you almost knocked the chair over.

“Detective! What a blessing!” Your hands were trembling as you reached out for one of his with both of yours, “You’ve been on my mind lately.”

The detective, tall and lean, eyes a striking cool blue and hair the color of wheat, removed his hat. “Oh?”

“Yes. I never got a chance to thank you for saving me last week. That man was just not taking no for an answer.” You took several steps to the left, making his back turn towards the cafe doors. 

“I thought maybe you’d been cross with me. You ran off like-.”

“I was just nervous. I didn’t know if you were for real or just another trickster trying to get a lady alone.” You stared at his eyes, trying to keep him focused on you. 

“Ah, well, you had good reason to be. Lucky coincidence seeing you here.” He set his hat under his arm, “I was just headed to your manager’s mother’s home.”

Your eyes flitted to the counter, back to Brady. “Oh? Is…is it bad news, sir?” 

“Not a trace of the man. But, that isn’t uncommon down here I suppose.” The detective sat down at the table you’d been at….you stayed standing. He motioned for you to take a seat, “That being said, I don’t think Tommy just wandered off with some cash.”

Were you wearing your perspiration pads under your dress? You think you were. If not, maybe you could just spill water on yourself and say it was a stain. Stiff, you took a seat. 

“I was hoping to interview the rest of you ladies. I was going to stop by tomorrow but, if you have a moment, what can you tell me about him?” His eyes looked like ice, their effect similar as a chill ran down your spine. 

“Well, oh geez… I don’t want to speak ill of anyone, ever.” Your hard learned skills were coming back to you. Your hands came together to shyly fidget with each other. 

“Consider it a help to the police, no worries ma’am.”

“Miss.” You corrected, that practiced smile small and chaste, “I’m not married, sir. As you can imagine, in my profession, it is very hard to come by good, honest men.”

A chuckle, he put his hat down on the table. Fuck. Fuck! 

“But, uh, yes. I can tell you quite a bit. Tommy was a fine man. For awhile. He was very respectful to us. A clean and tight ship.” You saw the door open behind him, Alastor using his back as his hands were full. “But, the last three months or so, he started getting mean.” You leaned forward, putting your left hand on Brady’s that rested on his hat. Your right hand slipped to the side and under the table, waving frantically to Alastor to turn back around.

Without question he swiveled on his heels, sitting down at another empty table near the cafe doors with his back to you.

You gripped his hand and the hat with one motion, and set it back on his head, “If he saw me talking to a flat foot…it could be a lot of trouble. Maybe we should speak privately.”

Why were you incapable of finding a balance between honey and venom? Your words came out too sweet, voice dipping into the tone you reserved for marks.

“Ah, well…Miss Autumn-,” Brady shifted in his seat.

You stood up, slapping his shoulder, “I meant the theater! Sir!”

He flustered, shaking his head and standing too, “I didn’t say anything!” His nervous laughter eased you, walking further from the table so he would follow. “Well, I’ll be by tomorrow. Maybe we can finish this conversation.“

A nod, not at all intending to tell him you didn’t work Sundays, “That sounds good. Anything I can do to help. But really, I expect Tommy will show up as soon as the cash runs dry.”

With a tip of the hat, he walked off to bring bad news somewhere else. 

You waited a moment before moving to the seat across Alastor. You thought your bones had turned to jelly, “Thanks for the rerouting. Was I obviously rattled?” You were mortified.

“No, not at all!” Alastor set the cup in front of you. “A former beau?”

You shook your head, “Worse. Detective Brady back there came by the theater this week, but didn’t have time to speak to me. Just so happened to see me now on his way to Tommy’s mom. Actually, that was something I wanted to tell you. I’ve met him before.”

His brows rose, blowing slightly on the coffee, “Oh? A patron of your theater?”

“No. That night with Legs. He stopped me a quite a few blocks before I found you. Gave me his card and a warning about missing people and something about little ladies being out at night.”

Alastor nodded, unphazed.

“Should I be worried? Because I’m worried.” You couldn’t even touch your drink, stomach in knots. He smiled, breaking the spell Brady had cast over you.

“Without a body there is no proof anyone is dead. That’s all that matters.” Alastor was cocky, leaning back in his chair with a far too relaxed demeanor.

You hadn’t realized your shoulders were so tight, “Sorry for shooing you away. I just got so scared! If he knows I,” You caught yourself, face going red as you corrected, “thought I had a guy, it could put you under a spotlight.”

His hand came over and gently rubbed your open palm with his thumb, “You’re right. That was smart, thank you.” Alastor smiled brighter, “Now! Let’s put that behind us. I don’t have a terribly long time. There’s a couple things to discuss. Most importantly,” he leaned over the table, face serious, “You think I’m beautiful?”

You kicked at his shin under the table, “My heart nearly stopped! I thought it was something important! Unfunny!”

A snicker, “Cruel?”

You nodded, “Very!”

It was by most people standards a normal date. It only strayed from mundane when Alastor walked you home and asked if you had any nightmares about Tommy. 

When you told him you hadn’t slept that well in weeks, and thanked him softly for his affection as you felt that had something to do with it, he hummed happily. He offered you his home phone number, you gesturing to the phone box at the corner in return. 

The nights were busy, so you often spoke in the mornings before his work. You’d made somewhat of a schedule, waiting in the booth around when you knew he was up and settling with coffee. He’d call, you’d ramble about your evening and what wild thing happened. Luckily the detective never returned after his Sunday visit so your stories were just fun and lighthearted. His laughter sounded so good over the staticy phone line. He would tell you about his work, about the bands he had the pleasure of hearing. New Orleans was the undisputed mother of jazz, and it showed in the fervor of his audience. It wasn’t uncommon he was busy keeping up with demand for more big and new sounds. 

While you enjoyed every opportunity to see him, be it coffee at a different cafe than the first or a walk around forested areas you knew were of use to him, the calls were nice. It allowed you to enjoy him without worrying about putting any undue pressure on him. You could twirl your phone cord and bite your lip without concern.

But finally, the moment you’d been waiting for. You called Alastor and he sounded tense, like he hadn’t slept. With a simple “What’s wrong?”, he asked if you’d want to help him with work.

The first one was almost too easy. Alastor had you wait at a bar where a man he clued you in on frequented. A staff member of his station had missed work for several days, supposedly sick. Alastor got the real story from eavesdropping on the ladies at lunch. The man, Mr. A. Wellington, was next. After watching and waiting, Alastor knew the man’s patterns well enough. Including you was a risk, but he had been fighting the urge to ask you for so long now. This one seemed it would be cut and dry. 

All it took was a smirk, a well placed hand, a laugh. The man practically pushed you down the back stairs of the bar and out through the doors that led to the service street. So engrossed in ignoring your suggestion of slowing down, he didn’t hear or see Alastor standing feet beside you both. 

The look of betrayal on the man’s face as his eyes flew from Alastor back to you increased Alastor’s high was three fold. He asked the man, already too gone to reply, if he remembered his staffer. “You should. She’ll always remember you.” 

You leaned against the door that led back to the hotel bar. Your eyes and ears were open for any unwanted company, any possible danger. Other than your own little madman. Alastor took this one personally, you could tell by how much messier he was than the first two.

While he didn’t explicitly state his code of ethics for selecting “victims”, you had picked up on the pattern. A man who assaulted a young woman, a wife beater, a violent segregationist. 

Was he really doing bad things? You found it hard to pity any of them.

Once the messy part was done you’d help get the man, as it always had been so far, into the trunk. You’d share a few kisses and clean the scene before being driven home, where you’d share a few more. Your favorite part, by far.  And after you waved, he’d drive off to wherever he went with the dead men. 

But one night was atypical. One night was downright horrible.

You lured a man into a large park beside the water. A part of you almost felt bad, as he sweetly held your hand. He had been a perfect gentleman, you seducing him at a dance hall. Alastor had warned you he was dangerous, but you wondered for a second if he was Dangerous or dangerous. Like Alastor-dangerous.

You found your answer when the man smiled down at you, telling you how beautiful you looked in the starlight, how you’d stay so beautiful forever, and wrapped his hands around your neck. Capital “D” Dangerous. 

The man was knocked off balance by Alastor tackling him from the side. You all three fell into the dirt and grass. The wind was forced out of you from the impact, your hands failing to get traction as you tried to sit up. The ground was slick with mud from recent rains flooding the rivers. Hurricane season was already in full swing.

The man wasn’t huge, but he was larger than Alastor. You watched the men struggle, slippery ground complicating Alastor’s attempts to stay upright as he straddled the man, and he couldn’t get leverage enough to bring down the knife. Horrified, you sat on your legs feeling helpless as the man lifted himself and Alastor off the ground entirely and tossed him onto his back. A small cry, Alastor rolled away revealing a rock where his back had landed.

The man only needed one of his large hands to wrap around Alastor’s throat but he used two for the fun of it. Your shoes slipped off as you struggled to get to your feet like a baby deer newly introduced to the world. Everything was wet and spinning, your lungs were burning. 

Alastor didn’t feel scared as his vision went black, just annoyed he had fucked up.

Even that feeling washed away as a grayness flooded into his consciousness. Everything lost color, flavor, texture. All urgency inked out. 

Before everything slipped away, before he slipped under, he thought he heard his mother calling his name.

He thought he heard you scream. 

Part 5 is halfway done 👌

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

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@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

[putellasawfc]

hii.. i just read ur “mapi as a girlfriend is the type to” fic which i absolutely adore, could write something to do with reader actually letting mapi tattoo her please 💗

just something short & sweet whilst i get back into the hang of writing again! if anyone wants a pt2 where mapi actually does the tattoo let me know :)

-

“how many of these did you do?” you breathed, in a state of awe as you admired the countless amount of doodles in mapi’s notebook.

the defender stood beside you, peering over your t-shirt clad shoulder with a bashful smile on her face, very out of character for the usually boastful footballer. “i’ve had a lot of free time since my injury, mi amor.”

you couldn’t argue with that. but the huge assortment of drawings were quite overwhelming, you didn’t know where to start. each page you turned there was a new array of tattoo designs to discover: different flowers, quotes, animals - even a double page reserved for your favourite food and drinks, which mapi seemed to perk up at, pointing out the milkshake she had drawn, stating it was her best.

“baby, i don’t know if i can choose. there’s so many.” you told her, wincing at the sheer amount of pages you had yet to flick through.

your girlfriend remained silent for a few seconds and you risked taking a glance in her direction, expecting to see her pouting back at you. instead, however, you were met with a grinning maría león, something you had come to dread seeing over the years.

“oh no. i’m scared to ask.”

she scoffed at that, gently pushing you with a faux offended look. “you act as if i’m about to suggest something illegal.”

“i wouldn’t be surprised.” you deadpanned.

“that was one time- anyways!” the tattooed woman pushed back the stray hairs that had fallen loose from the messy bun she had thrown her hair up into earlier and gestured to the book. “why don’t i just decide for you?”

you glanced between her and the book, your bottom lip slotting between your teeth as you mulled over mapi’s question, knowing your next decision could put an end to you ever wearing a bikini again. “i don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“come on! don’t you trust me? you know i would never put something you don’t like on your body permanently, mi amor.” she tugged at one of your arms that were crossed against your chest, her tone coming out whiny.

you paused at that, knowing she had a point. if she had gone to all this effort, to draw out well over one hundred different tattoo ideas whilst she waited for you to finally allow her to put tattoo pen to skin, she wouldn’t ruin it by giving you something you’d hate to look at in the mirror.

as if she could sense your hard resolve slowly melting away, she pressed a swift peck to your temple and brought you closer to her with an arm around your shoulder. “i know you better than you know yourself. let me surprise you, i promise you’ll love it.”

you huffed out a breath, your shoulders sagging with defeat which alerted mapi of your agreement without you even having to say anything. before you could even blink, she started jumping up and down on the spot, clapping her hands together in excitement and you couldn’t fight off the smile at her utter glee, you really needed to learn how to say no to her.

“oh my god i’m gonna give you the best tattoo ever sweetheart! even better than any of mine, you’re going to be obsessed with it! you’re the best, you don’t know how hap-“

“mapi, darling, breathe!” you couldn’t help but laugh at her overexcitement, slightly worrying that you might have to make her sit down for a few minutes before she started with the tattoo.

“lo siento, lo siento. i just can’t believe this is finally happening, i was starting to think you were never going to let me tattoo you.”

and again, you were going to have to learn how to start saying no to your girlfriend (and stick with it).

[lady-of-glass-and-bone]

Sway The Stars Which Dazzle Like Pearls

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Warnings: reader is mute due to trauma that isn't specified and uses sign language taught to her by Din, everything in italics is being signed.

A/N: I feel like I haven't written anything in forever and I was worried about not being able to get this done in time and that if I did that it wouldn't be good enough anyway. But, here it is, good or bad. If I got anything wrong as far as communicating via sign language, let me know so I can do better! My fic for the Summer Lovin' 2024 writing challenge. @pedgito @chaotic-mystery

The planet they land on seems to have an eternal night, a never ending full moon and black sand beaches. Here, the stars reflect perfectly in the still waters, a mirror image of the galaxy spread out above. She walks down the Razor Crest's ramp silently, assessing these surroundings with a sharp eye.

He watches her squat down on her haunches to scoop up a handful of the dark sand, crushing it around between her fingers like she's feeling for the quality of an expensive fabric woven on a far off planet. Her face gives little away of what she is thinking.

Din doesn't know much about her past, about what happened before he found her stowed away on the Crest and petrified of her own shadow after his (first) explosive departure from Nevarro, the tiny green kid in tow.

All he knows is that she can't talk. The words are there, he can see them tumbling around behind her eyes, but they seem to get clogged up in her throat, like a gummed up hyperdrive. So he'd started teaching her to sign.

Her footsteps crunch the gravel-sand as she makes her way over to his side, brushing her hands together to clean off the excess sand but some grains still cling to the creases between her fingers, almost sparkling in the moonlight like jewelry. She pins him with a questioning gaze and signs

'Why?'

"Why what?" he motions backs and she fumbles another word, face scrunched in frustration until she finds her rhythm

'Why are we here? Bounty?"

Din shakes his head, considering what he would call this little excursion between jobs before he replies with

"Pitstop, for fun"

"You do fun?" she pulls her mouth into a smirk, pleased at her little joke.

Din tries not to sigh. He's glad they can communicate so freely now, it's light-years better than their rough early days where any movement to sudden or big had her flinching away violently. But he has no idea how she learned to put so much sarcasm into her gestures. Not that he minds now. Anything is better than seeing that unfiltered terror in her eyes.

"Come" he turns and takes a step toward the gently lapping waters edge but doesn't hear her follow, he turns back with a questioning tilt of his helmet

"What is it?" she asks, expression concerned, still rooted in place

"Something good" he assures

"Promise?"

"Yes."

When they reach the water, the ship and the sleeping green child inside it are only a few yards away, a hulking silhouette jutting out of the otherwise flat landscape.

Pulling off his gloves and tucking them safely away, Din crouches down, the toes of his boots touching the water. His companion mimics him, watching carefully as he slowly submerges his hands in the water before carefully feeling around in the wet sand below.

She taps her knuckles into the soft place just below his beskar pauldron, knowing from unfortunate experience not to catch the armor with her bare hands, furrowing her brows when he turns to look at her, seeing her ask

"What are you looking for?"

"Just wait" Din says aloud and she leans back to sit properly on the ground, still curiously watching him dig around, one of her own hands drawing meaningless shapes in the sand beside her.

It takes him a few tries before he finds it, a small orb made and shaped by time and natural forces until it was washed ashore, waiting to be found.

Sitting back beside her, Din holds out his find nestled in the palm of his hand. It stands out stark white and shining in the odd moonlight.

She signs something he doesn't recognize at first, she watches him for a moment, waiting, and then tries again

"Diamond"

"No, pearl" he says out loud and signs it once, twice, then watches her repeat the motion.

The first few times are uncertain as her eyes dart between her hands and his, studying the movement he makes which shapes this new word. Then a couple more times, each with more confidence until

"Pearl" she signs, grinning over at him

"Good" Din smiles beneath his helmet, holding out the pearl to her, an offering.

"Mine?" she quirks a brow at him, still uneasy with receiving things she doesn't feel she has earned.

Din just watches her, hand outstretched and waiting patiently for her to accept this small gratitude.

Eventually, with the barest brush of her fingertips across his naked palm, she takes the pearl. Holding it reverently, worry flashing across her face before she curls her hand around the gifted treasure.

Din had learned to sit with silence long before he met her, so he turns his head out toward the water, then upward just a little, like he's watching the stars.

He isn't. He is giving her the privacy to feel those sometimes tumultuous emotions that come with receiving a gift.

She frowns at her closed fist, lips pulled down in a deep scowl. If her eyes look a bit glossy, she would never admit it. There's a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, a roiling feeling that urges her to not accept this. Not to trust.

But she can see the Mandalorian from the corner of her eye, pretending to watch the stars, nervously rubbing the tips of his fingers together and smearing the gritty sand there until it sloughs off and back onto the beach.

Her courage feels like a finite thing, urgently flopping around in her chest like a gasping fish on land. She leans over closer to the Mandalorian, sees his helmet shift but not quite turn fully toward her as she wraps her arms around his bicep, the pauldron on his shoulder cold even through her shirt.

Hugging him feels like a monumental leap, her cheek pressed against the mudhorn sigil on his beskar shoulder. Her courage has waned and she feels weak, vulnerable, but the little pearl clutched in her hand reminds her that it isn't gone for good.

That it is okay to lean into her companion, her friend, who seems like a forever sturdy rock in the storm that has eclipsed her life.

Awkwardly, arms still wrapped around her Mandalorian's arm, she tells him

"Thank you."

Din makes a sound of acknowledgement, smiling gently beneath his helmet and watching her from the corner of his eye. Her face seems content and his chest constricts in pride, to see that he has hopefully earned her trust enough for her to relax in his presence.

"You're not even looking at the stars" she softly accuses, leaning forward to fully grab his attention

"Neither are you" he retorts.

She huffs a small laugh, tilting her head and raising a hand slowly toward the smooth metal cheek of his helmet. She guides him so they are face to face. Sort of.

They stare, her watching the reflection of the stars in the visor of his helmet, wondering just a little if his eyes are bright beneath all this beskar. If he's looking at her as gratefully as she is him.

Din watches her face, unsure about the hand she has on his helmet, but far more distracted with trying to decipher her expression. Joy seems too big, maybe contentment?

Either way, neither one of them is watching the stars turn above them, a precious pearl clutched between them, a symbol of more. Of hope.

[evilwriter37]

How about 57 with Vigcup?

“Teach me to fight.”

Viggo glanced at Hiccup, then at the dagger on his belt.

“You know how to fight,” Viggo said, going back to setting up the Maces and Talons board. It was a nice day, so they were playing outside, Toothless and Elding tousling in the grass. It seemed the dragons had found a bit of dragon nip and were play fighting to see who would get it.

Hiccup sat cross legged in front of the board. “No, I mean, like you,” he said. He reached for some pieces to help Viggo set up the board.

Viggo raised his one good eyebrow. “So, you want to learn the art of manipulation? That… doesn’t sound like you.”

Hiccup sighed. He dropped a piece, put his head in his hands. “Yes, but I think—”

“There was no manipulating a man like Drago,” Viggo said softly. He reached a hand across the game to gently take Hiccup by the shoulder. “You could not have prevented your father’s death.” Viggo knew that was what was bothering Hiccup so much. He was very much still grieving, and one of the things he did was try to come up with ways in which he could have done better, ways in which he could have saved him.

But there was nothing, and Viggo knew this. He didn’t want Hiccup to get lost in the spiral of madness that was reminiscing and self doubt. He’d tried telling Hiccup he’d done his best in the moment, but that wasn’t good enough for the new, heavily-burdened chief of Berk.

“I-I know.” Hiccup lowered his hands from his face, but didn’t meet Viggo’s gaze. Instead he took his hand from his shoulder, gazed at it as he began to draw imaginary lines into his palm. It was the hand Viggo had burned on hot stone in the volcano, so he barely felt it, but it was nice.

“Do you?” Viggo took Hiccup’s hand with his other, stopping his movement, giving the fingers a careful squeeze.

Hiccup sighed. He looked at the Maces and Talons board, then at Viggo, finally meeting his gaze. Tears glimmered in his eyes, and it broke Viggo’s heart.

“T-teach me to fight,” Hiccup got out, breath hitched.

That was all the answer he needed. Hiccup wasn’t ready to let this go.

Viggo released him and gestured to the Maces and Talons board. He gave him a soft smile. “Well, it all starts here.”

[silverlining-ships]

I had someone DM me recently asking for tips for creating an SU sona and drawing in the style, which is one of my favorite topics to think about and discuss!! I'm definitely not the end-all-be-all of SU style replication and have so much to learn, but I wanted to share my method for anyone interested in creating SU art! So here's a Steven Universe Style Replication guide!

Before you start:

Gather LOTS of references. references EVERYWHERE. I have a google drive folder specifically for Jasper references, but I plan on having folders for each character as well. If you know you're going to draw a specific character a lot, gather references!!!

also, gather references of characters you base your S/I on physically. my sona has traits from both Steven and Connie's body types, so I used photos from their references when creating mine - I specifically used Connie's turnaround as inspiration for the height/posing of mine!

((you don’t HAVE to create a turnaround ofc, but thinking of your sona as one that needs to “follow the rules” of the other characters’ designs can help creating something that looks proportional and accurate!))

Colorwise, it’s fun to consider your f/o or the characters you interact with before creating an outfit palette -> I specifically use yellow as a base color because of the way it meshes with Jasper’s orange pallet, as well as being complementary to Steven’s pink and Connie’s blue

Drawing:

SU has the benefit (and curse) of inconsistent style and size references. it's partially proportions to the other characters, yea, but it's more in the shape language you use when drawing in the style, which is why references are so helpful! 

(unrelated but I love how this shows how much I still struggle drawing jasper.... even after six months straight of exclusively drawing her. sigh.)

take these drawings I threw together! these are four completely different characters, but they all feel different because of the shape language used:

even with my own style bleeding in, really focusing in on what their core body is expressing is what demonstrates the character.

this translates to creating your own sona, too - think about how your sona would fall into the shape language. my sona is similar to Connie, but a bit curvier and stockier, which shows especially in the core of the character design!

I know the "belted shape" concept has gone around this fandom for years, but I'd recommend not depending on it as in my opinion it doesn't translate nearly as well as just a general concept of the form - like how it doesn't work as well with Peridot when she becomes tiney

[obligatory PSA that anatomy knowledge/practice helps so much here - I've been drawing SU for YEARRSSSSS but my understanding of the forms got so much better when I started practicing gesture drawing/anatomy practice]

Expressions/facial anatomy:

so again, SU has so much style inconsistency that the way you draw expressions will vary based on the boarder - this EXCELLENT because this means expressions are really easy to pass in the style! but some visuals anyway:

most of the time, faces are extremely simplified with one guideline across the face, a little bit higher than where the "cheek" starts if the character has a cheek

if more masculine, the guideline will be a bit higher and the eyes will be shorter

an interesting note with Spinel specifically is that her eyebrow expression is done through her hairline, which is part of her really fun 20s inspired look!

Lineart:

i feel like if anything really makes something look "canon", it's how the lineart is done in a finished piece. if I compare with a couple fake screens/edits I've attempted:

the lineart makes all the difference here!!!!

for specs reasons if you're curious, I use procreate with the "baskerville" brush on a higher stream line setting. I do not have pressure sensitivity, so all of my lines are hand-weighted, but if you have pressure sensitivity you might have an easier time here!

facial details tend to be slightly thinner. eyes tend to be a little bit thicker on either the top/bottom or sides, although it depends

outer borders, major clothing, outer hair tufts and other major features are the thickest lines

sometimes lines aren't used at ALL for various features (gem facets, some more minor clothing details, like the bottom of Lapis' top or the waistline on Jasper's uniform)

[random screenshots I pulled as examples]

the key part with lineart and style replication, though, is that is varies WILDLY by style. as long as you have some line weighting it's really easy to get it to pass as SU style

lastly I HIGHLY recommend practicing screenshot edits or fake screenshots if you can!!! I feel like the silly edits I do really help emphasize my understanding of what it takes to make something look like the style, and my little journey into making fake screenshots/"canon" screenshots is a big part of how I've learned to draw in SU style!!!

That's all I have for y'all, make all the SU art in the world!! 2025 will be the Year of Steven Universe Art!!!!

[sangoundercover]

Someone asked me how I draw faces a couple months ago and I never had a good example to show so here‘s a little snippet and some text about how I think while drawing:

I always make a copy of my first sketch in case i mess up. Sometimes I try to do a clean up on a new layer, and it doesn‘t always work out. Not because the lines or anatomy is bad, but because i lost focus and with that I lost the gesture/energy and emotion of the original sketch.

Don‘t try to fix what‘s not broken. When that happens I go back to my original sketch and start again, often I draw straight on that same sketch layer, trying to carefully clean it up, staying zoomed out to stay focused on gesture and emotion instead of zooming in and only seeing individual lines. There‘s no need to completely redraw something on a new lineart layer if the original sketch looks already good.

Other factors can play in too (first drawing of the day, not warmed up, tired after long day) So don‘t force yourself into thinking your first attempt has to work out.

Bonus:

Learning when to stop and start over is not just good for faces, it‘s something that helped me improve at drawing in general, be able to draw faster and more efficiently. I started to adapt this years ago when I drew a lot of short comics.

This is especially useful if you tend to get stuck on specific parts on drawings e.g. one part of a face looks wrong and then you erase,re-draw,erase, re-draw -> repeat for an hour and get frustrated. (i think we‘ve all been there)

This is where you have to learn to STOP and START OVER. Recognizing the frustration cycle before it can happen. Re-Drawing the whole face/thing from scratch instead will often get you better results than trying to „fix“ a single sketch for hours. The longer you spend trying to fix a sketch the less likely you will want to start over because you already put so much time into it.

People often ask me how I draw a lot/fast and this is a big part of how☝️ Learn to stop early and start over if something doesn’t work instead of getting hyperattached to every single line you draw.

[rushman-natalierushman]

Serenity

(Doctor) Stephen Strange x fem!reader

**slowburn

Summary:

Warnings: nsfw, sexual themes, language, fluff & smut

I was never one to think that dreams were more than just that… dreams. But after the battles I’ve fought, the thought crosses my mind. Is it so crazy that there are alternate versions of us, making decisions that we never made? An alternate timeline where things might turned out differently? Versions of us, crying for help with no way to reach us. Haunting us because in our reality, we couldn’t do better.

All theorized but never proven. But deep down, we know. Otherwise, how would we mistake our realities for the fantasies we create in our heads? How do we let our nightmares haunt us in the waking light if they do not truly draw life?

I've had my doubts about the multiverse. So has the sorcerer supreme himself. Wong, of course. Stephen missed a few years, costing him the title. But even so... the blip, the alien wars, the chaos we've witnessed in our most recent lives- it wasn't proof enough for us to believe that such a thing could exist. Or maybe we couldn't bring ourselves to want to believe that in another lifetime, darkness prevails to exist.

Maybe that's why terror was coursing through his veins. Stephen wasn't foreign to nightmares, especially after the accident. But something that never occurred to him, was allowing himself  to share that burden with someone who was willing to carry it. He didn't have to suffer alone, and I for one saw what no one else could. Grief. It was always mistaken for arrogance or narcissism, but I knew better.

I don't know when it started, but on restful nights, I observed his features. He seemed so peaceful when his head was clear. I learned that THE  Doctor Strange found comfort in my presence. Whether or not it was related to my ability, I didn't much care. I was at ease to know that I could make such an impression on someone as obstinite as Stephen Strange. Knowing he trusts me to help heal his wounds and share a side of himself only I could witness. A vulnerable Strange.

That's how the night began. The resting sorcerer lay beside me until I saw fit to join him in his slumber. Sometimes they last, but in this early morning, the nightmare began.

I felt the bed jolt beneath me as loud grunts began echoing throughout the room from Stephen. They were ragged and harsh. I could tell he was trying his hardest to hold back in an attempt to not wake me. But it's as I said, I knew better. My eyes fluttered open as I turned my head slightly to look over at him. His palms slid up his face to wipe the beads of sweat that had formed. I unwrapped my arm from underneath my pillow and turned myself so that I could sit up with him.

I placed my hand on Stephen's shoulder in a comforting manner, causing him to stiffen underneath my touch. Immediately snapping his head to turn and reassure himself that it was, in fact, just me.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you" I muttered lowly, looking up at him half lidded. I rested my chin on the hand I layered over his shoulder. He breathed out a sigh of relief, only to realize he had failed to keep himself from interrupting my sleep.

"No, it's fine. I'm the one who should be apologizing," Stephen tried but I immediately shut him down.

"Stephen, we've been over this. I want to help you," I removed my hand from his shoulder and brought it to caress the opposite side of his face. Gently pulling him to face me, I made sure his eyes were set on mine. "You're not alone."

He smiled sadly in return. Placing his hand over mine and shutting his eyes to take in my warmth. I smiled at the gesture, bringing him to rest his forehead on mine. It didn't take long before flashes of the dream that caused him to be so frightened appeared in my head. Pulling away on instinct, my eyes shot open at the torment. Immediately, I read the regret in his expression.

"You shouldn't have to use it on me. I shouldn't have to put you through this time and time again-," Stephen declared, eyes unable to meet mine. He had pulled away from my touch, standing from the bed.

It had become routine. On sleepless nights, I’d take his pain, his anxiety, his fears. For only a moment, after I’d soaked in all his emotions, everything would hit all at once. It was stronger than whoever I adapted it from. But it only lasted seconds. Beyond that, I’d free us both from it. However, Stephen wasn’t a fan of sacrificing my well-being for the sake of his.

"This is my choice, Stephen," I reached out for him, but he only took a step further. "You know I can take it away," I argued as I stayed sat on my knees, not leaving the bed.

"At what cost?"

"Your serenity," I defended. This earned a moment of silence and glares from one another until he broke it with a scoff.

"That's not enough."

I tilted my head as he looked away, stopping at the bedside table where his broken watch laid. I caught this and exhaled deeply, needing to look anywhere else. Maybe it was the sadness in his eyes or the guilt in his heart, but I couldn't watch him do this to himself. It broke my heart.

"Stephen, I made a promise to you," he refused to turn back to look at me, but I didn't mind. All he needed to do was listen. "I swore that no matter how bad it got, I wouldn't turn my back on you. That no amount of pain and suffering would ever be too much for me because I had you. We're in this together. And I'm not leaving you."

I must've caught his attention because he seemed to have finally reconnected his eyes with mine. A small smile began to form on my face as he started to let his guard down once again.

"You can push me away all you want, but you know that I can see right through your stubborn act. You need me. Just as much as I need you," I stood on my knees, sliding my hands up his strong, defined arms. "Because you love me," I whispered as my hands reached to cup his face. My eyes darted back and forth between his.

"I'm just... afraid," he began. "...afraid you'll see me for the monster I am. Afraid you'll run off to find someone better; someone capable of being mentally and emotionally available to you-"

"Stephen..."

"Someone who can offer you what you deserve-"

"Stephen."

"(y/n)."

I took a moment to make sure he heard me straight and clear. Looking down at his puppy eyes, I finally declared, "I'm not her."

Stephen dropped his head to rest on my shoulder, allowing me to wrap my arms around him as he did the same. "I know, I'm sorry."

"Stop trying to apologize for moments you cannot control. Just..." I trailed off as a wave of endearment washed over me. I was glad to feel that Stephen was aware of my intentions and that his trust within me was growing in moments like these. "...let me in," I finished with clarity. We both knew I wasn't just speaking figuratively. "Let me in, Stephen," I began to lower my voice rather seductively. "I can help you."

I began to lower myself back on the bed as I pulled him to sit beside me once again. His eyes glued to mine as I lightly pushed him to lean against the headboard. Straddling him, I became aware of his scarred, trembling hands trailing up my things until they caught on my hips. "I want this," I reminded him as I lifted his chin by my finger.

"(y/n), I..." he trailed off as I antagonized him by slowly unbuttoning my shirt, or rather his shirt. I had found it a lot comfier to sleep in his more loose button-ups. And to this, Stephen never rebutted- seeing as in situations like this, it was more... convenient.

"You... what?" I teased, well aware of the effect I had on him as I let the fabric slide off my shoulders. I watched his eyes follow the skin that revealed itself until my shoulders were bare, but still allowing the piece of clothing to hang from me.

"I don't... want to hurt you," he took pauses to help himself concentrate on his train of thought. I leaned forward enough to ghost my lips just before his. Needing him to prove my point, I hovered in place. Thrusting my hips forward, I felt him growing beneath me. I threw my head back, letting out a soft moan. Bringing my eyes back to his, I felt him lean forward to connect our lips, but I only inched away.

"You could never hurt me," I disclosed. I began to rock my hips back and forth. Gently. Slowly. I could feel his eyes stuck on my reaction to the friction I was receiving with my movements. I then felt his fingertips dig into my hips to get me closer. "Oh, god..."

"(y/n)..." he muttered under his breath as he began trailing his lips up my neck. I giggled at the sensation of his trimmed facial hair tickling my skin.

"That's it..." I breathed out, encouraging him to give in. I could feel the vibrations of his groans on my neck, confirming just how much he was enjoying it. I tangled my fingers in his hair as he searched for my sweet spot. I bit my lip when he had finally discovered it, nipping at the vein. I began to moan out louder as he added his own thrusts. Now stimulated with a great amount of pleasure, I lightly tugged at his hair to bring him face to face with me. He smiled at my dazed look, earning an eye roll in return. Leaning forward, I nearly attached my lips to his until I uttered my last full sentence. "Let me make you feel good."

With that our lips crashed in a desperate yet passionate kiss. I quickly discarded the shirt that had been resting on my arms and let his hands roam my body. I granted Stephen access as our tongues fought for dominance. It wasn't until we needed more than just friction to keep us at our highs that we broke apart. I lifted myself just enough for him to free himself from his sweatpants and align himself. Stephen teased at my entrance by letting the tip glide back and forth until he had me a begging mess. "Stephen, please... I need you," I pleaded.

Unable to deny my request, he grabbed my hips and gently lowered me enough to earn an escaped groan from my throat. Letting him take control, I let my hips roll at the command of his fingertips digging into me. Sinking down further, I bit my lip to hide the mewls that wanted to free themselves. That's when Stephen brought one hand to tuck some hair behind my ear and then a thumb to brush against my bottom lip. "Don't hide those pretty little sounds from me," he demanded, lighting a fire within me.

"Doesn't feel good, does it," I snapped back, "to have someone hide from you." Stephen's hand trailed to the back of my head, only to roughly force my face just before his. Nose to nose. I leaned in to kiss him, but he in turn pulled himself away. He was mocking me...

"No. It doesn't," He let out before landing a few pecks on my jaw, reuniting with the sweet spot on my neck. I hadn't noticed that his hand also relocated. His thumb began circling at my clit as he began to thrust upward into me. My lips parted in pleasure, leaving harsh breaths right in his ear.

"Fuck..."

Stephen grunted at my little foul response as I began to match my hip thrusts to his. His hands roamed my back as our motions synchronized. Neither of us felt the need to rush our pleasure highs. As we kept a steady pace, that's when he found himself most vulnerable and open. He let his emotions run free, allowing me to soak them in. Each sensation came in stronger than the last. I felt myself clench around him at the overwhelming intensities.

"Shit, baby-" He reacted to the gesture. I could feel worry starting to consume him.

"I'm okay... I can take it," I reassured as I quickened my pace, grabbing his shoulders to steady myself. I tightened my grip as he applied more pressure to the clit. Resting my head on his shoulders, I felt that rush again. Pain. Rejection. Guilt. Horror. I accidentally let a small whine slip out, causing him to stop his movements.

"Are you hurt? Is it too much? We can stop," he grew concerned. I lifted my head off his shoulder and revealed the tear that managed to find its way down my cheek. "This isn't what I wanted-"

"I want this. I want you..." my voice cracked as he wiped the tear away. "It's only temporary. I promise. Please let me do this for you. I can't watch you wake up all those restless nights, mornings even, knowing I could've helped in the slightest."

Stephen pressed his lips together in response but refused to make the first move.

"Stephen, please..." I begged. "...please" I tried once more, this time using his attraction to me to my advantage. "please..." I grabbed his wrists, letting them glide up my torso until they reached my breasts. Guiding his fingertips to massage them until he was will-powered enough to do so himself. "...please" I threw my head back as I ran my hands behind his neck, inching him closer. He thrusted involuntarily, restarting the motion.

“Stephen” thrust

"Stop..." thrust

"Please, Stephen..." thrust

"(y/n)..." thrust

"Stephen..." thrust

I mewled out that last call to him.

"Fuck, the things you do to me..." and just like that, I had won the battle. He placed a soft hand on my lower back as he flipped me over to lay flat on the bed. Stephen towered over me as I watched his pupils darken. This was it, he was letting go. "You want it?" Stephen snapped his hips forward, pinning my hands on either side of my head with his. "Take it, all of it."

Not only had I felt the sudden breeze of negative emotions he had suddenly put upon me, but his lust overpowered it all.  With each and every thrust, I felt my toes curl. “Take the pain. Take the pleasure." I rolled my eyes back as euphoria coursed through me. I cried out to him in pleasure as his movements became sloppy. Stephen didn't leave a single moment for me to catch my breath, just pure ecstasy. "Is this how you imagined it? Getting your brain fucked into exhilaration?"

"Yes..." I began clawing at his back as if that would somehow bring us closer.

"You know what I think, I think you wanted to be trapped here. I think you like who I become when I lose control-  fucking hell, (y/n)..." he growled as I tightened around him, reaching my climax. Stephen paused his staggered movements so as to not release himself quite yet. "Oh, honey... we're not done just yet."

He raised my hands up above my head and pinned my wrists with one hand, letting the other work his way down to work against his thrusts. Words could no longer form as I let out high-pitched squeals at the overstimulation. Stephen began falling apart as he began groaning in my ear in return, sending shivers down my spine.

It only took a few final harsh thrusts for him to send me over the edge. My vision spotted as my wrists were freed from his grasp. Stephen held himself up with his arms sprawled out on either side of me. His head hung from his shoulders, daring to his hips one last buck. I whined out while Stephen pecked my jaw apologetically.

"I told you... to stop... apologizing," I let out in between breaths half-jokingly as Stephen chuckled and pulled out to lay beside me. Unable to find the will to move, I only slightly turn my head to face him. I curve my lips up into a satisfied smile and grew the courage to place my hand on his chest and raise it up behind his neck, toying with the locks at the back of his head. "Thank you. For trusting me."

Cupping my face, Stephen brought his lips to my forehead. "Thank you for loving me."

"You're not a monster, Stephen. We've all got our demons. Even the all so wise and powerful Doctor Strange deserves to be loved and cared for," I emphasized. "Now, rest."

[hop-a-lot]

I just wanna know how to draw profiles. Like of a person's face and body. I can find nothing saying how to draw a body from the side anywhere so I have resorted to staring at Art

I just wanna know how to draw side views why is it so hard

Try searching for figure proportions, and you should find at least three or four charts similar to this. I suggest studying human proportion (usually a technique called 'Loomis method') as head start, which is a great way to get a better understanding of human anatomy. We encourage learning the 'whole set' of techniques, so if you want to draw a side view, you'll need a complete understanding of all aspects of the figure.

Try studying by copying and measuring proportions. This practice helps you memorize their structure and gives you a reference point when looking at real-life examples, or even stylized and fan arts. That way you're not just staring at the art but analyzing it using the techniques you've learned.

There is some video and demonstration in youtube showcases tutorials for these, you can go check it out

Head/faces:

Body/Gesture wise:

[avonne-writes]

“how embarrassing would it be if i told you i’d dreamt of this since i first met you?” is so clegan <3

Thank you 🥰 The drabble is set in my a/b/o au where Gale is an omega who doesn’t have normal heats due to childhood trauma.

Edit: you can consider this set in the same universe as @anachilles's lovely smutty one-shot ❤️‍🔥

If there's one thing that Bucky learned in the ten years since his first time in bed with an omega, it’s that you'd better talk about what you want before you pop your knot rather than regret the whole fucking thing when you wake up alone again. His previous partners never seemed to care to linger once he had given them that satisfaction. Not that he blames or resents them for it - it’s his own damn fault that he came across as an omega-chaser, just a fun partner for the night, instead of an alpha longing for a mate.

Don’t make this out to be more than what it is, they said if he caught them before they slipped away. You're a sweet man, but I can’t stay. Countless versions of the same story, leaving Bucky sitting alone with his head in his hands and his heart hollow again.

But not this time. No, with Gale, he’s determined to do it right. He courted him the way he deserved, with all the gifts and love and care Bucky could heap on him without drawing the kind of attention Gale didn’t want. No throwing himself at Gale’s feet in the barracks, no sweet talking in public, no jealous outbursts even if it killed him. It was all in the small details with Gale, and in the unwavering devotion he craved. Grand gestures didn’t appeal to him, no matter how Bucky's instincts urged him to belt it out for all the world to know that he’d do anything for his Buck. His best friend, his beautiful mate.

Well, all right, they’re not mated yet. But they’re going to be. Bucky can feel the warm certainty of it deep in his chest, spreading through his veins with every swipe of Gale's thumb over the juncture of his neck as they kiss lying on top of each other in the hotel bed they rented for the night. Would Gale touch him like this if he didn’t want it too? No, Bucky doesn’t think so.

He draws back just far enough to look into Gale's eyes and comb through his short blond hair. When he shifts his hips to the side, Gale’s slim thighs part to let him sink between them, a perfect fit. "Are you comfortable?”

Gale nods, watching Bucky's face with lazy affection. He slides both of his hands down Bucky’s back and untucks Bucky's shirt to get to the bare skin of his lower back.

"Tell me if I'm too heavy.”

"Don’t start on this now." Gale drawls, the contentment in his tone at odds with his words. He pushes his hands between their stomachs to undo their belts. He smells happy, his scent heady like the warmth of the sun on a humid summer afternoon.

They kiss again, grinding together slowly. John wonders if Gale's all wet for him already or if he needs some help - he’d gladly put his mouth to use. But first, they need to talk.

"Can I ask you something?" He starts. They're so close that he sees the flash of concern in Gale's eyes and feels the minute tightening of the cradle of his thighs.

"You’re a good alpha, John." Gale says quietly, stroking John's face with his right hand. "I'll let you knot me tonight if you want.”

John can’t help the way his lips purse at the answer given before he could even ask anything. He doesn’t know why Gale assumes that's all he’s after, when he has done everything he could to show that he isn’t.

"It’s not what I want." He says, a touch too firmly, if Gale's startled blink is anything to go by. "I want to mate you." He clears his throat, reining the emotion in his voice back. "That’s what I wanted to ask. I want to be your mate.”

Out of all the ways this played out in his head, Gale pulling away from him was one of the worst. Cracks cut sharply into his heart as Gale pushes at his shoulders, then sits back against the headboard. Bucky ends up kneeling beside him on the mattress, a pleading look in his eyes. The change in Gale's scent feels sharp in his nose, but it's not acrid like disgust or fear. It’s sour distress, deeply pained. The way Gale pulls his knees up to rest his arms on them makes him look achingly young.

“Why?” He asks. The disbelief in his eyes hurts.

“Because I love you.” When Gale closes his eyes, Bucky presses on. “I love you. I want to be yours. To take care of you, protect you… I want to be your mate. And I want to do it before we ship out.”

Gale worries at his lip, then gives Bucky a look full of tumultuous emotions.

"That’s not something you should do on a whim." He tells Bucky. His voice is calm, but he’s digging his own nails into his arm. "Think it through carefully. You know I don't have normal heats. I don't think I can get pregnant, John. It’s the way it's always been. Ain't ever gonna change. I'm not the kind of omega you deserve. I don't mind if we -"

He cuts himself off. A soft "damn it" gets caught in his suddenly tight throat. He rubs the bridge of his nose as if to keep his tears in, then shoots Bucky a wry smile. "I don't mind if it’s just sex and nothing more.”

The noise that escapes Bucky's throat is filled with helpless frustration. He scoots closer and cups Gale’s cheek with his right hand. "To hell with sex, Buck! It’s not what I want. I would rather not knot anyone ever again if that's the only way I can be your mate.”

For a moment, Gale doesn’t say anything, just searches Bucky's eyes, then his scent starts changing again, becoming gradually sweeter with hope. Something eases in Bucky too in response, and he lets his body lean forward until his forehead is pressed to Gale's. When he gives Gale a soft kiss on the lips, Gale slides his arms off his knees to wrap them around Bucky’s neck.

“You actually mean it.” Gale says quietly. There’s still some uncertainty in his voice, but there’s growing hope too.

“I do.” Bucky replies. Then, because he can’t keep holding it all bottled up anymore, “Please be my mate, doll. I'll be so good for you, the best alpha you can ask for, I’ll take care of you -”

“Shh.” Gale shushes him with a small chuckle, pulling Bucky’s head to his neck to let him scent Gale there and lick at the spot he’s going to bite if Gale says yes. Soothing fingers comb through his hair, and Gale’s thumb presses to the base of his neck again. It’s so calming that Bucky could fall asleep just like this in Gale's arms.

“How about -” Gale starts, stroking Bucky’s back now. “- we wait until the morning. If you still want it when we wake up, then… we can do it.”

Bucky lifts his head to look at Gale with wide eyes and the wobbling beginning of a grin. “Is that a yes?”

The curve of Gale's cheeks turns rounder as he smiles. “It is.”

Bucky crows in joy and tackles Gale sideways on the mattress, trying to kiss him through a happy laugh and babbling the first thing that comes to Bucky's mind. “How embarrassing would it be if I told you I'd dreamt of this since I first met you?”

Gale hugs him tight and nips his neck. “Is that why you gave me your own goddamn name?”

Feverish with happiness, Bucky nips Gale back, shuddering at the thought that tomorrow, he'll get to bite him for real. “Had to claim you.”

“Possessive.” Gale hums, his linden blossom scent intoxicating to Bucky's nose.

Bucky’s love thrums in his chest like a song. “You love it, Buck.”

Gale laughs. He doesn’t deny it.

[pekoehoneyncream]

Ghoaptober # 31

Prompt: Knife

Words: 1500~

TW: Allusions to Torture (sfw)

This version of Ghoaptober was created by @spadesandshovels

This is the last one folks! All good things must come to an end, I suppose. This has been really fun to do! It's been great to stretch my writing skills, I feel like I improved over the course of the month, at least I hope I did, I definitely had to do less grammar and spelling corrections as we progressed, so there's that.

I wanted to thank everyone who's left such kind comments for me, you're feedback really does mean the world to me, Thank You!

If you want me to write more please do drop me an ask, I'd love to hear from you!

And with all of that said, onto the fic

Enjoy!

A shriek echoed out from the microscopic kitchenette crammed into the back of the disused officer’s rec room that the one-four-one had co-opted, Ghost and Price launched off the sagging sofa towards the noise. They charged into the kitchenette, Ghost wielding a knife and Price his hand-gun, ready to end any threat to their Sergeants.

There was no threat, just Soap trying to hide his awkward blush in his mug of coffee while Gaz stared at him with something close to abject horror. 

“Tav, mate, what the fuck is wrong with your tongue.” Gaz demanded, willfully ignoring that he’d just screamed like an arachnophobe confronting Shelob and the fact that his superiors hadn't hesitated in running to his hypothetical rescue. 

Price huffed and reholstered his gun, Ghost putting away his knife much more slowly. “Just what exactly is going on?” He demanded with an edge to his voice that suggested he was already regretting that he’d asked, “Why are you screaming over Soap’s tongue?”

“Well, Cap,” Soap started with a lewd tilt of his eyebrows and a goading grin,

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gaz cut over him with a biting tone, “but, I didn’t expect to be confronted by the fact that Soap is an actual fuckin’ demon on a casual Thursday afternoon, Price.”

“Garrick, we talked about this,” Price scolded,

“Yeah,” Ghost agreed, “Johnny can’t be a demon, his rosary'd burn him.”

“Wha!” Soap sputtered in sheer disbelief, “Youse thought Ah’m a demon?!”

“No one’s that lucky, Tav.” Gaz said with flat seriousness, “There’s gotta be some kinda something going on.” 

“Would a deal with a demon make you demonic?” Ghost mused in an exaggeratedly ponderous tone, casting his gaze up to the ceiling tiles so that the flabbergasted expression Soap’s face was stretching into couldn't make him laugh.

Gaz perked up, snapping and pointing at Ghost in a eureka-esque motion, “Yes! That’s totally it!” He exclaimed, practically bouncing on his toes with his triumph. 

“Riley-”

“I cannae make a deal wit’ a demon!” Soap cut over Price, slamming his mug down to free up his hands for incensed gesturing, “Mah Grannie would disown me!” 

“Then how do you explain-” Gaz flailed a hand in the direction of Soap’s mouth, lacking the words to describe just what in fuck was going on in there, “-that!”

A look of cartoonish offence slid onto Soap’s face. Ghost watched him brace his hands on his hips and draw himself up to his full height, hamming it up. Trying to make it into an easily deflected joke. Concern kicked at the back of Ghost’s sternum, if Johnny was deflecting it meant the real answer was nothing good. 

Ghost had learned early on that Johnny was one of the most open, shameless, oversharing freaks that walked this earth. He had watched Johnny laugh his way through retelling stories and anecdotes that would have sent consummate exhibitionists blushing through the floor on multiple occasions. Ghost had also been quick to cotton on to the fact that it was for the best to follow up on the topics that Johnny tried to deflect, as they were generally things that would have a therapist crying and Johnny really was better off getting them off his chest. Ghost usually let it go and tried to circle back around to those deflections when they were alone and Johnny was feeling safe, but with Gaz latched onto this like a starved dog with a butcher bone, that wasn’t an option. 

Sure, Ghost could probably distract Gaz and help Johnny wiggle out of this, but debriding old wounds is always a good team bonding experience. 

Gaz and Soap had stagnated into their usual pattern of bandying insults back and forth. Having a grand time of pretending to be sputtering in high dudgeon whenever the other would quip back with something particularly clever. Ghost cut his eyes to Price, and jerked his chin at Johnny upon catching the Captain’s eye. 

Yes, Ghost wanted Johnny to talk about it, but he didn’t want his boyfriend upset with him either. 

“Right,” Price cut in after giving Ghost a roundly rancorous look, “Soap, why is Garrick accusing you of having a demonic tongue. Without!” He hastily amended when Soap turned overblown fuck-me eyes on him, “any chirpsing if you would.”

“Aye, right. Uh-” Soap hesitated, staring down at his feet and rubbing at his nape as he tried to gather the right words to explain this, “Reckon he mean’ this.” He gave up and just stuck his tongue out. 

Soap could admit that he got a bit of a kick out of watching their uncomprehending looks warp into horrified incredulity when his tongue split down the middle. He wiggled the two sides up and down in opposite directions of each other and briefly twined them into a coil to drive the image home, then retracted it back behind the safety of his teeth with as much casual finesse as he could muster. 

There was a beat of silence, then a cavalcade of questions. Soap’s personal favourite was Ghost’s ‘how did I not notice?’ said in the tone of a man on the edge of a revelatory breakdown. A close second was Price’s muttered ‘that can’t be within regs.”, but topping the charts for sheer volume was Gaz.

“What!” He shrieked, “What the fuck! When’d you get that!?” his voice dripped with a queer mix of awe, horror, and morbid fascination. 

Soap hummed uncertainly, casting his mind back, swallowing against the phantom taste of blood creeping up his throat to pool at the back of his mouth, “Mus’ a been aroun' twenty-sixteen? Some’hing like tha’,”

“Twenty-sixteen.” Price muttered, mentally rifling through Soap’s file, there was something about that year that had the klaxons spinning up in Price’s subconscious, “Not October twenty-sixteen?” 

“Aye,” Soap nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground, “Tha’d be the one.”

“Corporal MacTavish was detained by enemy forces eighth October twenty-sixteen and was successfully recovered twelfth October twenty-sixteen. In enemy custody, Corporal MacTavish was subjected to physical maltreatment, most notably manifesting in substantial damage within the oral cavity. Injury permanent but non-disfiguring. Corporal MacTavish states that no intelligence was provided to the adversary while in custody.” Price quotes -impressively word for word- from the truncated after action report that had been the script for far too many of his nightmares, “That October twenty-sixteen?” 

“Got ‘er in one, Cap.” Soap confirms, idly grinding his tongue between his teeth, “Yanno, they did offer tae fix it. The medics.” He spoke on just to break the heavy silence that had conquered the room, “But they’d have had tae open it up again, cause it’d been cauterized, so Ah said no' tae bother.”

They'd told him that as it was a 'non-invasive procedure' only local numbing would be provided and Soap would not be letting anyone else come at his tongue with a knife unless he was unconscious, dead, or dying. 

“Tav," Gaz pressed out slowly, hesitantly, “That’s fucked, mate.”

“Aye,” Soap nodded, staring down at the kitchenette’s cheap linoleum. Blinking to force the floor back into dingy tiles when his brain tried to twist it into stained concrete. He huffed a small flat laugh, more to force the scent of iron and dank stone from his nose than anything else, “Aye, twasn’t mah idea ae fun neither.”

“Johnny,” Ghost drew his name out into a devastated whine and lunged forward to coil around Soap in a protective embrace. Heart splitting at the shakiness he could feel in Johnny’s shallow breaths as he clutched his boyfriend to his chest. 

“Ah’m alrigh’,” Johnny assured, but the tear-fighting sniff he tried to conceal in Ghost’s pecs said something different. 

“You’re alright,” Price agreed, laying a grounding hand on Soap’s shoulder. 

“Yeah,” Gaz poked at Soap’s sensitive sides to force a wet giggle out of him, “Course you’re alright, Tav. You’ve got us and if those fucks aren’t already dead I’m sure Ghost is drafting up like ten different plans for how to track ‘em down and kill ‘em slow.”

Ghost was glad that Gaz’s joking was making Johnny feel better, and gave an intrigued pensive hum into the fluff of his warhawk to play along. 

It was actually fifteen different plans. 

“Okay. Okay.” Soap barked, shaking them off once he was absolutely positive that he wasn’t about to start bawling like a bairn as soon as they let go, “Mah goddamn coffee’s gonnae be fuckin’ cold now ye muckers.” 

“Do you want me to make you a new cup, so you don't have to microwave it?” Ghost offered, love surging within him for the wide blue eyes that swung his way. 

“Would ye, mo chridhe?” Johnny begged prettily. 

Ghost hooked a thumb under his balaclava, lifting it over his mouth just long enough to press an adoring kiss unto Johnny’s lips, then turning away to make him the promised fresh cuppa, fluidly stealing his mug to dump and refill it.

Both men were content to ignore the way Gaz faked a retch over their sappy mush, as he practically stepped on Price’s heels following after the Captain on his tactical retreat back to the sofa.

Thank You For Reading!

Some nice hurt/comfort to round off the month. It didn't make it into the fic but the reason that his captors split Soap's tongue is because he wouldn't stop talking back, just a fun fact for y'all.

Did anyone want me to make a masterlist for all of these? with ratings and short descriptions or something? there's already links to the full series on my masterlist, but that just has the prompts, so I was wondering if a masterlist would be helpful. Let me know!

PekoeHoneynCream's Masterlist

[pampushky]

Foot of the Gallows

trafalgar d. water law/reader - chapter 5 - 3.2k

ao3 link | masterlist | series masterlist | next chapter

5.) lion's bane

A powerful sedative once dried and powdered. When picked fresh, it can be pickled and then eaten to help children sleep before significant procedures. Legend says it was once used to make a fierce mountain lion sleep, so that it could then be put into the royal menagerie.

You’re on your way back from foraging for a certain mushroom that only grows deep in the forest when you see someone leave your shop, which is interesting. Because your shop was always closed during this specific time, on the same day every week, it makes you freeze before you sprint back to the shop, fearing some version of a robbery only to find…. a clinic.

Lined up around the first floor of your shop are dozens of people staring at you while you stand there with your chest heaving, your harvesting sickle held out like a weapon. And sitting behind the counter, in your stool that has always been your stool since you could walk, is Law, focused entirely on the swollen wrist of a mink-hybrid child. Tiny little cat ears flattened to their head while a doting father hovers, a bushy white tail twitching back and forth as Law murmurs and draws a shimmery black string of mana a centimeter or two over the child’s wrist. The string flashes, sinking into the child’s skin, watching as the wrist stops swelling, while Law scribbles down something on a piece of paper— your paper! 

He blinks at you as you stand there and give a little wave as you look at the line of people. They’re mostly peasantry, the same people who you would have ended up writing prescriptions and waving the payment, though you do see a few nicer-dressed folk, who look rather embarrassed to be sighted alongside the lowborn seeking Law’s care. 

“You were gone, so I opened up my clinic here.” Law gestures to the line and how he’s set up at your counter. Using your pens and paper. Offering the younger patients sweets you saved to keep off your hunger during rushes.

“You’re in my stool and using my paper,” the words come out before you can stop them. And you feel your face heat up. Because that’s not what you’re really mad about, but you still want to let him know that you’re mad about them. 

So you turn right on your heel and go upstairs to start to dry the mushrooms you’d foraged, but it’s not right, because you’re supposed to be downstairs when you do this. After all, that’s the best place to do it. It’s not too humid, and the light around this time of day is perfect even when you’re an hour late or early from coming back. But it’s too loud down there, and the floors will be covered in mud, and you’ll have to clean it all again before you can start, meaning that the mushrooms will take longer to dry, or they may not dry correctly at all. 

It’s ridiculous. You know that. They’ll dry fine on the kitchen counter as long as you cut them the same way and use the same spells to help wring the moisture from them. But downstairs was where your mother had taught you how to do it. Where your Uncle had helped you learn the spell to pull the water from it, and it was always where you had done it.

Downstairs is where Law had become your husband now, too. 

With matching embroidered cuffs and necklines, as was standard for the couples that could afford it, it was your fault for not clarifying to the tailor that he didn’t have to do that. You look down at the thread around the cuff of your sleeve. The serpentine body entwined with the ivy. Constricting, tightening around the neckline of your dress, and by instinct, your hand goes to your throat as if to ensure nothing is there.

Why do you keep having to remind yourself that Law had never choked you on that day? You place your hands flat on the counter, counting down from ten as you had learned to do when your mind got the better of you in these moments.

Law can feel the prickle of annoyance and anxiety trickling down his back as he helps the next person in line. Your mana makes a prickling noise, almost like a Geiger counter, in his ears (not that Law knew what a Geiger counter was or could even comprehend the idea of nuclear waste). And continues to feel it, crackling in the back of his mind until there’s no one left in the shop. He’s well aware it’s yours, but he’s not sure about what. It’s been a week— the pattern you two have set out has worked thus far. 

Or, he thinks it has. You don’t talk to him unless it’s absolutely necessary. But the anxiety says otherwise. And just when he’s about to start sweeping, he can feel a jolt of rather violent anxiety spiking— enough so that he sprints upstairs just to see you with your palms on the countertop, staring at a pile of neatly-sliced mushrooms on your drying rack. He can hear you mumbling, one of your hands clenched in a tighter fist than the other. 

The mushrooms are dried now, or close to it, but you still seem frazzled. Eyes squeezed shut as you count your way down from fifty. 

“Are you alright…?” Law stays at the top of the stairs, not wanting to get too close. Your hunched form leaning against the doorframe of your bathroom haunts him still. 

“Fine.” You gasp out as if it’s painful to do so. “Perfect. Amazing. Stupendous. What are other synonyms, you were always better at the languages than I was,” you trail off, and he can see how labored your breathing is as you start to count down from sixty. 

“...You don’t sound it,” Law speaks hesitantly. Weighing your symptoms in his mind, practiced eyes taking in your entire body. Anxiety attack. You need grounding, and fast. You’d never been good with more practiced methods– he recalls that much, or rather, has had those details committed to memory forever. So, he walks briskly to your side, pulls you to the kitchen sink as you briefly protest, only to plunge your hands into a stream of icy cold water. “Five seconds. Then I want you to go from cold to hot.”

“What—”

“Do you have any ice?” Law rustles through the cabinets, knowing that you had at least oneenchanted one to keep produce and meats fresh, and then another to keep things frozen, he just can’t recall which one it is. 

“Yes— top right–”

You shriek when he pops an ice cube rather forcibly into your mouth, and the anxiety that had been trickling down his back pops, as though it never existed to begin with. 

And then you cuff him in the ear while trying not to drop the ice cube from your open mouth.

“Law Water D. Trafalger—!” You screech, and he can’t help it. He starts to laugh, dodging your clumsy swipes at him, easily blocking them. This seems to enrage you even more. “What the hell were you thinking—!?”

“A way to stop your panic attack,” Law laughs, grinning so widely as you pause, as if you’re still processing what he’s said, before scowling at him. “C’mon, give me some credit. I’ve known what your panic attacks look like since we were kids.” 

“You also once shoved a pill bug in Luffy’s nose when he was sleeping.” Your tone is so dry as you turn off the faucet and leave the ice cube in there to melt. “Shanks was pissed,”

“He bit me!”

“He was like, seven!”

“I didn’t bite when I was seven,” Law sulks, leaning against the counter. “I just watched my parents die.”

“.... By the gods above and below, you’re still such an ass,” You mumble, bracing yourself against the counter, turned away from him. But he can still see the little smile on your face. Good, he’s distracting you. Forcing you not to think about whatever had upset you so much. 

The mushrooms catch his eye again. Lion’s Bane. He’d always needed more of that— it helped him to sleep when he’d first moved to the southern continent when the pain of the curse had really started to kick in. Before that, he’d spent most of his nights passing out from exhaustion when he finally couldn’t take it anymore, and asked Doflamingo if there was anything that could help him. Anything. 

And, of course, there was. But it came with a price. Everything that was given to him came with a price: another tight wire coiled around his neck to keep him under control. 

“Hey— these look good,” Law plucks one of the thin slices from the drying rack, carefully examining it. “You really have gotten better. With your earthen magic, I mean.”

The anxiety immediately comes back, and it nearly knocks Law over. Okay– one question answered, but now another presented itself to him. Why were you so anxious over the Lion’s Bane? These were perfect— he wasn’t joking about that. You were one of the best apothecaries he’d ever worked with. Yet your anxiety said otherwise. It was making him feel nauseous. 

“No, they’re terrible,” You sound so certain. So utterly devastated. “I wasn’t as fast with drying them, which means they won’t be as effective when powdered.”

“That’s… a thing that happens?” Law puts the mushroom back down. “How much does it affect it?” 

“It takes five and a half minutes longer to kick in,” You mumble, and he hates how tears are threatening to spill over onto your cheeks— 

But he laughs. And you look utterly startled. 

“Then they’re just fine for doctors,” Law does mean to, but he takes your hands. They’re clammy and shaky, and he worries about your circulation for a brief second before he snaps back into gear. “I promise. How many minutes do yours normally take to kick in?”

“Ten minutes,” you whisper, still with tears threatening to spill, “They’re gonna take fifteen and a half—” You stop speaking when you notice how baffled he looks. “What?”

“Your Lion’s Bane powder. It only takes fifteen and a half minutes?”

“Ten normally,” you pull your hands away from his and start to wring them nervously. “Why?”

“They take about forty minutes on average. From every other apothecary I’ve gotten them from. How— what are you doing to them? Whatever you’re doing to them, you’re making them so much more effective,” Law looks at one on the drying rack, then at you, and then back at the drying rack, snapping one up as he makes his way over to the couch. “Time me. I— I need to test this, this is remarkable if you’re right—“

“You shouldn’t eat an entire dried slice—“You make a grab for his hand, but he’s already dangling it above his mouth and drops it in, chewing and then swallowing quickly. He looks at you, and suddenly, you’re both fifteen and seventeen again. “Oh my fucking Gods, Law, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Are you timing it?” He grins at you, and you have half a mind to have Gertrude smack him in the back of the head or reach down his throat to pull it from his throat.

“What— no— I should be shoving charcoal down your throat right now—“

“Well, there goes the experiment!” Law slumps onto the couch. “Where are you even getting them from, I can already feel the effects— yes, slight blurriness around edges of my vision, slowed reaction time,” he adds when you pitch a pillow at him, and he doesn’t even dodge, letting it hit him square in the face, pulling it to his chest. “This is remarkable!”

“They’re just in the woods outside the city wall! It’s where my family’s been getting them from for centuries—“

“You need to show me.”

“Excuse me?”

“These could be…” he yawns and blinks sleepily, “…a huge breakthrough for… for chronic insomnia…”

Law is slumped against the wall before he can even finish his sentence, drooling onto his tunic as you watch him. There’s gentle shuffling behind you as Gertrude comes to set a leaf on your shoulder. You pat their leaf gently and plop down onto the opposite side of the couch, rubbing your forehead. Gertrude wordlessly starts to get you a glass of water while rifling through the cabinet to find the charcoal you’d mentioned when Law first ate the mushroom. “Thank you,” you mumble, taking the charcoal from the plant, along with a glass of water. The charcoal is already crushed, meant for emergencies with your customers. In this case, just for your idiot of a childhood friend and now husband. Law snores as you mix the powdered charcoal with the water and doesn’t even flinch as you pour it into his mouth, tilting up his throat and having him swallow, keeping his head tilted forward so he doesn’t choke. It’ll be a bit late to help him wake up, but you just sigh, leaning back against the couch. Gertrude brings you a cup of milk tea, gently patting your head with one of their leaves before going back to being nestled around the top of the cabinets.

Your eyes close softly after you finish the cup of tea, still caked in mud from your four-hour hike through the woods to get to the lion’s bane.

When you wake up, Law is looming over you. You do the natural thing and scream, kicking him immediately in the place you’ve learned is the weakness of most men, regardless of if they were born as one or not. You kick him straight in the balls, watching as he topples nearly instantly, clutching his groin while holding in several groans as he bites his lower lip.

Gertrude is laughing, the little shit. They’re laughing, and you’ve just kicked Law in a very sensitive area. Rustling their leaves from the top of the cabinets until you shoot them a stern glare. 

“G’mornin,” Law’s voice is several pitches higher. Still holding his crotch and looking at you with a very shocked expression. “That hurt.”

“Why were you hovering over me,” you steady your breathing. You still have your leg outstretched to kick. Your hands brace on the couch. “Like a fucking weirdo?”

“You’re getting mud on the couch.”

Your eye twitches. And you stand, even when you want to sit back down and rub mud into the fabric just to spite him. But you know you’ll be more upset in the end if you do end up doing that. The mud feels so wrong against your skin when you’re in your casual wear. It would stick to your skin all day, even if you’d washed it away.

“It’s my couch.”

“Our couch.”

“Fuck off, you literally ruined my day yesterday,” Your voice is venomous, and he seems shocked by the anger. 

“How?”

“You— ugh— you wouldn’t get it,” 

Because he probably wouldn’t. You’d tried to talk to your parents about it, especially when they still worked with you. You liked things done a certain way. There was always a proper way to do things and a certain place to do it all. When trying to tell your mother that, while she was turning the orange roots of a fire bush into a paste, she just quirked an eyebrow at you and told you, albeit lovingly, to get over yourself and that any place in the shop was the right place to work, so long as it was clean. She didn’t understand that while it may be that way for her, you liked your rhythms. The specificity. It had taken years to develop these routines and patterns for harvesting and processing all of your medicines. Along with finding the perfect materials to label and write your detailed notes. 

Kizaru had somewhat understood. But he also was in a very different profession than yours. Yet he understood nonetheless.

“Why not?”

Why not? Because he would likely tell you to get over it like your mother had and would make you work out of your comfort zone. Sometimes, it helped. Other times, it made it worse. She hadn’t meant anything by it. She just didn’t understand.

“Because— because I’m weird about my shit, and I don’t like it when people use it,” You blurt out, “Like my paper! That paper is resistant to most degrading compounds, so it’s safe to not only label but use as a packaging thing, and I really, really hate when people sit in my stool because it’s my stool and—“

“Calm.” You feel a wave of ease roll over you, with Law pressing his thumb to the center of your forehead. 

You feel like the world is moving much slower. Or your brain is. The prickling under your skin is gone. “I do actually understand that,” Law says, pulling his hand away from your forehead and kneeling so he can look you in the eyes. His hands are warm, cupping your face, making sure you’re looking at him. “And I’m sorry I invaded your space like that. You’d been gone for two hours already, so I figured it would be alright if I opened my clinic down there.” “It takes me five hours to get the lion’s bane, and then I dry it downstairs. That’s how I’ve always done it.”

He hates how tired you look. How soft your voice is. He knows exactly why you’re like this, too. You’d always had… peculiarities about doing things your way. It’d make you cry if you couldn’t do them the way you’d always wanted to do them, sending you into a quivering mess. Your mother had accidentally triggered one of these when she’d been drying out thunder root and had nearly panicked when you couldn’t voice why you were so upset. 

“I didn’t know. But I won’t do it there, or at that time, again. Okay?” Law pulls his hands away, and he thinks he’s imagined the way you almost chase after his touch. “... do you normally panic when things like that happen? It… hasn’t changed?” “Yeah,” you pull your knees to your chest. “I think. It’s just been piling on. All the stuff from the past three weeks.” Law nods, rocking back on his heels. 

Just the two of you. Law on the floor, you on the couch, both of you with your knees to your chests, looking at each other. It’s painfully familiar and foreign at the same time. 

“...I never apologized. For….” “Don’t,” Your voice quivers. The fight and anger are gone. You just sound defeated. And he can feel the weight of the sorrow on his soul as you tuck your head into your arms, hiding away your face. “Please.”

The sorrow gives way to fear. Of the wetness of mud caked on your skin, slinging to your hair and eyelashes. How it weighed down your clothes, your skin, your hair. How cold you’d felt as you trudged back to your home. 

You hate mud. Yet you’re still in the mud-caked clothes from your hike to forage for mushrooms yesterday. “Alright.” Law chokes, unable to handle just how heavy everything feels from your side of the bond, “Alright.”

You don’t know how to feel when there is an unfamiliar twinge of guilt and longing that is not your own. The door down the hall shuts as Law shelters himself away in his room. And you just cry into your arms, your tears turning the dried dirt on your sleeves to mud again. 

[wrtingsoftheunknown]

Vincent Sinclair HC

Vincent Sinclair hc SFW and NSFW

I’ve haven’t  been seeing my boy get repped recently so I have to do it myself. My first time writing something on here or towards this character ,I promise I will get better y'al,l I made this super quickly not proofread oops.

SFW

-While he can be insecure about his face he definitely has an ego from being the favorite child and having perfected his craft.

Lester drags him out to go for a ride around town or force him to come to his place for some quality brother time (Bo joins every now and then but wants peace and quiet dammit )

‘I know a lot of people have him learn sign language but I think he either writes what he wants to say, speaks as best as he can, or gestures, ( he was born in the south to parents that I don't think cared about communicating with him too much but he could have picked it up later in life maybe in his teen years or middle school era)

More sadistic than Bo when it comes to killing, he doesn't care if they are dead or alive when working on them and takes satisfaction in the result of his work

He prefers to work in silence but you can catch him humming now and then some country song or a guilty pleasure pop song from the 80’s( I see you Vince)

I think he partakes in multiple forms of art besides wax work.We see he’s able to paint, draw, but he also  takes pictures, , sews, writes, makes videos, anything artistic he’s learning and keeping up with new techniques.

Since he takes video of the killings at times I think they sell them as snuff films to make extra cash on top of stealing and selling victims stuff. (At least that’s what I thought when I first watched the film anyone else or just me)

Rarely happens but will keep victims that interest him like Bo ,but dispose of them when they get boring  or no longer match up the ideal version of them in his head.

-Does want a lifelong partner, the white wedding and picket fence, kids,  but knows it might be difficult with the line of work he does.

- He can talk but only does when it’s important or to emphasize something. He does have a southern draw like Bo and I imagine his voice to sound similar but raspier, maybe deeper/ quieter from not using it as much.

-like I said earlier you have to really catch his attention and be able to hold it for more than a week, if that happens then he’s obsessed and protective maybe a little too over protective.

Does indeed have a hair care routine I believe this full throttle and no one can can tell me otherwise I'm not listening.

NSFW

I don't know if he’s a virgin, I don't think he is something is telling me he isn't, but i’m not sure

He has no problem with nudity, bodies are seen as art, there's not as much of a sexual connotation with them as with Bo and Lester .

He wants to be in love with the person he is intimate with, he wants to be worship and worship his muse.

Drawings  of his partner naked as well as in the midst of a passionate night, he might tease them all night to make sure the sketch is as life like and accurate as possible

Good size and thick that's all I gotta say

Praise kink hard core, hearing his partner call him a good boy or how he makes them feel so good he will crumble

He starts slow and sensual, enjoys the control he has and having someone at his power.

I think he will edge you and leave you high and dry when you act out but he always caves by the end of the day and gives you what you need.

Can last a long time surprisingly

Mainly a giver but someone please for the love of god give this man the nastiest had he’s ever received will make the prettiest noises 

Is down to try anything new and more open about sex than you would think.

When he’s horny he comes up behind his partner and starts caressing every inch he can reach, while resting his chin on their shoulder acting as innocent as he can.