Hello and welcome! My name is Lin. You can find me here and on AO3 as PanicProne.
You’ve officially arrived at my artistic dumping ground, currently located in the deepest pits of Scriddler Hell. Make yourself at home! 💚🧡
See more about my blog under the cut! :3
✒️Content:
Writing: As of right now, I only write Scriddler content (Jonathan Crane/Edward Nygma). (This is subject to change when/if my hyperfixation changes—that'll be a long time coming—or if I feel inspired down the line to write something else.)
Art: My art style is still a work in progress, so expect things to be a bit inconsistent. While I mostly draw Scriddler, I occasionally branch out to other Batman Rogues and Gotham nonsense. (and occasionally other fandoms! wow!)
Vibes: My Art is generally PG but my writing is sometimes NSFW. I also reblog Adult content so please be mindful when scrolling. (I'll try to tag things as #suggestive or #NSFW but I'm only human lol)
📚 Current Works (Scriddler):
"I Need You Like I Need:" (58k "Long" fic)
"Field Study" (6k Kinktober fic)
"Scriddler Ficlets" (ongoing collection under 1k each)
"The Long Way Home" (3k+ ongoing Cowboy Au WIP)
"An Unfortunate Demonstration of Avian Mimicry" (2.7k crow fic)
"Dreams of You" (1k short fic based on art by CreatureLala <3)
📚 (Hattercrow):
"Missing Mr. Marchie" (3k Mental Health Episode fic)
💬 Ask Box:
My inbox is always open! I love answering questions and/or chatting about our favorite old man disaster duo. You are also welcome to DM me to chat! I'd love it if you did! 🧡
Do you take Writing Prompts?
Yes! Feel free to send me any Scriddler prompts—I will jump on them when I’m feeling motivated! (NSFW 18+ prompts are welcome, though fulfillment depends on my current muse/mood!)
If you're still taking requests! Scriddler fic where Jon finds Ed after he's sedated by Arkham guards and is loopy and out of it™, maybe even passing out mid riddle lol
This was fun! Thank you for sending in a prompt! ^^ Hope you like it!
🧡 AO3 🧡 Scriddler Ficlet Collection 🧡
The ambient noise of Arkham Asylum was a constant thing. There were always sounds coming from somewhere—distant shouting through concrete walls, doors slamming shut, echoing laughter that never sounded quite right. But inside his cell Jonathan Crane had managed to find a rare pocket of quiet.
He was propped up on his cot with a worn book on the psychology of fear balanced against his knees, fully intending to enjoy the silence while it lasted. Edward had been gone for hours now, dragged off for therapy or whatever pointless institutional intervention they had decided to call it this week, and Jonathan hadn't particularly cared enough to ask. The result had been several uninterrupted hours of peace.
Then came the heavy thud of boots down the corridor.
Jonathan didn't look up immediately, keeping his eyes fixed on the page even as the electronic lock buzzed open with a harsh click. The guards never bothered with pleasantries. They simply shoved Edward unceremoniously through the doorway and disappeared down the hall again before Jonathan could even process what he was looking at.
The door slammed shut and silence rushed back in once more.
Well, almost. Save for the pathetic, disoriented groan coming from the floor.
Jonathan lowered his book slowly.
Edward had managed a handful of unsteady steps before surrendering entirely to gravity. He'd collapsed in a graceless heap at the foot of Jonathan's cot, not even making an attempt toward his own bed on the opposite side of the room. That alone was concerning enough.
Edward Nygma was rarely still. Even asleep, he fidgeted. His hands twitched, his feet shifted, his mind seemed perpetually incapable of shutting itself off entirely.
Stillness on Edward just looked wrong.
Jonathan stared down at him.
“What happened to you?”
Edward's head lolled back against the metal frame of the bed. His jaw was slack and his usually sharp eyes were completely glazed over, staring unseeingly at the ceiling.
“Didn't like my riddle,” he mumbled eventually.
Jonathan waited.
Edward blinked slowly.
“Thought it was...” His brow furrowed as he struggled through the thought. “Mm. Threatening.”
Jonathan let out a long sigh through his nose, rubbing at the bridge of it.
Of course.
Edward's compulsion had always been something of a double-edged sword. He weaponized his intellect to belittle anyone he deemed inferior, which was everyone, but every so often his clever wordplay developed a sharper edge that Arkham's medical staff took very seriously. When Edward traded harmless brainteasers for pointed threats, the doctors responded accordingly.
They had drugged him. Heavily.
Jonathan sighed unhappily and set his book aside before swinging his legs over the side of the cot, careful not to kick the sedated genius currently occupying his floor.
If he wanted any hope of getting back to his book tonight, he needed to deal with the nuisance first.
"Up you get," Jonathan muttered, reaching down to grab Edward beneath the arms.
Edward made a soft noise of protest as Jonathan pulled him upright. His body immediately slumped against him, limbs loose and uncooperative, all dead weight.
Edward's neck instantly failed in its duty to support his own head. It rolled sideways until his forehead landed squarely against Jonathan's shoulder, warm breath brushing lazily against his throat.
Jonathan stiffened as Edward mumbled something against his neck.
“What?”
“M'not sure,” Edward admitted.
Jonathan frowned down at him.
"...Right."
Getting Edward onto the mattress proved to be a task in itself. The second his back hit the cot he seemed to melt into it entirely, limbs sprawling without dignity as though his body had collectively decided standing had been a ridiculous idea from the beginning.
Jonathan adjusted the blanket over him with more annoyance than care.
Edward's eyes suddenly fixed on him.
“Riddle me this,” he slurred.
Jonathan sighed.
“No.”
“No, no.” Edward frowned faintly, looking deeply offended by the fact that his own thoughts no longer appeared to be cooperating with him. “Wait.”
His brow pinched together.
“What's yours but...” A pause. “But everyone...” Another pause. “No.”
Jonathan crossed his arms.
Edward looked increasingly frustrated with himself.
“I have hands but...” he tried again.
Nothing.
His eyes slipped shut. Then a wide, utterly vacant grin spread across his face, and he let out a soft, breathless giggle.
Jonathan froze.
The sound was so wholly out of place that his brain took a moment to properly process it. Edward laughed often, usually in the form of sharp cackles or smug little sneers whenever he thought he'd gotten one over on someone, but this sounded different. Softer. Careless in a way Edward rarely ever was.
It sounded absurdly innocent.
It was a noise that had absolutely no business existing within the bleak, concrete walls of Arkham Asylum.
“They did a number on ya, Edward,” Jonathan muttered. “Best you just sleep it off.”
“You're silly,” Edward whispered, his eyes cracking open just a fraction.
With a slow, uncoordinated movement he lifted a hand and rested his palm gently against Jonathan's cheek. His fingers were surprisingly warm.
Jonathan’s gaze narrowed slightly. Reaching up, he took Edward lightly by the wrist and guided his hand back down onto the mattress with far more care than he really intended.
“Go to sleep, Edward.”
Edward nodded obediently.
Then his fingers curled suddenly around Jonathan's hand in a soft grip.
Jonathan waited. He counted the seconds in his head while watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Edward's chest before carefully beginning to ease his hand away.
Edward's grip immediately tightened around him.
A short, pathetic whine escaped the back of his throat, his expression twisting into a miserable little frown.
Jonathan stopped. He looked down at Edward's hand wrapped stubbornly around his before glancing longingly across the cell toward his abandoned book resting against his pillow.
He let out another quiet, defeated sigh.
With a slow shift of his weight, Jonathan settled back down onto the edge of the cot. He didn't try to pull away again. He simply sat there in the quiet of the cell, eyes fixed on the darkened corner of the room while Edward's breathing gradually evened beside him.
The grip around his hand loosened little by little as the sedative dragged Edward deeper under, until eventually the tension melted from his fingers altogether.
Jonathan looked down.
Edward had fallen asleep somewhere in the middle of holding on. The crease between his brows had disappeared, and his features had softened into something strangely peaceful.
HELLO i was wondering whether you'd have any advice on how to characterise jonathan and edward. i've never written for either of them before and, though i want to, im so scared to horribly mischaracterise one or both of them 😭 i love the way that you write them so..... any advice on that front? 🥹
Aw, Thank you 🥺♥️
Honestly, when I first started writing for them, I was also worried that I would mischaracterize them. But you know what? I just did whatever I wanted. The people who like it, like it, and those who don't, don't lol. I just went with a culmination of what I’ve read and seen from a mix of media and other fanfic writers until I found something that worked for me.
But if you want a real "how do you do it" answer, I'd say that for me, it’s all about how their minds work in opposite ways. Edward is very loud, talkative and arrogant, while Jonathan is more quiet, calm and collected. It might sound weird but I literally talk to myself sometimes when writing their sarcastic banter, lol (though I find that reading everything I write out loud can be really helpful in general). I just let their opposite personalities bounce off each other and see where the scene goes.
At the same time, I like to remember that (while they are fictional) they’re still complex characters with real emotions. When I'm writing, I often think about how I would handle a situation, and then filter it through their perspective—like, "Well, if I were a narcissistic know-it-all, how would I react to this?"
Really though, I encourage you to just write them however feels right to you. At the end of the day, it's meant to be fun! :D
I did some changes to the fit of my riddler cause I thought his coat felt a little too generic (this checker pattern will definitely not come bite me in the ass later)
this was inspired by an ask I got on my straw page but I added the rest of the squad for fun, so thank you to them for the idea. Hope you like them and if you're interested you can get these as a keychain and stickers under the cut 👀
You can get these as a connected keychain and stickers! I'm also offering all three stickers as a bundle at 10% off. I've got a lot of other things on the shop too if you want to check it out. Thank you ^^
Scriddler Prompt: Edward brings home a stray cat. It immediately loves Jon and doesn't care for Edward.
🧡 AO3 🧡 Scriddler Ficlet Collection 🧡
“Why does she like you of all people?”
Jonathan glanced up from his book at the accusation leveled across the couch. One brow lifted faintly.
“You like me just fine.”
“Well yes, but this is an animal, Jon.” Edward gestured sharply toward the cat currently sprawled across Jonathan’s lap like she paid rent there. “You practically ignore her existence and she’s obsessed with you.”
Jonathan looked back down at the creature in question.
Sardine blinked at him slowly from where she’d wedged herself into the crook of his legs, one paw stretched lazily across his stomach. The moment his hand drifted down absentmindedly to scratch behind her ears, she started purring loud enough to be heard across the room.
Edward looked personally betrayed by it.
“Why do you care so much?” Jonathan asked.
He turned another page one-handed while Sardine stretched her tiny front legs dramatically, claws flexing against his shirt as she settled deeper into his lap.
“Because, Jon,” Edward said, exasperated, “I have tried with this animal. I bought her toys. I bribed her with treats. I even got her that ridiculous imported tuna Selina recommended—”
“The five-dollar can?”
“Yes, the five-dollar can,” Edward snapped. “And she still hates me.”
Jonathan glanced down at the cat again.
“That’s too bad.”
Edward stared at him.
“Too bad—why you—”
The fight fizzled out of him almost immediately. He pinched the bridge of his nose instead, slumping back dramatically into the opposite end of the couch.
“At least Selina will be back in a few days,” he muttered. “She said she’d take her off our hands.”
Jonathan’s eyes flicked up then. “You don’t want to keep her?”
Edward scoffed. “Why would I want to keep a cat that hates me, honey?”
“You were very excited when you brought her home,” Jonathan pointed out mildly. “I assumed you wanted to.”
Edward opened his mouth immediately, ready with some defensive response, only to hesitate halfway through it.
“I… well," He frowned faintly. “That was before.”
Jonathan hummed softly.
“It takes time for animals to trust you, Ed.”
Edward looked offended by the suggestion. “That’s easy for you to say. Birds like you. Horses like you. Apparently stray cats like you.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What is it about you that animals love so much?”
Jonathan’s mouth twitched faintly at the corner.
“You tell me, Edward.”
Edward flushed almost instantly.
“Oh, don’t be insufferable.”
Jonathan only smirked faintly and returned his attention to the book in his hands.
The apartment settled into a comfortable quiet after that. Rain tapped softly against the windows, muted beneath the low hum of the heater. Sardine’s purring blended with the sound almost seamlessly, loud and steady as she kneaded lazily at Jonathan’s thigh.
Edward glared at her from across the couch.
“She’s doing that on purpose.”
“She’s a cat,” Jonathan said. “I don’t think there’s much thought involved.”
“That sounds exactly like something a favored person would say.”
Jonathan huffed quietly through his nose.
“But no,” Edward continued after a moment, quieter this time. “We don’t need to keep her. Selina would make a far better home for her anyway.”
“You say that,” Jonathan murmured, turning another page, “but you named her.”
“Sardine is a perfectly respectable name.”
“She smells like fish, Edward.”
“She likes fish,” he corrected. “There’s nuance there.”
Jonathan glanced down at the cat curled in his lap. “Mm.”
“And besides,” Edward continued, “you’re allergic.”
That earned a low sound of agreement.
“She’s worth it,” Jonathan admitted reluctantly. “But barely.”
Edward tilted his head, studying him for a moment.
“You know,” he said slowly, “I almost expected you to want to keep her.”
Jonathan snorted softly. “I’m not the one buying specialty tuna.”
“That was strategic.”
“That was pathetic.”
Edward gasped quietly in mock offense before letting himself collapse sideways against the couch cushions with a long sigh, head tipped back dramatically toward the ceiling.
“I cannot believe I’m losing a popularity contest to a man who barely acknowledges her existence.”
“She likes stability,” Jonathan said simply.
Edward cracked one eye open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Jonathan’s lips twitched again, though thankfully he seemed wise enough not to answer that.
Edward was still glaring vaguely at the ceiling when movement caught his attention.
A small weight stepped carefully onto his thigh.
He froze.
Slowly, almost suspiciously, he lowered his gaze.
Sardine stood there staring up at him, tail flicking once.
Then, with complete disregard for the emotional turmoil she’d caused all week, she circled twice and settled directly into his lap.
Edward went rigid.
“…Oh my god.”
Jonathan let out a quiet laugh beside him.
“What did I tell you?” he said. “Takes time.”
Edward barely heard him.
He stared down at the cat now happily tucked against his stomach, purring loud enough to vibrate through his legs. Carefully—far more carefully than necessary—he reached down and gave her head a gentle pat.
Sardine immediately pushed into the touch.
Edward looked stricken by affection.
“Well,” he said softly, unable to stop the smile pulling at his mouth now, “I rather think this is a shame.”
Jonathan glanced over.
“What is?”
Edward scratched lightly under Sardine’s chin, looking unbearably pleased with himself now that he’d finally been chosen.
Across his entire romantic history, Edward was overwhelmingly the one to get dumped in a relationship. It was his own fault. He stayed with his partners until they despised each other, and even then he would cling to the rotting corpse of the relationship until the other person finally got the sense to cut him loose. By that point they were really doing him a favor. But that didn’t make it hurt any less. It was hard to ignore the inherent rejection, the abandonment. He was always left behind, alone, with nowhere to turn to receive the affection he so desperately craved.
Edward usually responded to these situations by getting as drunk as possible and spending entirely too much money. And tonight he was doing just that, trying to dull the ache of being freshly single once again. Sometimes this was a solitary activity, other times he roped his friends into wallowing in his misery with him. Selina was always willing to join him in berating whatever man left him most recently broken-hearted, and Harley was usually just glad that when the guys she correctly identified as bad news were out of the picture at last. Oswald wasn’t really one for romance talk, but he would do his best to have Edward paired off with someone new—someone suitable—by the end of the night.
But none of them were available. The only person on his list of post-breakup drinking buddies who wasn’t previously engaged, out of town, or incarcerated was Jonathan. So that’s who was sitting beside Edward at the bar, listening to him rant and rave about the man who had left him.
For a psychologist, Jonathan really was terrible with emotional matters. He clearly didn’t have much to say in response to Edward’s angry complaints and self deprecating remarks, and his end of the “conversation” was hardly more than a series of nonverbal grunts. Still, he listened. He didn’t point out Edward’s flawed logic like he normally would, and he didn’t argue about the extent to which he was reliably representing the truth. He didn’t even comment on the growing collection of empty glasses in front of him. He just let Edward regurgitate all his feelings into his lap until there was nothing left.
It all got a bit hazy after that. It felt like one moment he was slumped over at the bar wishing he was dead, and the next he was vomiting onto the dashboard of Jonathan’s car.
Jonathan didn’t even look over, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Guess I should’ve been anticipating that,” he muttered under his breath.
After what felt like forever, they pulled up in front of Edward’s building. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled as Jonathan opened the passenger side door to haul him out onto the sidewalk. “I’m such a fucking… fuck up.”
Jonathan just sighed, one arm securely around his waist. “It’s not a big deal.”
Edward wanted to argue, but he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he might throw up again. So he let Jonathan drag him into the elevator in silence, closing his eyes as he slumped heavily against the wall.
And then he was in bed wearing a different shirt and no pants. Jonathan was leaning over him, smoothing his sweat soaked hair away from his face. His hand lingered on the side of Edward’s head, stroking his hair absently, but he jerked away when he realized he was being watched. He cleared his throat, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Brought the trash can over here in case you… need it.”
Edward’s vision was swimming and he squeezed his eyes shut again in a futile attempt to stabilize himself. Even with his eyes closed, he swore he could feel the room spinning around him. The mattress underneath him was like a raft floating in an undulating sea. His stomach churned. It was a good thing Jonathan had moved the trash can. “You’re too nice to me,” he slurred.
“I’m not nice to you at all,” Jonathan replied, his voice flat.
“You were nice to me tonight. Coulda given me a lot more shit than you did.”
There was a pause. Edward opened his eyes. Jonathan was staring at nothing in particular, a look of profound discomfort on his face. “I’m not going to kick you while you’re down,” he said finally.
He snorted. “Why not? Everyone else does.”
“Well, I don’t want to do that,” he muttered. “It seems like you’re hard enough on yourself without me adding on. Besides, I…” He lowered his eyes. “You’re my friend. I’m just… trying to do what a friend would do.”
Maybe if Edward had been less inebriated he would be able to understand why Jonathan seemed so viscerally unsettled. Why his leg was bouncing so aggressively that the bed frame shook beneath them. Edward never saw him like this. He was usually so unflappable. But something clearly had him on edge. Maybe he was more frustrated with Edward’s behavior than he had let on. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.
Jonathan looked at him, brows knitted together. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“‘Cause I’m drunk. And I’m stupid. And I puked in your car.” He covered his face with his hands. “God, no wonder no one fucking wants me, I’m such a mess.”
“Ed, it’s fine,” Jonathan said wearily. “Just get some rest. Sleep it off.”
Edward hardly heard him. He felt tears prickling the backs of his eyes. Keeping his face hidden, he continued, “The worst part is that I can only blame myself, I mean, I know that I’m difficult and annoying and I’m not attractive enough to get away with that for very long so I can’t really expect anyone to want to be with me once they realize that’s how I am but—” The words were pouring out of him and he was certain that if he didn’t stop now then he would just lay everything bare and there would be no going back. But his mouth was moving faster than his mind and he heard himself saying, “I’m so scared that it’ll never get better than this. And no one will ever want to stay. Fuck, why would they? Why would anyone want to put up with—“
Jonathan pried his hands away from his face. “Edward,” he said sternly, “enough.”
A sob welled in his throat and he felt a tear leak out of the corner of his eye. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “All I’ve done is just dump all my shit onto you and that’s not fair, I shouldn’t—“
“Stop,” Jonathan interrupted again. He was still holding Edward’s hands in his own, looking down at him with a surprising intensity. “You need to calm down.”
He inhaled shakily. “Are you m—“
“I’m not mad,” he answered without waiting for him to finish. “Christ, Eddie, I—“ He cut himself off, breath hitching in his throat. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he just brought his hands to Edward’s face and bent down to kiss him instead.
Instantly his thoughts started spiraling in a million different directions. Was this why Jonathan had let him get so drunk, why he stuck around after getting him into bed? Was it all a plot to take advantage of him? Or maybe it was pity, an attempt to give him enough of an ego boost to carry him through the rest of the night without having a meltdown. Then again, the explanation might just amount to the fact that Jonathan was more than a little drunk himself. But would alcohol alone make him do something like this?
Jonathan pulled away, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he mumbled in a low voice. “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
Edward sat up, grabbing onto the front of Jonathan’s shirt like it was a life raft. “You’d better not be fucking with me.”
He seemed surprised by that reaction. “I’m not.”
“I’ll kill you if you are.”
“I’m not,” he insisted. “Believe me, there are plenty of things I could do to fuck with you that don’t involve humiliating myself.”
His fist tightened in the fabric of Jonathan’s shirt. “Jonathan, I swear to god, I’m fucking fragile right now and if you’re just screwing around it will destroy me.”
Jonathan’s expression softened. “I’m not screwing around,” he assured Edward. “I don’t do things like that.”
Edward felt his lip quivering. “But why would you…?” He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even. “You never liked me before.”
“Yes I did.”
His grip went slack. “Bullshit.”
He could see in Jonathan’s eyes that he meant it. “Honestly, I assumed you knew,” he said. “Always felt like I was being so obvious about it.”
“Nothing’s ever obvious with you.” Edward let go of his shirt, palm settling against his chest. “Did you think I invited you out as a rebound?”
“No, I thought you invited me out because you were lonely and needed to talk to someone but whoever you typically go to for that was busy.” He shrugged. “Figured you’d want to get wasted and complain about the guy until you felt better, and then I’d drop you off at home and that would be it.”
He felt anxiety twisting in his gut. It seemed straightforward enough, but there was still a part of him that didn’t trust Jonathan’s intentions. “Don’t know if I believe you.”
Jonathan frowned. His gaze shifted toward Edward’s hand. “I meant it when I said you’re my friend,” he murmured. “It doesn’t have to be anything else. It’s… it’s whatever you want.”
Edward’s thoughts were all jumbled up inside his head. He had no idea what he wanted right now. There was part of him that wanted Jonathan to kiss him again, but another part of him was terrified of what would happen if he did. He stared at Jonathan, who was staring back at him. Edward could feel his chest rising and falling with every quick, shallow breath he took. “What do you want?” he asked.
“I…” He hesitated. Edward couldn’t tell if he was unsure of his answer or if he simply didn’t want to verbalize it. Eventually, he said, “I just want you to be alright.”
That was probably the last thing Edward was expecting him to say. He didn’t know how to respond. He felt like he might start crying again. “What if I’m not alright?” he asked softly.
“Then I guess I’d want to do something about that.”
Edward knew this was probably a bad idea. The timing was abysmal, and he was in no position to make rational decisions regarding his love life at the moment. Between the alcohol and the heartbreak, his emotions were all over the place and he could hardly think straight enough to consider the implications of this situation. There was no hope for him. His hand traveled up Jonathan’s chest to his shoulder, the back of his neck, and then he was leaning forward to catch him in a clumsy kiss.
Jonathan stiffened slightly, but after a moment Edward felt his arm come to circle around his waist.
He didn’t have a good sense of how long they were kissing before Jonathan broke away. He seemed a little bit dazed, eyes unfocused behind his glasses. “You really should get some rest,” he said with absolutely no conviction. “It’s late. And you’re—“
“Be quiet,” Edward said, pulling him back in.
When he woke up in the morning, Jonathan was gone. It was probably for the best. Edward was not at all prepared to confront what had happened in the sober light of day. He felt horribly ashamed of himself; he had let his loneliness and his neediness get the better of him and fallen into the arms of the first person who showed him the slightest bit of affection. How utterly pathetic.
He couldn’t recall how things ended last night. The last thing he remembered was kissing Jonathan, fingers tangled in his greying hair. He didn’t think it had gone much further than that, but he couldn’t be sure. Either way, it felt like everything had changed.
Edward groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. He didn’t want to get up, didn’t want to move a muscle. Really, he didn’t want to exist at all, but that was a foregone conclusion. He curled up on his side, burrowing beneath the blankets.
He must have fallen back asleep because he was awoken by the sound of his phone ringing. Edward reached blindly from within his blanket cocoon, fumbling to grab his phone off the bedside table. He didn’t bother looking to see who it was before answering with a disgruntled, “What?”
“Just checking on you.”
His stomach lurched when he heard Jonathan’s voice. He had been hoping to put off a conversation with the other man for as long as possible, but it seemed like that plan was out the window. “Checking on me?” he echoed.
“Yeah. Wanted to see how you were doing after… everything.”
“I’m fine,” Edward replied automatically, sitting up in bed. “Awful headache, but that’s to be expected.”
“Anything you need?” Jonathan asked.
He didn’t answer right away. What he needed was to clear his mind and not keep filling it with fantasies about being desired by handsome men. He needed to pull himself together.
“Edward?”
“Come get breakfast with me,” he blurted out.
There was a moment of silence, which Edward spent slamming his fist into his forehead for being such an idiot. Then, Jonathan said, “Breakfast?” It was like he had never heard the word before.
“Consider it an expression of my appreciation. For taking care of me last night.”
Jonathan didn’t respond. Edward felt a surge of dread, and he feared that this had all been a terrible mistake. He chewed on his lower lip. “It could be… nice?” he added feebly.
“…Okay.” There was some amount of trepidation in his tone, but it was an assenting statement nonetheless.
Edward breathed a sigh of relief. A rejection would have been devastating in his current state. Practically leaping out of bed, he hurriedly started trying to put together a decent outfit. “Pick me up at ten?”
“Alright.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you then.” He hung up before he could say anything else that would make him look like a fool.
His heart was pounding as he got ready to leave. Him and Jonathan. Jonathan and him. He had never considered it before. Jonathan had always seemed so unavailable, in every sense of the word. He had never expressed much interest in anyone at all, be it romantic or sexual or even platonic. Edward had assumed that wasn’t something he cared about. But maybe he didn’t know the other man as well as he thought he did.
And then there was the issue of Edward’s own feelings. Mostly he just felt confused. This was a puzzle he didn’t understand, a conundrum he couldn’t parse. He didn’t know if he was interested in Jonathan or just enjoying the attention he was getting from him. He wasn’t unattractive, and there were plenty of things Edward liked about him. And he liked Edward, genuinely liked him; that was important. They could be good together, he thought. They could also be very, very bad together. But that was a risk he had taken before.
A car horn honked from the street below his building, putting an end to his rumination. His heart leapt into his throat and he ran to the window to confirm that, yes, Jonathan was parked outside, waiting for him. For a split second, he debated calling the whole thing off and just avoiding the other man for the rest of his life. But he batted the thought away, checking his pockets to ensure he had everything he needed before stepping out of his apartment, locking the door behind him.
Scriddler fic request: them playing strip poker >:)
You got it >:)
🧡 AO3 🧡 Scriddler Ficlet Collection 🧡
“Four of a kind.”
Jonathan laid his cards down with quiet satisfaction, already reaching for his whiskey.
“Straight flush,” Edward replied a second later, grinning as he spread his own hand across the table.
Jonathan clicked his tongue under his breath.
“Oh, that is tragic,” Edward sighed dramatically. “I almost feel bad for you.”
“You don’t feel bad about anything.”
“Not true. I felt bad earlier when you lost your socks.”
Jonathan snorted softly and pulled his flannel shirt over his head instead, tossing it toward the back of the couch. The undershirt beneath clung to him slightly from the heat of the apartment and the liquor both of them had been steadily working through for the last hour.
It had started innocently enough.
A late evening in their apartment. Rain tapping lazily against the windows. Whiskey on the table between them while Edward shuffled a deck of cards more out of boredom than anything serious.
Then he had looked up over the rim of his glass with that particular glint in his eye.
“How about a game, Jon?”
“What kinda game?”
“Strip poker.”
Jonathan had laughed immediately. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”
“You willing to play?”
Jonathan had already been halfway through his third drink by then, feeling pleasantly warm and loose. Besides, Edward had looked entirely too excited while he waited for an answer.
So Jonathan had shrugged. “Why not.”
Now, several rounds later, Edward sat smug and pink-cheeked across from him, missing both his vest and tie, the sleeves of his white shirt rolled carelessly to his elbows. Jonathan had lost his socks first, then the flannel, leaving them both in varying states of dishevelment that only seemed to amuse Edward further.
Especially because Edward had become impossibly smug after his third win.
“Oh, don’t pout,” Edward teased as Jonathan gathered the cards for another round. “You’re very handsome when you lose.”
“I’m beginning to think this game was less about poker and more about you finding excuses to stare at me.”
Edward leaned his chin into his palm. “Can it not be both?”
Jonathan rolled his eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward anyway.
The next hand went to Jonathan.
Edward groaned immediately, dragging the sound out far longer than necessary as he reached for the front of his shirt.
Jonathan narrowed his eyes as Edward deliberately took his time with the buttons. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”
Edward’s smile turned sultry, then softer somehow as he glanced up at him. “Can you blame me?”
“You think you’re so irresistible.”
Edward looked at him through his lashes, expression blurred pleasantly by whiskey and amusement alike.
“But I am.”
Jonathan barked out a laugh before he could stop himself.
Edward’s shirt slid open inch by inch beneath his fingers, exposing pale skin little by little with intentional slowness that had absolutely nothing to do with the rules of the game and everything to do with Edward enjoying the attention.
And God, he was enjoying the attention.
By the time the shirt finally dropped from his shoulders, Edward was practically draped across the table, barefoot beneath the chair, chest pressed against the wood as he looked up at Jonathan with lazy, drunken satisfaction.
Jonathan took a long swallow of whiskey instead of responding.
The game continued somehow despite both of them growing steadily worse at it.
Cards slipped from Edward’s fingers more often now. Jonathan had started squinting at his own hand like the numbers might change if he didn't stare hard enough.
Then Edward suddenly straightened.
“Oh,” he breathed.
Jonathan eyed him suspiciously. “What.”
Edward laid his cards down with a flourish dramatic enough to nearly scatter half the deck.
“Royal flush.”
Jonathan stared at the cards in silence for a long moment before exhaling through his nose.
“Of course.”
Edward’s grin widened triumphantly.
Jonathan tossed his own hand down and reached for the hem of his undershirt, pulling it over his head without much fuss. The apartment suddenly felt warmer than before.
Across from him, Edward looked entirely too pleased by the sight.
By that point, both of them were down to little more than their pants, flushed from liquor and heat alike.
Jonathan gathered the cards again, shuffling poorly.
A movement across from him caught his attention.
Edward was already undoing his belt.
Jonathan blinked slowly. “The match hasn't even started yet.”
“I don’t care anymore,” Edward mumbled, kicking his pants away under the table after finally wrestling them off. “I’m warm.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Mm. Very.”
Edward stretched lazily in his chair afterward, now only in his boxers, entirely shameless beneath Jonathan’s stare.
Jonathan looked away first.
Naturally, Edward noticed.
The grin that spread across his face after that was downright dangerous.
Before Jonathan could even finish dealing the next hand, Edward suddenly climbed onto the table itself.
“Edward—”
Cards went everywhere.
Jonathan barely caught his whiskey before it tipped over the edge. He hissed as amber liquid sloshed dangerously against the rim of the glass.
Meanwhile, Edward crawled through the disaster he’d created completely unconcerned, knees knocking cards aside as he crossed the table toward him.
“Edward,” Jonathan snapped, sharper this time despite the liquor softening his tone.
Edward only smiled at that—slow and entirely unapologetic—before sliding directly into Jonathan’s lap like he belonged there.
Which, admittedly, he rather did.
Jonathan’s breath caught slightly as Edward tucked himself close, fingers curling loosely into the front of his pants while his mouth brushed against Jonathan’s jaw.
“You’ve completely ruined this game,” Jonathan murmured weakly.
“Mm. I know.”
Edward kissed just beneath his ear then, slow and warm and lingering enough to send a shiver down Jonathan’s spine.
The game lay forgotten around them.
Cards littered the floor. Whiskey sat low in their glasses. Somewhere outside rain still tapped steadily against the windows, distant and irrelevant compared to the heat currently curled in Jonathan’s lap.
Edward pressed closer, all long limbs and soft laughter against Jonathan’s throat.
“I don’t care about poker anymore,” he murmured.
“No?”
Edward shook his head once before kissing down the side of Jonathan’s neck.
“I think we should play something else.”
Jonathan’s hands settled instinctively against Edward’s waist.
“And what exactly did you have in mind?”
Edward pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes heavy-lidded and wicked.
“Take me to bed and I’ll show you."
Jonathan laughed quietly against his mouth before kissing him properly at last.
Edward melted into it immediately.
Somehow they just barely managed to stumble off the chair together without either of them hitting the floor. Jonathan got two whole steps toward the hallway before Edward stumbled against him laughing, all loose-limbed and heavy.
“Careful—”
Jonathan’s foot caught the edge of the rug.
The next thing either of them knew, they were collapsing sideways onto the couch together in a graceless heap.
Edward burst into helpless laughter first.
Jonathan groaned into the cushions beneath him. “We are disastrously drunk.”
“Mm,” Edward agreed easily.
He made absolutely no effort to get up.
Instead, he stretched out against Jonathan with a pleased little sigh, still grinning as he pressed close against him again.
“The couch is good enough,” he decided.
Jonathan huffed a tired laugh. “Is it?"
Edward answered by kissing him slow and deep until Jonathan wasn’t particularly skeptical about it.
By the time Edward shifted against him again, Jonathan’s hands had already settled at his hips.
By then, neither of them remembered who had actually won the game.
