#fic: drowning out the morning birds

[echochqmber]

i want to post a fic for xie lian's birthday

which is tomorrow

i have not started this fic yet

let the games begin: can i write a fanfiction in 24 hours?

[tinycoffeeroom]

saying something stupid like i love you | george clarke

face claim: none ♡

request: here !

requested: how about the first time george clarke tells y/n he loves her?? love your fics btw babes

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You’d sent George off this morning for a Platform Roulette recording bright eyed and bushy tailed. Based on how they normally ended, you knew he would return completely different. 

He texted you throughout the day, slowly being filled more and more with typos and the drunken ramblings you were used to from your boyfriend. Arthur Hill had the decency to send you a long winded voice note, background noise loud enough to nearly drown out his words as he lets you know when they’ll be back as, despite being the heavyweight out of the three in drinking, George was currently near blackout drunk. 

You dread to think of how he ended up that way, but at 11 in the evening, you find yourself grabbing your phone, keys and overnight bag, heading off to the tube station to go to Kings Cross and grab your heavily inebriated boyfriend. 

Passing the time on the tube, you plug your headphones in, blasting the newest Billie Eilish album. Birds of a Feather starts up and you find yourself grinning in your seat, remembering how George had heard you playing it one day and twirled you around your flat, one hand resting on your back as you slow danced through your kitchen. 

Bopping your head along to the song, you pick up on the lyrics. “I’ll love you ‘til the day I die.” Despite the fact you and George had never said those three words to each other, you knew it was true. 9 months into the relationship, and you knew you were in love with George, and that he was in love with you. 

The first time he had heard the song, mid kitchen dancing, the lyric played out through your speaker and George had looked down at you, eyes warm and happy as he leant down to kiss you on the last word. A non verbal admission to something you both knew. 

Getting off at Kings Cross, you make your way up the escalator to the centre hall of the train station. Glancing across, you make out three slumped bodies on one of the benches. Huffing amusedly, you walk slowly across to the men, phone out and videoing the way one of the Arthurs was puckering up to a half awake George who barely had the motor skills to push him away jokingly. 

Uploading the video to your story, you reach the three of them who drag themselves from their huddle on the bench. Both Arthur’s fling themselves towards you, one of them patting your head drunkenly, the same way a child would roughly pet a cat. Wincing as their fingers tangle in your hair, you gently settle them back onto the bench. Your eyes catch George’s half lidded ones, matching smiles spread on your faces. 

Pulling himself up from the bench, he stumbles over to you, arms spread wide to circle around you. You welcome him in, scrunching your nose as the scent of beer, sweat and something distinctly George wafts through the air. “Hi, babe.”

Grumbling under the weight of a drunken George, you wave a hand to the two Arthurs, signalling them to come follow you. The pair trail behind you two, giggling behind their hands and making kissing noises as George presses sloppy kisses to your temple, cheek and anywhere he can reach. 

Giggling at the way his beard tickles your skin, you pull out your phone to order an Uber. George grumbles under his breath about how he’ll pay you back, wincing as you spend nearly 30 pounds on an Uber XL, the only car available at this time of night on a Saturday. 

Standing outside, you run your hand up and down George’s back as he leans against you, mumbling against the skin of your neck. You don’t pay much attention to his ramblings at first, too busy trying to keep an eye on the two Arthur’s chasing each other outside of Kings Cross station. 

It’s only when you hear a soft “I love you so much” muffled against your neck that you focus back on George. You can tell he’s barely conscious, the words almost stumbling from his lips. 

Flushing under the admission, you press a kiss to the top of his head. “I love you too.” 

He grins up at you, reaching up to press a kiss to the corner of your lips. Wrinkling your nose at the taste of beer, you tuck his head back under your chin. He goes willingly, nuzzling into the space there and commencing his drunken mumbling. 

Your phone buzzes to let you know the Uber is pulling up and you call out to the two Arthurs, dropping a half asleep George into one of the seats before wrangling the Arthur’s into theirs. Sparing the driver the pain of a 30 minute Arthur squared show, you sit up front, making small conversation with the older man as he sets off for the boys’ flat. 

He correctly identifies George as your boyfriend, eyeing the sleeping man in the back. You hum in response, eyes flitting over the passing scenery as the car speeds through the London streets. 

By the time you reach the flat, all three boys in the back are fast asleep. Sparing them a glance through the rear view mirror, you huff as you work out the best plan of action to get the three of them into the flat. 

The driver must sense your apprehension, offering to help you out. You smile at him thankfully, offering to take George and Arthur Hill if he helps the other Arthur out. Sending a quick text to Chris in hopes he’s still awake to help once you enter the building, you step out of the car, moving round to open George’s door. 

Shaking him softly, you manage to rouse him pretty easily, helping him out and slinging one of his arms over your shoulder. Arthur, on the other hand, is a lot harder to wake up. You’re about 2 seconds away from slapping him gently on the cheek, but George beats you to it. Unfortunately, his drunken state means the hit lands a lot harder than he intended and Arthur jolts awake, whining as he holds his cheek. 

Rolling your eyes at your giggling boyfriend, you offer a hand out to Arthur, who takes it and steps out of the car ungracefully. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, hoping it was Chris saying he was on his way down. 

Throwing Arthur’s arm over your other shoulder, you round the back of the car, watching as the other Arthur is currently deep in explaining the fact that a fish is in fact not a real thing to a rather perplexed looking Uber driver. The two of you share a glance before laughing softly at the drunken trio. 

The Uber driver walks Arthur slowly over to the entrance whilst you stumble behind slowly, the combined weight of the drunk boys on your shoulders weighing you down. You catch Chris briskly walking through the lobby, dressed in shorts and an oversized t-shirt. He takes one look at the situation in front of him and you see his shoulders rise and fall in a huff as he wrestles Arthur from the driver. 

The driver passes you, throwing a small smile your way. You mimic his expression. “I’ll be leaving a big tip, don’t worry! Thanks for this.”

He laughs at your exasperated tone, leaving in his car with a wave. 

Chris grabs the other Arthur from your shoulder and you groan in appreciation as you straighten your back a little. The two of you guide the trio through the lobby and into the elevator, George now snoring softly against your shoulder. 

By the time you get into the flat, Chris is about two seconds away from knocking the two Arthur’s heads together, instead bidding you goodbye as he walks into Arthur Hill’s room. With a hand on his back, you lead George to his bedroom, dropping him down onto the bed. He stretches out, limbs sprawling across the entire width of the bed. 

You watch him for a moment, a small smile on your face before quietly walking out of the room. You meet Chris again in the kitchen, three mixing bowls in hand. He hands you one and you whisper your thanks before he disappears back into Arthur’s room. From the glimpse you managed to catch, the two Arthur’s are currently spooning in his bed and you pray Chris has taken blackmail photos of the two men. 

Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, you step back into George’s room. Setting the bowl down next to his side of the bed, you place the bottle on his nightstand, pulling out some painkillers from your bag and dropping them next to the water bottle. Quickly changing out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt of George’s, pulling it over your head. 

Pushing George onto his side of the bed, you slink in next to him, settling down for the night. Just as your eyes close, a heavy arm slumps over your waist, George’s face settling down into the crook of your neck. 

Another mumbled “I love you” drops from his lips, the syllables sleep soaked around the edges. Grinning, you press a final kiss to the top of his head and close your eyes. 

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You awake to a groaning George, the scratch of his stubble bristling against your neck as he burrows deeper, trying to hide from the light streaming through the gap in his curtains. 

“Morning sunshine.” 

He grumbles in response, the arm around your waist tightening. “I feel like shit.”

“Hmm, I wonder why that is.” Laughing at his responding stink eye, you slip from his grasp. He rolls onto his back, eyes tracking your movements. 

Grabbing two towels from his wardrobe, you look back at him, one eyebrow raised. “Yes, George?”

He stays silent for a moment, dragging himself up into a sitting position. “I told you I loved you last night.”

You smile shyly, surprised he remembered last night. “You did. Twice.” 

“And you said it back.” He smiles softly, eyes flitting over your face. 

Nodding in response, you lean over the bed, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I did.”

“That isn’t how I wanted our first I love you’s to be.” He whines, one hand pulling you back in for another kiss. 

Scrunching your nose at his morning breath, you press a final kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “I thought it was cute. Drunk words are sober thoughts and all that.” You giggle as he flops back onto the bed, one hand running over his face. 

Moving towards the door, you stop in the threshold, leaning against it. “So, you gonna join me in the shower before the other boys wake up?”

Chuckling at the speed of which George shot out of bed, one hand clutching his head at the rapid movement. “If I ever turn down that offer, I want you to shoot me.”

You throw the other towel at him, grinning as it hits him square in the face. “I love you too.”

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a/n: mr clarkey has made it onto tinycoffeeroom finally! thank you for requesting anon <3

taglist: @golden-hoax

[n-i-m-u-e]

What if Rhaenyra had taken over the raising of her siblings

I'm going to write more detailed posts on each of these heds eventually (and possibly add more heds here)

Maybe I'm looking in the wrong area or missing something... But I'm surprised that there's almost no discussion of what would happen if Rhaenyra took over raising her younger siblings. I found literally ONE (1) fic about this and it`s shame! For example, if Alicent died giving birth to Daeron (yes, I'm willing to sacrifice her for that). And Rhaenyra, who shortly afterwards welcomed her first child and felt that incredible overwhelming rush of oxytocin love for Jace, couldn't stand looking at her dear friend's baby childrens (and to a lesser extent her younger siblings) who were left alone . It was obvious that Viserys was still Viserys and didn't really care for them. So Rhaenyra asked her father for permission to raise Aegon, Helaena, Aemond and the newborn Daeron alongside Jace and her future children. Sorry, but I'm just in love with this idea: Alicent's children receive the same amount of care, unconditional parental love and acceptance from their older sister as Rhaenyra's children (!!!)

Aegon grows quite calmly without greens pressure. He has plenty of attention but also a lot of freedom and, accordingly, doesn't try to drown out his anxiety about unwanted responsibility with alcohol and sex from a young age. But even when his adolescent interest in these things manifested itself, it is hard to imagine that his foster mother, represented by Rhaenyra, would have condemned or tabooed it. Most likely, she simply kept it under control and sent Laenor or even Harwin bc girl can dream to talk him about the birds and the bees

Helaena's prophecies will be heard. Rhaenyra spends quite a lot of time with her little sister. Because as much as she adores all her boys, it's the baby girl (long-cherished dream) who fascinates her the most way. Everyone around says that the child acts strangely for her age, but Rhaenyra doesn't see anything too disturbing in her behavior. Over time, she begins to pay more attention to what Helaena saying, and at some point she remembers Daenys the Dreamer

Aegon can make really funny and inoffensive jokes. One time at dinner, he decided to make a joke about Aemond's dragonless, and Rhaenyra looked at him with suuuuuch disappointment, that he never wanted to be the cause of her look 'like this` again

So yes, the boys never bullied Aemond because he didn't have a dragon. But Rhaenyra, who realised his need very well, supported the desire to get one. Perhaps at some point she told the family that she and Aemond would be away for a while and took him on Cyrax's back to Dragonstone, where they stayed for several weeks. But when they finally returned to the capital, Aemond was riding Vermitor.

Aegon and Helaena were not engaged and didn't get into an unhappy marriage later.

Daeron is definitely staying in King's Landing. Because there is no way Otto would have any leverage! But the main motive for Rhaenyra was the inadmissibility of the little boy being cut off from his home, and heritage. And most importantly, Daeron and Jace grew up practically like twins and could not bear to be separated even for a short time.

Aemond is this one, who is most outraged about the rumors about the ancestry of her older sister's children and takes it as a personal attack. Because… because he has very personal reasons!

At Laena's funeral, Helaena approaches her grieving cousins and hugs them one by one, and then says something to Rhaena something about ‘the morning will fix a lot of things’. No one understood at the time, but the orphaned girls were visibly comforted, and for the first time in her life, Helaena Targaryen had friends.

Aegon was going through a phase of severe pre-pubescent crash in Rhaenyra and for several months in a row he tried to challenge Laenor to a ‘death duel’ to ‘free his sister from the chains of marriage’. A few years later, when Laenor ‘died’, it was Aegon who took it the hardest of all the children.

Aemond has the better (perfect) Valyrian pronunciation and two eyes:)

to be continued...

my apologise for any mistakes, english is not my native language and I typed this in a rush at my office instead of the royalty report

[ariseur]

SEPHIROTH FIC WITH READER TRYING TO TEACH HIM HOW TO KISS PLSPLSPLSPLSPLS

is this your way of flirting? 𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

sephiroth (ffvii) x reader

┊ ˚➶ notes ｡˚ 🎼

this was such a cute request omg you guys rlly love sephiroth 😭

┊ ˚➶ warnings ｡˚ 🎼

mentions of kissing (ew cooties!!), sephiroth and you being enamored with each other except this is more of a friends to lovers kinda thing, intended lowercase, lmk if i missed anything!!

┊ ˚➶ word count ｡˚ 🎼

1197 words, 6601 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

sometimes you think sephiroth was brought upon this world to help you, and your thoughts have never been clearer as you watched him sit in front of you. your eyes traced along the curve of his nose, painted golden with the light of dawn shining on him. his eyes; now aquamarine, especially with the amount of mako running through him, so slender and catlike as they squinted at the sun. sephiroth was ethereal, that was a fact.

it almost felt wrong admiring his features, and a cool sheen of sweat washed over you as his eyes flickered over to yours. as you looked into his eyes, watching as his lashes fluttered with his gaze, you constantly had to remind yourself that he was your friend— and he had asked for your help. nothing more, you thought.

nothing more.

“i apologize for having to call upon you so early, i know you’d typically prefer to sleep in.” he finally said. his words chimed into your brain and interrupted the wistful silence that had been brought upon you two, distant birds and buzzing of insects were suddenly drowned out with sephiroth’s cool tone of voice.

“if you call not waking up at 5am every morning ‘sleeping in’— then yeah, i’d prefer to ‘sleep in’.” you scoffed, your lips twitching to form a small smile at his quiet chuckle. a comfortable silence strung itself between you two, only your sighs filling the air. you took one last glance at sephiroth, your movements pausing as you met his eyes. as per usual, he held that strong stare, except the comforting feeling that came with it was only reserved for you.

you felt guilty, but you couldn’t help but let your eyes trail down from sephiroth’s eyes, to the slope of his nose, and finally to his cool-toned lips. his usual smirk rested on his face, his bottom lip pouting out just the smallest bit as he amusedly gazed at you. it seemed like all of your verbal self control had left your body as you couldn’t stop the words tumbling past your lips, “have you ever kissed someone before, sephiroth?”

and how you wished you could’ve taken back your words the moment they left your lips, wincing inside at his raised brow. his smile never left his face, though— and then he started to laugh. a good, hearty laugh. and your cheeks couldn’t help but heat up.

“what? honestly—!” you said, although you couldn’t even bite back your smile. it was always rare to see him laugh as genuine as he was right now, and whenever he would, it was always contagious.

calming down from his fit of laughter, he shook his head in amusement as he closed his eyes; almost like it was such a silly question. small chuckles still escaped him in the process. “well i suppose, if we’re being honest, i don’t have much experience in the field of romance.”

now it was your turn to quirk a brow as you feigned shock, “the—the sephiroth—has never kissed someone before?”

“i’ve kissed people, before.”

you made an exaggerated ‘hmmm..’ noise as you tapped your chin and looked up, pretending to look so very deep in thought; breaking character when you heard sephiroth scoff. laughing behind your hand, you turned your head back towards the sun and looked out into the horizon— watching as the grass swayed with the soft breeze and the hummingbirds zipped around to their collective plants. your eyes squinted as they adjusted to the golden rays, shining on your skin.

“are you interested in teaching me?” came the cool voice from beside you, immediately making you turn and cock your head at him. narrowing your eyes, you study him carefully. maybe for any signs of a joke, even when the glint in his eyes told a different story.

you laughed out of uncertainty, “is this your way of flirting with me, seph?”

“possibly,” he said, hand snaking itself across the long grass as it grazed your other hand, “perhaps there are more.. kinesthetic— methods in which i can achieve a better understanding of this topic.” you grinned, watching as he mimicked your earlier antics and cocked his head himself.

a few more moments and where were you at now? holding the elite military first class SOLDIER, sephiroth’s face in your hands, maybe not so subtly rubbing their thumb along his skin and relishing in the softness of his cheek. despite being in the field or training all at, sephiroth surprisingly had little to no acne. instead, he maintained this almost glossy skin tone and a healthy bone structure, whether it was all the mako SOLDIERs had or not, he was considerably the most beautiful man you had ever witnessed to walk the planet.

“don’t purse your lips too much, okay? only once you interlock them with mine.” you muttered.

“where do i put my hands?” at this proximity, you could practically taste him against you. another reminder; he was only your friend, you frowned. your brain didn’t know how to feel, this felt so intimate, you didn’t know how to respond to it anymore. but instead, you simply gave him a soft smile. leading his hand towards your waist, you’re reassured that it’s okay once sephiroth gives you a half-smile of his own.

“and this is alright?”

“it’s all with what you’re comfortable with, you’re the one who asked me to teach you, seph.” the way the slew of words flowed so warmly out past your lips and into his ears was sublime to him, his chest couldn’t help but tighten. so sweet, even to what he thought of you as a ‘friend’, paining his heart that you possibly didn’t requite his feelings. but it didn’t matter, this was just more of a reason to get closer to you. sephiroth had a way around kissing, he had managed this far, but seeing you so gentle with him tugged at his heart strings.

it only worsened when you finally leaned in, your eyelashes fluttering as they flickered between his eyes and his lips. but when he finally let his eyes fall shut and your lips against his, it was like his heart was in his throat. it felt oddly comforting, the sounds of nature in the distance as the light of dawn shone on the both of you. it wasn’t anything special, but the slow rhythm of which your lips moved was enough for the both of you.

he pulled away for a moment, smiling at the way you leaned in to chase him for one more kiss. he placed his own hand on your face, tilting your chin up as your eyes blinked open. alas, another smug smile with his words, “eager, are we?”

“as if you weren’t the one flirting with me, first.”

he made a low hum before grabbing a soft hold on your hands and leaning in once more, letting himself drown in the river that is you. he’ll let himself sink in the cool water for as long as he can, savoring the wet droplets that remain on his skin after he’s left— and when he’s alone, all he’ll think of is you.

[hollowtakami]

Hii! I followed you from an old account that for some reason didn't let me make requests, but now I went back to my hawks era and with it came my obsession with his fics.

Aniwaaays, me and reverse comfort are one, so I was wondering if you could show how reader (s/o) comforts Hawks after suddenly reuniting with his father or just see a photo of him. like, idk brings back a lot of bad memories for him and I would like to see some of it if it's not too much trouble <3

I love You btw, and sorry if i bother u with this

content: mentions/implications of child abuse/trauma, reverse comfort, keigo has c-ptsd, him and reader are both trying their best

a/n: hiya anon! it’s no problem at all, i will always enjoy answering asks and writing for my darling kei<3 and thank you sm, that really makes me smile to know that people genuinely enjoy my work! ^^

Keigo saw so much flash before him every time he blinked.

He remembered the way his teeth would grit when he squawked, spat; the way his hands looked before they came down crashing, a tsunami of scarred skin that would scar him just the same.

Be it physically, or mentally.

Keigo found himself paralysed by the picture, printed in black and white. It might as well have been blood soaked into the newspaper, crumbling in the hero’s faltering grip.

For a moment, the avian wasn’t sat at the table with a breakfast, made with love, laid out like a declaration. But for a second, he was a beaten fledgling who’d been plucked of his autonomy.

Keigo blinked. He was holding a newspaper, he was not there.

The poor baby bird on the floor had dared to get up, the one wing that still flapped crushed under the boot of his father.

He was eating breakfast, the sun was on his skin.

Keigo was not there, physically.

You were surfing some butter around a pan, ready to make some scrambled eggs for you and your boyfriend. Letting the butter melt for a moment, you smiled.

Turning around, you beamed, “I’m using butter for the eggs this time, not oil, just like Fuyumi told me!”

Mentally, Keigo was there.

Noticing the way your partner looked as though he had been turned to stone, your heart grew cold. You switched off the gas hob, almost gliding through the kitchen to the dining table where Keigo sat, paralysed.

“Baby?” You whispered, your words falling on death ears.

The newspaper shook in the avian’s hand, your eyes flicking to the front page. There he was, Keigo’s father; Takami The Thief.

When he was drowning under the surface of his anxiety, you knew better than to startle him. You pulled out a chair and sat beside him. Your hand gently covered his like unexpected snow. You felt how cold his skin was, be it from the morning breeze or the fear laced in his blood.

“You’re home, birdie,” you said, clearly. “He’s not here, he never will be.”

Your words were firm, and for a moment you swore you felt Keigo’s fingers twitch under the blanket of your hand.

“I- I feel like, like I can’t breathe,” was all Keigo could say.

You inched closer to Keigo, wrapping your arms around him. Careful not to touch his plumage, as to not trigger him further, you squeezed him in your embrace.

“Smell the flowers, spread the pollen,” you gently instructed, “just like the therapist taught you, yeah?”

Keigo inhaled sharply through his nose, a shaky breath leaving his open mouth soon after.

The two of you repeated these steps together, completely forgetting about your cold breakfast waiting for you on the stove.

“I promise you, Keigo,” you lifted up his bangs, kissing his forehead. “I’m not gonna let him get to you.”

[twola]

Pls pls a Drabble or one shot of soft sappy sex with Arthur 🙏

Drift

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

Morning light drifts. Almost as if it was afloat, soft and drowsy. Warm and comforting.

Or maybe it’s just the cocoon you’ve wrapped yourself into, bare skin and blankets and an old cot within canvas walls. The quiet of dawn, where the birds awaken, chirping from the trees.

The soft, wet sound of lips meeting lips fills the tent, a thigh slung over hips, fingers tracing jawlines-

“I love you.”

His large hand cups the back of your head, fingers woven into your hair, pulling you gently to him once again. Your hand rests over his ribs, through which you can feel the steady thrum of his heart.

“Love you too-” a hushed breath, in between kisses, need rising, tongues pressing against each other until he moves. He could so easily move you, his size and strength intimidating out on the open road - but with ease and gentleness he pushes you to your back and climbs atop you, your legs opened wide to accept his hips.

Your foreheads touch, your fingers tracing up the hard muscles of his back while his forearms rest on either side of your head. You caress the nape of his neck, playing with the dark honeyed ends of his hair, growing longer by the week.

He leans heavily on one arm while he reaches down between the two of you to grasp his cock, guiding himself to press against the rim of your cunt, the head catching and you suck in a breath as the first inch of him slides inside.

“Alrigh’?” He asks, his voice still sleep-hoarse, and you answer with a nod before slotting your lips to his, tilting your hips up and he slips in another inch.

His eyes flutter closed as he bites his lower lip to keep himself quiet, pressing forward completely to bury himself in you, not stopping until his pelvis is flush to yours, until all of him is sheathed in you. You nuzzle against his jaw, his three-day-old beard scratching against your cheek. After a recentering moment, he finds your lips again, smothering a cry that escapes your throat as he rolls his hips in a full and heady stroke. Your fingernails dig into his shoulder as he does it again, and again, and again.

Sometimes, many times, there is not time for this - that your coupling is quick and fleeting. There is not time to bask in the morning light.

But today, as the larks sing as the world awakens outside of the tent, you flutter around him and he presses himself as deep as he can go, drowning in each other, breathing each other’s breaths, unfurling your love slowly, much as the world is becoming awake.

[goatcheesecak3]

PLEASE BOTH OF UOJR MORNING ROUTINE HCS ARE SO GOOD AND SUIT LAWRWNCE AND SPECS SO SO WELL

ik probably one thousand people have requested it already and/or you’re expecting it to be requested but PLEEAAASSSEEE may i humbly beg for a morning routine for our fav grungy drowned rat Adam

Morning routine Hcs

Adam Faulkner-Stanheight x gn!reader

Fic type: headcanons, fluff

Warnings: brief mention of weed, very tame nsfw at number 4

A/n: hehehe I was waiting for someone to ask for this one <3 and thank u so so so much!! I love doing these hcs, it's funny how vastly different all the characters personalities are lmao

Adam begrudgingly rolls out of bed at ???? O'clock. It's different every day, but the one constant is that it's always far too late for wherever he needs to be.

If money's been good recently, he'll have plain toast, a black coffee and a cigarette. If money's been tight, he'll just have the cigarette.

On days where he doesn't have to work, you usually stay over- those are his favourite days. There's no rush to be anywhere, so the booth of you sleep in.

When you both finally wake up, no one's super eager to get out of bed. You spend the next hour or so cuddling and fooling around -Adam has a thing for lazy, sloppy morning sex, he says "it'll wake us both up" with that cheeky, half asleep smirk. He looks irresistible with his messy morning hair, so you're pretty much always down.

Afterwards, you both take a shower together to save on the water bill- and to make sure Adam doesn't get too freaked out by being in the bathroom alone. You both give eachother lots of cuddles and playful squeezes, and Adam LOVES it when you wash his hair for him, massaging his scalp and kissing all over his face.

On days when you come over, you usually bring a small bag of groceries, knowing that Adam most likely doesn't have anything in, so you whip up something nice while Adam makes the bed and hangs up any wet towels (a habit that you got him into).

When you make Breakfast it's usually pancakes, they're Adam's number one favourite food in the world, and he LOVES sweet things. He'll cover his pancakes with jam, syrup, chocolate spread- basically anything with a lot of sugar. Anything but lemon juice, he hates lemons because they're too sour.

Sometimes the two of you will take a morning stroll through the city park to feed the birds and squirrels, while Adam takes pictures. One time he snapped a pic of you with a squirrel eating out of your hand, and that picture lives in his wallet now.

Most mornings, however, the two of you just snuggle on the sofa watching beavis and butthead, smoke a little, and make out. He's a man of simple pleasures.

Adam's life has been pretty hectic up until meeting you, so lazy mornings mean an awful lot to him. He loves getting warm and cosy in his tiny little apartment, far away from the rest of the world, just you and him for a little while.

[romcomeon]

⌞ 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 ! ⌝

⨾ honey, are you coming. can't help that it's worth it.

⨾ she's a '90s supermodel. sfw version, barbatos x gn!mc, obey me x måneskin, electricguitarist!mc, we got an awestruck + lovedrunk combo for the butler with this one, established relationships, mildly suggestive, song fic? there are lyrics of the songs sprinkled throughout. use of they/them pronouns, use of petnames [dearest, baby]

⨾ i'm beggin', beggin' you. wc ≈ 3.0K

⨾ sip the gossip. very short. very unserious. last-minute barbatos gift cus i wasn't able to finish the type i error fic. happy birthday barbi, i present to you the metalhead partner of your greediest fantasies/j oh and yes this was a reupload, since this early in the morning i wanted to fix this a bit, so pardon for that ;v;

You can't deny yourself the pleasure of different genres.

A contrast that sticks out: when you expected one instance from something, but the result shows one that is significantly different. The thing is, it can 't just be good or not; it all depends on how you take it. Sometimes, it makes you wonder what songs they play at the palace of so-called miseries.

How there's a long multitude of music to enjoy for each and everyone. It's universal, per say, and as refine as other music is sought out to be, sometimes all you ever desire has to unleash the inner turmoil burning deep within your chest.

It didn't have to be real, it just had to feel real.

⸻⸻⸻

The riff, the bass, starting notes shifting from F#5 to C#5: all were familiar harmonies to Barbatos' ears. It's odd, as usually festivities didn't start around the rising moon. Ideally around noon to account for preparations, though some would opt to drown their worries in the morning to fully immerse themselves in celebration at night.

He never anticipated waking up to the sound of speakers blaring the strongly magnified tones to breach the walls of the Demon Lord's Castle. He never imagined hearing static transforming into rhythmic tunes, with certain notes switching and playing in an alluring sequence. He, for one, never imagined for such music to play so strongly; drawing him out his bed as these notes dragged the butler by an invisible rope.

While he can and could predict it, Barbatos doesn't mind. He would put away all his power and oneself if it meant obtaining 'utmost satisfaction'.

As it was five in the morning along the Devildom clock. Around a time the earliest of early birds would wake up, yes, although most would be tucked to sleep; especially fellow RAD attendees where classes start 9 o'clock on the dot. Yet something compelled a glance out the window, a need to see something— confirm reality or cease the imagination.

It's not that he was compelled to check if the song itself was correct. Frankly, it was plainly obvious even to a casual listener. If you have a trouble discerning a song from many others as "all instrumentals sound the same" even when the latter song could be pitched at an octave higher, the lyrics reinforced that assumption.

"What's your thoughts about religion?" the voice growled out. Stable yet shaky, all while keeping a snappy tempo. As if each word paused right by a period or comma; semicolon or dashes while repeating the same set of harmonics for every subsequent syllable. "Are you close to your mother?"

Hook him by word of mouth, entrance him by the tongue. It feels so good — almost frightening.

Jade eyes momentarily widened, blinking. Barbatos had to pull the red curtain away to get a better glimpse. The sky stood still, vaguely illuminated by the neon city lights. You were standing on what appears to be one of Diavolo's unused vehicles: he could tell from the long angular model, the nonreflective maroon surface, and the firing golden plate number at its front. Hidden within dark igneous clouds, light tried seeping through every chance it got. Through hellish landscapes, you looked heaven sent.

"Tell me 'bout your dream vacation, and all of your ex lovers," the line delivery followed by the subtle click of your tongue. Immediately after that you had to move your fingers along the guitar strings as if you didn't want him to catch a break.

As if the moon abides in your favour, the light illuminated was enough to cast an iridescent spotlight. The white perfectly spit from turquoise and pink, hitting your sweaty cheeks and crinkled yellow shirt. While your five-year-old and counting electric guitar shone back most of the light, you were basked in it. Others reflect these colors, yet you embody them like crystalline gems.

Barbatos had to be honest, he gasped at the moment you whipped your hair back while seemingly losing yourself to the music.

"Is it..." the butler whispered to himself. He couldn't perish the thought of reality. You were there, right before his eyes, performing on stage but trapped in your own psychic tapestry.

In moments notice, he'd stand there frozen. The human, beloved by many, master of the avatars, representative of humanity, was strumming along to the guitar like a maniac. The long wires connected to large speakers, and not only that, you had a mic. A working microphone stand.

Many thoughts circled is head, and before one knew it, he had already been perched up at the balcony. Still in his sage green slacks, he clung to the marble ridges of the railing.

Tell him, what's that look on your face? The widest grin with a smile that reaches your eyes, added to furrowed brows while you squint to not get too blinded by the light.

"He puts his hands on his hips, begging 'please end this conversation'..."

The speakers thump to your every word, and all remains from the night before rolled up to a perfectly adorable little summary. For one, the shirt you wore irked the faint smell of Barbatos' cologne, and how it had stains along its seams.

You forced the mic closer to you, your legs tapping along to the music. "Baby said, 'when you talk, and I go dead' 'just your mouth, give me your head."

All it did for the ever growing fire in your soul to ignite was seeing him break into a smile. His elbow on the railing, his resting the side of his face on his had. You knew he'd really want this.

Does he deserve it? My my... You're a diamond.

Alone at parties in a deadly silhouette, it came to a drastic surprise when those who aren't too familiar with the Lord's butler had an affinity for such genre. Truly, they have never seen him in such a state of ecstasy.

Barbatos never seemed to be one to find things 'fun'. Delightful? sure. Exquisite? of course. Immaculate? perhaps. Enjoyable? Thrilling? Remarkable? There could be a whole manuscript of words, but 'fun' ousted itself like a young seedling amongst great trees.

Rarely has he ever reserved time for himself, and it is usually as a request from others. Not that he doesn't see the value in taking a break; he will surely indulge in it himself if necessary. But in Barbatos' eyes, it isn't practical.

In contrast to Diavolo, whose childish demeanor outshines his princely duties - much to the council's dismay - Barbatos was his guide. As Lucifer might've been the voice of reason who often takes responsibility for nearly triple quarter of the devil's work, Barbatos was a guiding light: an observant to be sure that no path goes astray. It was never not expected that others have a rigid view of his character, much less consider his other likes.

Yet why betray him the privilege of enjoyment? He truly hoped your perception of him didn't end there. If it did - how pitiful.

When he's particularly upset, he'd brew up the finest tea to the brash melodies of rock and metal. The serene atmosphere of golden highlighted crimson wallpaper, the smell wafts itself in the air with how small skulls shape themselves from the steam. And as you enter such a display, the first ever sound you'd here was the excruciating, hinting deathly scream of a low, raspy voice from the record player.

And he'd look up from sipping his tea, offering you a smile that only emphasizes his hospitality.

It wasn't practical, which was why he blends his favourite past times with his usual tasks. He didn't have to be in such a down mood for one to hear the snaring of drums and loud guttural growls from the castle's kitchen. Starting off with the Devildom's version of metal: rather hellish and would break the average mortal's ears by the first second. It's a special earful if you got the singles that sung it in their faction's native language. Though Latin would be Barbatos' preference "et in hora mortis nostrae".

That changed upon the introduction of human world rock. It's shallower, mellower to the ones he and any other demon is used to. But it's different. It doesn't necessarily channel a destructive output, yet it was a good change of pace.

That was far before you two started dating.

Months thereafter his adoration for the vividly wild instrumentals and appreciation to each throat-wrenching strain gradually grew. You knew that. When you're not looking, he's etching records of your song to always and forever, remember, Was there a moment where he'd skip a chance to listen to you practice? He'd always make time.

Until then, the little D's watch as the, once more, renowned butler of the castle wiggling his hands along imaginary strings, too deep in the moments as he waits for the kettle to boil. They admit, it was a rather endearing sight.

"Yeah, he's a master. Compliments!!" they'd all cheer. On occasion, Diavolo would witness these brief minutes himself. Actually? He'd watch silently before Barbatos quickly comes back to his decorum upon the sight of the prince.

Besides, it was more than enjoyable. Listening to him say the words "let me taste your silhouette, you can talk between my legs" was extremely entertaining. You wouldn't necessarily hear him say the exact words in person and that was the point, it was a form of expression.

What can the prince say? The tea tasted better when made with passion. And after that was the start of a normal day; well aware, the usual. This was a routine that everyone can get by on.

Just what felt like millennia ago, you and him were alone in one of the corners of the classroom. Free period; better to finish some additional seat work, though at this time you didn't feel like doing it. It just so happens to also be the hour where Barbatos was also free, so you'd consider this a win.

"Put your lovin' hand out baby," you spoke in a sing-song voice, extending your hand towards the butler. You sat on the wooden chair, your free arm lays on the backing as you leaned forward to resting your chins along your elbow. You legs wide opening to be able to sit in such orientation when the back was now the front.

Your darling only shook his head. "For sure you can do better," he teased, speaking in an every so slightly cocky tone.

You pouted your lips, cocking your head to the side. "But, baby, let me."

"You spoil yourself," Barbatos said. The legs of the chair scraped against the floor as he pulled it closer to you, finally sitting down at your side, close enough that your knees brushed against each other. You felt his presence near, and for a moment, it distracted you from the nagging thoughts in your head. You'd think you'd beg for more, but also something had been circulating your mind. August was near, and so far you.. needed confirmation.

You leaned back slightly, your fingers tapping absent-mindedly on the chair's back as your thoughts drifted. "I heard you've been listening to that band I recommended," you said, shrugging a bit.

It wasn't too long when you first recommended him Måneskin. Consider yourself the next Thomas Raggi, all the same you're confident enough in your skill level. You'd practice their songs in secret, hoping that, just once, you'd be able to perform for a single audience. You'd play it hard and fast 'cus you had everything.

He raised an eyebrow "Ah," his curiosity piqued. "I see the news has reached you as well."

"Gossip. And it's near obvious." You spoke with a hum, standing up from your chair. Still leaning onto it for support, your knees against the rounded edges. "So, what song are you listening to?"

That was a billion grimms' worth question. Barbatos paused for a moment, carefully considering his answer. You watched as his green eyes glance back at you, the subtle movement of his green hair flowing along to the tilt of his head in your direction.

"Hmm.. and why would you wish to know?"

You pouted again. " Please? "

Barbatos sighed. Truly, he was not exempted from any request when it was especially you. "Since you asked so kindly, then I shall."

All ears up, you listen to his words carefully. While not especially a favourite, he admitted: "Baby Said".

You nodded along in understanding, thinking on how to practice this while your subconscious human turn to your own depiction of the said song's instrumental. Only one thing was on your mind on that moment — "ohh.. good taste."

You hadn't even noticed him leaving the room, too focused to listen to the ongoing conversations. Your fingers snap themselves to the beat of the song; well the electric guitar had always been the highlight.

To think you held his heart captive twice in a row was a near understatement. Even so, it takes a lot of meticulous and carefully curated, well-thought-out actions to effectively hide surprises from Barbatos. Seriously, you wonder how he's well aware of everything, powers aside. It's not like he always uses it.

You felt shivers from the night before. His taste lingering from your tongue, the blurry memory of his hands tracing the side of your body. How you had to cover yourself with the large satin blanket, trying to at least be a bit modest.

It was a miracle how he managed to have a bed in a room filled with hexes, portals to other universes and other forms of magic. Amidst all the unsightly elements, his room was tidy.

Though you aren't the most careful of individuals. Loosening yourself from his iron grip wasn't enough, but to do so without moving too much was beyond a hassle. Furthermore, sliding off the bed instead of lifting yourself up felt as if waking him up would be the end of you.

Nonetheless, it was partly manageable.

You had no choice. Beggin' and prayin' you hadn't caused that much of a mess. You also cleaned out a few of your valuables out of courtesy- if you were able to identify them to begin with. The mix of whole and shredded fabric in a dim lit room should be a crime in itself.

That should answer most of the embarrassing questions. You hopes that he wouldn't mind a more... well, residents say "annoying" or "unethical" which was a whole irony in itself, but for you you can just refer to it as: convenient.

And it was worth it.

Your eyes looked back at your beloved, whose attention dangles from above the balcony. You couldn't help it, you just had to let out a playful scoff at that.

Ignore the microphone, the gardens were your amphitheatre. No static can overcome the sudden impulse to surge through the buildup. To let all realms hear your hearts-and-tears rendition. It may cause a strain in your voice, but you didn't care.

"I wish he didn't but my baby said!"

Pools of pink and gold swirl in your irises. A sharp, crazed look adorned your otherwise earthly features. There's the insanity oozing itself out your system, prying out the shell it had been oh so desperate to break every since you started practicing the song. Was it a month or two? A concrete timeline didn't matter; your feelings hated the waiting.

Sing him praises over and over, it's music to both of your ears.

Repeat lyrics as if the last one wasn't loud enough. Louder. Until heaven knows your voice will experience hell for days.

Moments after your song finished you jumped out of the car to immediately greet your lover as he opened the door to the castle. You could see him, always presenting him prim and proper, now a bit disheveled from the stereo beat of his heart.

You chuckled, flipping your hair as you placed a hand on your hip, "did you like it?"

With one final inhale, Barbatos recomposed himself once more. Standing up straight, fixing up his sleeves; though one notable difference was how relaxed his expression had become. How his smile has gotten wider, lightly touching the corner of his eyes.

"I'm flattered you think so fondly of me."

You rolled your eyes, raising a brow as you leaned your back against the door of the car. "And miss out? Please, I can never do this again now, hmm?"

The latter simply nodded, closing his eyes as he raised a hand to his chin. "You're correct on that assessment."

"Heh.." you huffed out. You got up and started walking towards Barbatos, placing a hand on his shoulder and the other caressing the sides of his face. It's as if no amount of emotions you poured out earlier would encompass all of what you simple adore of this butler. You could hear the distant complains of elder demons, though they are easily dismissed. For now, you leaned closer to give him a small kiss on the cheek.

"Happy Birthday Barbi," you cooed. "'Love ya."

Barbatos simply nodded his head once more. Grabbing your wrist, he softly leans his cheek closer, encapsulated in the warmth of your hand. Even in the faintest voice, you could make out a small "thank you."

You startled him at first, but now that you finished your bedazzling serenade, Barbatos needed a time to breathe. How you'd notice your own reflection within his glossy eyes — from waking up to early or from the awestruck faxed you put him on? We will never know.

Barbatos pulled you closer, the feeling of his soft lips on yours sent an electrical chill down your spine. It caused you to shiver from shock, but slowly melt into it. It's one to express your gratitude verbally, but the swelling of emotion you caused him may have required a different outlet for output.

"I love you most, dearest."

A couple seconds to spare is more than enough to satiate a lover's requirement, though he'd gladly be greedy enough to want more. You can't make yourself oppose it; that's what your baby said.

note.s : take a wild guess on what time did i start writing this because, looking back, this feels like such a huge... opportunity. i promise that i'm working on type i error, it's just my schedule for the past few days had fucked itself over- but nonetheless, i'm happy that i was at least able to make something special ^^

again, this is more self indulgent than anything but please, it's barbatos. anyhow, that's all for now hehe~! also as promised to a certain someone, @youngwonhee here's your ping <3

2024 © dear-tortured-adam | dividers by cafekitsune

[tianasficrecs168]

The Sandman Fic Recs

Magnolia35: Moonflower (Hob/Dream) • "Hob has to do a double take because Dream is crying; big, ugly, hiccuping sobs that wrack his skeletal frame to the point where Dream looks like a leaf in the wind. The raven that’d been following the man the last time they met— Mike or Martin or Matthew or something— pecks at the guys shoes. The story of how Hob Gadling starts a pub, beats up a god, stares down Death, falls in love with Dream of the Endless, and amasses a small army of fidget cubes. Not necessarily in that order.

TinyButFierce: "Into Darkness and Howling (I'll Keep Him From Drowning)" (Hob/Dream) It was beginning to sound like Roderick Burgess had something or someone trapped in his basement. Hob was starting to wonder if he should do something about that.

MonstrousRegiment: “The Uses of Adversity” (Hob/Dream) What led Hob Gadling — at the time known as Robert Stranger, because he’d been in a permanent state of pettiness from 1889 to about 1904 and now he was stuck with it — to the dank, cold, and dark basement of the Burgess house on March of 1957 was not so much coincidence or fate as it was curiosity. Yeah. Cats isn’t the only thing it kills. Alright, wait. Back up. Let’s start from the beginning. It was 1957 and Hob Gadling was, by no action or choice of his own, sort of — it’s a bit embarrassing — a criminal master. Not mastermind! He hadn’t planned any of it. Honestly.

CeruleanHeart: - “Darker, Still” (...) (Hob/Dream) When Dream doesn't show up for their appointment in 1989, Hob decides to devote a part of his immortality to looking for his mysterious friend. He is dedicated not to wait and hope for another century for the slim chance of seeing him again. Even if he has to bribe, lie and steal, use every trick in the book he's learned in the past 600 years, he will find him. After over a century, Dream has almost given up on the hope of ever escaping his prison when help finally shows up in the form of someone least expected, compelling him to re-evaluate the nature of his interest in an old acquaintance.

Snits: - “Country Roads (Take Me Home)” (Hob/Dream) • Hob and Dream go back to Hob's for a nightcap. While they're there, they address some trauma, and Hob finally learns the name of the man(-shaped being) he's known for seven hundred years.

Sonhoedestrazao: “These days of dust” (Hob/Dream) There is something different about him, though his appearance is identical. The curious part of Hob Gadling, the one that ensures that his wish to live persists through the ages, can’t wait to figure out what it is exactly. (Or: the New Inn encounter continued.)

Sonhoedestrazao: “Stuck in a season” (…) (Hob/Dream) Hob Gadling opens his eyes in the year of our Lord of 1889, in a tavern that he somehow knows no longer exists, among people long dead. Alone at a table for two, he leans over and says to no one in particular, “He’ll be back. You’ll see.” (Or: how to deal when your nameless friends keeps appearing in dreams and a talking bird approaches you with dating advice.)

Majestickasztan: “Painted by sorrow” (Hob/Dream) • When Hob looked up and found his oldest friend looking back, he was, one could say, taken aback. But when you're immortal and things go according to your expectations, life gets very boring very quickly, so he couldn't bring himself to complain. Not that he wanted to. He was pining for this guy since 1489, after all.

KatieKat527: “Perchance to” (Dream/Hob) • Hob Gadling muses on modern advancements. Only as they pertain to a sleepy morning in bed with his “stranger.”

Newfandomnewpseud (Broodthaers): “A Mug’s Game” (Dream/Hob) Hob Gadling teaches history, flirts with Death, gets a boyfriend, and accidentally breaks the laws of the universe.

Brackets (…) means it's still being updated/not done/WIP – and I'm paying close attention to it

Zeros with a strikethrough (000) Disappeared off the net (I still have a doc of it saved somewhere)

A black dot • means it's a one-shot

Ship with + means it's either time travel or dimension hopping – something along those lines

A heart ♡ means it's focused on Sexy times (it's pure filth PWP)

[spdrvyn]

Can we maybe get pt.2 of I’ll be lonely with you?

can you be lonely with me? — MIGUEL O'HARA

SUMMARY: ever since your first real encounter with miguel, you're sure that your relationship him has grown ever since. it's hard to put an exact label on it but it's safe to say that he's grown more comfortable to confide in your presence nowadays.

NOTES: i keep getting reqs for miguel fluff and a part 2 from the last fic i did so i am killing 10 birds with a machine gun here. you also don't really need to read the first fic to understand this one but if you want to see how it all starts out then it's on my masterlist if you wanna get a better understanding of it! this one is more from miguel's perspective by the way :3 this gets fluffier as i proofread it uhhh good luck you're gonna get cavities!!!

No matter where he went, no matter how hard he tried. Noise, it followed Miguel.

If he was dealing with an anomaly, he would hear the shrieks and cries of the people all around him. The shuttering of phone cameras, law enforcement telling civilians that they'll be able to handle it.

If he was in his own dimension, walking amonst the other Spider-people, he would hear the chatter and the gossip. Mechanical whirring, the sound of webs being shot, it's like it was haunting him.

It's the reason why he enjoyed staying in his office so much. Even if he can hear the occasional bang or clang, it was mostly quiet. He's contemplated getting earplugs to drown out the sounds but there's always a need for him to be alert.

That's where you come in.

Granted, it's not like you were a magical pair of noise-cancelling headphones that descended from the heavens (maybe just a little bit) but you provided some relief for Miguel.

On the chance that the two of you met, whether it's in the cafeteria, passing by each other in headquarters, or once you built up the courage to actually visit him in private—

He didn't want to admit it. It might be a little dramatic but he'd rather die than admit it.

But... he enjoyed your company.

Granted, he had trouble putting his thoughts into words at times. Talking about the arachno-humanoid-poly-multiverse could be easier than answering a question about what his favorite pet was but you? You made it seem so simple, so easy.

You didn't really talk to him about crude and mindless topics such as 'how his day went' or whatever. Conversations could span from your childhood best friends to your most memorable trip with your family or even high school love lives.

Miguel contributed much less to the conversation obviously but listening to you talk was more than enough for him. Your voice satieted him, it was almost addicting.

The melodies sung by birds in the morning, the praise he receives from colleauges about his deeds. They couldn't even compare to you.

Although, there were a lot of things that he also hated about you.

He hated how you could make him hear his heart drumming in his chest whenever you lay your hands on him. Even if it's for the most miniscule of things, like whenever you brush shoulders or graze fingertips; it sends a pleasurable shiver up and down his spine.

He hated your face, your smile, your eyes. Whenever he had the chance to open up about himself, when you had the pleasure of experiencing the rarity that is hearing a personal detail about Miguel; he'd look back at you once he finished talking and he'd see that look. A look of how proud you were of him, a look of longing and wanting. It's taken his breath away more than you'd ever hear him say.

He hated your compassion. Miguel has had an uncountable amount of bad days that if he made an attempt to number them, it would give him migraines. During those days, he would be grumpy, irritable, upset at the little details and during those days, you still wouldn't give up on him how he imagined even some of his better known acquaintances probably would.

Most of all, he hated himself for not knowing why.

For the longest time, he's thought of himself in the worst way possible. Unlikeable, difficult to be around, anti-social, and so much more and so much worse. Why did you continue to stay with him?

Having late night meals or snacks with him has now become a very frequent occurence, it was practically a ritual at that point. You'd even managed to convince to come out during more normal hours for lunch or just to "take a stroll around".

He's given up on himself, given up on the possibility that he could be anything more than his role of protecting the multiverse.

Yet, you gave him even the smallest sliver of hope.

He hated himself for wanting to hold onto it.

He didn't care anymore if he didn't know the reason why you continued to tolerate him after all this time, all he knew is that he'd try to stay by your side to the best of his ability. Holding onto that brittle string of a dream you handed him.

Key statement being 'to the best of his ability', tonight was such a time he couldn't be able to see you, much to his dismay. Swamped with surveillance, reports, reminiscing. The last time that he got a glimpse of your beauty was earlier this afternoon, only god knows how many hours have passed since then.

Perhaps it would be best if he found out himself. "Lyla," He called out, the virtual assistant hovers over his shoulder. Pixels floating over him. "What time is it?"

A little clock glitches into Lyla's hands, she hums before looking back at Miguel with her usual smug expression. "3:47 in the morning. You've been at it for seven hours now, Miguel."

His eyes flutter short for a moment, possibly the only wink of sleep that he'll get through out the night. Even when his eyes are closed, it's like the screens he's been looking at for hours to no end are now tattooed into his eyelids or something.

With a deep sigh, he continues working at it anyway. It's not like whatever anomaly or evil that's awaiting him in a distant universe will allow to him to get some shut-eye anyway. What's the use if he takes such an opportunity now?

Unusually, Lyla doesn't 'disappear' yet. Normally once he's done making a request, she poofs straight into thin air unless she's going to make remark back at him yet she remains in complete silence.

"Anything else, Lyla?"

"Someone's coming." She announces abrubtly, her tone is blank and lacking of emotion. Is that a sign of danger? Without daring to hesitate, Miguel puts his mask on. Eyes shifting to each dark corner in the room, ready to snatch and tear at whatever beast is—

All of a sudden, there's giggling. Coming from Lyla, of course. A hand clutches at her stomach, the other waving a finger in his face. The small outburst of laughter sends echoes. "Oh, wow! You're that paranoid already? Jeez, get some sleep maybe..."

As quickly as his mask came on, he takes it off. An aggravated scowl playing at his features, Miguel folds his arms over his chest. "I can't believe you. No me asustes así, Lyla. Is there someone coming or not?"

Finally, her stream of cackles stop as she catches her breath. She nods, perching herself on his shoulder; she pretends to check her nails. "Take a guess."

"I don't know. Who?"

"Come on, take a gander at who. You won't believe who it is."

"Lyla, no more messing around. Dime quién es, or else I'm putting you on low power mode." The threat is empty and there is no low power mode, Miguel has said it to her more than a dozen times but the response that he's able to provoke with it is a little laughable.

Begrudginly, she swipes a screen into view. Revealing you entering the hallway that leads into his very office, he's barely even get a good look at it before the screen disintegrates. Lyla crosses her arms, basically imitating the same position that Miguel is in right now.

"Happy?"

"Very. Leave us alone for a bit, won't you?"

In retaliation, she sticks her tongue out at him before her avatar shatters into mere blocks of code then disappearing entirely. Perfect timing he'd say as he sees you come into view on the stage below.

Once you're able to catch sight of him, you wave at him. That same gleeful smile that tugs at his heart strings. The lowering of his platform is finished, signified with an audible click.

You don't hesitate to head on up, immediately you wrap your arms around Miguel, pulling him into a warm but unexpected embrace. He doesn't have time to respond or think, muscles tensing once greeted with your touch.

He doesn't get the chance to hug back either before you pull away, hands remaining on his shoulder and his forearm. Only then does he realize that the grin you wore was tinged with a hint of concern.

"Sorry, sorry," You sputter out, chest rising up and down as you huff with relief. "I just didn't see you in the cafeteria a while ago, I thought something happened to you but I had to go back to my dimension due to reasons."

There's a sharp punch at Miguel's head once he realizes. He forgot about your midnight ritual, drowning in his work that he neglected the one other person important to him. "Mierda, I'm so sorry. It— it slipped my mind, I was just..."

Unable to finish his sentence, mind scrambling for what to tell you. To say that he was doing his job would maybe be fair but would it spare any of the pain that he may have caused you for missing it?

He's fully expecting you to be simmering with anger, even by just a little bit. That whole thing was how you two got to develop such a connection with each other anyway and he fucked it up.

A small lecture, a scolding, a disappointed glare.

"Hey, hey. It's fine, what matters is that you're okay. Whatever tasks you're taking on here are really important, I'm not upset at all. You're just doing what you gotta do,"

Nothing?

Nothing at all!

"Oh." All the apologies, the reasons he's been looking for, the pleading that he would've saved as a last resort to quell your boiling rage has now gone out the window. "Are you sure?"

"Of course, I am. I have no reason to be mad at you right now, Miguel. Although..." Oh no. Here it comes, brace yourself! "When's the last time you slept? I swear,"

His hands clench into fists, nearly flinching away as your hand reaches up to his cheek. Your thumb rubs the circles under his eyes, "These get deeper everytime I see them." With a sigh of defeat, he wraps a hand of his own around your wrist. Cheeks sinking into the soft caress, ever so slightly.

The way that your expression twists into one of worry once he doesn't respond, how Miguel feels the stinging in his chest for making you concerned but he thought it would be better than telling you honestly.

Your hand slips from his cheek, he tries to tamp down the disappointment at the loss. "I wish I could stay for longer but you have your duties, I have mine."

He nods understandingly, why wouldn't he? He knew that notion best, arguably a lot more than most Spider-people. At least, he'd be able to better appreciate this moment you two shared no matter how short lived it was.

"Promise me that you'll sleep once you're done."

Silently, barely even above a whisper, he utters: "I promise."

You shoot him one last smile before you swing back onto the lower platform, sparing one last glance then you disappear into the dark hallway. Miguel's face falls once you leave,

He despises how he misses you already.

[echochqmber]

Prompt: Chronic Pain

On the morning of his birthday, Xie Lian wakes up in excruciating pain. Luckily, he isn't alone this year.

@badthingshappenbingo @killerqueen-ofwillowgreen

[theredofoctober]

MANNA- CHAPTER EIGHT: VEAL

Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic

TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, Daddy kink, implied child abuse, self harm

This is chronologically the eighth chapter in the series. Apologies for the reupload, the first was the incorrect version.

---

You lie in Hannibal’s bed like a bird fallen dead through a window, the back of your hand across your brow, to its fevered heat. The muted rush of the shower sifts under the bathroom door, or perhaps it is only the rain, or both at once, a sonic symmetry.

You feel something of yourself washed away in it, a dune left dry in your defeat. Almost in apathy you turn on your side, thighs closed over the moisture between.

Hannibal returns to the bed in pyjama bottoms, his hair damp, and smelling expensively clean. Rather than meet his eyes, you look at the pictures over the bed— Japanese woodblock prints, you think, the figures rendered indistinguishable by the hearth-lit dark.

“Why did you break into my house?” you ask, as Dr Lecter climbs in under the sheets, beside you.

“I curate all things in my life with ambition to procure their highest quality,” he says. “Frequently this entails a thorough knowledge and familiarity with their origins. I had to be quite certain of yours before I began our therapy.”

You envision him, in the market of life, touching your name in the letter your parents had sent to him for the synaesthesic taste of you.

“Like going to a vineyard to look at the grapes,” you say.

Hannibal smiles, charmed by the observation.

“Quite so. I believe you would make a most excellent wine.”

“Spit me out,” you mutter. “Pour me away. I’ll spoil.”

“Or age into magnificence. You dismiss your latent potential.”

You feel one of Hannibal’s deft hands tracing your back as comfortably as a paramour of ten years’ intimacy, a subtle exertion of dominance. Each stroke is a statement: I am king here, and you will kneel with your lips to my shoe.

You shrug from his touch, carving a gully of mattress between you.

“What makes what you’re doing to me any different from the Silicone Lover?” you ask. “To me, you’re one and the same. What makes you any better than he is?”

There is a practised caution as Hannibal answers.

“An elevated craftsmanship. There is little artistry in his dolls.”

The weather makes an ocarina of the windowpane, so like a scream as to be a cipher of dread.

“You’d murdered people, haven’t you?” you ask, softly. “I can feel it.”

Silence, then, densely impenetrable. You dare not glance over your shoulder, nor take even a breath in the certainty that you have smelled death on this man like a fox.

“You are tired, little one,” says Hannibal. “Go to sleep.”

He speaks almost blandly, the deflection more terrible than an answer.

“You’re not going to... do it with me again?” you ask.

Hannibal looks up at you from his pillow, his eyes a gelid null. To prise his face, lid-like, from its cistern of penumbra— you would give your heart to do it, eager to part with so useless an object in the trade.

“In the morning, perhaps,” says Dr Lecter. “Not now. Rest.”

As though by the conjuration of some fell magician you do, lying as far from the man as you’re able without tumbling from the edge of the bed.

You dream again of the forest, dirt-drowned and blood-mired in the October deep. The stag-horned man has his spade to your throat, one foot on the blade; only a second figure, a streak of night, coaxes the digger from his mortal blow.

“No,” he says, in Will Graham’s voice. “I want to keep her.”

The nightmare closes on the stag-man’s answer.

“Then, for your sake, she lives tonight.”

*

The light is the blue of Neptune’s morning as you choke awake in Hannibal’s room. Your dream hangs upon you like a mantle of lead. You wait for it to lift, and it doesn’t, for the stag lies beside you, his face made gentle by sleep.

As you lean over to extract yourself from the quilt his hands are at your wrists with an oily quickness, holding them above your head against the pillows. Fear thickens your throat, stoppering the cartilage of all ensuing sound— yet Hannibal is smiling, as he peers down at you, quite playful, a laddish glee about him.

“It’s early,” he says. “Are you so eager to leave my bed already?”

“Yes,” you say. “Obviously.”

Dr Lecter draws back the sheet to look at your body, a hand following his gaze until you are wet around his fore and middle fingers.

“Not so obvious. You welcome me.”

The head of his cock meets its slick mark, and you pull at the fist that restrains you, shamed and flushing against your delicacy in his arms.

You’re as supple as leather against him, the slow wax of his cock in your channel unfairly pleasant.

“I don’t want it,” you whimper even as you ache to ribbon your legs about his hips to lead him in. “Dr Lecter—”

He takes your jaw in his hand, the cup of his thumb against your windpipe recalling his deathly potentiality. You feel his pulse through it, and wonder that such a man can be alive, is not merely a vampiric creature stepped from some crumbled ruin, bloodless, wanting.

“Are you going to murder me, one day?” you ask him, in a child’s plaintive whimper. “If you do, don’t just throw my body away, like the Lover. Send me home to my family. Say it was my fault. An accident. Just let them bury me.”

Hannibal releases your throat, opening his hand, instead, against your heart as though he may rejoin its broken halves with its warmth, a soft, red, clay.

“You must trust that your life is precious to me,” he tells you. “It becomes more so with each day that you are here.”

Were you free of him you’d recoil, but now can only wince and utter your rejection of what is surely a saccharine lie.

Hannibal’s grip tightens on your wrist, and as he thrusts into you again you shut your eyes against the Lyrid shower of orgasm. You sense him leaning over you, pleased that you’re fawning when you could fight.

The Silicone Lover’s victims didn’t resist, and they died for it, floating, forgotten, through the lichenous entrails of the riverbed. You think of your dream, relieved from your grave by the man that first fucked you, and you realise yourself on the cusp of some epiphany, though its nature eludes you in the midst of ministrations.

A telephone rings, shrill in the sapphire room.

Dr Lecter presses an apologetic kiss to your brow and withdraws, still hard, pulling his pyjama shirt around him.

“Excuse me, my dear.”

He picks up the telephone receiver and leaves the room with it, noiseless as a spectre on bare feet.

You lie, prone, hearing your heart thump against your temporal membrane in a tinnitus that returns in times of particular agitation. As a child you’d imagined it as boot steps along some grimy underpass, the approach of some villain without a face you now know to have come.

Hannibal reappears, his expression guarded.

“It seems we are to receive another visitor today. My colleague, Alana Bloom, would like to speak to you.”

You climb out of bed, sucking a breath through your teeth at the cold.

“Really?” you ask. “How come?”

“Jack’s taken a liking to you. He has asked Alana to act as a neutral third party throughout your treatment.”

Though as cordial as ever, you discern a particular coolness to Hannibal’s tone you take as disapproval.

“You know I didn’t really tell Jack anything, right?” you ask, following Hannibal into the bathroom. “He doesn’t know what you’ve done to me. He has no idea.”

“No,” says Hannibal, taking his toothbrush from a cabinet by the sink. “But you’ve given him cause to believe you’d fare better in a specialised unit, amongst your peers. That’s not the impression you’ve given me.”

You think of the competition of inpatient treatment, amongst the women, the ferocity with which you’d starve yourself to shame their ranks with your commitment.

“My doctors used to threaten to send me to Forest Ranch or Six Stream,” you say. “They were like bogeymen for me. Now I... I don’t know. I heard they don’t let you out until you’re weight restored.”

Dr Lecter watches you plucking at your body in the mirror, an unconscious motion you withdraw from as you catch his eye.

“That’s not what I seek to accomplish,” he says. “It would be a predictable outcome in which relapse would be imminent. Here, I only expect flexibility from you, an open mind. Belief in my guidance.”

He pauses to brush his teeth, even this menial act carried out with a dignified grace.

“But Dr Lecter,” you protest. “If someone did what you’ve done here to Will, you’d want him to try and get away, right? You can’t be mad at me for trying.”

Hannibal spits into the sink, and it occurs to you that you’ve witnessed something quite intimate, an act unimaginable of such a sophisticated man.

“Any action that threatens my liberty to act and live as I please will be penalised,” he says. “I value my freedom above all things.”

Except Will, you think.

Aloud, you say, “I value my freedom, too.”

Reaching politely across you to the hand towel, Hannibal comments, “Yet it is hunger you kneel to as your God.”

Stung, you sit down hard on the rim of the bath.

“What would you have me worship instead?” you demand. “You?”

“A dangerous question. Priestesses in many cultures have been known to abstain from sustenance in servitude to higher powers. Likewise, some saints historically starved themselves to imitate the suffering of Christ, or else to demonstrate a miracle.”

Hannibal touches your chin, smoothing its obstinate edge.

“Were you to survive on manna alone would you think yourself relieved of what crosses you bear? Or is it that in evading sustenance you are purifying yourself in order to be worthy of an immaculate God?”

There is something in his words you relate to, though you’d lie on a bed of nails before expressing this to Hannibal Lecter.

“Come downstairs,” he says, into your silence. “I’ll make breakfast. Don’t misbehave, when Alana arrives. I wouldn’t want to be ashamed of you.”

*

There is something in the avocado toast, or else the accompanying orange juice, a medicinal venom. You think of past nights you’d drank yourself into a mirage of vertigo, each ending, moaning, on a bathroom floor as though the liquor had changed you back to the child you’d been in Jekyllian fashion.

You are like that now, gawky and uncoordinated, walking flat-footed in Hannibal’s wake as he makes order of the living room in preparation for Alana’s arrival.

Overfull, you wear your body like an ill-fitting dress, its clinging garments a mile from the outsize sweaters you yourself would have chosen. Shapeless, smothering, warm were your selections, in swatches of Nyx, lacquered nails and canvas shoes to match.

The colour of your dress is of suitable darkness, if not the style of it. Your teenage years remain indelible upon your sense of taste, time seeming to have broken down like an ancient engine in the decade your starving manifesto began.

Today you feel even younger still, a state contrived by Dr Lecter to tighten his control upon you in company, and make an obedient daughter of his embittered victim.

With scarce hope of turning any friend of Hannibal’s against him, you conform to his rigid will. Curling up with your head on the arm of the sofa, you count out seconds into minutes, another childhood habit.

Hannibal turns to you, appraising your ennui with a dry amusement.

“You’ll like Alana, my darling,” he says. “Just as you liked Jack.”

“Would they like you if they knew what kind of man you are, Dad?” you ask, cuttingly.

“They would not. That is why there are many faces I wear, and with them I choose only the most pleasant mask.”

Dr Lecter glances at another of his favoured woodblock prints on the wall, a depiction of kabuki actors in varying guises, and you see with a cold vein of shock that he has, across the house, hung up his soul for all to see, if only they knew it.

“You, too, take pains to manufacture appearance,” says Hannibal. “You play the part of the embittered introvert well, but there is a quarter of darkness, even a malice that is beginning to ascend the oubliette you have built to keep it in.”

Snorting, you shove your face under one arm.

“Wonder why.”

“I saw it in my office. It long precedes Will and I.”

There comes a jaunty little knock on the front door, the sound of a guest entering the foyer.

Dr Lecter smooths his manner into one of welcoming warmth, an alarming opposition to the man that fucked and restrained you to the tragedy of climax but two hours past.

Footsteps tread lightly through the house, with the click of low-heeled boots.

Alana Bloom appears, her hair smoke dark, her narrow eyes the blue of an enchantment, and of Hannibal’s room. Something of winter, in her beauty, pale skin whiter still against a suit of fitted darkness.

As with all women you meet, you analyse Alana, helplessly, finding her slim in the way that suggests health, but not restriction; you would know it at once from the shape of the bones in her hand or shoulder blade, a bloodlessness of the lips, a slow death in her gaze, the fairy-tale of hunger.

Some disorders of eating are invisible even to your eye, of course, thinness being no requirement for the trickster king of starving, but it is one guise it wears, when close to the edge, and the most familiar. Alana, however, is rosy with an undeniable vigour, having the face of a woman that adds sugar, unthinking, to her coffee, and enjoys a beer after a long afternoon.

She is the unachievable: beautiful, and well. You are suddenly, sourly jealous.

As Hannibal casts a mild glance towards Alana you see that there is a comfortable and entirely mutual attraction between them. This woman does not know the depths of Hannibal’s carnality, imagines him an affable eccentric, a sometime lover, nothing more. She returns his look with a crooked smile, and again there is that sanguine pulse of envy through you, turning you almost against her.

“I’ll leave you alone, for a moment,” says Dr Lecter, lightly. “I’m sure you’ll find Jack’s concerns largely unwarranted.”

“We’ll see,” says Alana, then, addressing you, she adds, “Hello. It’s lovely to meet you.”

You watch Hannibal dissipate into the shadows of the doorway, doubting he goes much further than the wall beyond.

“Hi,” you say, at last, quite listlessly.

Your mouth is loose around the word. You’ve never wanted less to speak.

“You know who I am, and why I’m here to see you today?” Alana ventures.

Her voice is soft, level, the tones of therapists the world over. Perhaps she hopes to incur a bond between you, to pierce your ice with a pick of female sensitivity.

“I know about you,” you say. “Dr Lecter told me.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

You see the tension in Alana’s forehead, an attempt to read the glaze in your eyes and coiled skink of your posture.

“You’ve made quite a friend in Jack already,” she says. “Usually he wouldn’t get involved with any of Hannibal’s work outside the FBI, so him asking me to see you means a lot. I want you to understand that. I’d also like you to know that while we’re both close to Dr Lecter, if this situation truly isn’t right for you, we’ll express that.”

Unmoved, you pluck at the edge of a couch cushion, letting Alana wade through the quiet alone.

“I have to admit that I was shocked to hear that you were staying here with him,” she says. “It’s... unusual. I’m still trying to figure out that decision.”

With Hannibal listening, an omnipotent threat, you only blink, rubbing your socked foot against the carpet.

“But,” Alana continues, sitting down beside you, “Hannibal has explained to me that he thinks you’d be unhappy in a facility.”

You edge away from her, trying not to look at her slender wrists, the small, lacquered fingers.

“Well,” you mutter. “I’m not happy here.”

“You weren’t happy at home either, so I’m told,” says Alana, softly. “So where would you be happy?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t felt it in a while, I guess.”

Misery overcomes you, and you begin to shiver, which Alana, with seamless tact, elects to ignore.

“When was the last time you were happy that you remember?” she asks, and you shake your head.

“You won’t like the answer.”

“Tell me anyway.”

Rubbing your eyes with the side of one hand, you say, “It was at my lowest weight. I felt so light, full of, you know, good cheer and kindness towards people because it was just easy to be nice when I felt good about myself. I knew I looked sort of scary, but I thought I looked sort of amazing, too.

“It’s weird. How I hated how sick I was. I hated myself, and I cried all the time, and yet I loved it. I felt like I belonged somewhere— there was this community for people like me, and I fit in. I was one of the best. Then the doctors said I had to gain weight, and it was all ruined. I lost my place, and I was back to feeling awful every minute of the day.”

You take a breath, cursing the childishness of your every mannerism, that you are so much less of a woman than the being beside you.

“Here, Dr Lecter controls everything,” you say. “Not one single thing is my choice, or what I’d do. I don’t even have a TV in my room. Everything I ask, he says no. I don’t have a future. Everything feels grey and pointless, and I wish he’d just leave me alone.”

Something pushes against one of your fists: a subtle square of tissue.

“I agree that there needs to be quite a few changes around here,” says Alana. “Maybe we can start by asking Dr Lecter to set you some short-term goals. Has he discussed any with you yet?”

“He wants me to finish a book,” you say, reluctantly. “The Idiot. Dostoevsky.”

Alana’s low brows rise.

“Wow. That sounds a little intimidating.”

The statement could easily be patronising, but isn’t. Like Jack, Alana has her reservations, and does not conceal them.

“So far it’s actually pretty good,” you say. “Sad, though. It’s about this poor guy who’s sort of in frail health, and seems kind of strange, so everybody is horrible to him. Every chapter you hope somebody will understand him or treat him right, and nobody ever does.”

“I see,” says Alana. “Maybe Hannibal is trying to make you be a little kinder to yourself. You’re an intelligent, creative young woman with a future ahead of you. I think Dr Lecter sees that in you, wouldn’t you agree?”

The affection in her eyes is so sure, so wrongly led, that it breaks you like antique glass.

“Alana,” you say. “What if I told you that Hannibal was—”

You remember his presence, suddenly, eavesdropping as you yourself have often done.

Alana frowns, her folded hands stilling in her lap.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

Don’t answer, you think, but your tongue unlatches of its solitary accord to speak.

“I don’t feel safe around Will and Hannibal. I don’t really like... men. There are things that have happened to me. I— I feel dirty all the time. When they look at me, touch me, it’s exactly like that.”

“I promise you that Will and Hannibal are not like that at all,” Alana says, firmly.

“You don’t know that,” you snap. “You don’t. They could lie to you.”

Alana looks at you for a long time before she answers, treading a pinched line between sympathy and duty.

“If something happened to you, I can help you report it. Even if it was a long time ago. Historic cases are a lot harder to prove in court, but it might benefit you to have it on record.”

“And if it was recently?” you ask, with daring abandon.

“Depending how recently, there’s a process you’d follow,” says Alana. “For instance, you could go to a hospital and have a rape kit taken. They’d document the evidence, take photographs, and your statement. It would be thorough and difficult, but it would help you find justice. Is that something that would be helpful right now?”

Forthright and serious, she nevertheless does not—cannot—believe that Will and Hannibal are your injurers, looking back through the tunnel of past at some assailant yet unnamed.

“I was just wondering,” you mumble, and Alana withdraws, realising she cannot get through to you.

“Alright,” she says. “I’m going to have a talk with Hannibal. See if he’s willing to make some adjustments for your comfort. I’ll come and see you again in a week or so to check in on you. It’ll be nice to catch up.”

“Yeah,” you say. “It will. Bye, Alana.”

You look down, seeing the tissue ripped into dehydrated snowflakes in your hand.

Quietly, sensitively, the woman leaves.

It is half an hour before Hannibal renters the room, danger lying, flat-bellied, beneath his affable smile.

“I overheard your conversation, with Alana,” he says, plainly. “The thread of some notion of leaving with her. Of alerting the police. Let it go. I will never leave a trace of myself within you when guests are expected, little one.”

He pauses, seeming to search your face for a response that is not there.

“You don’t expect to see justice.”

You allow the pieces of tissue to fall from your hand, picking off the last damp shreds with the border of one bitten fingernail.

“No.”

“Then your attempts to escape are entirely self-harming,” says Hannibal, in genuine disappointment. “All your life you’ve been looking for someone to take responsibility for the acts that you must do to survive. To be caged, to you, is liberty, for behind such bars you’ll no longer be culpable for shame or failure. Why do you spurn what I would gladly give?”

“It wasn’t given,” you say. “It was forced.”

“By necessity, yes. For you to consent, you would have been made to acknowledge your own sin, and you’re not capable of that, are you, little one?”

Hannibal leans down and kisses a tear from your cheekbone.

“Soon, you will attend a therapy session with me. You will tell me what you were on the verge of offering to Alana.”

*

In the early evening, Will Graham arrives; you see him crossing the driveway from a window, pulling a leaf from one wayward curl with a grimace. Since Alana’s visit you’ve been on the couch in a drugged malaise, but upon hearing him stamp dirt from his shoes on the welcome mat you are taken up by the senseless notion to go to him.

He is not Hannibal. He is the man that saved you from the earth, in your dreams. A beast, but one you may learn to ride, being that, in his rudderless madness, he seeks companionship in the dark.

Certainly, you are not yourself, to think this, are exhausted to the point of insensibility by Hannibal’s slow cruciation of the mind.

Orphaned from logic, you run to Will, catching him as he strolls through the foyer. You behold a startled look of horror before you leap into his arms, unable to articulate yourself beyond a howl of sobbing hurt. He stands, ossified against you, an indurate oblong of disgust.

Then, with the suddenness of resignation, he sags into a nearby chair with you in his lap and rocks you there until you quiet.

His heart is quick under his shirt, his hands at your back quaking, dismayed. Glancing up, you see his mouth is a near lipless line, but then it breaks, and he hushes you, more as though you are a pet than human.

“An unexpected sight,” says Hannibal, looking into the foyer. “I didn’t think you had much liking for our girl.”

Will grinds his teeth.

“I don’t. But I do pity her. I’m afraid that by the time we’re done with this experiment she’ll be dissolved by our cruelty.”

“Like the little mermaid by the sea,” Hannibal comments. “Condemned by love’s rejection. Will you continue to rebuff her, after this?”

“I’ve been participating since the beginning.”

“And so you see that cruelty is often a necessary force. A common occurrence in nature, and in the culinary world. Veal is a biblical evil, for example, infanticide for the selfishness lusts of men.”

“We’re selfish, alright,” says Will, adjusting your weight in his arms. “Besides, doesn’t cruelty affect the flavour of the meat?”

Hannibal laughs indulgently.

“Are you intending to eat her, Will?”

The younger man lifts his chin.

“Are you?”

“Not in the traditional sense,” Dr Lecter replies, with a wicked merriment. “But in the other, we’ve both sampled her, and have no regrets. Do we?"

[ghost-1-y]

trust me - sanemi shinazugawa

Pairing: sanemi x afab!tsuguko!reader

!!PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS BEFORE CONTINUING!!

TW: major character death (reader), no happy ending (hurt/no comfort), mentions & descriptions of gore & injury, brief thoughts of self-harm (Sanemi - briefly mentioned, doesn’t actually happen), consensual sex (Sanemi and reader are 18+), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, handjob, oral (m! and f! receiving), creampie, Sanemi is pussy drunk in this lmao; spanking (happens once), slight manhandling, praise kink, spitting kink(?) (Sanemi spits in readers mouth), (very) slight olfactophilia, brief mention of vomit (again, doesn’t actually happen), mention of scars (Sanemi and reader) MINORS & AGELESS BLOGS DNI - I WILL BLOCK YOU

CW: fluff; general angst; arguments between Sanemi and reader; Sanemi is a bit of a meanie at times :/ (aka Sanemi being Sanemi); mentions of food/eating; descriptions of wound care; love confessions; Sanemi uses the following pet names for reader: “baby”, “pretty”, “beautiful”, and “sweetheart”

Word Count: ~6.2k

A/N: this is my first fic, so I hope that y’all enjoy it! I’m not gonna lie I was superrr nervous to post this lol so please be nice🥲🥲 I’ll probably do a fluffy comfort fic for Sanemi after this to make up for the pain lol; also wanted to let y’all know that this was half-inspired by the song “Fragile” by Laufey, so go give that a listen if you’d like!

Quiet. 

As the dewy drops of the morning mist came into contact with his bare hands, Sanemi noted the silence of the sunrise – one would believe that its light denoted respite, a time of peace – something beautiful to behold as its rays began to gently sweep across the grassy field. He could not yet hear the calls of the mourning dove, for it was too early for the birds to grace anyone’s ears with their softening sounds.

However, as Sanemi continued his way through the tall blades, his hands wet with the remnants of night, respite gave way to apprehension, and the misty air was filled with a sense of malaise.

For the mist that lowly hovered above the grass was red.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

One year ago.

“You can’t expect me to treat you differently from them.” Sanemi pointed his blade to the lower-ranked slayers on the sidelines of the training grounds, those who hadn’t passed out yet being completely keeled over or having nearly drowned themselves in water to stave off the summer heat. “If you want to handle stronger opponents, I need to ensure that you are trained well enough to do so.”

Having been at the point of near-exhaustion herself, Y/N could barely muster a reply. “I know, Shinazugawa-san,” she panted while looking up at him from her not-so-flattering position on the ground. “Why else do you think I’m here? ‘s not like I enjoy being trained half-to-death,” she replied sarcastically.

Sanemi’s glare met her. “You should consider yourself lucky that I was gracious enough to let you train under me. At the rate you’re going, I’d half expect you to move down a rank, rather than up one.” He walked towards her and, despite his cold nature, offered Y/N his scarred hand. “Get up. I’m not lettin’ you go until you can knock me down to my knees.”

A challenge she knew to be nearly impossible with the skill level she was currently at, Y/N wondered if her rank of Hinoto meant anything against the Wind Pillar himself. She took his roughened hand in hers and stood up, and, after a poor attempt at dusting the dirt off of her uniform, steeled herself once more for the upcoming attack from the man glaring across from her. 

Sanemi tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and started lunging toward her.

–––––

Y/N continued to train under Sanemi’s watch, each day somehow more grueling than the last. She woke up at the god-awful hours of the morning and trained until midnight. This repeated day in and day out for weeks, with seemingly nothing to show for it except a bunch of creative insults that she’d managed to add to her arsenal after receiving them from Sanemi himself.

“You’re not using your sword correctly,” he pointed out. It was always something, she thought – her stance was wrong, her breathing wasn’t efficient enough, and now she apparently couldn’t even hold her sword correctly.

By the time she looked up at Sanemi, frustrated with her apparent inadequacies, he was no longer in front of her, having walked around so that her back faced him. He placed his hand on her forearm, “just– move your arms here…good, and your hands should be like this–” he spoke softly into her ear as he adjusted her grip to what he deemed satisfactory. Y/N was thankful that Sanemi stood behind her as she felt an intense warmth flood across her cheeks. By the time he was finished, Y/N noted the lightest blush on the tips of his ears as he returned to his original spot and took his own offensive stance, clearly not intending nor wanting to address the familiarity of his previous actions. 

“Now you don’t have any excuses to have such a shitty attack pattern,” he quipped, before engaging her in battle once more.

As months passed, the Wind Pillar slowly transitioned from insults to providing Y/N with actual guidance, and she was slowly reminded of why exactly she requested to become his Tsuguko in the first place. One day, while she was taking her thirty-minute lunch break at the wooden chabudai inside of the Wind Pillar’s estate, Sanemi sat next to her and started to eat his own meal. He refused to look at her, but the words he uttered from his mouth sent relief through her veins.

“You’ve gotten stronger.”

Unsure of how to respond, as compliments were rare coming from the usually rather hostile Pillar, Y/N simply nodded and whispered a “thank you,” continuing to pick at her food. Eventually, she looked over at him and noticed that he was frowning at the wooden chabudai before him, an internal conflict seemingly battling out in his mind.

“I have a mission I’ve been assigned to, I’d like you to come with me.”

His words were quiet, almost hesitant.

“You want me to assist you?” she asked, mainly because she didn’t believe Sanemi had trusted her enough to bring her on a mission assigned to a Hashira, much less himself.

Sanemi nodded in response. “Lower-ranked slayers have been going missing in one of the nearby mountains,” he sighed. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t have named them slayers in the first place if they’re stupid enough to get caught by some demon.” He paused, and then finally looked at her. “I think that you’re capable enough to help me should things get out of hand,” he added quietly.

A sense of warmth flooded through her, and she smiled at him, grateful that he had finally acknowledged the hard work she’d put into all of her training. “Thank you, Shinazugawa-san. I promise that I will do my best.”

Sanemi thought to himself that he would like to see more of that smile.

“Don’t think that just ‘cause I’ve seen you improve that it means I’m gonna let you take it easy from here on out,” he said as he stood up. “Also, if you get into trouble on this mission, I want you to call for me immediately. Don’t get yourself into some shit you can’t handle,” he added, and his gaze upon her suddenly hardened as the words left his mouth. “Let me deal with it if things get too difficult.”

With that, he left to head back towards the training grounds.

–––––

That night, Y/N followed closely behind as Sanemi hiked up the mountain, with the bitter cold becoming more apparent as patches of snow were slowly augmented by the tiny flakes falling around them. Every once in a while, they’d find some blood splatter or human entrails, with such carnage becoming more frequent as they continued their trek. 

Eventually, Sanemi stopped – Y/N had learned to trust his instinct when he sensed that something was off. Sanemi brushed his hand over the hilt of his sword and gripped it tightly, his muscles tensing with anticipation, which caused Y/N to echo his actions and grab her own sword, holding it so that she was prepared for any possible enemy attack.

Or so she thought.

A blast of icy wind came from her right, forcing Y/N to close her eyes lest her corneas were to freeze from the frigid temperature. Sanemi, however, immediately chased after the source – his speed something frightening to behold. After a futile attempt to follow him, Y/N found herself swarmed by fifteen demons, all of whom were nearly identical to each other, as they all possessed the same pale blue skin and white hair. After a few attacks, Y/N also noted that their blood demon art was the same: one that would allow them to manipulate freezing winds and ice however they pleased.

Y/N was able to hear Sanemi in the distance, easily decapitating what seemed to be a larger swarm than what she was presently dealing with. Just how many of them are there? Y/N thought as she made her way through twelve of the demons, decapitating each one until an attack managed to hit her mid-air – causing a sharp ice fragment to deeply slice open her upper thigh. Gritting through the pain, she finished off the final three demons that she’d been fighting before slowly limping toward a nearby tree to assess the damage of her wound. It seemed as though Sanemi’s battle was also over, as Y/N could hear nothing but the howling of the mountainous winds as he walked back over to where they both had split up.

Once Sanemi caught sight of her, his shoulders seemed to relax. However, such relief was temporary once he eyed her bleeding thigh, and immediately began rushing over to her, pulling out some spare gauze that he had stored on his person and a wave of anger that she couldn’t describe filling the violet hues of his eyes.

“What did I fuckin’ tell you? To stay back and let me handle it, yet you’re so stupid that you can’t even obey direct orders,” Sanemi spat at her as he started bandaging the deep laceration on her thigh, taking careful consideration of the pressure and tightness of the gauze wrap he was using. Each time she winced, he would look up from her injury, and his violet eyes would meet hers. However, there was no malice of the words he spewed at her within his expanded pupils.

Y/N sharply inhaled before responding. “I’m sorry! But you’re the one who went on ahead and left me with them! I had to–”

“No. You didn’t have to, you fuckin’ dumbass. That’s where you’re wrong – you didn’t have to put yourself in danger just because I was off dealing with something else. Fuckin’ think next time and maybe I wouldn’t have to be cleaning you up like this,” he lightly choked on the last few words, yet continued wrapping up her wound, hands gentle and considerate of her pain. Y/N huffed at his impossible reasoning and looked down at him with a hardened stare.

He looked into her eyes once more, his grip on her uninjured leg tightening. “I don’t- I can’t fuckin’ lose someone else,” he stated, a rare glimpse of vulnerability from inside his tortured heart. At that, Y/N dropped her stare and hesitantly placed her hand upon his tensed one.

“I’m sorry, Shinazugawa-san, I promise that next time will be different. I’ll get stronger, so you won’t have to go to such lengths for me.” She gave him a reassuring smile, and his hand relaxed as he continued his work on her wounded leg. With the sun still rising over the horizon, she couldn’t make out the brimming of tears on his waterline before he blinked them away.

It was a side of Sanemi that Y/N hadn’t seen before – but before she could indulge herself to begin examining every crevice of emotion that the Wind Pillar had put on display for her, his attitude changed once again to one of apparent indifference.

“Don’t apologize – just listen to me next time,” he stated as he finished wrapping up her leg. Once a couple of hours passed and the Kakushi had arrived to clean up the aftermath, he stood up and grabbed Y/N’s arm to pull her up from her sitting position. Sanemi then took the same arm and put it around his shoulder, allowing her to use him as a crutch as they both walked to the wagon brought by one of the Kakushi in the aftermath of the battle.

The ride to the Butterfly Mansion was mostly quiet. Sanemi, despite not being injured himself, decided to stay with Y/N as she slept on the floor of the wagon. The cold of the early morning seemed to be permeating Y/N’s skin as she shivered in her sleep. Always aware of his surroundings, Sanemi looked at her with concern and took off his haori, feeling slightly flushed as he placed it on top of her as a makeshift blanket, blaming the warmth of his cheeks on the cold morning air. He sat down next to her, crossing his arms and closing his eyes to alleviate some of his own fatigue.

It didn’t help that in his dreams, his body was keeping her warm instead.

–––––

Once Y/N had woken up, she first noted the sanitary scent of the patient room assigned to her. Having awoken from the gentle knock on the door, she looked to see Aoi entering with some gauze and antibiotics.

Sanemi was nowhere in sight.

“I’m glad you’re awake. I’m here to perform some general wound care for you. I’ll be changing your dressings, alright?” Aoi looked at her, and once she received a nod from Y/N, she proceeded to unwrap the layers of gauze and started to inspect the wound.

“There is some slight inflammation,” she observed as she lightly pressed against the sides of the laceration with her gloved hands, which exhibited some redness and swelling. “I’m going to be prescribing you some antibiotics in order to prevent any potential infections.” She started applying some antibiotic ointment directly to the wound, and Y/N winced at the stinging pain that it caused. Once satisfied, Aoi carefully rewrapped the wound with a new set of gauze. “Your antibiotics will need to be taken orally with food and water once a day. Make sure you complete the entire course that I prescribe so that you don’t face any further complications down the line.” 

All Y/N could do was nod silently, and once Aoi determined that she would follow directions, she left the room.

–––––

Despite wanting to thank him for helping her in the aftermath of the battle, Y/N had not seen Sanemi even once during her recovery process. She wondered if he had gone back to his estate, but it still struck her as odd that he didn’t at least come by to berate her for the lack of judgment she possessed in the midst of the fight.

Maybe he got it all out of his system when he was wrapping up my wound, she thought to herself.

During her stay as a patient, Aoi mentioned to Y/N that due to the cut slicing through the muscle of her leg, it could take weeks or even months to recover. Since Y/N had not yet mastered Total Concentration Breathing: Constant, Aoi explained that it may take longer to heal compared to if a Hashira had such an injury.

Y/N wondered if Sanemi no longer trusted her skills as a slayer.

She wondered if Sanemi ever had any trust in her at all. 

The very thought caused bile to rise in her throat. She wanted him to be proud of her, to trust her – just as she did with him.

Y/N slowly got up from her bed and walked outside to sit on the engawa of the Butterfly Mansion. The moon’s rise was slow, and the soft chirp of crickets could be heard from the nearby trees. Once sat, she admired the garden owned by the Insect Pillar herself ��� with beautiful azaleas and hydrangea plants shaping pathways throughout the grounds. Y/N closed her eyes and basked in the moonlight rays that shone upon the estate – that is, until her ears heard the softest creak of wood coming from behind her.

“Shinazugawa-san?” She softly whispered once she turned to see who it was, as though the peace of the night would be disturbed should she speak any louder.

Sanemi said nothing, but then moved quietly to sit down next to her – if Y/N hadn’t known any better, she would’ve believed that he was solely there just to admire the moonlit garden as well. His eyes appeared a soft, yet dark hue of indigo in the cool moonlight – they bore none of the usual aggression that they carried when around others.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” Y/N asked him quietly, gaze fixed upon him, and he nodded. 

“Would be prettier if it didn’t cause so much needless death.”

She couldn’t argue at all. He was right – and would be until demons had been eradicated off the face of the earth, but that didn’t stop her from wishing that things were different.

Sanemi sighed and finally looked at her, and his eyes screamed ‘loss’. 

He was fragile. He wasn’t the roughened-up, aggressive, insolent slayer that others saw him as. Rather, it was his scars that held him together by threads, and it was his heart that silently called out to her – to “hold me, please.”

And so she did.

Y/N slowly slid her arms around him and had them reach up towards his nape. The sigh he emitted came from his chest, and Sanemi’s grip tightened around her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. His eyes closed and brows furrowed, focused on nothing but the gentle touch of her skin against his. His mouth was slightly parted, lips pressed softly near her collarbone as he breathed against her.

His touch was warm.

She wished to feel more of it, to let it utterly consume her until all that she could feel was him. 

Once he parted from her, Y/N looked into his eyes and felt the need to speak. “I- uh, I wanted to thank you for helping me with my wound after the battle,” she admitted softly. In response, his eyes hardened again and looked down at her bandaged leg.

“Don’t mention it,” he replied shortly before getting up. Soon after, Y/N found herself alone on the engawa once again, although the peaceful silence of the night had been replaced with a feeling of despondency that she couldn’t quite place.

–––––

By the time she recovered from her injury, it seemed as though Sanemi had done the impossible by making Y/N’s training even more difficult. Not a day went by when she wasn’t completely collapsed on the ground by sunset. It only took a few days before dark shadows under her eyes became visible, and her muscles ached.

Gone too was Sanemi’s softer side. Instead, it seemed as though their relationship was right back where it started, sans the fact that he seemed to slightly tense every single time he caught a glimpse of her scarred leg.

The sun had set, and Sanemi was yelling at Y/N to complete one more series of reps before retiring for the night. The problem, however, was that Y/N’s legs had become gelatinous and were shaking beyond her control, and despite all the willpower that she had sustained within her, it wasn’t enough to pick herself up off the ground.

“Are you really that fuckin’ weak that you can’t even stand up by yourself?” he spat. “You should’ve never become a slayer – this shit is too dangerous for people like you. All you will ever be is demon fodder. Fuckin’ give up and leave the corps if that’s how you’re going to treat the training I give you.” His insults were never-ending, and given how exhausted she was, it took everything within her to not cry at his words.

“I’m fucking trying, Shinazugawa-san!” she choked out. “What the hell did I do for you to treat me this way? Have I not done enough already?” With tears brimming in her eyes, she musters up the courage to ask the question she’s been wondering since that night on the battlefield.

“Do you not have any trust in me at all?” she cried.

Sanemi scoffed and glared at her. “You need to earn my trust, and until you’re able to complete the training I give you without collapsing to the ground like some low-ranked slayer, then you won’t have it.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped and she ignored the tightening sensation in her throat as she resolved to bite back at the cruel man before her.

“Bullshit,” she spat. “You thought I was capable enough to assist you on the last mission. Don’t lie by saying I’ve never earned your trust before.”

Sanemi rolled his eyes. “So what? Maybe I did trust you – before the mission. But you fucking broke it by getting hurt!” he seethed, eyes wide as he looked down at her. 

“Maybe if you were capable enough to not get yourself wounded during the fight, then I might’ve still had some trust in you,” he admitted. “You think that I’m just gonna trust someone who gets their leg nearly sliced off to be able to handle themselves?”

“Is that what this is all about? ‘Cause I got some stupid cut on my leg? You can’t be serious–”

“Shut the fuck up. You know damn well it wasn’t just a cut. What if you had gotten slashed somewhere else? What if it had been more severe? What if you–” he didn’t wish to complete that sentence, lest he spoke the thought into existence.

It was the first time she’d seen Sanemi with tears in his eyes.

“It would’ve been my fault, Y/N! My fucking fault if something happened to you! I already told you, I can’t fucking lose someone else. I’ve already lost so many people, and I–” he watched as Y/N stood up, despite the obvious exhaustion in her legs, and walked towards him. “I can’t lose you, too,” he confessed, his voice softer than the wind that gently breezed through her hair. A tear had found its way down his cheek – just over the scar that was bestowed upon him by his own mother. As if by instinct, Y/N wiped it away with the pad of her thumb, but she did not part from his face. Instead, she proceeded to trace her thumb over the jagged scar, and he surprisingly leaned into the touch of her palm against his cheek, his eyes frantically searching her own. She smiled at him, and his breath caught in his throat.

“You have me, Sanemi.”

The groan that he voiced was soft, yet guttural – as though it came from deep within his chest, and he placed his hands on either side of her face, his eyes looking at her with utmost adoration and care, and his lips brushed softly against hers, and Y/N’s eyes were nearly sent reeling back before he closed the gap.

The pleasurable gasp that she emitted caused him to smile into the kiss, his lips slightly chapped, but gentle and loving with how they caressed hers, as though she would shatter under the slightest touch, or that she was a goddess and he a sinner seeking repentance by worshiping her.

“Fuck…wanted to do this for so long,” he breathed against her and his kisses became more needy – something fully welcomed by Y/N as she wrapped her arms around him and her fingers found purchase in his unruly hair. When he parted from her lips, a string of saliva connected his mouth to hers, which only broke as he went back to kiss her with his then swollen lips. He groaned once more before picking her up and carrying her over his shoulder, causing Y/N to yelp in surprise.

“Not letting you go anywhere, baby,” Sanemi grinned and smacked Y/N’s ass as he took her to his estate’s bedroom, which prompted her to roll her eyes at his antics. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile as he gently placed her on his futon and kissed her once more. “Can’t fuckin’ get enough of you, pretty,” he stated before moving down to her neck, where he licked and sucked until he found her pulse point, at which point Y/N moaned softly. “That’s right…feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, knowing full well what her answer was even before she tried to nod her head.

“Sa- Sanemi…” she gasped, her hand cradling the back of his head as he left messy kisses up and down her neck.

“Sound so fuckin’ beautiful, keep saying my name like that, hm?” As he continued kissing her, his hands rose towards the top button of her uniform, a question of “Can I?” to which Y/N nodded. He unbuttoned her top, kissing down her chest and stomach until the clothing was fully removed. In return, Y/N helped remove the bindings that covered her breasts, letting them spill out in full view of Sanemi’s greedy irises. Sanemi wasted no time in latching his mouth to one of her tits, where he lavished her with his tongue whilst massaging and kneading the other with his roughened hand, rolling her nipple in between his fingers and playfully biting down on her breasts every so often solely to hear her whine.

“‘Nemi…need…need more please,” Y/N moaned and he chuckled. “Hm? What do you need, pretty?” Y/N only whined in response and he bit her breast again, causing her to jolt. “Need you to tell me what you want, beautiful,” he continued.

“Need your mouth…” she admitted, slightly embarrassed.

“Oh? Where do you need it?” he asked her before sucking her tit once more.

“Nngh… my– my pussy,” Y/N whined pathetically, to which Sanemi released his mouth from her breast with a lewd pop.

“Good girl,” he praised and started working towards her needy cunt, licking down her torso and leaving kisses and bites on her inner thighs. He took his time working towards her wet heat and ghosted his mouth over her panties, his hot breath permeating the cloth as she impatiently writhed underneath him. He selfishly inhaled her scent before pulling the garment to the side, and leaving a soft kiss against her core, leaving her to whimper when he pulled away to remove her panties, only for him to then lick a fat stripe up her slit. Sanemi moaned deeply and proceeded to pull Y/N towards him by her hips, ensuring that her sweetness was as close as possible to his greedy tongue.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groaned before proceeding to stuff his face full of her pussy once more. The tip of his nose nudged her swollen clit as he gathered her wetness into his mouth by licking into her tight hole and fucking her with his tongue, moaning against her pussy in the process. Y/N began bucking her hips in response, only for him to pin them down with one arm as he used his other hand to start fingering her after moving his mouth to suck on her clit. She moaned with abandon as he began curling his fingers inside of her heat, sucking voraciously on her swollen nub.

“F-Fuck, ‘Nemi! I- I’m gonna cum!” Y/N attempted to writhe underneath him, despite being held back by Sanemi’s arm pinning her down. Her admission only turned Sanemi more eager, causing him to rut against the mattress as he began quickening his fingers inside her and sucking harder on her clit. Y/N’s eyes rolled back and her mouth went agape, screaming and shaking uncontrollably as she came into his awaiting mouth. He licked up every drop that she gave him, using his fingers to coax more of her release onto his tongue, not wanting to waste any of her precious gift.

Y/N sat up and clambered onto him as soon as she came down from her orgasm, and kissed him deeply, tasting herself on his lips and tongue. “Wanna return the favor, ‘Nemi,” she whispered and he flushed red at the thought. “Yeah? Show me, pretty.” Standing up, he tilted her chin with one hand so that she was forced to look up at him from her knees. Using his other hand, he unbuckled his belt and removed it along with his hakama. His cock was thick, with pretty veins traveling all across it, making her nearly drool at the sight. Y/N brought one hand up and collected the precum from the tip of his cock with her thumb, before licking it off. Sanemi groaned, encouraging her to begin stroking his fat dick despite her hand being unable to fully reach around it. She took a curious first lick at his pretty, bulbous head, causing him to shudder, before wrapping her lips around it and sucking as she moved her hand along his thick length.

“Fuck, baby,” Sanemi groaned. Y/N moved her hand to fondle his balls and began taking on more of his length into her mouth, bobbing her head back and forth, a combination of saliva and precum coating his dick. “S-shit– you’re so good at that… fuck,” he groaned.

It took everything within Sanemi to not start fucking her throat at that moment – not wanting to hurt her as she pleasured him. He compromised by grabbing her hair and gently guiding her mouth along his cock, so that he could have some semblance of control over her movements and hence, his orgasm. Before he could cum, he removed her from his length and put his hand underneath her chin, tilting her head up towards his face – a wave of arousal shooting straight through his dick as he saw her swollen, spit-covered lips. “Open,” he commanded, and proceeded to spit into Y/N’s mouth before seeking her lips on his, demanding that she swallow. “Such a good girl for me, I’m gonna fill you up and make you feel perfect, baby,” he promised. 

Sanemi pushed her down onto the bed, spreading her legs apart with his. He stroked his cock a few times before lining it up with Y/N’s sopping pussy, selfishly rubbing it up and down her slick folds a few times. He looked into her eyes, seeing her smiling up at him before leaning down and giving a soft kiss to her lips. Y/N moaned softly — unable to wait any longer as she gently wrapped her fingers around his cock, pushing the tip into her tight cunt.

He slowly entered her heat, his shaft stretching open her spongy walls, and he let out a low moan. He lowered himself so that his chest was pressed up against her and his head was in the crook of her neck, and he took Y/N’s hands in his as he started to fuck slowly into her.

“Shit, you’re so perfect for me. You feel so good, baby,” Sanemi moaned and kissed her neck sweetly. Y/N whined as he slowly pulled out just to push his cock back in again – hitting the area that made her see stars. He chuckled, “your pussy just keeps sucking me back in, sweetheart – it’s like she doesn’t want me to leave.” Y/N responded by babbling incoherently, and he looked up at her only to see tears brimming her eyes from the pure pleasure he so graciously gave, and instinctively kissed them away. “Taking my cock so well, such a good girl,” he said before his mouth reached hers, tongue darting between her parted lips before caressing her tongue with his.

His thrusts started to become more desperate, nearly grinding into her – incidentally rubbing against her clit in the process. She moaned against his mouth, her kisses sloppy against his swollen lips. “So good, ‘Nemi…” she whimpered, allowing herself to get lost in the pleasure and heat that he was providing her. He choked on a moan as he continued to rut into her, the squelching sounds of her pussy driving him nearly insane, “gonna cum, pretty. Where– where do you want it?” he asked, surprised he even had the coherency to form words as his mind was half gone from pleasure.

“Inside,” she whined, and his eyes widened, the building tension in his gut rising. “Are you sure?” he asked, and she nodded, writhing underneath him. 

“Need it inside…please,” she begged him, and who was he to deny her? His thrusts became sloppier, and he let go of one of her hands to reach down and rub her clit. The pleasure was immense, and Y/N couldn’t think about anything but him as she clenched around his cock as her orgasm flooded through her body – which consequently brought Sanemi over the edge as well, as he all but exploded inside of her hot cunt, groaning deeply as his cum flooded into her womb in thick ropes – causing her to moan and babble incoherently. “Fuck! Fuck– Y/N, I fucking love you,” he confessed in his state of euphoria, and Y/N only fully grasped what he said once he had collapsed on top of her – having just enough energy to pull him up towards her lips to kiss him once more – his lips hot and wet and swollen as they pressed against hers. “I love you too, ‘Nemi. So much,” she confessed, and he looked at her, slightly embarrassed by his own impromptu confession, but beyond elated that she felt the same way. 

He slid off of her, his softening cock slipping out of her pussy and he reached his arms around her – wanting nothing more than to hold her close to him as they both lay there on his futon. She smiled lazily in his arms and he kissed her cheek softly. “Not gonna let you go, baby, I swear. I won’t let anything bad happen to you – not anymore,” he said as he gently brushed his rough fingers against her newly formed scar. 

“I know, ‘Nemi. I promise I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered softly, and he smiled, thinking that he’d finally found someone to share himself with – someone whom he could shatter into should he feel like breaking, someone who could piece him back together so he could remain strong for the sake of others.

“I know, I trust you.”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Oh, how wrong he was.

He swore to himself that he was only parted from her for a second as his pace and heart quickened – traversing through the blood-slicked greenery. Sanemi was plagued by loss – his siblings, his mother, his first love – but the feeling that it would happen yet again never lessened the blow nor the curdling acidity that coursed through his gut. 

He frantically searched each corpse along the battlefield, hoping, praying, that he wouldn’t find her among them. Sanemi never considered himself religious – he would rather not believe in any god than believe that an almighty being could allow such devastation to course through his life – through others' lives. However, while mustering the waning strength of his muscles to keep him from collapsing, he called out to the universe – selfishly pleading with it to allow him to keep even a single shred of happiness within his life, swearing that he would give anything to ensure her safety, to secure her life as part of his own.

But the universe turned its back on him once again, as he saw a glimpse of her hair – but it wasn’t her hair. No, Sanemi knew that her hair shined in the morning sunlight, it was beautiful and soft as he would feel it between his fingers – it was never bloodied like it was now. 

As he rushed over to Y/N, he nearly puked upon setting his eyes on her. There was a deep gash that cut through her torso – one that couldn’t have been caused by anything but the claws of a demon. He could see her entrails spewing out of it, and as his eyes traveled up towards her face, it was obvious that he was far too late. Her eyes – the ones he loved to get lost in, were lifeless; her lips – the ones that were so soft and loving when he kissed her, were parted in what seemed to be remnants of fear from the last moments of her life.

Sanemi couldn’t take it – and, as though pushed by an invisible force, he was knocked down to his knees.

A wretched sob escaped him as he reached towards her, uncaring of the blood and gore that stained his clothing, and he held her close to him. He sobbed out her name, wishing this was some horrible trick – some fucked up nightmare that he was subjected to, but the longer Sanemi held Y/N in his arms, the more he realized that this was real and that he had broken his promise once again – the promise to protect those close to him.

He picked her up and carried her to a clearing away from the battlefield – where a sole willow tree stood, and resolved to bury her there. As he placed Y/N into the ground, Sanemi wished to carve her name amongst the many scars on his body, so that maybe the blood spilled in her honor would somehow tether his soul to hers, so that he may permanently have her in a way that life itself could not provide.

Hours passed, and he finally managed to stand up once more, his heart hardened once again, and it took everything within him to not look back as he walked away from her gravesite. And, despite not wishing to look upon her grave again, Sanemi committed himself to continue living and fighting in her memory as Y/N slowly returned to dust underneath the lone willow.

And so he did — until his very last breath.

[ickyarson777]

Many Eyed Vessel Fic Thing???

This title will change later I promise.

Anyway! I did some thinking about This Post and I’ve decided I’m gonna go all out and write a fic about it. This prompt is something I think about all the time, so I was very excited to receive it to say the least :)

That being said, I have no idea how any of this is gonna play out. Right now I’m thinking kinda slow burn entities-to-lovers type of thing??

Here it is though!! I promise if you like it, I’ll do my best to keep up with writing, and please, let me know what ya’ll want!! I’m here to please ;)

Chapter 1, 2

Tried to stay as gn as possible, no mentions of y/n or names, readers is just called ‘human.’

Word count: 2,132

Content warning: Maybe a bit of dread, spooky horror type stuff. Bit of violence, not anything horrible at all.

I glance around me as I walk through the quiet woods. Rays of light filtered through the leaves of the trees behind gradually being drowned out by the darkness of the shadows ahead of me.

I had traveled to a new city, and decided to take some time to explore the smaller nearby towns. London was great, but it was nothing compared to the smaller communities that were just outside of the larger city. The town I was in was smaller in comparison, greatly so. A couple of small neighborhoods, a few streets of shops, convenience stores and restaurants. On one side however, there was a forest that wrapped around half of the town.

Anytime I was in a small town like this, I always took the time to learn the local rumors. Any scandal, or story going around. As I was making my rounds through this small town, I’d heard tell of the forest containing monsters, creatures. Things that were definitely not meant for the human eye. Angels, demons.. it had me absolutely captivated. I needed to know more. So of course, after a good night's rest, I packed a backpack of supplies, put on some thermal wear, considering it was a chilly, bleary fall day, and made sure I had food and water to last the day.

And then I drove out to the edge of the forest, and began walking.

Immediately the air turned colder. I had this sense that I definitely shouldn’t be here, that something definitely didn’t want me here. Multiple something’s at that. It was exhilarating.

I stepped farther in, glancing around slowly. The day was already dark, but the canopy of branches were so tightly woven above, the forest seemed to be bathed in midnight, though I knew it was barely a quarter past ten in the morning. Luckly, it wasn’t dark enough that I couldn’t see, so I continued on.

It wasn’t a quiet walk, branches and leaves snapped and crunched beneath my feet, and I could hear birds singing their sweet songs. For how terrifying the image of the dark forest was, it was still peaceful here, even if I did have a small feeling of dread brewing beneath my subconscious.

I walked further in, approaching a small stream, and stepped through. The water wasn’t deep, barely reaching the middle of my shins at the deepest. I could feel the temperature of the water through my boots, which I was very glad to be waterproof. Freezing cold, of course it would be in weather like this. I crossed to the other side of the stream, and whatever sense of peace I’d had before was ripped away from me.

For a moment, I hesitated, unsure if I should continue. I glanced around, trying to steel my nerves. ‘Calm down,’ I thought to myself. ‘You hear a couple rumors about monsters in the woods and you’re scared straight. What kind of explorer are you if you can’t walk through the woods by yourself..’

I shook off the fear and continued walking. I came to a clearing, where the trees opened to reveal the sky above, still overcast with dark clouds. I’d checked the weather before coming out here, there wasn’t supposed to be any rain, but looking at the sky now, I wasn’t so sure. I take a deep breath and keep walking.

At this point, I’m maybe half a mile in, knowing forest monsters, they’re sure to be a bit further in than that. I think aloud while walking, about anything and everything, home, my family, my friends. I’ve been studying abroad for a couple months now. As an anthropology student, traveling has been an incredible experience for me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t miss home.

Eventually, a couple miles into the woods, I begin singing to myself. Nothing particular, and everything at the same time, I sing nursery rhymes and lullabies, and find ways to rework the words, making myself laugh. I counted on like this for another half a mile before I realized suddenly that there’s no longer any sounds around me. The birds have gone quiet, and the wind has hushed entirely, the rustle of the leaves above me silent. I pause for a moment, glancing around me carefully.

Suddenly a horrible, piercing screech sounds and I’m filled with an absolutely overwhelming sense of terror. I make a split second decision and decide to walk in the direction of the horrible sound.

As I come closer to the location of the sound, I begin to notice there’s a slight path that’s been worn into the ground here, and I come up on a large rock formation. Not quite a cliff but not just a boulder either. It looks easy enough to scale, and I silently assume someone might’ve already been doing just that, seeing as the slight path seems to end here.

I take a breath, tighten the strap of my backpack, and begin to climb. Quickly enough, I reach the top of the formation and glance down below me. I stare in horror at the thing I see before me. The thing was at least eight feet tall, and covered in a thick black substance. It’s face could’ve been white, but it was now stained, smeared with whatever covered the rest of it. Its eyes, mouth and nose, or at least what I assumed it was, were nothing but dark empty sockets. It’s body was large and bulbous, segmented, almost like the thorax of an insect, and decorated in skulls, mechanical limbs jutting out at odd angles, and there were many of them, spindly, covered in grime and gore down to the jagged needle-like tips. It clutched a battle ax, dark and covered in rust and dirt.

“What the fuck,” I whisper into the air.

In a split second the thing whipped its head towards me, its empty eyes taking me in. I take a step backwards and almost fall from my perch on the rock, forgetting where I stood.

It begins stepping towards me on its multiple long spindly legs, slowly at first, but then it begins picking up speed. I watch it, safe from its grasp high above it on the rock, but then tense as it shoots one of its legs out into the rock, embedding itself there. I stare in horror as it begins to climb.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” I say out loud, panicking slightly.

I turn and begin descending back down the rock the way I’d come. At the last couple of feet, I let go, dropping to the ground just as the thing makes its way over the top. It doesn’t even bother climbing back down, just throwing itself off and continuing its pursuit, I watch, terrified for a moment before turning and running. I don’t even bother trying to remember which way I’d come from, running in zigzagging patterns, trying to throw off the monster. I can hear it, the metallic grinding and groaning of the half organic half machine thing that was hot on my trail.

I wasn’t even looking where I was going, vision slightly blurry, eyes stinging with sweat that fell into them occasionally. I hear the thing even closer to me now. I gasp out in shock as I hear a sharp whirring sound pass my ear, knowing it was right on top of me, trying to grab me. With every fiber of my being, I pushed myself to run faster, lungs burning and adrenaline coursing through my veins. And then BAM! I slam into something.

I glanced up quickly, thinking I had run into a tree, but realizing a tree would’ve hurt a bit more, and probably wouldn’t have grabbed my arm, and pulled me behind it.

The hands that grabbed my wrists left dark black stains on my skin. I pause for a moment, letting my vision clear. The figure now stood in front of me, facing away, towards the monster. He’s tall, much taller than me, wearing a black cloak and black pants. One shoulder of his cloak is covered by a stark white pauldron, lined with deep red and encrusted with rough gold ore at the curve of his shoulder. He raised a hand towards the monster.

Quietly, in a dark, melodic voice, the man breathed a few words in a language I didn’t recognize. before him, the monster stared, twitching and writhing in its place, swaying on its many legs. It took a gentle step forward, lowering itself and pressing its face into the palm of the man's hand, before turning, lurching forward and walking away from us.

I stand there, taking heavy, shaking breaths. The man doesn’t turn to face me until the monster is out of sight, and when he does, I gasp.

His body is completely covered in black paint, there are streaks running through it, lines of sweat showing pale skin underneath, his chest is broad, toned, but not overly muscled. His hands are large, the paint of his palms, light and mostly missing, though the lines of his hands are deeply stained with dark paint. There are silver rings on many of his fingers, the edge of them tarnished from the paint, like the chains on his chest, stretching across his chest, underneath the cloak is a leather strap, perhaps holding the pauldron in place. He was beautiful, by all accounts, but his face left my jaw slack. The paint covered him up to his upper jaw, if there was more paint, I couldn’t tell as the top half of his face was obscured by a mask. Stark white, a huge contrast to the black on his skin, beautiful and intricate deep crimson lines swirling and curling along the bottom edge of the mask, forming a crescent around his mouth. Six holes in the shape of eyes line the front, dark black and almost sleepy in shape, dark red lines, perfectly symmetrical in shape crossed over under and above the eyes or the mask, forming a sigil or sorts.

I notice my mouth is open, and snap it shut quickly before opening it again, trying to think of something to say. Luckily, the stranger beats me to being the first to speak as words fail me.

“Are you hurt?” He asks simply, voice soft, reverberating through me and sending a shiver down my spine.

Slowly, I shake my head, still staring in awe. “Uh.. what.. what was that?” I ask softly.

Rather than answering my question, the stranger turns, beaconing me to follow him. “The people of the town don’t venture into these woods, you’re not from here.” What he says should’ve been a question, but I can tell he’s stating it as a fact. “You seem well prepared, well traveled in your own right, but that’s no reason to wander into an unknown wood.”

I follow after him, unsure of where we’re going. “I’m studying abroad,” I tell him, struggling slightly to keep up the pace with his long legs. “Heard some of the locals mention monsters in the woods, and I wanted to see for myself. Clearly… they weren’t lying.”

He glanced back at me over his shoulder. “What is it with humans always putting their noses where they can’t protect themselves?” He says it softly, almost in an endearing way.

‘Humans?’ I think to myself.

Before I realized it, we'd approached the stream I’d crossed when I first arrived.

“This is not a safe place for you,” the man says softly. “You are incredibly lucky to have escaped that creature with your life. Leave this place please, and do not return. There are… worse, more terrible things than that one in these woods.”

I turn to face him, ask him what else there is, but he’s gone. Not a single trace of his existence, no rustle or crunching of leaves underfoot, no thud of footsteps on the forest floor. For all I knew, I could’ve played the whole situation off as a psychotic episode. But I knew better. The dark handprints around my wrists and the blood that dripped from the small cut on my ear told me all the truth I needed.

I turn to walk to my car, opening my phone and pressing the call button. The phone rings for a moment before my mother picks up.

“Hello?” She says.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, opening the door and tossing my backpack into the back seat. “So you know how I said I was passing through this small town? I think I’ve changed my mind. I might spend a little while longer here. Something about it…” I mutter glancing into the trees, almost convincing myself that I can see him, blending into the dark shadows of the woods. “Something about it just captivates me.”

~~

OK!! Short little thing to get the story started, let me know if you want more!! I whipped this out in like 20 minutes, and thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it.

[reinathevocaloid]

My Sladick Fic Rec

(aka an ongoing list of all my fav fics)

safe harbor by greeneyedfirework

He’s in a hostile city, with a bounty on his head, injured and alone. He needs a place to hide.

slipping by greeneyedfirework

Nightwing wants information off of a mobster’s phone. Deathstroke wants a flash drive. Both are located in an upscale BDSM club. Dick has a bad feeling about this.

extraction by greeneyedfirework

Taking over the rival operation was so much easier with Deathstroke the Terminator.

captor by greeneyedfirework

Dick wasn’t expecting Luthor to arrive for his daily gloating with a guest.

plunder by greeneyedfirework

The ship Dick’s being held prisoner on is attacked. By the Deathstroke. Right before Dick is supposed to go into heat.

eye of the storm by greeneyedfirework

Watching them is like observing a hurricane.

unmarked by greeneyedfirework

Dick has some run-ins with a family of hunters.

silver bird by greeneyedfirework

Dick didn’t know there was a werewolf pack nearby, and he certainly didn’t expect them to stumble upon him gathering wolfsbane.

caught by greeneyedfirework

Dick is the new leader of the dragonriders and his dragon has to take a mate.

heavy lies the head by greeneyedfirework

“Hello, little bird,” Slade Wilson smiled down at him. “Or is it Your Grace now?”

parry me by greeneyedfirework

Dick is brimming with restless energy.

bargain by greeneyedfirework

"Get us out of here, and I'll spend a day in your bed."

crumpled paper by greeneyedfirework

Five times Adeline Kane disapproves of Nightwing, and one time she understands.

as though i had wings by tospreadthewingsofthesoul

Bruce is back from the dead, and Dick isn't coping well. In fact, he's barely coping at all. It feels as though everything in his life is falling apart. So of course that's when Slade decides to reappear in Dick's life and turn everything upside down. A story about learning to ask for what you need, how to hold your boundaries, and how to trust that the people you love love you enough to help.

light and frolicsome by tospreadthewingsofthesoul

Glimpses into Dick and Slade’s relationship. (companion piece to “as though i had wings”)

hold on to let go by roipecheur

The first time Dick met Deathstroke the Terminator, he was twelve years old, and the mercenary broke his leg and tied him up on a rooftop. In retrospect, Dick thinks it started there. Or, Slade keeps tying Dick up over the years, and Dick can't be blamed for getting his wires crossed.

for the right price by roipecheur

The morning after Dick's life falls apart (again), he wakes up to Slade's gun in his face and a ten million dollar contract on his head from an anonymous client. Searching for the culprit might just take them closer to home than they thought.

trails like smoke by wednesday

“Is there a reason you’re here?” Dick asks, curt, because the shoulder that got the worst of the damage is a constant low thrum of burning pain. Trying to wrap the wounds is proving to be exactly as annoying as he expected. More, actually, since he now has to do it with an audience. “Here in this room I rented. For me. My room, in fact.”

take the offer that wasn’t made by wednesday

“That’s not what my contract is about.” Slade sounds out of breath, but not angry; if anything, he sounds smug. Dick’s thoughts screech to an unexpected halt. The arm around his neck tightens, making him lightheaded. And for the first time since Dick found out Deathstroke had taken a contract in his city, Dick feels real panic, like white noise spreading through his veins. There’s a sting right above the collar of his costume, and Dick spends the last ten seconds before the tranquilizer knocks him out drowning in waves of fresh fear.

Night Is Young by wednesday

Dick imagines a little chime when that final timer ticks down to zero and the file transfer finishes. He almost sighs in relief. And before he can pull the drive out, a soft click at exactly his six o’clock stops him.

Break the Fall by wednesday

Getting rescued does not make Dick's situation better, not at first.

Black Gold Blues by wednesday

The gut punch is what gets him. Dick knows all the ways to tense and relax correctly to take any kind of hit with the least damage to himself, but that only works when he’s prepared, when he sees the hit coming. He does not see it coming, when one of the henchmen in this drug operation turns out to be on some Venom knock-off.

in every end (we start) by wednesday

At first, when he gets dragged downstairs and towards a metal door that screams cell, he’s relieved. They’ll leave him alone and he’ll be out in no time. Easy. Then the badly suppressed fear and nervousness of the alpha guard a few feet away from the door registers. Followed by the impressive blood splatters on the floor and walls.

no stopping (’til I break every rule) by wednesday

Dick can hear Deathstroke lazily walking down the line of handcuffed, terrified hostages trying to shuffle back even closer to the wall. He already knows where this is going. There’s not enough time to decide which would look less suspicious—looking up or not. Slade grabs Dick’s hair and pulls him up, leaving him no choice but to move forward until he’s kneeling at Slade’s feet. He can hear shuddery sighs of relief from the other hostages and can’t blame them.

with your best shot by wednesday

Dick and Slade, sitting in a cage. Decidedly not doing anything as pleasant as kissing.

ain’t lived if you’ve got no regrets by wednesday

Around the time he’s trying to decide if some friendly chatting would make his chances of escape better or much worse, something smashes through the roof of the warehouse. Someone, he realizes just a moment later. Before that someone even hits the ground, Dick recognizes him and regrets the lack of a panic button an order of magnitude harder. Because he can definitely feel some panic right about when Deathstroke starts shooting while still airborne.

Safest Place in the World by Skalidra

Being an international spy is a dangerous job, but not nearly as much as hunting those spies down is. When Dick needs a place to lay low for a little bit, and bandage a few wounds, there's really only one place he knows of that's far enough off the radar. Luckily, he's got a key.

Deals in the Desert by firefright and Skalidra

On the eve of the Garage's final battle with Luthor, Dick spies a familiar face out in the desert. Someone who could be enemy, ally, or something in-between, depending on how he plays it. Lucky for him, Slade turns out to be in a talkative mood.

Resolute in Resurrection by firefright

It's rare that a new immortal is born. Rarer still, that they already have a prior relationship with an existing one at the time. Dick has no idea what it is that's happened to him, but Slade is absolutely going to make sure he finds out.

I’ve Killed Very Many Fathers, You’ll Have To Be More Specific by walkerofthestars

Nightwing is kidnapped by an enemy of Deathstroke because they’ve noticed the two teaming up a few times- enough times to think they must at least be friends. However, unfortunately, they’re a bit more than that, so they basically just signed their death warrant.

truce until daybreak by Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)

It's dark in the room, but not dark enough that Dick can't make out the familiar splash of orange, the distinct shape of Deathstroke's armor, taking up more than half the bed.

I want to lay here (lost and bitter) by withthekeyisking

Dick doesn't know why his marks vanish so quickly, what that means for the wounds his soulmate carries, but his mama (and then Alfred) tells him not to worry. Slade doesn't know what made his soulmate go from regular bumps and bruises one day to actual injuries the next, but he's going to kill whoever's responsible for it.

Hidden Treasures by withthekeyisking

Nightwing gets kidnapped by a group of people who intend to sell him to the highest bidder. Much to Batman's surprise, Deathstroke comes offering him a way to save his boy, apparently free of charge. The question on everyone's minds, however, is why?

Jarring Inertia by withthekeyisking

Nineteen years ago, the mercenary Slade Wilson came to the aid of King Bruce Wayne, a partnership that ended in the winning of the Great War. His price for this help? Someday down the line, Slade would ask the king a question, and the king would have to say yes. King Bruce, a man of his word, begrudgingly agreed. Prince Richard, now just celebrating his twenty-second birthday, comes face to face with the fact that even in deals he wasn't a part of, everything has a price.

By Vigor and Resolution by withthekeyisking

When King Bruce agreed to an arranged marriage between one of his children and King Slade of Grevemort to form an alliance, they all assumed the chosen child would be an omega. None of them knew that King Slade's tastes ran far more towards alphas, and that lack of knowledge is really biting Dick in the ass.

all the fire i've swallowed by wingdingery

After the dragon Ravager died attacking Gotham, Dick knew it was only a matter of time before others came seeking vengeance. He also knew what he had to do when they arrived. Trading himself in exchange for Gotham’s safety is the easiest choice he’s ever made.

a safety net of thorns by wingdingery

Dick’s night is already a nightmare—Blockbuster’s learned his identity, putting Dick’s friends and family all at risk, and Dick is desperate to find where he’s hiding before it’s too late. The last thing he wants to do right now is deal with Slade Wilson.

a knife, baby, edgy and dull by cheju

Slade’s presence should be unsettling, and it is – don’t get him wrong. But it’s also finally something happening, a chance for Dick to work off some of this tension. He’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t itching for the fight he knows is coming.

listen to teeth by cheju

Dick's failing his mission, can't get out of his handcuffs, and guess who walks in the door. Just fucking guess.

somebody's going to emergency, somebody's going to jail by perissologist

Dick’s mouth is dry. He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. It isn’t like he didn’t know that Slade is a contract mercenary. A killer, to the fullest extent of the word. It’s just that—while Slade might have been the bane of his existence when he first struck out as Nightwing, recently…Dick can count more times that Slade’s helped him than hurt him. And he thought Slade was better than this.

your marks on my skin by Ana_Writes

And there- there was a mark, on the inside of Slade's hand, one that Dick never noticed- No. It's not that Dick didn't notice it. It just wasn't there before. But now- Now, after they touched- "No." Dick breathed out, breath leaving his lungs in a rush as if he got punched. He dug his nails into the skin of his neck and barely felt it through that weird burning sensation that didn't want to stop. "Why-"

leash by envysparkler

Dick is sold to a werewolf pack.

Bite Down Into Me by EveryDarkCorner

Vampire!Slade is a seductive menace. Unfortunately, he's also the only one who can protect Dick from Ra's al Ghul.

Bitch and Moan by EveryDarkCorner

The new Vigilante Reform Act has made superheroes illegal. Luckily, Slade can protect Robin. Unluckily, he has stipulations.

You All Over Me by brazenlyunabashedlyshamelessly

“I had it handled.” “Really? ‘Cause from where I was standing, it looked like you were getting your ass kicked.” “Yeah, well, you’re blind in one goddamn eye, I’d expect you to miss a couple details.”

melancholy (snap out of it) by Anonymous

Dick knows that voice. He recognizes it even before Deathstroke helpfully turns the lamp on with a loud click! and allows himself to be seen, casually lounging on the cot, legs crossed at the ankle.

Everything He Should Never Be by TimmyJaybird

Slade comes home early from a job, and a simple "I missed you" is enough to make Dick rethink everything they are- and whatever he had first thought they would be.

I'll continue to add more to this list as I gain more favs!!!

[eisdendrobium]

where's my happily ever after?

pairing : childe x reader genre : fluff to angst summary : he was your everything, and so you thought you were his too. a/n : this is basically just a vent fic

read pt.2 : reader’s letter for childe

"promise i'll take you to the lantern rite" he smiled. you blush a bit at his statement as you hit his side jokingly "yea right, you better keep that promise ajax" he chuckles "you can always count on me princess"

"fuck off you're cringe" you complained and push him from your side. "what can i say? i'm a charmer" he walks back to your side with a dashing grin "yea right" you replied.

it was a breezy afternoon in bishui plain, a perfect day to take a peaceful walk to clear your mind. but as you were walking peacefully you see a silhouette of a man gliding from behind

"fancy seeing you here" you turn around to face childe. as he walks towards you silently, when he's almost by your side, you turn your body to continue your walk again but stop when you see the sight from the side of your eyes.

childe is kneeling down on one knee, hands stretched, holding a couple of beautiful qixing flower. seeing that, you blush, hard. and you could see that childe is also blushing as he lets out a laugh

you opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out, too shocked to speak. childe then stands up and regain his composure, he hands you the flowers and starts to walk towards the plains, you catching up to him.

"found them on the top of some hill, thought i could pick some up for you" he shrugs, you stare at the flowers in awe, tints of red could still be seen in your cheeks. "uh, thanks i guess?" "you are very welcome" he gave you his signature wink and grin.

the both of you then enjoy the rest of the walk in silence and sat down together near the city to watch the sunset.

"have you heard? childe's dating the traveler" xiangling, who's sitting with you said out of the blue

that caught you off guard and you look up to her, eyes widened "what?" "yeah, i heard her talking to paimon about it a while ago" you were baffled. i mean, just yesterday he knelt down in front of you, handing you flowers, just yesterday you spent your afternoon with him watching the sunset. and now he's dating the traveler?

no amount of word could express how you feel right now. sad? shocked? ashamed? betrayed? angry? you don't even know, they're circling inside you, wanting to explode.

xiangling who was oblivious of the fact that you have deep feelings for the eleventh fatui harbinger just continue to talk, yet you pay no mind to any of her words. you stood up and politely excuse yourself to her.

as you walk towards your home you can't help but let your tears fall, the scenery is beautiful, the moon high up in the sky, shinning brightly with clouds covering a part of it, the birds flying in the sky and the sound of fishes in the pond. it's the perfect night, just not for you.

you walk and walk by yourself as you drown yourself with thoughts and tears.

the next morning, you woke up from your restless night and you decide to take a breath in the hills, but guess it's just your lucky day for as soon as you teleported to the top of wuwang hill you see childe there, he turn around to see you and looked just as shocked.

not ready to talk to him yet, you averts your gaze to the grass and walk towards the empty spot near him, you don't want it to seem obvious you know about him and traveler but at the same time you still needed space to clear your mind, so you just stay quiet.

"hey, you good? you looked like you haven't sleep in ages" childe tries to spark up a conversation "yeah, didn't sleep at all." you replied shortly.

childe tries a couple of new topics but you shut down all of them, sensing that you want some time by yourself, he left you alone. "you seem like you need space, i'll excuse myself then" he pats your shoulder and left.

you sat on the grass and tears starts falling again, call it dramatic but the feeling of heartbreak just never hit you this hard. he's your first love and first heart break. you've always prepare yourself for any heartbreak that'll come to you, yet this just seem to have hit you a lot harder than what you'd expect.

days passed and you could see that childe is also drifting away from you. what seemed like a couple of greetings turns into stares, and hatred towards each other.

just when you're ready to be friend him again, childe makes it obvious that he didn't want anything to do with you anymore.

"ajax, didn't expect to see you here" childe turns to you "yeah? didn't expect to see you here too" he reply shortly and not long after that he left to meet the traveler.

you see how childe went towards traveler and starts laughing together, walking further away from you. you let out a chuckle "so we’re not going to the lantern rite you promised me huh?” you say to no one in particular

apparently this is how it ends, and you thought he’d be more then just a chapter. what a blessing it is to meet ajax, and such a curse loving him.