#there's more to say on this but it's draining trying to get this out coherently and i have things to do. might come back to it later idk

[lazaruswitch]

that post from eveningdawn22 (I think??) about "not palatable (notably to tim) transfem jay" is only reassuring my ideas and thoughts for the lily todd au but in like a different specific-to-me and specific-to-this-au way

speaking from experience tim drake Would be weird about lily* (for context: lily as in lily todd, from an au where jay is a transfem Muslim, among other things)

this isn't like a character condemnation thing, this is me speaking from experience about what people are like about queer Muslims. (bruce would also be very Weird about it but i think the source would be first and foremost bruce/batman shit, particularly in relation to jay specifically, before we hit the like more general social aspects and whatnot)

people around here (new jersey, but also america in general) are just Like That. the white kids (esp rich white kids from those gated mansion communities or whatever) around here are especially Like That. i've been going to school with them for years and have even been "friends" with some (for a given definition of friends) and they all inevitably to some degree will be Like That. in fact the vast majority of the world is Like That, to varying degrees of severity, not just specifically because of the Muslim bit or the queer bit, but because of the two things together in one person.

(from my personal experiences, it's not always a malicious thing or an intentional thing, but it is inevitably demeaning and isolating in a particular way that's supposed to be acceptable and is brushed off as like, "people can have different political beliefs blah blah blah". microaggressions and the taint of Islamophobia and all that)

there are a lot of places and people that are theoretically queer friendly or push this idea of no prejudice, like my uni, but it's inevitably not actually that straightforward

(tim and tbh a lot of the batfam, or even superheroes/vigilantes in general, are or would be like that. not even your beloved heroes are immune to propaganda, overt or otherwise. jay is already basically a freak in canon. in the lily pot au, lily is a freak existence for arguably "worse" reasons. "crazy" white boy is vastly more preferable to transfem niqabi mom.)

there's a specific idea of queerness people have in mind when they talk or think about acceptance, and it's one that does not involve the majority of the real world or communities, and they react poorly when asked to confront that

none of this is new or revolutionary information or ideas; queer bipoc people, especially Black and Indigenous queer people, have been talking about their personal experiences with this for ages, and have been demanding attention and change for just as long

some people are receptive, some people are theoretically receptive, most people don't like confronting or acknowledging the status quo

but i almost never see those kinds of discussions about or from Muslims, especially Muslim women or hijabis (i specify this bc of the visibility of hijab)

if anything it seems like everyone is deeply uncomfortable with just Muslims existing in a way that is not in fact "Other", and having to think too hard about Muslims as people who can have similarities that Really don't fit certain narratives (e.g. devout hijabi who is also proudly queer) even "positive" ones is just so.... incomprehensible, and disgusting, to them

it's exhausting when even the blue-hair-and-pronouns cannot stand the blue-burqa-and-pronouns but everyone pretends that's like. fine. and acceptable. if they acknowledge it at all

tim drake would think lily todd was weird and freaky and he'd be with the majority on that

[screampied]

Can you do Kinji Hakari making shy reader not be ashamed of her moans by making her squirt😏🙏

Btw, you’re doing god’s work by blessing us with the works of underrated minor characters🙇‍♀️

❤︎ ໋𓈒 hakari making his shy girl squirt

warnings. fem! reader, praise, squirting, reverse cowgirl, breath play, overstim, mdni.

“ya gotta learn how to relaaaax, sweetheart,” he purrs in a soft raspy voice. you were so close up against him — his chest practically pressed up near your back. forever entangled with his warmth, his shaft buried right between your walls. riding him in reverse, yet except you were smushed right up beside hum. hakari brings a rough hand towards your hips, guiding you to give him yet another mind-boggling orgasm. “i know, girl. ‘s coming close isn’t it? she’s gonna make another mess right up on me.”

you moaned, puffs of his breath fanning against your earlobe. hakari briefly nibbled on it before chuckling.

he found it cute how just a little trail of his fingers skimming down your thighs made you drench even more. your grip was tantalizingly deadly to him, for a moment it makes his jaw tighten. you felt an orgasm approaching, yet this time it felt a bit different.

“ha—kariiii,” you’d drag out. he smiles, watching you desperately try to conceal those sweet moans from his ear. although to him, it was one of his favorite things to listen to. the sound of your voice, it made him throb any day. “feel somethin’ else, fuck.”

his slit eyebrows furrow before he chuckles to himself. within an instant, he knew what that something else was. hakari wraps a bulky arm around your neck gingerly, another hand reaching down towards between your legs. “ooh,” he whispers against your ear, and you whimper once he brings a hand towards your clit to give it a few playful smacks. “you gonna squirt on me? dirty girl,” and then he hums before setting your hips in place with one hand. “say pretty please though. if you wanna be filthy, ya gotta have manners, no?”

you were babbling at this point, mere sounds of straight coherent babbles spewing out of your spit glossed lips.

it was adorable, the way your head jerked back against him — your legs were sprawled a bit, and your breathing significantly hitched. you were chasing your breath, feeling that familiar feeling rise up inside of you.

with stupidly crossed eyes, you felt your tongue gradually loll out of your mouth. hakari chortles, bringing a hand that was just rubbing against your cunt and brings his fingers into your mouth. without question, you taste yourself. “such a sloppy mouth,” he groans, feeling you nearly drain his balls out.

he was incredibly hefty too, slamming in and out of you . . yet you were doing all the work. at least, you were trying to.

your legs were just about ready to give out and hakari was guiding your hips to its inevitable release.

“damn girl,” he’d suck in a breath, feeling the way you used your hips to slowly grind against him. your rhythm, it was so sensual — so smooth. it had his mind going for a loop, his touch sent shivers down your spine entirely. “i wanna hear you,” he murmurs, pulling his now dampened fingers out of your mouth. a pretty cobweb of spit exits out of your lips in the process, and with hooded eyes, you moan. “get a little louder for me.”

such sweet whimpers coax out the back of your throat, and you’re so sensitive. his fat cock reached everywhere, in spots that had your knees practically bucking.

unhurriedly, you continue to shift your weight against him — pant after pant sliding past your lips. “gonna m-make a mess,” you’d sniffle, just feeling yourself start to tremor. your cunt was so vocal too, squelching out little noises of itself. it was an entire lewd site.

the smell of hakari’s loud yet intoxicating cologne scent filled up your senses every few seconds. each time you thwacked against his back from your movements, you’d take a quick whiff and get wet simply from how good he smelled.

he brings two rough hands towards your waist again before nipping at your neck. “show me how messy you can really get then, princess,” he utters in a low tone. you felt your cunt throb at his words, the way he delivered it. the raspiness that hid underneath it and all. you whined, feeling yourself building up.

oh, the build up of it all.

it had you weak. by this point, your walls were being dragged through and through. you had so much leverage in this current position, although you couldn’t see his face — you’d bet money he had the biggest smug expression imaginable.

hakari always loved your tempo, it wasn’t too fast or too slow. it was just right.

he’s nearly out of breath himself, but he keeps composure. unlike you, you were just about ready to burst. the entire angle of it all too, he reached so deep. his rounded tip lightly thrashed against your cunt each bounce you made. you rode him until this current point to where your knees were just about going limp. not so much your knees but the entirety of your cute thighs.

he likes to trail a finger down the outline of your back while you ride him. with this view, he enjoys this glimpse — your tense back muscles lightly moving in the same motion of your thrusts against him. with a sly lip bite, he drags a hand between your legs again.

“come on girl, don’t hide those moans from me.” he’d purr against your ear, and he consciously makes you slow down with an arm wrapping around your waist. hakari’s body heat that radiated on you made you ten times more coddled up in your own warmth. with his fat tip brushing against your g-spot, you whimpered before feeling a sudden gush.

he was stuffed deep into your cunt, and the moment you squirt it was so lewd. a salacious experience everything, it was a lot. you were ten times more embarrassed now, feeling yourself dampen him even more with your slick arousal.

“k-kari,” you’d huff out, and the sensation was indescribable. he pauses for a moment before nipping against at your neck. “oh my godddd.”

“such a messy girl i got here,” he’d whisper in a husky voice — two lengthy fingers going straight towards your slit. with his dick still hidden inside of your folds, he pulls out and watches the mess pour right onto him. “good girl,” he huffs out, watching your entire body tremble as a response. the orgasm made you swallow thickly, yet you craved more. hakari skims his fingers on the outside part of your pussy before spreading it open with a sly smile. “a bit too messy though. should make ya clean my lap up with that pretty tongue of yours.”

[thirstydemisexual]

Blood path || Jason Todd x vampire!reader

Prologue

divider by: @sister-lucifer

PSA: the povs will switch from second to third person as convenient. also I'm writing this as I go so yeah the pacing between the parts hopefully will be coherent

warnings: 18+ content, mention of r4pe, blood, a p3do getting what the fuck he deserves, (and bad grammar)

I've made mistakes, Lord struck me down Caught in a landslide, lost underground I hear them gates, swing open loud Come close to midnight, hell fade me down - Used To The Darkness by Des Rocs

The night was young. As the last shades of orange had just dissipated in the sky, Gotham prepared itself as their usual over abundance of criminals took to the streets. Some of them tho, were busy browsing on the internet, unlucky them.

Phil, 38, child predator who escaped Arkham a couple weeks prior, sneaking away as the Bat and the other heroes took care of the bigger fishes, was browsing on the dark web, looking on his phone at his favorite source of inappropriate child videos with a fist down his pants.

The abandoned building in which he resided, which was once an apartment complex before a villain attack, was located in a rather well populated zone of Gotham. Only two streets down from The Wayne foundation preschool.

Unlucky for him, his connection wasn't the most secure. Even a high schooler with basic computer science knowledge would have been able to dox him.

The dumb fuck didn't even try locking the door, not like it had a functional lock to begin with. But non the less, she still wouldn't be stopped by a mere lock as that men's refuge wasn't his home, thus the threshold didn't bound her. She was able to sneak into the premises without as much as a sound.

She was hungry and her face was morphed into an inhuman shape.

He doesn't even have time to scream or fight as her fangs sinks in his neck, tearing his carotid artery. Long claws shredding up the skin on his forearms as he tries to reach to stop his attacker. He stops squirming in seconds as she feasts on his blood, draining him in mere moments.

After she's done she quickly leaves the building, ready to go home and wash her hands and mouth throughly as just the mere thought of having touched that individual, let alone feeding from him, in her post feeding shame(and because of than mans nature) made her regret her choice of feeding.

Although she would never regret ridding the world of scum like him.

It was a weirdly sunny day in Gotham, Jason Todd noticed as he turned off the engine of his motorcycle after parking in the Gotham University parking lot.

Last night patrol had took a tool on him, and he was more exhausted than normal. He threw his book bag on his shoulder before entering the building, toward his first class of the day.

Jason normally quite enjoyed his Modern Literature class, but today all he wanted to do was crush on his bed at his safe house and sleep away until patrol hour came.

He sat down in one of the last rows in the room and crossed his arms on the desk before laying his head down and closing his eyes, he couldn't wait for the day to be over.

"Slept bad?" a familiar voice came from his side. Jason lifted his head up, a little smile at the realization of who it was.

"You could say that" His eyes didn't leave you as you sat down next to him and started to get your stuff ready for class.

"You could have skipped class today Jay, you seem way too tired to be here"

"And miss the chance to have our daily banter, no way miss" he replied, smirk on his face. You couldn't help but roll your eyes.

"Seriously Jay, you can't keep coming to class looking like a zombie"

well technically I am a living dead so its not that out of character for me, thought Jason but didn't voice it out to her.

"I'll take a nap between classes alright? Come on, don't act like you wouldn't miss me if I were to go back home"

"You're incorrigible Todd"

"I don't hear you denying my claim" he kept smirking at you, you shushed him as the professor started class.

"Just rest your eyes, I'll give you my notes later" he chuckled a bit as he put his head down on the desk again,

"You'd be a light saver sweetheart"

If you could blush, the nickname would have done it. You tried to stay concentrated but your gaze would often stray onto Jason's figure, slumped over the deck, neck slightly exposed.

Looking so appetizing

You mentally slap yourself as you divert your eyes. That is Jason, one of your only friends NOT a charcuterie board.

You took a deep breath and tried to calm down. You didn't know why but even after feeding the thought and sight of Jason Todd just riled you up, hunger rising through your undead body and plaguing your mind.

Hopefully you'll keep being able to control yourself around him.

You have to

TAG LIST: @deimks , @amber-content , @deans-spinster-witch , @that-one-goblin , @snowy-violet , @thenightwingnerd , @zffhahaa

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[sweetbans29]

Friendship Bracelets - CC

Pairing: Caitlin Clark x Reader

Summary: After getting out of a 2-year relationship, your friends encourage you to get back in the game by putting your phone number on some friendship bracelets for the Taylor Swift concert. You decided to make just one and that one ended up on the one and only Caitlin Clark.

Warnings: Swifties lol, this is like a major cliche but I do not care I am also going to change the order of the setlist to make this fic work better please don't come after me, cheating (not involving Caitlin)

Word Count: 2.3k

Sweetbans Masterlist

AN: This is nothing other than a figment of my imagination.

2 years. 2 years down the drain. 2 years you gave to this guy only to be left heartbroken and angry.

It had been two weeks since you found out your long-term boyfriend had been cheating on you. Something was off with the two of you for a few months before you found out but when you did it all clicked. That was no excuse for what he did, it honestly only made you hate yourself for not ending it when things started to change.

When you found out, you left quietly.

He was expecting you to lash out and make a scene. He expected you to break things and hit him and show all signs of what he did had an effect on you, at least any sign that you were affected. You gave him none of that.

When you found out - you packed up your things while he was at work and left without as much as a note. He tried calling and texting you for the better part of a week before you finally decided to meet with him.

The two of you sat down at a local diner. You barely looked at him as he tried to come up with any sort of excuse. It was miserable. when you were done sitting there watching him struggle, you finally spoke.

"I don't want to hear any of it. All I want is an apology and I will be going my own way. That is the least you can do for throwing away the last five years," you say making direct eye contact with him now.

He sits there, speechless. He tries to find words and you sit there watching him try to form an apology. Before he can form any coherent response, you get up and walk out not wanting to give the man in front of you any more time.

The next week was a rough one for you. You were incredibly thankful that you have a solid group of friends who have been nothing but supportive. They watched over you like a hawk, making sure you were always with someone and were kept busy.

That leads you to sitting at your friend's kitchen table, listening to Tayor Swift, snacking on some Chick-fil-A all while making friendship bracelets for the concert you guys will be going to in a few days.

You are focused on getting the beads threaded on the string in front of you when your friend hits your elbow causing you to spill all the beads you just put on.

"Cas! I was just about to finish this one," you say frustrated as you are on bracelet 20. Your friends told you you had to make 50 before you could even think about leaving the table. You gather the beads you were just using and begin to start making it again.

"I'm sorry!" She says as she grabs a nugget. One of your other friends chimes in after looking at your pile of bracelets.

"You know, it might not be the worst idea to put your number on some of those bracelets." She says as if you didn't just get out of a long-term relationship. You just give her a look.

"This could be good!" Another one of your friends yells as she points at you. "You will be in a stadium full of girls, singing their heart out to Taylor Swift - it has been a minute since you've been on the fun side." She says referring to your last relationship being Jacob, before him, you were dating a girl and were so much freer.

"Guys, it has literally been 2 weeks. It hasn't even been a month since I have been single. Let a girl heal," you say getting annoyed at your friends.

"Come on, it doesn't have to be serious. This could be a good distraction for you!" One friend says. Another pitches in, "Ya! That's actually a good idea, just something fun, a little distraction!"

"I am not going to put my number on a beaded bracelet," you say. "That seems desperate and I am not desperate, I am healing," You whisper the last part.

"Come on, just a few." You are now being passed the number beads. You make no move to grab them.

You know your friends mean well but this was a little much. They were lucky you were even going - the thought of going to a TSwift concert right after a breakup is daunting.

"No." Is all you say.

"Yes, you are going to make a few, you don't have to give them out if you don't want but if you make them then at least you have the option." One of your friends says.

"Fine, I will make ONE that has my number," you say so they would all shut up. "But I have no plans of handing it out."

The rest of the night is spent finishing up the bracelets. You made so many bracelets, you felt like your fingers were going to fall off.

The day of the concert is pure chaos. Your friends wanted to get there like 10 hours early to get in line for merch and make sure you have plenty of time to take photos. You follow along with your friends, letting them do whatever they want before the concert starts. YOu are a Taylor fan, but not nearly as much as they are.

Once you all make your way to your seats you are on the end of your group of friends. The group of girls next to you is already sitting. You take a seat next to a girl in a light sage dress. You say a quick hello as you get yourself situated.

Part of your group decides to go grab drinks and snacks while you opt to stay and watch over everyone's stuff. You tell them to grab you a drink and whatever looks good.

You sit there looking around at all the girls wearing their Taylor themes outfits and getting to have the time of their lives. Meanwhile, you are just trying to survive the night.

"Hey, I dropped my chapstick, would you mind grabbing it?" The girl next to you says.

"Ya, no problem," you say and lean down and grab the little stick that made its way under your legs. You pass it to the girl next to you who you notice is now alone. "You're friends also head to get snacks?"

"Restroom," she says with a little laugh. "Yours go to get snacks?"

You nodd also letting out a little laugh. "Can't leave the stuff alone."

You introduce yourself as you are about to be screaming song lyrics right next to this girl all night.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Caitlin," she says.

The two of you enter into some small talk and learn you both attend the same school. It is big enough that it doesn't surprise you that you haven't seen each other before. What once started as small talk, turns into talking life. She tells you how there are some big decisions that she is going to have to make coming up - she keeps it pretty vague but mentions it has to do with her career. You mention your recent breakup and how you the guy cheated. Her hand comes to yours as she apologizes that you had to go through that. You give her a small smile and tell her it was for the better.

She sat there listening to the most beautiful girl in the world talk about how someone treated you like trash. All she wanted to do was hold you and show you what love really is. It seems cliche that she is having all these thoughts at concert with a girl she just met but they way you talked about life had her thinking anything is possible.

The conversation continues as you talk about growing up and how you both chose to go to Iowa for school. You learn she plays basketball and you tell her you dance. She slides the comment of how you should come to one of her games. Of course, you say yes, not thinking anything of it.

Both of your groups of friends get back around the same time and you both turn back to conversations with them.

When the concert starts you get mesmerized by the performance. Everyone is standing and singing along to all of the songs.

The first time you cry is when Taylor sings The Archer. You try to hide it to the best of your ability. Your friends are too into the concert to notice which you are thankful for but as your arms wrap around yourself to provide any sort of comfort, you feel a hand come up and give your arm a little squeeze. You look over to see Caitlin's hand on your arm, rubbing it with her thumb. The part of you that once felt so empty, is now a little fuller.

Neither of you say anything about the little moment. You both just continue to enjoy the concert.

It is during Cruel Summer that you are back screaming at the top of your lungs. When Taylor gets to the bridge you grab Caitlin's hand and use it as a microphone, pretending you are on stage. She just laughs at you and takes in the sight of you living your best life. At the end of the song you pull her in so you can say something.

"I would apologize but I am not sorry at all," you say with a laugh. She leans over to your ear.

"Please never even think about apologizing for that," is what she says with a little wink. You just look at her and shake your head with a smile.

The night continues with you singing with your friends, both the ones you came with and the new ones you met at the concert.

The next time you cry is during Tolerate It, your friend that you came with brings you into her side and just holds you. While she is holding you, you feel a hand come and take yours, intertwining your fingers and giving your hand a squeeze while rubbing her thumb against your skin.

You don't know what it is about the girl but her comfort is one that you haven't felt in a while. It is peaceful, not forced. She brings a calmness to you and you haven't known her for more than 2 hours. Anyone else would be mortified with your sea of emotions - going from screaming at the top of your lungs to sobbing about your cheating ex-boyfriend but not her. She has embraced it all and continues to embrace it.

It is during You Belong With Me that you notice she is looking at you more than usual. You decide to sing it with her and turn to her during one of the verses. By the time the chorus comes around, she is singing it right to you. You sing along trying to not let the words of the song cut too deep.

She is the one to grab your hand during this song and belt out the words to the bridge. You just watch her in awe, seeing her let loose for what you feel like the first time this evening.

At the end of the song, you put your hand on her shoulder to help steady yourself as you reach up to whisper in her ear, "That was adorable, carefree looks good on you."

She leans back down to you, "You make it easy."

The rest of the night is filled with singing your heart out and making little comments here and there to the girl next to you.

One of Taylor's final songs is one that you have been waiting to hear all night, Enchanted. She does a beautiful acoustic version that has you whispering it along with her. You don't know when it happens but Caitlin takes hold of your arm and turns you to face her. Caitlin is now singing with you (to you). You can't take your eyes off of hers as her hand doesn't leave you. Caitlin, in nothing above a whisper, is singing the bridge of the song hoping that you know she is not just singing the song but means every word.

"Please don't be in love with someone else, please don't have somebody waiting on you." She sings looking right into your eyes.

Who in the world would have imagined this, a beautiful girl singing Taylor songs to you at a Taylor concert. Picking up the pieces of your heart all while only knowing you for less than a day.

When the song comes to an end, you don't know what overcomes you but you bring your hand up to her cheek and just stroke her cheek with your thumb. You then bend down and grab your bag, looking for something that you buried it in before the concert.

You find what you are looking for and give it one look before grabbing Caitlin's wrist and putting the bracelet on her. She gives you a slightly confused look, not understanding why you pulled the bracelet out of the bag and didn't take it off your wrist like you had with all the other girls around you.

You give a nod down for her to look at it and she does. When she sees the bracelet you gave her contains 10 digits on it, she instantly smiles.

The concert comes to an end and everyone begins clearing the stadium. You say goodbye to your new friends, making sure Caitlin is the last of them.

When saying bye, you bring her into a hug.

"I am not ready to jump into anything, but you are truly incredible and I would love to get to know you more. I only made one of those bracelets and wasn't planning on handing it out but you are something special." You say and begin to release her. She doesn't let go of you but rather squeezes you tighter.

"You are worth waiting for," she says, and your heart rate increases. "I will take it as slow as you need.'"

She releases you and you just smile at her.

This night marks a new beginning, one that you can't want to dive into.

AN: Yes, there will eventually be a part two. No, I do not know when. But I promise it will come. Let me know what you think! And as always, thank you for the love and support 🤍

[joneejoestar]

Naoya Zen'in x Reader Minors DNI / 18+

Self indulgent because I need smuts to function, lmao

CEO Husband Naoya who would walk around in his grey sweatpants that hung too low, showing his happy trail, who would smirk and chuckle when he noticed you staring at him. He would walk up to you and place a kiss on your cheek and say, "No need to ogle at it, love. It's yours anyways."

CEO Husband Naoya who made sure to diligently check his messages at lunch to make sure he didnt miss any of your texts.

CEO Husband Naoya who almost choked on his meal when he saw your nudes and your dirty texts, asking him to fuck you up.

CEO Husband Naoya who then swore on his life that he'd breed you so well, you wouldn't walk for days and stuck to it when he came home later to find you in only his shirt prepping dinner.

"Whats the matter, sweetheart? Was is all a ruse to make me treat you like a whore?" He spoke utter filth to make you clench incredibly hard around him. It impressed him that you could wrap around him so tight even after all these orgasms he pulled out of you.

Your lack of response made Naoya halt his thrusts, and pull you by your hair, your back flushed against his chest. You swear, you felt electricity shoot through your body from the contact.

He smacks your clit hard, and you cry out, more tears spilling from your eyes. You squirm in his grip, but Naoya is stronger and holds you in place. Your whines and cries just fueled his ego, he was more than pleased to know his effects on you.

He places his veiny hand on your chin, tilting your head and speaking into your ear, "Answer me, slut. I don't know what you need unless you ask me like a good girl, right?"

You could feel his wicked smile and it only made you wetter. But you couldn’t think anymore. Your last orgasms had drained you not only of your energy and senses, but also your cerebral functioning to form a coherent sentence. So you muster your last drops of energy and plead, "Sir, please, I can't cum anymore, I can't, please."

He tsks, disappointed in you, "I didn't ask if you could cum or not, did I, baby? I asked you if you wanted to be treated like a whore. It's a simple question and I expect a simple answer."

He pulls out of you and turns you around, admiring your wet face.

Folding you in half, he thrusts his cock in in one swift go, and you scream.

"Let's try this again, okay? Just answer my question and we'll get going again."

And you cry in frustration because you know he won't stop his assult unless you respond to him, so you decide to agree, "Yes, sir. I want to be treated like a whore."

And Naoya starts to thrust in again at an insane pace, "Wasn't all that hard to admit it, was it?" He grunts.

You tried to push him away, trying your best to make him pull it out, because it was too much all at once. Your body was screaming in pain and pleasure, begging for a break.

But Naoya was anything but sweet in bed.

He held you still, a palm spread on your navel to hold you in place, feeling his dick in you, the bulge from his dick driving him insane.

With his other hand cupping your face, he said brushing his lips against your lips,

"Don't run away like a bitch. You're a grown woman, you should take responsibility for your actions. Come on, be a good girl for me, darling." He trailed hickeys from the back of your ear to your breasts.

He took a minute to admire your upper body crowded in hickeys, both old and new.

You pussy clamping hard around him, was his cue to cum.

Once you came together, Naoya plaed a gentle kiss to your forehead and then your lips.

"That's my good fucking girl."

[warabidakihime]

★ characters: levi ackerman x reader | modern au

★ plot summary: levi helps you get through an episode

★ content warnings : implied su!cidal ideations, talks about mental illness (panic attacks, anxiety, and depression).

★ a/n: just a lil something i wrote out of sheer indulgence cause i am going through it ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა . so i guess you could say this is true to life and the only difference is, i don't have a levi by myself doing all these for me LOL. BUT YEAH, i hope you like this one and i hope it could help other people who might be going through the same thing.

sending everybody hugs!

-

Title: Until When Do I Need to Run?

"What if I'm too tired by the time I reach the 'pinnacle' of my life?"

Your voice sounded soft and vulnerable as you let those words slip through your lips.

Normally, you wouldn't let these kinds of thoughts escape the confines of your mind, but today, your heart was desperately screaming for any semblance of salvation.

Anything that could shed light on your ever-gloomy world.

From the dining table where your boyfriend sat, enjoying his freshly brewed jasmine tea after dinner, Levi raised an eyebrow in your direction. "What?"

You were at the sink, washing the dishes, as it was your turn this week. You chuckled humorlessly as you rinsed a plate rather mindlessly. "It's nothing. I was just thinking out loud."

"And thinking ridiculous things too," Levi said, his voice louder than usual. It didn't occur to you that he had moved until you were spun around, facing him. He was already behind you while you were racking your brains for a response.

"What's wrong with you? Did something happen?" His frown was deep, his gray eyes piercing. Despite being shorter, his presence loomed over you.

Reaching for the kitchen towel to dry your hands, you stayed mute for a few minutes in an attempt to gather your thoughts.

"Work has just been... rough lately, and the stress is getting to me. But today was especially hard," you started. You were speaking slowly, trying to articulate your words as best as you could.

It was something your therapist had taught you years ago. Because of the things you went through growing up and the trauma you'd accumulated, you'd unfortunately lost your ability to speak coherently at times, almost to the point of being considered a person with a disability.

Having such a handicap was frustrating and humiliating, to say the least. It angered you when you couldn't get the right words out or when your mind went blank mid-sentence, rendering you temporarily mute.

Thankfully, you had Levi. He'd been your boyfriend for eight years, and since you got together, life wasn't as draining as it once was. You couldn't be more grateful to him. The two of you had met while you were on a coffee run at work. He was behind you in line, and when your card was unfortunately declined and you didn't have cash on you, you almost had an anxiety attack.

In his own way of displaying kindness, Levi scoffed from behind you and handed the cashier his card to pay for both your orders.

"If you don't want to go through something like that again, make sure you have cash on you, dumbass."

And the rest was history.

You went quiet again, and while Levi waited patiently, he took your hand, gave it a loving squeeze, and led you to the living room so that you could sit and talk comfortably.

Once you were settled, you took a deep breath, which sounded shaky as it escaped your lips. Your emotions were clearly piling up inside, and it was just a matter of when they would burst.

"Steady your breathing first, Y/N," Levi said as he rubbed your back gently, doing his best to comfort you while you grounded yourself. "Take your time."

Smiling sheepishly at him, you did as told, and then finally, you continued to confide in him.

"Nothing major happened, but work has been really hectic recently due to the amount of things we need to do, and it doesn't help that my team is severely understaffed. So, I guess the fatigue and stress have been piling up, and it's getting to me."

Levi noticed the tension in your shoulders and the way your hands were trembling slightly. He reached out and gently massaged your temples, his touch soothing.

"Any word on that incompetent manager of yours? They're looking for a replacement, right?" Levi asked, his voice tinged with annoyance. He knew the lore of what was happening at your workplace, and to say that he was pissed was an understatement.

Not only were you neglected by your immediate supervisor, but you also had to catch up and do his workload while still getting paid less than him. The whole thing was a mess, and to be completely honest, Levi was on edge, worried for your well-being. It sucked that his worst fears were manifesting.

"They're doing the best they can, so I'm just waiting patiently on that."

Levi let out a 'tsk' and rolled his eyes, clearly more annoyed for you. The gesture caused you to giggle a little.

"And to sum it all up, the whole thing kind of shoved me into another episode, and I started to overthink things again." You said with a pout, then continued, "I started to think of negative things again, like the fact I literally have to work like a horse just so I can survive for another two weeks. From that, I started to get dizzy because it dawned on me that it would literally take me years to succeed. And then I thought, what if by the time I reach the most successful point of my life, I'm too tired to celebrate or to even continue living because that's what I've been striving to achieve for so long, and that's where I've been pouring all my energy—"

"Okay, stop. Stop right there," Levi interrupted, his voice firm. He let out a frustrated sigh and pulled you closer, taking your hands in his. "You're spiraling, Y/N. You're making a mountain out of a molehill. We're going to tackle this together, one step at a time. Right now, you need to breathe and relax."

His gray eyes held a stern yet caring expression. "Focus on the now, Y/N. We deal with problems as they come. I'm here. I'll be your anchor, but you have to let go of the rope a little."

You looked into his eyes, feeling the weight of his words. Levi had always been your rock—the one who grounded you when your mind spiraled. You knew he was right, and his presence always brought you back to reality.

As you sat there, hand in hand, you felt a sense of calm wash over you.

"Thank you, Levi," you whispered, leaning in to rest your head on his shoulder.

Levi noticed the shift in your demeanor. He squeezed your hand reassuringly, his other hand coming up to stroke your hair gently.

"You know, Y/N," he started softly, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier firmness. "You're incredibly strong. You've faced challenges I couldn't imagine, and you’ve come out stronger for it. But even the strongest people need to recharge."

He paused, giving you a moment to absorb his words. "It's okay to not be okay sometimes. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. What matters is how you deal with it. And right now, you're dealing with it by talking to me instead of keeping all that to yourself, and you've also been really consistent with it, which is a huge step. Good job."

Levi squeezed your hand gently again. "We'll figure this out together. Maybe we can start by setting some boundaries at work. Or maybe we can find some ways to de-stress outside of work. We can try new hobbies, or just spend more quality time together."

You felt a lump form in your throat as you listened to Levi's words. Just him being there for you brought so much warmth; it's as if he's hugging you from within.

At that moment, you realized how lucky you were to have him in your life.

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. His words, spoken with such gentle sincerity, had a profound effect on you. It felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You realized how much you had been bottling up and how much you had been neglecting your own well-being.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Thank you for always being here for me. I don't know what I would do without you."

Levi smiled softly, reaching up to brush away a stray tear that had escaped your eye. "You don't have to figure it out alone, Y/N. And never, ever hesitate to reach out to me. I am the last person that would push you away."

A comfortable silence settled between you as you both took a moment to appreciate the connection. The soft glow of the living room lamp casts a warm ambiance, creating an intimate atmosphere.

"I know I've been a bit of a downer lately," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "I hate that I let this get to me. I hate that I'm becoming this person who's always stressed and overwhelmed."

Levi squeezed your hand tighter.

"You're not this person, Y/N. You're going through a tough time, and that's okay."

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. It was comforting to know that you had someone who understood and supported you unconditionally.

The conversation continued, flowing naturally as you shared your fears and worries with Levi. He listened patiently, offering words of encouragement and practical advice. You felt a sense of peace as you opened up to him, something you hadn't done in a long time.

Hours seemed to fly by as you talked. The initial darkness outside had given way to the soft hues of dawn. Levi's grip on your hand never loosened, his presence a constant source of comfort.

Eventually, the weight of exhaustion began to creep in. You yawned, your eyes heavy with sleep. Levi noticed and smiled gently.

"It's late, Y/N," he said softly. "Let's head to bed."

You nodded, your head leaning against his shoulder. "Mkay. Thank you, Levi."

Levi kissed the top of your head. "You're welcome. We'll talk more about this tomorrow if you want, alright?" 

You nodded, a sheepish smile on your face. "Okay."

He stood up and stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. "I'll get us some water."

You watched as Levi moved toward the kitchen, feeling exponentially better, all thanks to him. When he returned with two glasses of water, he handed you one and sat back down beside you.

"Drink up," he said, his voice soft but firm.

You took a sip, feeling the cool liquid soothe your throat. After finishing the water, you placed the glass on the coffee table and turned to Levi.

"Thank you, Levi, for everything," you said, your voice full of sincerity.

He gave you a small smile, his eyes reflecting his affection for you. "Always, Y/N."

Setting his glass aside, Levi suddenly cupped your face with his hands, his touch gentle yet commanding. He leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was more passionate and eager than usual. His kiss conveyed all the love, support, and reassurance he wanted to give you, grounding you in the moment.

You responded in kind, your arms wrapping around his neck as you melted into the kiss. The intensity of the moment made your worries fade away, replaced by the warmth and love radiating from Levi. He pulled you closer, deepening the kiss, his hands moving to your waist, holding you securely.

When you finally pulled away for air, you rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling. Levi's eyes were soft but intense, filled with a promise of unwavering support.

"You're not alone, Y/N," he whispered, his voice husky with emotion. "I love you, and I'll always be here for you."

Tears of gratitude filled your eyes as you looked at him. "I love you too, Levi."

With that, he took your hand and led you to the bedroom. You both settled into bed, the weight of the day's worries feeling lighter. As you lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, you felt a sense of peace and security that only Levi could provide.

"Goodnight, Y/N," Levi murmured, his breath warm against your ear.

"Goodnight, Levi," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

The room fell into a serene silence, only your steady breathing filling the space. Levi’s arms around you felt like a shield against the world’s troubles, and the steady beat of his heart was a comforting rhythm that lulled you into relaxation.

As sleep began to pull you under, you felt a tender kiss pressed to your forehead while Levi’s fingers lightly traced soothing patterns on your back—his way of reminding you that he was always there, ready to lift the burdens you carried.

[confirmeddead]

Can we take a second to reflect on the truly f*cked up intimacy that exists between Armand and Daniel - and which might come to exist? Even if we put away the possibility of a past-DM relationship!

Armand potentially spent days - days - looking through Daniel’s mind looking specifically for what makes him fascinating. Looking for the reason behind Louis’ interest. Looking through all of his life, dreams, hopes and shame. All of this then resulting in Armand trying to talk Daniel out of his own life through a nihilistic script specifically tailored to him. Ending with that embrace (as Daniel embraced him as his Death), and him drinking Daniel’s blood, and forever leaving his mark on his neck. Then we have Daniel Molloy, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist who is many things but most importantly a very competent journalist. Someone who is able to listen, gather research and find some version of the truth hidden behind the smoke and mirrors his subjects tries to conjure up in front of them. The Talamasca has sent him detailed files, which we know reveal a lot of the history and horrors of Armand’s life. Will Daniel in the finale use his skills as a journalist and analyze Armand to get to the truth? (As he does with Louis, as already seen). There is basically a level of enforced intimacy between the two, as they have both without the other’s consent learnt a lot(!) about each other. And if speculation is correct and Armand turns Daniel into a vampire this season? Will Armand see Daniel’s life flash before him? And if that is not intimate enough(!) they will then both be left with a bond unlike anything else - which has been shown to literally make maker/fledgling ’feel’ each other, their respective emotions and thoughts. Like what even is this relationship, and can I get more please haha?! If DM didn’t happen in the past will Armand go to drain Daniel and realize as he does so that the boy from the 70’s still finds him absolutely fascinating? (I strongly believe that Armand believes Daniel when he claims to not find him boring in episode five). Daniel is an insatiably curious journalist with an addictive personality (and maybe a little of an adrenaline junkie, no?) - and Armand must surely be a truly fascinating subject, even given what Armand’s done to him (one vampire might not be enough to interview/to come to understand for Daniel…). Will Armand see that and will that be partially what makes him suddenly decide to turn him??? Their chemistry has been interesting since season one and has only become more intriguing and compelling. I have so many thought, many not really coherent - sorry, love you blog! What do you think?

Hi Anon! First off, let me thank you for sending in your thoughts. I really love having conversations with other fans, especially regarding Devil’s Minion and Armand. I’ll set aside the possible past-DM as well, by the way. Buckle up!

There’s something really important being set up for viewers with Armand and Daniel’s relationship. Let’s look at what the show has presented us with. Armand and Daniel’s meeting was, quite possibly, the worst way for two people to meet. Looking into someone so deeply and, through your own selfish reasons (jealousy on Armand’s part), continuing to coax this young man into Death’s arms is inherently messed up. This isn’t something anyone should take lightly, and Daniel doesn’t. Therein lies the odd set up to their eventual maker/fledgling relationship. I love what you say is “enforced intimacy” because that really is what it is!

Daniel’s character is a juxtaposition when most of who we’re seeing are these immortal vampires. He’s our voice when we want to tell off them off, he’s our conscience and sense when we’re presented with lies, horrible situations, and straight up buffoonery. Putting this man in the same room with The Not-So-Master Manipulator Armand is going to give us some amazing results. He isn’t a 20 year old who will welcome Death with open arms, he’s a bright reporter with just about every point of view a human can have gone through at this point. And this is what will perk Armand’s interest.

I fully believe Armand finds Daniel fascinating already. I don’t think he saw it in SF, marred by his own feelings with Louis, but was open to the idea of trying to see it for the sake of Louis. There’s a huge part of Armand that wants to serve someone, wants a teacher, wants a leader. The teacher part being something he knows he seeks- he sought it in Louis. Louis’ big appeal to others is his humanity, something Armand lacks but craves. And Daniel, not intentionally, is going to give Armand this dynamic he seeks to give him purpose to keep living.

Older Daniel has decades under his belt with his profession and his personal history. Aging up Daniel and having him be this well-respected journalist is probably the smartest thing the writers could have done for the ~bigger picture~ in regards to Armand’s storyline (since he’s such a big player in TVC). We the viewers are presented with someone intelligent, strong-willed, and cutthroat. What can Armand gain from being with someone like that? Literally everything. He’s not a replacement for Marius, Lestat, or Louis. He’s something Armand genuinely needs after everything he’s gone through (and put himself through, let’s be honest). I’ll rehash one of my previous theories that Daniel isn’t the Boy we met in the books who went a little crazy after being turned- our Daniel is a fighter- and he should be ringside on Team Armand. A coach, a shoulder to lean on, an active listener.

So present-day Dubai

I think after everything is said and done in Dubai, Daniel will find the vulnerability in his next subject. He’ll have cracked Armand but will be shocked to find the soft(ish) interior. Daniel will see Armand for who he really is- someone stuck in a loop of their own trauma but also someone with real feelings and love to give. Not just a monster manipulator. Still that scared boy from Delhi, maybe, but not a lost cause. Never.

I’d really love a callback to 2x05. No, Daniel isn’t going to talk Armand onto the ledge, he’s going to be what Louis was to him. You’re not unworthy of love, you’re not hopeless, you’ve made it this far and you’ll continue enduring. These words will hold you up and carry you.

[amomentsescape]

Fake Friends Will Get Their Ends

Freddy Krueger x Reader

Summary: After learning their friends have been lying to them this whole time, Freddy steps in to comfort Reader.

Warnings: Cussing, hurt-comfort, Reader talks badly about themselves

Word Count: 548

A/N: The tone of this one is a little more serious than how I wrote for Freddy before. I just wanted to switch things up a bit this time around!

You are the strongest person Freddy knows. It's why he was drawn to you in the first place.

So when you came home in tears after a night out with your friends, he was immediately concerned.

It takes a lot for Freddy to become serious, so seeing the frown on his face made you want to cry even harder.

"What's wrong?" he urged, letting you drop into his arms.

"Th-those liars," you hiccuped. It made you feel pathetic that you couldn't even speak to him normally through all the crying.

"Who?" His voice was gentle, but there was clearly a darkness brewing beneath it all.

You took a few moments to try and gather yourself, wanting to actually form coherent sentences.

You nuzzled into his body further, not wanting him to see you like this.

"My friends," you finally mustered. "Well, I thought they were my friends."

Freddy stayed silent in hopes you would elaborate further.

"Th-they-" you paused and took a deep breath in. "They've been talking shit a-about me this whole time. They never cared about me. They just enjoyed having someone to hate on."

The tears began to flow again, causing you to tilt your head down in hopes they would stop.

However, Freddy forced you to look up at him as he scanned your soaked face. His eyes narrowed a bit.

"You're the only one I hate seeing like this," he rasped quietly.

He raised his knifed glove up and softly moved the hair away from your forehead with the back of the blades. Something about the cold metal against your flushed skin helped calm you down a bit.

"I suppose I should pay them a visit tonight, hmm?"

You shook your head much to Freddy's dismay.

"Please, d-don't. Some pathetic part of me still cares-"

"Don't use that word. I wouldn't be here if that was true."

You nodded and wiped some of the tears from your face. "But please don't kill them Freddy. Promise me you won't."

He let out a deep sigh and clenched his teeth together. You could tell he wanted to argue with you on this one.

"Freddy, promise me."

He finally met your gaze and huffed before silently agreeing.

"Thank you," you whispered.

You hugged him tightly, thankful for his protectiveness over you.

When you finally opened your eyes, you were back in your own bed, pillow still a bit damp from crying yourself to sleep.

You didn't even recall saying goodbye to Freddy last night, but you supposed you were just too emotionally drained to remember.

You grabbed your phone from the nightstand and unlocked the screen.

However, you were met with dozens upon dozens of messages from each of your so-called "friends."

I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry

Each message was made up of erratic apologies and begs for forgiveness.

You sat up in bed and immediately thought of Freddy. You sighed in annoyance.

Well, he did what you asked. He didn't kill them, but whatever happened last night may have honestly been worse.

You could have sworn you heard Freddy's laugh outside in the early morning air.

What a caring asshole.

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth, ch5

chapter five: surrender

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 5, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-4, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

warnings: the usual fare (canon-typical violence, gore, murder), death (of children and adults)

Several Years Later… 

Jack Crawford and you stand over the table in his office, which is nearly buried under newspapers and physical materials. Two photographs lie in stark contrast to the black and white newspapers, bursts of horribly vivid color amidst the monotony. You look at the first one: a photo of the crime scene at the Leeds’ residence. You shake your head, thinking back to your investigation of the eerily silent home. 

There had been too much to look at. Too many bloodstains. Too much dust. Not nearly enough substantial evidence. You gleaned far too much about the daily lives of the Leedses as you investigated that house. The simplest mundanities were demonstrative of their ordinary lives before their deaths. A normal family with no enemies. (As it usually happens). Death doesn’t discriminate between good and evil, deserving and undeserving. You have to come to terms with that lesson every time you approach a crime scene. 

The pendulum swings before your eyes once more—a familiar greeting. You blink and you’re standing in the Leeds’ residence, sneaking through the dark hall until you reach the master bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Leeds slumber peacefully, with no indication of the horrors they will soon experience. You hover at the end of their bed, listening to their measured breaths. In, out. Your gloved hand is steady on your gun and you round the side of the bed, towering over Mr. Leeds. He exhales slowly. You fire and a bullet carves its way through his temple. Mrs. Leeds rouses at the noise, her face paling in the near darkness as she sees her husband’s blood spilling down his face and coloring the pristine white sheets. The woman tries to get up and you shoot her in the abdomen, before making your way out of the master bedroom and walking down the hall to the children’s bedroom. 

Their boys are awake now, too. They sit upright in bed, staring at you with wide eyes and thinly-veiled fear. You raise your gun and shoot the first in the temple. The other boy scampers away, falling to the ground and attempting to crawl under the bed. It doesn’t take you long to break the distance between you and grab at his ankle, yanking him back out and flipping him onto his back. A swift shot to the head drains the light from his eyes. You turn your back on the children, your attention captured by the master bedroom. You think you hear ragged breathing. Perfect. 

You take a deep breath and push the pendulum away, looking down at the photograph as you try to make a coherent timeline of events. The husband was killed first. The wife went next—was shot with a bullet through the abdomen. The two boys were shot and killed too. Then, the smashing of the mirrors. And… the strangulation of Mrs. Leeds, which proved to be the true cause of death. 

The two boys and the husband were positioned to observe Mrs. Leeds, to watch as the killer drained the life from her eyes, imprinted his teeth onto her skin, snapped his bloodied maw, guts and gore slipping onto his tongue and down his throat- 

“They found a film,” Jack says, breaking you out of your self-imposed trance. He grabs the tape and pushes it into the television in the corner of the room. “Mr. Leeds had purchased it three weeks prior to his death.”

The two of you move your chairs to sit in front of the television. For an awful and tense moment, the screen stutters in static. Time is an utter drag, mocking you for your unfounded patience. Will this film really be of any significance?

You don’t think so, and your suspicions are soon proven correct. The film is a recording of a few simple moments in the family’s ordinary life—relaxing on a beach with shimmering water, laughing around a dinner table. 

When the film is finished, Jack retrieves it from the television and returns to his seat. “What do you see?” He asks. You’re not sure you want to answer. And, really, what do you see?

“A happy family,” you remark. There’s something idling in your mind—a key component not yet realized. There is significance in the discrepancies between Mrs. Leeds and the rest of the family’s deaths; there is significance in the attention paid to the matriarch and the matriarch alone. You ruminate on the film you just watched, trying to connect the seemingly unrelated pieces. Something must’ve drawn the killer to this family. 

“Do you think Mrs. Leeds was beautiful?” You hear yourself asking. You remember the shimmering blond hair flowing down her back, the charming smile she aimed at the camera. You think of the way the killer defiled her corpse, the intimate way he killed her and only her. 

“Sure,” Jack remarks, clearly unsure where you’re going with the conversation. You’re not sure you know where you’re going, either. You just know that you can’t seem to move past Mrs. Leeds.

“He thought she was, too,” you say. “He paid her special attention. The cause of death was strangulation, remember. The killer was somewhat fixated with Mrs. Jacobi in a similar manner—he bit her, too.”

You frown. “What do we know about the killer, at this point?” You have to ask. There have been so many conversations, so many discussions laden with the smallest and most insignificant of revelations. It is an arduous task to connect this killer to a person. 

Indeed, Jack takes a deep breath. “He’s right-handed and has blond hair,” your boss recalls, crossing one leg over his knee. His eyebrows furrow as he evidently searches through his memory. “Size eleven shoes.” 

“He’s strong, evidently,” you add with a frown. Although, how strong, you can’t be sure. After all, he didn’t seem willing to take the chance of confronting Mr. Leeds, instead disposing of him before he could resist. Strangling Mrs. Leeds, on the other hand… That required both an immense urge to touch her—even with gloved hands, as the lack of fingerprints showed—and a fervent strength. Yes, this killer is strong. “Anything else?” You don’t expect much. 

“Semen and saliva show his blood type is AB positive,” Jack finishes. Your stomach turns with disgust, a white-hot rage flaming down your spine for the briefest of moments. This job never gets easier, you think to yourself. You just slowly become numb to the world’s horrors. 

“Let’s review the timing of these again,” you suggest, eager to continue with the conversation. You cross one leg over the other and stare at the dark television screen in front of you. “The Jacobis were killed on the full moon last month. The Leeds were killed almost a month later, a day before the full moon. That was… a few days ago, now.”

“The Jacobis were killed in their home in Birmingham; the Leeds were killed in their home in Atlanta… Both white, middle-class families. Nuclear families.” You recount. 

Jack nods. “They’re calling him the Tooth Fairy,” he says, getting to his feet and walking over to the table once more. He grabs a newspaper and studies it with disinterest. It’s clear Jack isn’t fond of the childish nickname, and you don’t think you are, either. 

“From the biting,” you sigh. “Clever.” You scoff, standing up and returning to your spot at the table. The two of you regard the haphazard pile of papers and photographs. You’re starting to feel a bit frustrated—this conversation is yielding no new information, and neither are the ongoing investigations in the homes of the victims. 

Jack stares down at one of the newspapers, his lips pulled in a thin line. “No clear motive,” he frowns. “Random selection.” 

“Every killer has a motive,” you remind him. “And there has to be something that connects these two families.” There needs to be, otherwise you’ll be exploring more houses laden with dust and picking apart more corpses. Jack nods in agreement. He knows as well as you do: there is nothing truly random about this killer’s behavior. It seems random now, because there have only been two instances. If there were more, you could deduce a pattern more easily… but you don’t want to manifest more death. 

“No witnesses,” you remember. Jack nods, a grimace on his face. The killer slipped in and slipped out with frightening ease, managing not to alert even a single neighbor to his presence. You went around and did some door duty back when you visited the crime scene, but you hadn’t had much luck with any of the neighbors. “Has Alana taken a look at this?” Jack confirms your suspicions with a nod. “And?”

Jack just shakes his head. You’re sure Alana provided some valuable insight, but there’s little that hasn’t already been thoroughly examined. There are only so many times the same people can scrutinize the same set of information. “We’ve spoken to all the typical suspects.” By ‘the typical suspects,’ you assume Jack means Alana, Beverly, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, and the local police department (although, you’re not sure they were able to provide you any helpful information; your relationship typically works the other way around, with the FBI providing the local jurisdiction with more information).  

“We don’t have much time,” you say. The words cling to the air with vigor. If the killer continues to follow his pattern, he will kill another family on the full moon of the next month. That leaves you… not even four weeks to track him down. Not to mention, there’s an utter lack of meaningful evidence. All you have right now are shadows—traces of the killer’s movements,  a smattering of physical traits that millions of people could possess. You fear that, in three weeks, you will still be at the same roadblock you’re at right now. Perhaps that fear is what motivates you to continue speaking. 

“Maybe we need to reevaluate our approach,” you say, the words traitorously crawling from your lips. The remark casts a tense silence across the air. You both know it’s true; if there’s anything you know about Jack Crawford, it’s that he is one to rely on the tried and true methods. Thinking “outside the box” is not an idea that Jack typically embraces. But you fear you don’t have any other options. 

“What do you suggest?” Your boss asks. His agreeableness is demonstrative of how little information you have, and how desperate you are to get a lead on this guy. You take a deep breath and try to organize your thoughts. 

The BAU has thoroughly evaluated all the available evidence. Perhaps, in order to make new connections, you need to speak to new professionals. You need more eyes on this case. Thinking about the killer, you realize that you need a more tangible psychological profile in order to contextualize his behavior and get closer to discovering his identity. 

“We need information on a killer,” you start. You pause, questioning your own judgment. There’s a solution staring you straight in the face, but… It’s far from your brightest or safest idea. Then again, you’re desperate—and you know Jack is, too. You take a deep breath, ignoring the whispers haunting the back of your mind. “Who better to consult… than another killer?” 

“Another killer,” Jack repeats, staring at you as if you’ve gone crazy. Hell, maybe you have gone crazy. But, sometimes, you need crazy ideas to catch crazy people. That’s what you like to tell yourself, anyway. The truth of the situation may be a combination of honest desperation and something more… unsettling.

Because, truthfully, this other killer’s voice has never left your mind. This other killer is just as brutal as the Tooth Fairy, if not moreso. 

“You don’t mean-” Jack cuts himself off, a brief disturbed expression flickering across his face before it morphs into indifference. “Dr. Lecter. Of course.”

Both of you are rather uncomfortable with the notion. But, if Hannibal could provide you with new answers—or, hell, new questions… “He would know,” you admit. “After all, this killer and the Ripper are rather similar. They both left behind little evidence—practically untraceable.”

Jack is quiet for several moments. You can see the gears whirring behind his eyes, as he weighs the potential benefits against the numerous risks. Eventually, he seems to come to an impasse, and he shakes his head. Jack then looks at you. “You would speak with him?”

To your knowledge, Alana is the only one who has actually spoken to Hannibal in the years since he was imprisoned—and from what she told you, their conversation was unhelpful. You would be the best person to speak with him now, realistically speaking. An entire minute passes before you can find it in yourself to respond. “...Yes.”

“Do you realize how dangerous this is?” Jack asks, searching your expression for something. You try your best to maintain your composure. 

“High risk, high reward,” you say. “He could know something. And even if he doesn’t, he’ll probably have a good educated guess.” 

Jack studies you for another minute, before exhaling and murmuring something along the lines of “I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.”  You don’t blame him—you’re also surprised he agreed. Perhaps more surprising is the fact that you were the one to suggest visiting Hannibal in the first place, after everything he’s done to you. A part of you is terrified that your history with him… has only just begun. 

You summon some courage and head for the door. “Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can leave. You turn back around to face him. 

“Yes?” You ask. 

“Be careful,” Jack says. “He’ll try to get in your head.” 

You nod, knowing words will betray you. Really, what the hell are you doing? Why did you sign up for this? Is there a part of you, however small, that hopes to see him again? These thoughts haunt you for the rest of the day and well into the night, until the point when you’re snoozing your alarm and blinking blearily as you realize that you didn’t get a single minute of sleep. 

The drive passes in the blink of an eye. The Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane hasn’t changed much in the years since your last visit; the building is still somewhat of an eyesore, with dirtied brick and grimy windows. You haven’t walked down these halls for years. The last time you traversed this path was to speak to Abel Gideon. Hannibal Lecter was there too—that time, on the other side of the bars. Things look almost exactly the same, and you nearly feel as if you’ve been displaced in time. You turn around the corner and step into Chilton’s office. He’s preoccupied with staring at something on his laptop screen. You wait patiently in the doorway for a minute, but nothing happens. 

“Dr. Chilton,” you decide to greet him, finally pulling his attention towards you. You immediately wish you could un-notice the way his eyes sparkle when he looks at you, the mad glint in his eye as he practically pulls you apart in front of him. Chilton is far from your favorite person on the planet, but he isn’t evil, you remind yourself. Misguided, yes. But not evil. 

“Hello,” Chilton greets you in response, closing his laptop and regarding you with his full attention. “It’s been a while. A few years, at least?”

You breathe slowly, trying to calm your racing heart. “Yes, it has been a while,” you say with a smile that only feels a little forced. “I saw you published a book.” Hannibal the Cannibal, you recall. Not the cleverest of titles. 

“Ah, yes,” Chilton responds. Amazingly, he doesn’t take the gifted opportunity to talk about it. It seems that the man has changed a little, in the years that you’ve seen him. How much he’s changed, still remains to be seen, however. 

While the small talk is a nice distraction, you know you need to get down to business. “I need to see Hannibal Lecter,” you say, handing Chilton the forms that Jack signed for you. You’re not making that mistake again. Looking at those signed forms catapults you back in time once more, to a tense first encounter between Frederick Chilton and Hannibal Lecter, to an even more tense discussion with Abel Gideon.

“Have fun,” Chilton remarks wryly, after checking over your papers. He pulls one of his desk drawers open and files the paperwork away, before returning his attention to you. “Lecter has been… disagreeable. Nearly silent.”

That’s interesting. You ask Chilton to elaborate, not realizing your error until you see his eyes light up as he begins to speak. Around the two-minute mark, you have to cut him off. “Okay, thank you,” you interject, before he can go on for any longer. There were a few morsels of helpful information buried in that giant monologue, but it’s not nearly enough to make you feel adequately prepared for talking to Hannibal for the first time in years. 

Chilton seems to sense your unease, because he gets up from his desk to guide you towards his cell. When you stand up too, he claps a hand on your shoulder. A shiver travels down your spine, but you try your best to ignore it. Chilton is the least of your concerns at the present moment. 

“What have you been up to?” Chilton asks as he leads you through the maximum security level of the prison. He seems entirely unbothered by the jeers and taunts the prisoners are directing at both of you. Meanwhile, you have to resist the urge to clap your hands over your ears. All the noise distracts you from his question, and you don’t remember to provide an answer until Chilton is politely coughing to get your attention. 

“Oh, right,” you remark. “Well, the usual, I guess… I’m back in the field. I’m teaching the new recruits, too. Sometimes I visit Abigail.” You fiddle with the tape recorder concealed in your jacket pocket. You have no doubt that Hannibal will notice it immediately, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. You suspect you won’t have enough time to take notes—instead too busy trying to stay afloat amidst the verbal traps Hannibal lays for you.

“Oh, Abigail Hobbs,” Chilton says, his eyes alight with recognition, “How is she doing?”

“She’s doing well,” you answer, thinking back to your past few interactions. She’s happier than she used to be, but you fear she’ll never be quite the same. Not that you blame her—if you were in her position, you wouldn’t know what to do with yourself. “About as well as a person can do, in her situation.” 

“That’s understandable,” Chilton hums, frowning in sympathy. For once, you think the expression on his face may actually be genuine. Although, once you remember that Chilton had tried to get Abigail confined to these dark halls, you have to second guess that notion. 

Hannibal is rather far down the hall, you realize as you continue walking. At some point, you come across a door leading to yet another hallway. Chilton comes to a stop before the door, turning to regard you with an unreadable expression. 

“What exactly are you hoping to get from Lecter?” He asks. There it is—the question you’d been waiting for him to ask. It was only a matter of time before Chilton’s curiosity got the best of him. Honestly, you’re somewhat impressed that he kept his lips sealed this long. 

“Have you heard of the Tooth Fairy?” You ask. 

“The folktale?” Chilton asks with furrowed brows. “The fairy that puts teeth under children’s pillows when they lose them?” You blink at him once, then twice. 

“I- not that Tooth Fairy,” you choke out, feeling a laugh bubbling out of you. Leave it to Frederick Chilton to assume that the FBI is investigating an imaginary creature. You take a deep breath and manifest more patience. “The man who killed the Jacobis and the Leedses—the killer who bites his victims.”

“Oh, yes,” Chilton nods. 

“He’s been eluding us,” you explain, “Leaving behind little to no evidence. It’s been a while since someone has commanded the FBI’s attention so masterfully.” You raise your eyebrows pointedly, and understanding flashes in Chilton’s eyes. You don’t have to expand on that statement—the remainder of the remark floats in the air, unspoken but omnipresent. It’s been a while… since we’ve seen someone as perplexing as Hannibal Lecter. 

“Ah, I see,” Chilton sighs, pulling his identification card from his pocket. “Very well.” He holds his badge up to the badge reader near the door, before covering the pin pad with one hand and typing in a passcode with the other. A green light flashes on the pin pad and the door creaks open ominously. 

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, truly,” Chilton continues, as the two of you stroll down the hallway. Your heart is roaring in your ears, making it a bit more difficult to comprehend what the man’s saying. “I can’t promise that Lecter will be any help, though. As I said earlier, he’s been… uncharacteristically quiet since he first arrived.” 

“Thanks for the warning,” you answer. “I’ll see what I can do.” Somehow, you get the feeling Hannibal will be a bit more talkative with you. At the very least, you’re not Chilton. Besides, wasn’t a motivating factor behind his imprisonment the fact that you would be forced to know where he was? You wouldn’t be surprised if Hannibal has been lying in wait, anticipating the moment you’d need to interact with him. 

“The visitation limit is fifty minutes,” Chilton reminds you. That must’ve changed since the last time you visited—you remember it being an hour in the past. Ten minutes doesn’t seem like it will make much of a difference, but if it’s a matter of life and death… You sigh. It shouldn’t get to that. “He’s at the end of the hall, on the left.”

You nod and thank him. Chilton regards you for one last moment, before retreating back down the hall and into the shadows. You’re left lurking awkwardly in the middle of the hall. One of the prisoners jeers at you, saying something about you looking better with your eyeballs gouged out. You ignore the remark and continue walking. 

You’re nearing the end of the hall. Ten steps. Your breaths sound ragged. Nine steps. There’s someone rattling the bars of their cell next to you. Eight steps. Your shoes make small clicking sounds against the floors, alerting everyone to your presence. Seven, six, five, four steps. You’re biting the inside of your cheek so hard you can taste blood. Three steps. Your cuticle stings. You pick at the skin, welcoming the pain. Two steps. His cell, his cage, falls into view. There’s a sweeping glass wall covering the entirety of the space, with small holes carving through the glass at rhythmic intervals. There are elegant white bookshelves stacked to the brim with tomes of all shapes and sizes. A break in the glass reveals a metal slot, likely for food and mail. In the corner of the room sits a desk, near a dining table and chair. A domed window sits on the ceiling, ushering in the afternoon sunlight.

The privilege of it all… It makes you sick. Most prisoners aren’t nearly so lucky. Minor offenders get treated far, far worse than this—with grimy, shared showers and cement walls in lieu of windows. Most prisoners get a single, paper-thin mattress and nothing else. 

But Hannibal Lecter is not the same as most prisoners. He is a serial killer with a distinguished mask, crafted with swooping elegant lines and laced with pretense. The Chesapeake Ripper remains prominent in the eyes of the public. There have been countless documentaries and articles about him. Everyone wants to get inside his head; everyone wants to determine how someone with exquisite table manners and a penchant for elaborate dinner parties—someone in the upper echelons of society—can fall so far into criminality. 

One more step. 

You’re frozen. You don’t want to cross the threshold, don’t want to surrender your camouflage. You’ve spent years trying to get this man out of your head, and you know that the moment you take that last step forward, he’ll be roaming the halls of your mind palace once more. 

Then you think of the Jacobis and the Leedses, and remember why you’re here. The Tooth Fairy has escaped the FBI for far too long, leaving little in the way of evidence save for crumpled corpses and mutilated bodies. The man needs to be caught. You think of all the victims you failed to save, of all the times you were confined to the aftermath of gruesome murders.

Selfishly speaking, you don’t want to move. Hell, you’ve had your moments of selfishness—moments when you’ve prioritized self-preservation. It’s a skill you’re often told you need to embrace more. Jack said as much to you all those years ago, didn’t he?

“You can leave this behind,” Crawford had said to you after your first assignment, his lips set in a thin line. “Get another job. Have a normal life.” He had pushed himself up to stand over you. You still remember the look on his face in that moment: how his eyes gleamed with firm resolve. “Or you can walk out of this door with me, back to headquarters.” It hadn’t taken you long to come to a decision. After a few seconds, you got to your feet and followed after him.   

You surrendered desire, forfeited comfort long ago. Preference bends to the whims of necessity. You never really had a choice. You take a step forward, the fluorescent lighting above seeping into your skin. There’s a figure sitting at the ornate writer’s desk in the corner of the room, clad in a white jumpsuit. You take another step forward, despite your apprehension, and the noise draws his attention. The Chesapeake Ripper turns around, his eyes gleaming with life when his gaze falls on your form. 

“Hello, Dr. Lecter,” you remark.

It is far too late to go back.

next chapter

endnotes

Hannibal is backkk!!! idk why the mf took so long to appear 🙄

as always, thank you for reading! feel free to reblog or drop a comment if you're enjoying this story so far. :3

check out my other works, sorted by fandom.

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[chucksfavouriteprophet]

Heal - IV

Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader (female)

MASTERLIST

🫁 Summary: Your health is declining quickly, and only Bucky can save you. That is, if he can bring himself to.

Warnings: General sickness, vomit, seizure, hallucinations, angst, non-con, smut

Word count: 2,329

👣Part III

Things were deteriorating quickly. At first, you knew night was coming as dusk settled through the window, but pretty soon after that you had no concept of time. Your brain ricochet around your skull and moving your head sent you spiralling into dizziness. The nausea was overpowering and at times you passed out because you just couldn't catch your breath between bouts of throwing up pure stomach bile. Other times it was the dreadful pain that tipped you over the edge into the blackness. It was as though you were void of all your internal organs, and the hole was growing larger and larger. Your body was begging to be taken care of, something which you couldn't even attempt to do yourself seeing as you were drained of all energy. Your pussy throbbed so bad it was over sensitive just to touch, and your thighs were starting to burn from the sheer volume of slick seeping into the skin. You knew this wasn't good, and you knew it wasn't going to get better on its own. Any idea that the bond would break itself without Bucky's pleasure had gone out the window and you were now starting to wonder that this was more a matter of life or death now.

At some point, light flooded the room, and you groaned as you pried your eyes open. The room was spinning and your mouth was dry but you still managed to call out to your alpha as a large figure loomed in the doorway. You reached for him with floppy arms, unable to focus but begging for his knot. Strong hands seized your arms to steady you, but you cried out as it stung your fevered skin. Someone was talking, but you couldn't make out who or what they were saying. In the haze of confusion, all you wondered was why wasn't your alpha helping you right now? Why was he just standing there above you, not touching you when you needed his touch so bad? A surge of pain exploded within you as the figure turned away and fled out the door, and you panted as you attempted to crawl after him before flopping onto the floor once again encased by unconsciousness.

-

Steve knew Nat had checked up on you earlier, but after his conversation with Bucky, he had to see you for himself. After checking the coast was clear to try and not rouse suspicion, he knocked gently on your door and called out to you.

He wasn't surprised when no one replied. As he cracked the door open, the could feel his heart thudding in his chest. The smell that hit him instantly was over powering and almost made him gag. It was the sour smell of vomit mixed with the bitter stench of sweat - but worst of all, it was the horrific, nauseating inhale of pain. The usual odour of an omega in heat was intense, but this was something else; it had gone further than that, past the point of needing to be sweet to attract an alpha. It smelt dangerously close to death.

Steve was by your side in an instance, reaching to your flailing arms. Your face was flushed a bright red and drenched in sweat, and the heat radiating off you even made him shy away for a second. You clearly had very little control over your body as you rolled around in your own vomit, pupils huge and unable to focus on him. But what made the colour drain from his face most was the way you cried out for Bucky, desperately reaching for relief in your delirious state.

"Bucky, please, oh god it hurts Bucky, fuck me Bucky please. You're here, Bucky, my alpha, you're here."

Steve looked around the room, desperate for something to help. "Y/N, it's me, it's Steve. You're hallucinating sweetheart, but I need you to focus on me. I'm going to get Bucky, it's going to be alright, I promise."

He left your side for a split second having spotted a towel you'd used to ease your fever in your brief coherent hours, ran it under cold water from your bathroom, snagged the thermometer from the side, and sprinted back to you.

"Here, sweet, this should help." You had grown slack as you briefly slipped into unconsciousness again, and he used the opportunity to run the towel across your body, feeling it warm up far too quickly, before steadying your face by cupping a hand against your jaw and softly guiding the thermometer into your mouth.

"Oh god..." whatever colour was left in Steve's face promptly left as he squinted at the reading.

"Alpha...Bucky..." you groaned again before gagging, the feeling of the item in your mouth triggering another bout of sickness which you barely reacted to as it spat from your mouth and trickled down your chin. In a hurry, Steve pushed you on your side to stop you from choking, shoving pillows behind your back.

"I'll be back in a second, sweetheart...just...just stay with me, okay? I'm going to get Bucky." Tears pricked his eyes as he left, running at light speed down the hallway, vaulting the stairs until he reached The Cube.

"Bucky," he panted, slamming his hands on the glass and making his friend's head snap up.

"What do you want, Steve. You gonna tell me I need to leave? That I need to get as far away from her as possible? Cause I know, man, and trust me, as soon as I can stop feeling her heat, I'm out of here."

"No, Buck. You need to listen to me. It's bad, it's really bad. Y/N needs you right now, because whatever you thought would happen to this bond, however you thought it would just go away, it isn't. She's sick, man. She's really sick, her temp is 106° right now, and she's barely conscious."

Bucky's face dropped and he froze. "No no it - it's just the bond disintegrating man..." He gulped as he really took in Steve's face. He trusted his friend, and this was a look of horror he'd never seen on him before.

"Bucky, it's not. You have to help her. She's going to die if you don't."

Bucky held his head in hands, shaking it back and forth as he gripped his hair. "I can't do anything Steve, I've already hurt her enough. Get Tony, or Bruce, or an actual doctor...I'll only make things worse -"

The thud against the glass as Steve threw his weight against it made Bucky jump.

"Barnes, you need to straighten up. You did this, you're the only one who can fix it. You have to save her."

Bucky had never experienced Steve's captain mode, at least not directly. But the way his best friend was standing over him, eyes wide, tone demanding, he knew this was an order. And if Bucky knew anything, it was when to obey an order. Only then did the seriousness of the situation really hit him. Yes, he had caused this pain, he had put you in this position. But it hurt even more to know that he would once again have to commit the same violation in order to take it away.

Any anger towards himself, any fear that he would hurt you further went out of the window the second he reached your room. All he felt was pain and protection, and the tremendous need to save you.

You were lying slumped on the floor at the side of the bed, tangled in soaking and soiled bedsheets. Bucky dropped to his knees in a heartbeat, scooping your limp body up and cradling your head.

"Hey, hey, wake up. Y/N, wake up, c'mon please." He brushed the hair from your forehead, fumbling with shaking hands to find a pulse. At the sound of his voice, your eyelids flickered.

"Al-alpha?"

The use of his title gave him some relief - at least you were accepting of him being there.

"I'm here, doll, I'm here. And I'm so, so sorry, for hurting you then, and for hurting you now...god doll, what do I do? How can I make this better?"

He knew, really, but he just didn't want to admit it.

"I need you, alpha...please..." Weakly, you gestured down below, and for the first time Bucky took in your naked body. Your breasts were swollen, your nipples cracked and tender. But your pussy, your beautiful, welcoming pussy was red raw from where you'd desperately tried to ease the need for attention. It shimmered with slick, and the sight of it all opened up and flowering had Bucky hard within an instant.

He felt the panic attack loom as conflicting feelings bombarded him. How could he be turned on by you in so much pain? You were practically dying and he was aroused? Plus, it was his horniness that had partly driven him to do this to you in the first place - had he not learned his lesson?

But at the same time, he knew why he was turned on. That was the whole point - you were dying because he had bonded with you, whether he meant to or not, and then he had abandoned you. Your survival was dependant on his horniness right now.

Bucky's thoughts were interrupted as he felt your slack body go rigid. As he whipped his head round to look at your face, his heart dropped as your eyes rolled back into your head and you grunted, your chest heaving and your back arching. Time was running out, and it was running out fast.

Careful not to hurt you further, he manoeuvred your seizing body onto the bed, constantly whispering words of reassurance to you.

"It's alright, sweetheart, I'm going to make it go away, I promise...doll I'm so sorry, but I have to do this...oh god, please forgive me."

Tears were streaming down his face as he cupped your cheek with his metal fingers and kissed your fevered forehead. Slowly, he reached down with his right hand and started to caress your begging hole, feeling your body tense as he circled your aching clit before starting to relax slightly. Although you'd stopped seizing, you were still unconscious, and Bucky wept as he used his fingers to prepare you for his knot. This was not about pleasure or enjoyment; he needed to get this over and done with and pray it saved you.

Bucky cried silent tears the whole time as he gently entered you, rocking slowly but with enough attention to satisfy you. His eyes stayed glued shut the whole time, and he relied on hovering above your chest to make sure he could still hear your heartbeat.

Within minutes, you had calmed down. The cramps seemed to have eased up, and you weren't fighting your own body anymore. But even as his knot tightened and you drank up his cum, without the renewal of the bond, Bucky couldn't be sure he had done enough.

"I'm sorry, doll. This isn't how it was supposed to be...I...I love you."

As he held your hair away, he lent over the marred scar on your neck and bit down again, feeling you shake slightly at the action. As he pulled away, he felt you shift beneath him with a groan as you started to come to.

"Bucky?" it was barely a whisper, and your eyes remained closed, but you found the energy to raise your arms slightly and feel his familiar body above yours. It was like coming up for air; everything was heavy and foggy and you couldn't feel your limbs, but the room was gradually starting to reemerge and your body didn't feel like it was spinning anymore.

"D-doll?" He wasn't sure what to do now. Would you hate him even more? Almost every fibre in his body was telling him to run, but there was something that told him he had to stay, that he needed to stay, that you needed him to stay.

Your eyes finally peeled open and you gave him a lopsided smile. "You-you came...my alpha..."

Bucky gulped and shook his head. "No I...I did this to you. I'm so sorry Y/N, I don't know what to say..."

"I love you too." Your fingers had found his jaw and started to stroke his overgrown stubble but Bucky pulled back.

"No, no doll you don't. Oh god what have I - no you don't love me, you can't love me, not after what I did..."

Your eyes falling shut again, you groaned without his touch and flailed to pull him in. As you managed to get a hold of his hair, you dragged his head down to yours, gathering just enough energy to mumble, "I loved you before that, Bucky. I've always loved you...just lie with me...please..." you gasped for air and he panicked, instantly getting closer to cradle your broken body.

"We can talk...tomorrow...please just...lie with me?"

He couldn't say no even if he wanted to. He knew he couldn't be forgiven, and he wouldn't accept it anyway, but it felt so right to lie there with you and keep you safe, even if that meant keeping you safe from himself.

So Bucky carefully manoeuvred you to the far side of the bed so he could slip in, tucking his flesh arm behind your head and guiding you as you nuzzled into his chest. He rested his metal hand on your forehead first, then in various places on your body to help reduce the fever quicker. He could hear your heartbeat start to settle, and your breathing became regular again as you drifted into the abyss.

Bucky didn't know what the morning would bring, but right now, he just wanted to stay up with you, making sure you were safe and feeling your body against his. And so no matter how tempting sleep seemed, he remained awake and alert through the rest of the night.

🪡 Part V

Bucky Taglist

@elliebee01 @littlemiss-yeehaw @lolitsthings @missvelvetsstuff @spnexploration @justlovelifeblog @1-800-call-a-milf @raajali3 @broadwaybabe18 @vicmc624 @gostodosopa @kjah97 @sageandravens @kaz11283 @bucksdonkey @alright-i-guess @eclecticpatrolroadlawyer @icequeen1371 @deandreamernp @almosttoopizza @maxsaturdayhatesnarwhals @lexikizerbarnes @lazycarolinamoment

To be added to my Bucky taglist, comment below

[crazysodomite]

😑

When I say I can't socialize with people I really do mean it. Throughout my life I've never talked to other people outside of group settings. Like in general. I've never just approached someone and talked to them one on one (or alternatively been approached). I've never DMed anyone or been DMed outside of like. (As in, for most of my life when I was growing up) Having one-and-done conversations about specific questions. I think I've only ever had one person who I talked to like that and it was only because they always messaged me first about something and I responded. I literally almost never talked to them first unless I had something specific to say which was rare. And this wasn't something that bothered me in fact I liked it because I didn't need to make up things to talk about. Conversations with people make me anxious because all I can think about is "what am I supposed to say to finish this conversation". I can't have leisurely conversations for the sake of just talking because I don't know how to. And I have nothing to say. I literally never have anything interesting to say and I never know how I'm supposed to Talk to people. It's like when you exchange pleasantries with your coworker. You don't expect them to just keep talking to you. I'm that coworker 😂 all I have to say is "nice weather today huh?" Or respond to something someone else said. In group scenarios it's easier because I don't even need to say anything because there will always be someone else with better conversation skills to actually keep the convo going. I can contribute if I have something to say or just dip out at any point because I'm never expected to be present or say anything. If I try to actually focus on Having a Conversation I just start heavily dissociating and trying to "finish" the conversation or I just end up getting distracted and not replying anymore. I can't get into group scenarios anymore either for a. Variety of reasons but mostly the fact that I will still dissociate and get scared and feel uncomfortable and like I ruin the vibe. Posting is the same way because I can just say something and no response from anyone is expected. It's nice when people do say something but there's no expectation of it and I can just say things and not feel like I'm pressuring someone into having a conversation or feel awkward for saying something and not getting a response. And I can just come and go at any moment instead of having to be Actively Present. With how things stand now I'm just really heavily dissociated for the majority of the day and sometimes I can gather the brain power to say something or reply to a comment or message. This is why I say you Don't want to be my friend because I'm too mentally ill. It's better for you to talk to someone who isn't as mentally ill as me. I wish there was another way but there isn't. I hate feeling like I'm forcing someone to interact with me for my own benefit when I know they don't like it 😞 and it's not possible to like talking to me because it's literally like taking to the coworker that maybe doesn't do anything Bad but is off putting and annoying and draining to be around 😂 and all of this ☝️ gets worse because I'm stuck in a feedback loop of being too dissociated to talk to people because of social isolation but also i keep getting more dissociated and socially inept because I can't talk to people. It's like my social battery is Permanently drained. I feel an aversion to socialising because it makes me anxious, makes me self loathe, makes me dissociate but I also want to socialize because being lonely all the time is sad 😢 but I also don't want to be selfish and force people into a situation where they feel obliged to talk to me because they feel bad for me 😂.

And that's not to mention how much dissociation plays into this in general. Every time I try to form a coherent thought I literally feel like I'm making shit up. Like I'm making up random not real things to say. I can't talk about my interests because I don't have any. All my "interests" or things I "like" feel like I'm making up a person and lying almost? Like I'm lying about my interest in something because I literally don't feel "interest" or "like" in my brain for ANYTHING. So having a conversation like that feels like I'm playing the role of a "person" and it quickly gets exhausting.. It's like i have to roleplay as someone else instead of my real self except i don't HAVE a real self 🙂 it's embarrassing. "What music do you like?" I don't know. I don't like any. I guess I'll choose one I know and pretend like it's the one I like. "Tell me about yourself" just shoot me already 😂😂😂. Is there anything you'd like to do? Not really. Is there something you hate? Not really. Do you have any memories or stories? No. Maybe the really bad ones. And so on, and so on. I am not salvageable and I should just be discarded!

[okay-j-hannah]

Blacksmith’s Hands

Pirates of the Caribbean : Fic

Will Turner x Reader

Word Count: 1419

Warnings: drunken bar fight... a bit of a jealous Will... blood and handholding

Request: “This is me absolutely begging and foaming at the mouth for you to write a Will Turner x reader. I’m fine with fluff or smut lmao. I have a couple ideas if you also want to write multiple (or blend them into 1), you totally don’t have to though. 2. Fluff about Will’s hands - It’s mentioned in Curse of The Black Pearl how Will has “Blacksmith’s hands”. Personally, I find the contrast of his rough hands and caring demeanor really adorable. Plus bar fights in Tortugan pub” @gingerdissapointment

A/N: While visiting Tortuga, you find yourself injured and in the capable hands of a shy Will Turner

Will shoved his way through the pub, attempting to be polite as others fell drunkenly around him. It was hot and stuffy and smelled of fruity wine and burning rum. It stank of salty sailors and sweaty drunkards and the cheap perfume of the ladies of the night.

Women brushed up against him and men sloshed their drink in front of him. He grimaced as an elderly man fainted and grazed his shoulder.

Gibbs was against the wall, laughing heartily as Jack made attempts to hide behind potted plants.

“What’s Jack doing?” Will yelled – the noise of the pub was overwhelming. He handed a tankard to Gibbs.

“Trying to hide from past mistresses. It’s all broken promises and hazy nights with Jack.”

Will pursed his lips and took a sip of his ale, scanning the room, “Please tell me we’ll be leaving here soon.”

“Not until Jack finds a suitable spy.” Gibbs grumbled as he gulped his drink, “But I agree, Mr. Turner. The sooner we’re out of this stinking shithole the better. I’ve got a dozen crates of rum to get on our ship.”

Will laughed, thinking how quickly that supply will drain while out at sea. He flitted his bored gaze towards the bar and choked on his ale.

“What’s (Y/N) doing here?”

The lovely and unattainable (Y/N) was the close friend – and Port Royal spy – of Jack’s. She was sweet and cordial and not at all meant to roughhouse with pirates and drunken low lives. She was raised by a commodore in Port Royal and frequently dined with the governor, which made her the perfect spy.

Now she journeyed with the Black Pearl to become acquainted with new spies working for Jack. But she could’ve done that on the ship. Why was she in the pub?

“She may live near the sea, but her tolerance of sailing is limited,” Gibbs barked, “She probably wanted to rest on dry land for a couple hours.”

“Then she should’ve stayed on the docks,” Will ground out, “She doesn’t belong in here.”

Gibbs held his hands up, his ale slipping down the tankard, “Then tell her, by all means. Or… wait a moment…” The whiskery man winked at him, “I don’t think you’ve ever said more than two words to the girl.”

Will scowled at him, but he couldn’t hide the blush creeping up his neck. “I can talk to her.”

“Seeing is believing.”

If truth be told, Will was so infatuated with the woman it seemed impossible for him to say anything coherent in her presence. But in that pub, with the scum of the earth eyeing her like a tasty piece of meat, something began to broil in his stomach.

She seemed to shrink in on herself as the bartender gave her a glass of wine. She thanked him and sipped, ignoring her surroundings like they bothered her. Like they scared her.

Will swallowed hard, the ale adding to the boiling of his stomach, igniting something dangerous in his chest. He watched (Y/N) drink and play with a tray of cheese and bread.

It wasn’t until a large man approached her that Will stirred from his place against the wall.

It was some drunken buffoon swaying on his feet. He leaned against the bar and spoke in her face. She was clearly uncomfortable, her nose wrinkling from the smell of him.

Gibbs gulped his drink, interested to see how the game would pan out. He could see the anger and anticipation building in Will. He was going to explode soon.

(Y/N) waved her hand and wished the hulking man well, but he only got closer. He nearly grabbed her face, and she stumbled out of her chair to get away. She was flushed and scared in the way she ordered the man to leave.

Instinctually Will shoved his tankard into Gibbs’ chest, storming towards the bar.

“Hey! I believe the lady asked for you to leave.”

The drunkard turned, bloodshot eyes finding Will as he slurred, “Keep your nose where it belongs. Out of my business.”

(Y/N) looked to Will with genuine fear in her pleading gaze. The glass of wine in her hand was quivering with her fear.

“Please leave before I throw you out.” Will’s voice darkened, his fists clenching.

The man laughed, “How polite. Polite like this beauty here.” And he grabbed (Y/N)’s arm, shoving her roughly by his side.

She flailed, getting pushed into the bar and breaking her wine glass against the counter.

She hissed as the glass cut her hand. The drunkard held her roughly and laughed with his yellow teeth and red cheeks. That was until Will shoved his fist deep into the man’s cheekbone.

He heard something crack as he threw another punch, the drunkard stumbling. Blood was quick to appear in the split on his cheek. It wouldn’t be surprising if a few of those tobacco stained teeth were knocked out.

(Y/N) screamed as Will threw one last fist, bruising the man’s eye. He was breathing heavy as the drunkard fell away, clutching his face.

“God, Will,” she mumbled, “Are you all right?” Her voice wavered as she approached Will.

He was panting, full of adrenaline as he attempted to uncurl his fists. (Y/N) was suddenly at his side, holding his arm with her unharmed hand.

He blinked, “(Y/N). Let me see your hand.” He tried to even his breathing as he gently held her injured arm. There was a clear cut along her palm, glass shattered everywhere.

“Mine? Look at yours.” She gave a breathy laugh, but it was strained with nerves.

“Let’s find someplace quiet,” he muttered. “Bandage that hand.” He was so gentle as he led her outside, a few fingers light as a feather on her shoulder.

They sat on a nearby porch outside a trading post. There was light from torches around them, enough to see the damage.

Will inspected her hand, ensuring that no glass was stuck in the cut. Then he found his water pouch kept on his hip while sailing. He poured some water on her hand, washing the blood away. He was trying very hard not to look at her face – he could feel her eyes on him.

She was staring at his hands. The way they worked. Those blacksmith hands.

His nails short and out of the way. The knuckles rough and worked. The palm callused and hard. They were strong and capable.

She eyed the scrapes that bloodied his knuckles. The hands that shaped metal and stoked fires. Those same hands defended her. Those same hands were holding her with such gentleness now. He was barely touching her, lightly grazing around the wound.

How could hands so strong have a presence so gentle?

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He flickered his eyes to hers, “Are you all right?”

She nodded and watched him rip a piece of fabric from his undershirt. The veins on his hands stood out as he gripped the shirt.

“This is the best we can do until we find some clean cloth.” He tied it slowly around her hand, encasing it with his own, “We’ll check on it tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” she said again, “For saving me, I mean.”

Will gave a soft smile, “You should’ve come in with me.”

“Oh, well I thought…” she pulled her hand out of his, “I thought you didn’t like me.”

She watched as he closed his hands without hers to occupy them.

“That’s impossible.”

She smiled, “Let’s take care of your hands now.”

There was only a second of hesitance before Will gave his hands willingly. He missed holding hers.

She borrowed his hip pouch of water and dabbed at his knuckles, savoring how warm his hold was. “Why don’t you ever talk to me?” she asked quietly, “If you do like me.”

“I just become lost for words when you’re near.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet.” She smiled, “I’ve always liked sweet.”

Will was watching her now, taking in her face as she worked, “You make my chest burn.”

“What?”

“You make my heart ache. It’s always what stops me from talking to you. I don’t… I don’t want to ruin my chances with you.”

(Y/N) bit her lip, hiding how wide her smile was, “I’d say your chances are looking pretty good.”

Will grinned in disbelief, “Really?”

She very slowly raised his bruised knuckles to her lips, kissing them better. “Just keep your hand in mine.” She reveled in the astonishment of his gaze, “And I’m yours.”

~~~

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[eldritch-spouse]

Say hello to your Valentine Cero!

TW: Noncon; Kidnapping; Manipulation.

[Fem reader.]

It's hopeless. The more time you spend in this room, the less resistance you have to offer.

" Sign it. "

You shake your head, not trusting your voice.

There's a thunderous slam, the demonlord's hands clawing at the regal marble table and making a horrible, squealing noise. It rings in your ears, grating, shredding the gray mass of your already muddled brain.

" Tsk. "

He fiddles with a remote control outside your line of sight, and suddenly, you're arching against silken binds, shuddering hard enough to make the very chair you sit on tremble while the potent vibrator tortures your poor, overstimulated clitoris.

The noise that erupted out of you was something between a wounded animal's dying bleat and a wheeze. Ugly. Yet apparently very pleasing to the pride demon, whose scowl twitches into a grin for a second.

" Why must you insist on making this so much harder than it has to be? "

A long, flowing purple cape is flicked into place as he gets up, pacing.

" Do you not realize how good of a deal this is? " He's genuinely exasperated, sharp eyes looking at you as if you're showing clear signs of sustained head injury. " Must I spell it out? You can read, can't you? "

To be fair, even if you could when this bizarre encounter began, you've long since lost the coherence to read or interpret most of anything. The letters on the contract in front of you are nothing but squiggly black smudges twisting and floating on a fancy page, incomprehensible. They might as well be hieroglyphs by now. You recall what it is perfectly however.

A marriage contract.

A very weird, dodgy, skeevy one.

You don't even remember what put you here to begin with. You only know you bumped against an inordinately tall demon outside yesterday. In a rush, you were focused on a receipt and didn't look where you were going, knocking into him only to fall like a buffoon. The embarrassment was so intense that you didn't even look up, ushering out a string of apologies before collecting your belongings and dashing away with burning cheeks. It must have been him. It could only have been the Icon of Pride that you bumped into yesterday. That horrendous misfortune is the only incident you can think of to justify where you are right now.

In a stupidly opulent dining room, bound to a padded chair, lower half bare and currently being tortured.

Granted, this humiliating treatment only started when you refused to sign. You're not sure how much time has passed since then, with orgasm after draining orgasm being forced out of your sweaty body, while the unempathetic demon sat opposite of you, waiting, taunting, demanding you sign it.

Of course you didn't.

Although the calligraphy in it was nothing short of exuberant, it read like the whole thing was drafted in a rushed stupor. Like whoever made it, Di Cero, the demon in front of you presumably, was trying to meet a particularly stressful deadline. Sentence structuring is eloquent but impatient sounding, certain features which should be clearly explained are glossed over, and the number of concerning clauses detailing your level of autonomy as his supposed spouse are worrying. Not to mention the "scheduled worship sessions", whatever the fuck that implies. You could swear there was a mention of your soul somewhere… Buried in disgustingly self-flattering paragraphs of pure nonsense. It's as if he doesn't know what a partner is.

You were initially flattered, in a very unhealthy way. Scared and flattered, to be honest. Now you're just horrified. He wants you to sign a contract wherein you become his wife, Queen of Pride, as well as a strange sort of personal worshiper. What a fucking trip to wake up to.

The enigmatic paper in front of you is swiped away before saliva could reach it.

“ Ugh, you’re drooling on it. “ Cero sneers, and although you miss it entirely, a hint of deep satisfaction shines in his eyes from having you in this state.

He examines his own work briefly, this smarmy smirk on his face, as if he’s never read a finer legal agreement in his entire life. “ Really, I made it as clear as day, the terms are perfect, I’m even letting you use my personal pen. “ Something in his expression conveys that it's supposed to be a huge honor. 

You glare at the thing, trying to distract yourself from the awful zings of stimulation, the loud buzzing echoing through the room and your own ragged breathing. Cero crowds you, exerting further pressure. The pen he mentioned is a touch too big for you, though that’s only natural, he’s quite the large demon, and you’re only a human. You’ve yet to touch it at all, but it looks heavy, a sleek black design you’re sure must be made of some well-known Hell mineral, featuring intricate curls of gold along the surface. The end of it has a strange form, like its… Oh. It’s a makeshift lancet. For the blood print part of the signature.

The demonlord rolls his eyes in a much too exaggerated manner, waving. “ Go ahead, I'll untie you, you can use it, really. “

Yeah, as if bashfulness is what’s keeping you from legally fucking yourself over. Handing your life to this tyrant in written form.

“ N- No. “

You’re not sure what the point of this is anyway. He could just place a blade to your neck and force you to sign, point a gun to your temple, even a slap from this creature could be dreadful enough to break something at full force. This must be extremely amusing to him.

A pause follows, almost lulling you back into an animal trance.

" No?! "

His booming snarl is the most frightening thing you've ever head, instincts begging you to shut the fuck up and sign already. Nothing's on your side here, it seems.

Your chin is suddenly pinched between two sharp needles, forced to face the fuming demon. " You ingrate! Brainless thing! Do you still not realize what I'm offering you?! " There's no response save for gasping and rapid blinking. " I'm feeling extra generous today, so I'll spell it out for you. Look at me and listen good- "

The vibrator working diligently inside you is all but yanked out. Thankfully, you're a wet mess by now, so it merely slides off with a disgustingly lewd noise. Instead of being ashamed however, you're sighing and slumping like a sack of potatoes, eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Finally. Finally, some semblance of sweet, sweet mercy. Limbs tingling and half-numb, your body begs for the rest it's being denied by the alarm bells in your head.

Cero turns the white device off, and for a moment, the look on his face softens. As if he's truly lost track of what he was going to do with it. Much to your surprise, a very pale pink muscle peeks out between rows of gnarly teeth. You can only blink and watch as the Icon of Pride slides the shaft of the thing into his own mouth and licks it clean with a vigor shameless enough to set your cheeks even more aflame. You can see a very clear imprint of his excitement jumping in his odd skin-tight pants... What the fuck is his damage? It's only after a couple moments of this disgusting display that he appears to wise up, quickly releasing the toy, crushing it in his grasp, and tossing it behind him. There's a noticeable flush to his mostly chalk-white face, the demonlord looking genuinely angry at himself for a moment.

While the recovery was anything but smooth, Cero's grip on your chin tightens, painfully, and his stern demeanor surfaces once more.

" I've taken you from your sad excuse of a life to be a woman of value, of purpose- At my side, you shall be worshiped until the end of Pride itself, you will hold the admiration and respect of all demons under me, and you will know nothing but the very best life has to offer. Do you understand? "

Staring into those acidic rose pools, you realize he's being utterly serious, no room for mockery or nonsense in them. You have no idea why he's laying this much power at your feet, why he wants you of all people to fulfill this role. He could have anyone, he could have better, so much better. What sets you apart for him? What makes him think this is the type of thing you want from life? Well, that's easy to answer, of course the Icon of Pride isn't thinking about how you feel.

" Do you understand? " Is repeated through grit teeth.

" Y- Yes. "

" Good. "

Di Cero squats to be more at your level, an act that might mean nothing to you now but will be recognized in the future most likely, the pads of his fingers rubbing over your overstimulated mess of a pussy. You quiver and yelp like a corralled animal, though the Icon is too focused in the way your cum glistens on his digits. He finds your sloppy entrance and slides a digit in, moving it ever so slightly, enough to torture you. Your walls flutter and you start crying, fat desperate tears cascading down your tired face as you resign yourself to more unrequited pleasure.

Cero scoffs at the sight, observing sullen droplets hit the spotless floor while his gaze grows foggy. You're not sure what's going through his mind, nor are you lucid enough to care.

" I'm giving you so much pleasure, so much attention- You'll have me for entire days and nights, I'll make sure even that huge pink harlot envies you. " Although Cero's tone transmits desperation, his words are scathing and unconvincing. You have no idea how to interpret what he says, so all you do is look fearfully upon the caped tyrant, wincing at every twitch of his fingers that play with your wetness.

" Hm, no manners. " There's a drawn-out hum, facetiously pensive. " Yes… Maybe that's the problem, isn't it? I'm being too nice to you. Too sweet. You must think I'm a weakling. Bah, nonsense! I would not be King if I failed to adapt. "

You don't like the grin the demon now dons. It's different from his confident, toothy displays. Thinner. Strained. Warning. When his face rests mere inches from yours, your eyes close instinctively and you tremble hard enough that it feels as if you'll shake yourself into a pile of bones. Is he going to bite you? Plunge something into your flesh? Just yell? The uncertainty drags all breath from you.

Seconds pass.

Something warm slides up your face. Your cheek, more specifically. From chin to eye, it trails a wet path, collecting the rivers of fear tainting your expression. He's licking you. Cleaning your tears, perhaps savoring them. The same is done to the other side of your face, you don't dare open your eyes, fearing the type of sick emotion you'd find in his own.

The demonlord pulls away, his slicked fingers slipping out of you, but not before flicking a thoroughly abused button hard enough to make you squeal out in pain. It stings, black dots momentarily swallowing your vision.

" I understand, it’s a lot at the same time isn’t it? You need time to think about how you’re going to thank me for this. “

He’s gone in seconds. And the worst part is, you can’t even tell if Cero was being genuine, or purely mocking.

Hours must have passed.

You can’t really tell, it’s not as if he generously left a watch in the room. It feels like hours, so you assume that’s the case.

Your legs are sore, your ass, your still bound arms, even your back is screeching at you to shift position. Yet, no matter how much you grunt and shimmy around on the chair, it’s never enough to make the pains fade. You’re hungry, thirsty, still covered in your own fluids and utterly miserable, staring at that stupid. Fucking. Contract.

God help you. There isn’t a god here, but who else will you plead to?

You’d do anything to get out of this hellish chair right now. And part of you feels weak for admitting it. Maybe it’s exposure to movies that spawned this idea in you, but you’ve always thought it would take more violent methods to get you near begging for mercy. And sure, sexually you’ve just been through a lot, but being isolated in this chair is honestly doing worse right now.

You know what it is, at its core. Mind games. The demon humiliated you in an unforgivable way, and now he’s left you to your vices, to sit in shame, dirty. You’re livid, depressed that it’s working, that you’d rather just be done with this already.

As if something had heard your inner monologue, the door to this darkened hell pit parts, and in strolls none other than the very same bastard, looking as sharp as he’s been since the first second of this madness. The salty, dry tracks on your cheeks are silently renewed, the first reaction to his reappearance it seems.

Cero spares you a suspiciously calm glance before taking a seat on the chair opposite to yours, a fair distance away. His legs cross and he speaks out loud, as if to no one in particular. “ Dinner has just finished… “ A pause. “ If you sign now, you might be in time to eat with me. “

Food sounds amazing right now. You bet they serve well here, he’s a ruler after all.

In spite of your rage at his nonchalant audacity, you don’t say anything. Your judgment wavers in the face of discomfort and hunger, not allowing you to outright deny his offer.

Di Cero notices this, eyes sharpening when he finally deigns to glance at you, and preys on that weakness near instantly.

“ You do know you’re not losing anything of value, right? “ There’s a chuckle, as if he thinks your concerns are the silliest thing. “ It’s fascinating how afraid of change you are. Isn’t it pathetic? You live such a miserable existence that, when I hand you something much better, you immediately flinch away. “ A single finger waves, tutting you. “ Unlearn that, it’s unflattering. “

You swear to anything that’s out there, you’re about to pop a vein just from hearing this fucker speak. Another stretch of silence takes over, though not for long.

“ I’ve organized this down to the last minute. Every single detail. “ Some manner of contentment shines through his tone. “ Agree to our terms tonight, and our union will take place on Valentine’s Day. Isn’t that romantic? “

More like ironic. A demon getting married on a saint’s day. This has to be riveting for him. He must think he’s sooo clever and funny. Him and his little brigade of yes men most likely, because Cero strikes you as the type of monster that would want that.

“ Isn’t that perfect, beau? “

You wish you had the strength, and courage, to roll your eyes.

Unlike the previous encounter, your consistent lack of response isn’t dragging much of a reaction from the Icon. Instead, he just looks at the painted ceiling, eerily calm, waiting with steepled fingers. Cero appears to zone out completely, leaving you just as isolated as you were before.

Somehow, that makes you angrier. Yet also incredibly defeated.

This is it. You're just stuck here until you agree, he's made that much clear. And you're not a strong woman. You're not going to bear this for much longer. It's not fair and it's not worth it. He can have what he wants anyway, you've never been in any position to defy the demon, this is just some sick exercise to break you in.

A small eternity passes before you clear your throat, gathering a wink of composure and a brief side-glance from the tyrant.

" … I-... I'll sign. "

His eyes widen, chest expanding, you catch the exact moment where he realizes he's getting too excited and schools his expression, opting to be patient for a second more.

" I said I'll sign! " You near yell, voice broken, exasperated. " I just want to get out of here, I wanna take a bath, I just want to rest please- "

For a moment, Cero's stillness makes you wonder if he's lost interest, if your words were unconvincing or he thinks he can find someone better, someone less "pathetic", as he so politely put it. But then, in a blink, he bolts up, standing ever tall and tense. The demon erupts into elegant, manic laughter- Cackling really- As he claps joyfully and kicks his seat away in victory.

Although it probably wasn't meant to be intimidating, the way that admittedly heavy chair flies jarringly through the air and slams against the wall, breaking into pieces, is horrifying. A kick like that would just fucking flatten you, no doubt.

" Oh ho, I'm so very glad you've come to your senses! " The Icon's chortling fit settles ever so slightly, he waves. " I was starting to think you had some sort of damage. "

Oh. Oh, that's just lovely.

Cero's behind your seated frame in no time, untying your dominant hand, watching you pick up his pen. The demonlord's hands are planted on either side of you, pointy, cruel-looking things that they are. You can feel his breath on the back of your neck, hot, heavy, there's a wolfish grin on his face- You don't need to look back to know it's there.

" Now sign. You've kept me waiting long enough. "

Said flat words spread on your skin like apathetic ice cubes, forcing you to quickly roll your sore wrist, and finally, write your name on that blasted signature blank. You know what you're getting yourself into with every shaky curl of ink, not wanting to think too hard about the consequences of your actions as you solemnly observe your name on this trap, this unsubtle death warrant sugarcoated with frivolous legal terminology. Drivel, a drivel-based, cynical ownership deal.

Cero hums from behind you, a much too sweet-sounding vocalization given the circumstances. Your hair is pet tenderly, the gesture so out of sorts that you start sobbing, scared, confused, full of instant regret.

" There we go, my lovely little prize. " He murmurs against your scalp, still smiling. " Very good. That wasn't so hard, was it? We're almost done. Almost. "

The pen falls from your trembling hands as you try to conceal humiliating noises, feeling vulnerable in a way you've never experienced before. Cero scoops it up and wipes your tears with the other, unfazed by the way you lean back hard enough to bonk your head on the chair's backrest.

" I hope those tears are of joy, dear. " He starts, grabbing your palm. " Now stand still, if you behave for the next part, we can put an end to this. " Next part…?

He clicks something on the pen's side and quickly adjusts your index, bringing the sleek black object closer. Ah, the blood print. Maybe you're sensitive, or maybe he does it on purpose, but the lancet hurts more than it should when it pierces into your pad of your finger. Your wince makes him snort. Blood beads there quite fast, Di Cero effortlessly angles your digit and creates an admittedly clean-looking droplet next to your signature.

A much smaller but still disturbing bout of tittering erupts from the demonlord, who slips your bleeding finger into his mouth, messily and lewdly sucking at it, before pulling away and swiping the finished contract away from the table. He gazes at it with a softness you fail to understand, as if it's all that matters in that moment, religiously re-reading the last paragraphs and moaning at the sight of your written agreement.

Fucking freak.

Di Cero places the apparently invaluable paper back on the ornamented table, deliberately far away from you, like he's afraid you'll try to destroy the thing. A tempting thought.

He's back on you like a hawk, taking your poor arm and showering it in chaste kisses, nipping at your wrist. " Precious, darling inamorata- See? All you needed was a little space. " The demon coos, placing a harder kiss to your forehead before stealing a taste of your lips. It's all teeth and impatience, rabid excitement. Disgusting. " I knew I picked excellently. You're full of potential, I just have to chip at you a little, which is normal, naturally- Given your uhm… Lackluster species. "

So he's racist to humans too. Of course. Why wouldn't he be? Why did you expect anything from this greasy fucker…

Those wandering feelers flutter this way and that across your body, and much to your dismay, they circle at your inner thighs, sliding to settle between your legs again. You groan, the touch entirely unrequited. You've orgasmed enough times to be sick. Although speaking is hard for you right now, you still try to halt him. " Cero… "

" Hush, I'm rewarding you. "

Funny how it feels like just more torment in spite of that.

You remain placid, resigned to letting the demon play with your poor womanhood. He appears to love the feeling, making clipped moans and growls behind you. In turn, you can only gasp and quiver, having long-since lost the ability to scream.

" C- Can you please untie me now? "

Di Cero shakes his head. " Soon. After we eat, yes? " Your responding sigh is pitiful. " Speaking of- "

" SERVANTS! "

Your heart jumps around your ribcage like a pinball machine, you almost feel light-headed for a second, goosebumps covering you from head to tone at the massively imposing, demonic tone that just left the Icon.

The doors part once more and small imps race forward, effectively setting the table. It's a small commotion, but enough to make you die in shame as they work diligently, while their master fingers you stupid. To their credit, not a single one looks your way. It's as if you don't exist at all. You still try to squirm away from Cero's ministrations, earning a disapproving snarl. Lord, this is so degrading.

Your dignity just keeps taking blow after devastating blow ever since you landed here.

In an impressively span of time, the two of you are left alone again, the table entirely set. Candles and everything, a bottle of champagne so expensive you can't recognize the brand, and the juiciest steak you've ever seen on a plate, almost seeming to teasingly wink at you.

Cero plucks a forkful of it with a free hand and aims it your way, a look of complete lovestruck mania on his pale complexion. " Eat now. You'll need your rest. " It parks at your lips, insistent, until you begrudgingly accept the food, frustrated further by how good it is. Just as you expected.

" Because tomorrow, my perfect Valentine, we'll be official. "

[zombiecicada]

Star-Crossed Hero of Dreamland: Wolfbell!

@kirbyoctournament

=General Information=

Name: She doesn’t remember her name before coming to Popstar, if.. she even had one at all. But the villagers of Cappy Town are calling her Wolfbell, so she’s happy to stick with that for the time being.

Gender/Pronouns: Hermaphrodite, she/her

Species: Unclear, she herself is uncertain. While she does appear to resemble a puffball, several of her biological features do not aline in the slightest with typical puffball anatomy.

Age: She appears to be a preteen. But just like all the other information about herself, she’s really unsure.

Abilities:

-flight (still a bit shaky at this, cannot fly for long periods of time without rest)

Wolfbell has the ability to use soul magic, she can use her sword to focus blasts and streaks of red coloured soul magic. Her abilities allow her to sense other people with souls nearby her. Has a mode of vision known as soul vision, which brings her into a void where she can see others and their emotions, granting her empathic abilities where she can feel and see what others are feeling.

She can phase through objects and attacks as if becoming a ghost, she has a hard time activating this ability on command and it often makes her nauseous.

The two bells on her ears will ring to warn her of oncoming danger, and when she is near someone she can judge them with the bells to see if they are safe or not.

Wolfbell, even prior to the mentorship of Sir Mets Knight, has proven to be quite good at swordsmanship, her sword is necessary for her to channel her magic into stronger and more stable attacks.

Wolfbell’s blue blood contains natural antifreeze proteins, allowing her greater resilience to colder temperatures. Bring copper based her body is adapted to cold oxygen poor environments, and she can hold her breath for up to an hour before having to breathe again. Because her body needs so little oxygen, Wolfbell’s rate of breathing is extremely low.

Her durable and strong forearms and tough paws make her an excellent rock climber, her nails are very hard to break and grow rapidly, so climbing things is something she’ll do often.

She also might just possibly be haunted.

Weaknesses:

-Has poor endurance for using her soul magic, constantly using it will rapidly drain her energy and make her collapse.

-Had retrograde amnesia, she cannot remember where she came from, or truly who she is. She’s unsure what caused the amnesia. Little by little as Wolfbell encounters others and is forced to face her past, it comes crashing back to her.

-She is quite self critical, especially when it comes to failure. She is scared of letting others down, especially Meta Knight. She’s also quite socially anxious in general.

-She has begun to develop Fatal Rapport Syndrome.

Likes:

-Long nature walks, gets her away from the loudness of society and everyone’s emotions… and judgement.

-Rock climbing.

-Training with Sword and Blade, training with her sword in general, she’ll practice her foot work even if she’s alone.

-Star gazing and the moon.

-Tea.

-Books and reading.

-Being around those she’s come to see as friends, she especially enjoys cuddling and hugs.

Dislikes:

-Loud noises, her ears are sensitive.

-Large crowds of people. Too many emotions.

-Eating veggies.

-Getting really muddy.

-The cappies’ judgement towards her for being different, and their gossip behind her back.

=Personality=

Wolfbell is a young warrior in training who tends to think to herself instead of speak out loud, she is very awkward and struggles to react to sudden change. Around people she typically is quite introverted and would much rather listen to someone talk than be the talker, but will attempt to force herself to try and be friendly even at her own discomfort in order to overcome her limits, often leading to spastic moments of saying things that somehow manage to sound actually coherent in the most awkwardly way possible.

But once she becomes your friend, she is loyal without fault and will do anything to keep you safe.

She has natural talent with swordsmanship, though like the modest person she is she often undermines her skills as nothing particularly special and has a hard time accepting praise. Especially when, without her sword, she tends to be really bad at managing her abilities. She is highly independent and struggles to ask for help.

She’s clever, intuitive, and alert, with a great love for the beauty of life and nature. She will try to be helpful always, and will valiantly and bravely rush to defend someone if she notices they are in danger or need help. She is prepared to take hits for others, especially for friends, as she believes it is her duty as the hero. She’s non confrontational in social settings, shying away or simply taking any kind of harmful gossip or criticism about her.

Truth be told she’s very confused, and feels lost, she wants to know her origins as badly as she wants to fulfil this destiny of hers and will sometimes dive to desperate measures to do so. She is a lot of hardcore faith in her destiny as the hero, which she is highly devoted to.

Wolfbell is self-critical as is, and thinks very lowly of herself, often ignoring her own needs, especially to please others.

=Relationships=

Meta Knight:

Meta Knight is Wolfbell’s unofficial guardian, having stepped in to oversee her training so she can one day fulfil her destiny and kill Nightmare. He is not afraid in the slightest to be very harsh with his training methods, often throwing Wolfbell directly into danger and waiting for her to figure out solutions on her own. Wolfbell has a lot of respect for him, but is also…quite afraid of him and the pain he can inflict during his lessons. She immensely fears letting him down and disappointing him.

She’s attempting numerous times to ask him questions about herself and himself, but is usually met with vague answers that leave her more confused than before she asked the questions. She doesn’t doubt that in his own distant way, he does care about her, despite everything.

Fumu and Bun:

Fumu and Bun are Wolfbell’s friends and the first people to actually welcome her into Cappy Town. Wolfbell has a great amount of respect and admiration for Fumu (who she calls Miss Fumu) and thinks she is very interesting and intelligent. The two bond over having a common fascination and love for nature, often going on hikes together and reading books together, and trying to solve the mystery of what Wolfbell is. Wolfbell is very protective of her.

Bun and Wolfbell have a very playful relationship, with Bun often unintentionally reminding Wolfbell to behave like the juvenile she is. He will rope her into mischief at every opportunity, and the two often get into trouble. Because Wolfbell is quite strong and durable, she can withstand how rough Bun plays without falling behind or getting injured. Rather, it is often him who gets scraped up trying to keep up with her, especially when she scoots up the side of a cliff like it’s nothing. He does occasionally get jealous of the ‘cool things’ she can do, so in an effort to please him she’ll often refraining from ‘showing off’ unless he asks.

The Cappies:

The Cappies have a very… mixed, opinion on Wolfbell. While not outright aggressive to her (under normal circumstances) she is often their scapegoat when anything goes wrong or anything gets destroyed around town. They think she’s weird and that she looks strange, and a common thread of gossip around town is Wolfbell might not be all that different from the monsters she’s fighting. Sometimes they can be nice to her, but most of the time they prefer she stays away from them and out of town if there aren’t any monsters to be fought. Curio is one of the few Cappies who find her interesting, albeit much more in a ‘what a neat organism’ way, whereas Mabel and Samo are actually genuinely nice to Wolfbell, with Mabel trying her best to reassure Wolfbell she’s doing her best when she has the opportunity to do so.

Rem:

Rem is an agent of Nightmare sent to kill her in order to stop the prophecy from happening.

=Backstory=

Wolfbell’s story begins with the planet Popstar, which has begun to suffer from demonbeast problems. While a Star Warrior named Meta Knight lives on the planet and tries his best to defend it, there's only so much he can do.

The townspeople began to see the demonbeasts everywhere as King Dedede ordered more and more of them to fulfil some agenda. Eventually after several episodes of sheep going missing and numerous cappies seeing an octopus demonbeast, after an attempt to get King Dedede to solve the problem ends fruitless, they go to Kabu and ask for an answer to their problems. The pebble of knowledge in the cosmic river of history says that the solution to their problem lies within Wolfbell. 

Confused by what this means, they ponder on what Wolfbell could possibly be when barely a few seconds later a stranger shows up from out of the blue from a rift in the sky, a young puff-like being who has the features of a wolf, and on either ear a small bell. No doubt, this is their hero Wolfbell.

Meta Knight sees immediately that she is not a Star Warrior, but with no other options he begins to train this stranger to unlock what he can only assume to be the power within her necessary to defeat the monsters and eventually Nightmare. With no name or memory of her past, she opts to just go by what the locals have been calling her: Wolfbell.

She manages to defeat the octopus demonbeast (albeit with a lot of running and lots of internal screaming) and is dubbed as the hero of Dreamland. This goes on for a while, she meets the residents of the town and castle, albeit the odd one out and the scapegoat when things go wrong for the cappies, with each new demonbeast she defeats she gets a little bit stronger.

However, little did she and everyone else know, defeating NME and stopping Nightmare was never her destiny.

-

Want to ask her a question or interact with her?

The arrival???

-

A Wolfbell Playlist?

-Wild Horses by Grace Powers (main theme song)

-Curses by The Crane Wives

-The Wolf by SIAMÉS

-Monster by Imagine Dragons

[lanitalay]

Supernatural 2

in which you encounter a couple of hunters on a case

Azriel x reader

a/n: babes I'm alive. I have been traveling for a while and have not had the mental capacity to write anything but here is a lil fic to remind you I'm still here lol

warnings: angst, canon typical violence

wordcount:1.5k

Part 1

When three loud knocks rattle the dingy motel room door, Azriel rolls his eyes. He noticed you left your keys behind and when you did not come back he assumed you had gone to Dean. The night was spent in itchy sheets, tossing and turning to the thought of you in another’s bed. Before he opened the door, he steeled his face, wiping away any semblance of care or concern. 

“Open up, pretty boy!” 

Weird. “Dean?” 

“Is y/n with you?” The eldest Winchester barges in. “Y/n!”

“I thought she was with you.” Guilt bites Azriel’s mouth as Dean shows him the cracked screen of a phone. Your phone. “Where did you find that?” Your partner snatches it out of the practical stranger’s hands. 

“Sammy and I went to the lobby to ask for more shampoo because someone refuses to get a haircut.” Sam huffs and finishes the explanation “there was nobody there, but we found her phone. It looked like it had been thrown against the wall or something.” 

Azriel couldn’t understand. Had you gotten that fed up with him? Had last night been the last straw for you? Had you broken your phone, the only thing keeping you on the grid, to spite him? He could almost hear you say “have it your way.” 

“Azriel?” Sam’s voice shakes him. 

“She left.”

“What?” It was Dean this time, bewildered. “Listen, we looked around the desk and found the ledger. Take a look.” Azriel’s mind was reeling and this guy wanted him to look at a ledger? He strained his eyes to focus on the wonky lettering. Amelia Johnson, Benjamin Parker, Chloe Thompson, Dominic Rodriguez, Emma Smith, Finnegan O'Connor…

“Why are you showing me this?” His world had just fallen apart and these guys wanted to work a case? 

Dean groans.“Clearly Y/n is the brains in your operation, take a closer look.”

Azriel rereads: Room 9, Amelia Johnson, Benjamin Parker, Chloe Thompson, Dominic Rodriguez, Emma Smith, Finnegan O'Connor, Azriel Singer, Y/n Y/l/n.

Oh. 

Crap. 

“Crap, crap, crap.” You take in the gray bodies of people you had been trying to save for a week. Your arm hurt, a lot. Because of how you were tied you couldn’t look to see what had been done to it. But based on how your vision blurred at the edges, you deduced that blood had been drawn and based on how difficult it was to breathe, it had been a lot. 

The motel attendant walks in. With all the strength you can muster you spit at it. For what it did to those people, for what this would do to Azriel. He flashes his fangs. A warning.

“I must say, your blood is particularly delectable.” He rips your sore arm from its binding and jams a needle in it. Blinding pain shoots to your neck, up to your throat and a meek whimper escapes you. It was like he pierced your soul. For a second you think he’s draining more than just blood. Before a coherent thought can form your consciousness gives way to darkness. 

“She’s gotta be here. There must be a basement or cellar or backroom or-” Azriel is rambling, scouring through files and cursing himself for not having the blueprints to the motel. He had spent so much time in the archives and didn’t even think to get them. 

“Azriel, she’ll be ok. We will search this place up and down until we find her. But right now we have to sharpen our machetes and come up with a plan.” Sam said while Dean had already begun working on his weapon. 

An hour later they had set out to the lobby.

No one was at the front desk. The hunters quickly made their way to the back room. It was set up as an office. Papers piled sky high, most of them blank. Sam opened a door labeled “storage” and cursed when he shone a flashlight down a steep set of stairs. “Guys, over here.” He whispered. Vampires are heavy sleepers, especially after a meal but they needed to be careful. Azriel tightens his grip on his machete and follows Sam down, Dean watching his back. 

When they reach the landing, distant snoring lets them know they are not alone. There are two doors. Sam presses his ear against one and nods to the others, confirming that it's clear. He opens it, cringing at the squeak. Every damn hinge in this place is rusty. Azriel walks in, flashlight landing on a limp figure. A silhouette he could recognize anywhere, even as it was awkwardly hunched forward. He goes to check your pulse and sighs when he finds it. Weak, but there. 

“Hey, y/n, it's me. We’re gonna get you out of here.” Azriel whispers to your unconscious form while he tears through the ropes that secure you to the chair. Sam and Dean at your flank. He cuts through the bindings of your right arm, cursing to see it discolored, practically  mauled. When he moves it from your back to your front you shriek. Even with the gentleness of his touch your limb felt like it was on fire. The shriek turned into muffled moaning as Azriel covered your mouth with his hand. “Shhh, shhh, we have to be quiet.” 

But the warning was issued in vain. The motel attendant and the janitor were in the room in a matter of seconds. Engaging both winchesters in combat. “Get her out, Az!” Dean shouted through the slashing of machetes against the metal chair the vampire was using as a weapon. 

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” Azriel apologizes as he cuts through the last of the rope and picks you up, aiming to lunge up the stairs. Before he can begin the climb though, the janitor throws Sam across the room and into the pair of you. Azriel does his best to shield your head from the blow. In the beat that it takes Sam to recover the janitor is on you, yanking you away from Azriel and piercing the delicate flesh of your neck with its fangs. 

It's all Azriel sees as he storms forward, swinging his machete like a Tasmanian devil. The janitor is so enthralled by your blood he reacts too late to the blow that severs his head from his body. Your legs give out and Azriel lurches forward to catch you, looking back to Sam who says “go, I’ll finish the job with Dean.”

You woke up in pain. But you woke up in a bed to worried hazel eyes. “Az? Az! The manager and the janitor-”

“I know, Sam and Dean are dealing with them now.” 

“And the people..?”

He shook his head. It was a confirmation of what you had already known, but it did not hurt any less.

Azriel laid down next to you, offering his shoulder for you to lean on. Quiet tears streamed down your face. It was long before he broke the silence “we need to get you to a hospital.” 

Just then, Sam and Dean walked back, covered in blood and clothes tattered to bits. 

“That last sucker put up one hell of a fight.” 

“I’m gonna take y/n to the hospital, thank you for every-”

Dean waved his hands “no no, we got a guy for that. Let me call Cas.”

Azriel and you share a look before you ask. “You know Cass?” 

Sam and Dean share a look. “You know Cas?” 

“We know Cass, but you wouldn’t actually call him for medical attention.”

“Then it’s not the same Cas. Give me a minute.” He never takes out his phone but before you can remark on the effectiveness of his call a flash of light blinds you and at the foot of the bed stands a stoic man in a trench coat.

“What the hell…” 

“Castiel this is Azriel and Y/n. Guys this is Cas, he’s an angel.” Dean’s shit eating grin makes you want to slap him. 

“Dean said that you needed healing?”

You look at your bloodied body and nod.

“This will hurt, but it will be over quickly.” He places a hand on your head and molten energy courses through your veins. It feels like your body will combust from it. In a second it's over though and you are left in a panting mess, no gashes anywhere on your body. 

You pack up quickly after that. Promising the boys you will stay in touch and reach out if you ever need help. 

Soon enough you and Azriel are back in the front seat on his truck. 

“Y/n?” 

“Yeah?”

“About last night-”

“I know.”  You lean into him, placing a kiss on his cheek. “I think there's a case in Florida, I was just reading an article about…” 

You knew the conversation had to happen at some point. Someone was bound to give in or to give up. But there were monsters out there and also, apparently, angels.

[thebottomfromhell]

Is it possible to get something fluffy with hantengu (main body) and a female reader? Maybe him poorly trying to comfort his partner for once? I'm having a tough time lately and this weird little man is a big comfort character to me.

Roger that. Damn this is my FIRST female reader PoV, the others are male and GN. And I know that people like this blog because I write male reader, but I'm glad to have more variety.

I do want to warm that, even if it's female reader, I won't be making the PoV hyperfeminine (but again, it's hard to be hyperfeminine when you are feeling off)

Hantengu comforting female reader after a bad day.

Warnings: .... Mentioned character (Hantengu) with paranoia, Mentioned character (Hantengu again) having PTSD, Implied character (you know who) having dissociative disorder (seriously, this guy is fucked up).

You are so fucking stressed right now....

Your day was awful, you can't even begin to describe it, no matter how much you would like to. And damn everyone seemed to make up their way to be the most unhelpful to you as possible. You were working around all day, had little to no time to yourself (you still have to eat your first proper meal of the day instead of a snack and a drink to be able to keep working), your efforts were basically ignored by everyone around and you are fucking tired.

It would have been fine if it was only for today, but it's the fith bad day in a row and you just want to die in your bed. "Y-Y-Y/N?" Ask the already known voice of the Uppermoon Four main body. Usually his presence would help you to light up, but you are not in the mood for anything right now. He also gets to be a chore at times, with his paranoia and this memory of being accused of lying and some other shit that, no matter how much you love him, you just can't care enough. (Or at least not the amount and the way Hantengu wants you to care.)

"What?" He winces and covers his face with his arms when you speak, ok, it did sound a lot more harsh than you wanted it to be, but right now the idea of having to apologize to someone else leaves a bitter flavor in your mouth, and you hate that but- you're too tired to think about it, so you only back down. "I want to be alone right now." You were genuinely expecting him to also back off "... Is there anything I can do for you?" Usually this would be endearing, but right now you just want to be alone, you want to cry, you want to lash out, you want to- does that even matter? It didn't feel like it mattered during all day.

You understand you are not being coherent, but it's so fucking hard right now. "No." Thankfully he leaves you alone, leaving the room and giving space to all of those bitter feelings to sink in as you burry yourself in your pillow. Your face is hot and your eyes wet, your humour gets even worse when you hear the door knocking again. "What?" You know it's Hantengu, there is nobody else in the house, but nobody answers. "What?" You ask as you feel your patience drain, only silence answering again. That's it, you ho to open the door, Hantengu hiding in the other side of the hallway looking at your feet. You see what he is looking and see... your favorite dessert. There is also a note.

Hantengu's letter is impossible to read, he trembles too much to make understandable kanji, so you give up on that as you take deep breaths. "Hantengu...." You kneel to take the plate and servings as you speak softly "It wasn't me! It wasn't me! My hands... my hands did it by their own!" You sigh, he never changes, but you are grateful for his attemp of making you feel better. "Thank you." He also takes a few deep breath to calm down and shyly gets close to you, playing with his hands. "I-I-I did make you a bath... f-f-for my queen.... or princess...." he dislikes using petnames, the terms feel odd in his mouth so he covers it while squeaking. "Sorry! Sorry! I didn't mean to say that! I'm sorry!"

Damn, you can't stay angry at him, you were not even angry at him to begin with, it's just... "It's ok, Hantengu. Sorry about earlier." He relaxes a little bit more, not completely, never completely. "I will eat and take the bath you offered, thank you." He nods in a rush and leaves to the bathroom, probably to make sure the water stays hot. You smile to yourself before taking a bite of that flavor that basically tickles in your stomach, in a good way, it's hard to describe. Once you finish you take the bath Hantengu offered, the moment he sees you he starts to blush violently before leaving making weird noises.

You can see bottles of expensive cosmetics, bath oils and salts that other women show off when their husband's or father's buy them. You don't even know when Hantengu stole them, how long were you in your room? But the scent and the steam feel so good already and you can't help but gove in to the sensation of being one of those aristocrat ladies with their lavish and fancy robes and houses and bedrooms and gardens and lives... you will thank Hantengu again later, for now, just relax.

Let Hantegu take care of you for once, you will feel better, promise.