#like...the touch starvation. the yearning
(Not a prompt) Some villain whump/angst: the villain who always works alone is called by their rival hero to help the hero team with something. While villain is meeting with the team they notice how the hero is so kind & caring to their teammates, compared to how they’re always angry or dismissive at villain, & their heart aches suddenly.
ooooooooooo how angsty!! love it love it (the touch starvation, the yearning, the desire for affection and belonging...listen to me...)
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I have a coworker who is very affectionate, giving hugs to everyone at most opportunities. Every so often, when we work together I'll get one too. I don't think he knows he's the only person who has done that for me in the past year. It feels strange to know that for one person that can be normal, routine. Yet for me it's so strange and unfamiliar.
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Afflicted with Thoughts (character who’s forced themself to be rough and callous looking at someone they care for so much deeper than they’d be willing to admit and. Wanting. Craving their touch. A hand held, or a brush of the elbow, anything. They’d burn the world for a hug if that’s what it took. But. That would mean admitting to that soft, wounded thing under all the shrapnel and metal. So they just. Sit. And look. And hope so desperately that the other would be inspired to initiate something.)
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I am what I'd call a hopeless aromatic bc I am so lonely I want all the cutesy romancey stuff in theory but everybody is icky and I don't feel comfy doing that sort of stuff with friend
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feeling like I'm 5 inches tall in a wide open cardboard box with nothing in it and just thinking man.... *I* should be at the club rn....
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I'm not gonna get mad I just wanna know who summoned the hounds of hell (chronic touch starvation) to hunt me for all eternity
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can i request some slutty luffy? just fuck me up fam ☠️
AHH i think this is so beautiful and one of my fav smuts i’ve written!!! :’)
hunger - luffy x f!reader
smut
summary: luffy gets incredibly horny, and he’s confusing lust with hunger
contains: mating press, praise, marking (reader receiving)
words: 2.4k
_______________________________
Luffy’s alone. He thinks, right now, of touch. And his body is sweaty from the day and from his yearning mind, he’s shirtless because an hour ago he lit on fire beneath his skin, he’s been simmering ever since, and it’s healed, somehow, by touch. So his fingers dig into the grooves of his abs, he likes to feel them flex and shift as he traces every corner, mouth open, drooling onto the glass of the porthole. He left his bed an hour ago when he lit on fire beneath his skin. His blanket became too hot, his mind too full to fall asleep. He’s thinking about food now, juicy fruits that drip down his throat, melted cheese, the greasy, fatty pieces of steak that slide so slowly along his tongue.
He rubs his stomach because he’s hungry, that’s it. There’s a burning within him, starvation but if it was beautiful. He needs food right now but he knows, somehow, that food won’t do anything for him, not really. And if he rubs his stomach because he’s hungry then why does his hand go lower, down beneath his waistline, tugging at the hair down there because, why? Why does this feel good? Why is he moaning, little whimpers that fog the glass, what does he need? He thinks of touch. Skin on skin. That’s it, skin on skin.
You’re probably alone. Moonbeams sail one by one from the east with the wind and blackening sky as the sunset turns lilac, fading, gold waves turning silver, copper. Translucent silk the color of the sunset hangs from your shoulders, a slip so loose it barely covers your chest. It isn’t cold tonight and you’re not tired. You saw dolphins this evening and you wonder if you can see them again before the water disappears in the night. Everyone else is already asleep. You hope that when you’re tired you can find Luffy, who’s probably asleep, and curl up with him as everything drifts away.
But as the ocean laps at the ship and you’re calmed by the gentle rocking you feel, suddenly, arms from behind. Arms that run over yours, hands massaging your wrists up to your shoulders. A distinct smell, the feeling of hot rubber, this is Luffy and he’s so, so warm. And his breathing is so heavy in your ear. He places his chin on your shoulder and it’s covered in drool, he begins to slowly lick your neck as he pulls you closer. You haven’t even said hi before he has you in his lap, squeezing your waist from behind. His licks turn to kisses, and then to bites, all over your upper back and then a wet, raw trail up to your jaw. He’s groaning with want, no words yet, he has too many things he wants to say.
“Hi Luffy,” you murmur with a little smile, reaching back to pet his face which is burning up and flushed. His tongue laps your cheek, he’s an excited puppy, you feel his teeth now so you ask gently, “what’s up?”
“Gonna eat you,” he says in a quiet, gravely voice, right into your ear. He whines after this in desire, in hunger, he’s lustful and desperate.
“Yeah?” You lean back against him. His arms are so tight, he’s trying to wrap you up and crush you like a python. And you can feel his heartbeat race in every muscle.
“Mh, ‘cause you’re real pretty. And I’m hungry so I’m gonna eat you.” He’s almost trying to take a bite out of your neck now, his teeth are sharp but his tongue is soothing, he moans because he likes the flavor. “Real pretty…” he hisses again beneath his breath.
You turn so you’re facing him. He needs a kiss right now and he doesn’t hesitate to grab your face and dive in, writhing tongue slipping greedily between your lips. And there’s a gentleness here too, his hand moves to the back of your head, stroking your hair adoringly. He isn’t going to hurt you he just needs you so, so bad and he doesn’t really know how or why or what he should say.
“God, Luffy.” You’re quiet, muffled by his mouth. And just hearing your voice again clouds his mind.
“Love ya, love ya so much,” he says in between moans and kisses. His nails scrape at your chest, delighted by softness, something to grab onto, more to squeeze. “I wanna play, please can we play?”
Trying to get on top of you he’s leaning over you and pulled by instinct, he wants you straddling him but he wants to be on top at the same time. He’s just a tangle of limbs right now, saliva dripping messily onto your neck.
“Of course I’ll play with you.” You’re blushing, eyes closing but he’s squeezing your cheeks and forcing you to look at him, huge sparkling eyes as deep as the Mariana look down on you.
Luffy begins to laugh. Just a breathy giggle at first, blowing air between his teeth in a little joyful hiss. And then his mouth opens, he laughs more, louder, that’s what he does when he’s excited and when he knows he’s about to get something that he wants so, so bad. And then it fades to giggles again, and he stills for a moment, no movement except his chest. Rise and fall, rise and fall. He’s just looking at you.
And then he licks his lips. He dives in.
You make a small sound, surprised and unable to react in time, as Luffy plants his feet firmly on the deck, your thighs slamming his stomach as your legs are thrown over his shoulders. And you’re bent, folding tighter and tighter as Luffy crouches over you. His arms encircle your legs and your back and your waist and constrict again, his legs are spread and ready, twitching, hips pressing yours. He’s forgetting, probably, that you aren’t as flexible as he is.
“This is good, Lu, this right here,” you manage to choke out because you often have to remind him what your body can and can’t take.
He mumbles a little apology and does a once over with his eyes, he wants to make sure that you aren’t hurt but, at the same time, he’s letting his gaze linger on your body, on the silk slip that’s fallen as your waist curls upwards and your breasts are bare now, so delicious, he’s drooling again. You’re tasty, you’re his.
This must take so much strength, the way he’s perched on his toes over your body, his thigh muscles clench and ripple against yours. Shared sweat, shared warmth. His balance is perfect even as he reaches for your chest, rubbing, holding, kissing, now he’s kissing your lips, now your neck. He doesn’t want this ever to be over.
And he says, “I love ya so much.” That’s the third time he’s said it.
“I love you too,” you say with such joy even as you’re breathless still, but before you can finish he’s pressing his mouth to yours hungrily. You said you loved him and he wants to taste it — the flavor of those words — it’s all-consuming.
“Tastes so good, mmh,” Luffy gasps as he takes you into this hot, wet kiss, “can’t wait, wanna play now.”
You’re not sure how he did it from this position, but his pants are off, kicked to the side. His cock is aching and leaking already and smoldering against your stomach, you can see it from here, throbbing and waiting, skin so smooth and thin and perfect like auburn moth wings over red-hot iron.
His chest crashes against yours in a tidal wave now because this new vulnerability makes him want to be closer. Now you can’t see it anymore but god, it’s so hard it feels like he’s denting you, so long and thick like a python, he’s still holding you, and squeezing more and more. Like a python.
With so much pressure he wraps his hands around lower, lower, snapping your panties, thrusting against your stomach in a way that shakes your body but he’s got you. You’re in his arms.
Begging eyes so close to yours, mouth on your lips and cheek, breathing so fast and so warm and he whispers, “can I?” And it’s so scratchy and kind and needy so deep in his throat.
So you pull his hair, you kiss him, yes.
Rolling back on his heels he finds his way, sloppy thrusts that don’t quite make it but god when they do, he isn’t going all the way even though his every nerve craves you but you’re his baby and he can’t hurt you.
Thick tip so soft and gentle, butterfly wings and flowers, impossibly hard and aching in heartbeat rhythms against your clit, moving you with every pulse, searching and desperate like a moth to a flame he finds you.
Shivers that make you clench your legs against his shoulders as he rubs and rubs back and forth and hugs your body and bites your cheek and murmurs, “that feel good? Ya like that?” with such curiosity like he really wants to know, he wants an answer.
“Perfect, so perfect. Please, I need you.” Words in his ear like shooting stars lighting up his body like the darkening sky. He’s made of ochre sunbeams.
He smiles and laughs and with another quick kiss he’s finding you more. Muscles flex and as he leans forward onto you he’s there, right there. He starts to moan loudly and whisper about how happy he is but it’s Luffy so it’s not a whisper, really. He’s not even inside you yet. He’s just so, so excited.
“Feels so good, so good. C’mere,” he giggles against you happily and makes sure he holds you as he’s pushing into your body, you’re filled in an instant and more and more every second.
Amid the panting and moaning you can almost hear that heartbeat and those pulsing veins buried in you. You’re dented again but from the inside now. With a little mh, Luffy finds his home so, so deep. You’re in a cocoon of warmth, wrapped in the sun, filled by the sun, melting.
“My girl’s so pretty, gotta bite, gonna bite.” Those teeth again and their practiced, hungry chewing. He swallows on instinct, abs vibrating and tightening against your skin as his stomach purs. And he’s rocking into you, back and forth on his toes, enjoying that deep, tight massage. He’s inside you, he’s trying to eat you, trying to get you inside him, too.
You’re going to be covered in marks but that’s ok. You like hearing him groan and laugh against you, and something about that swallowing, his throat flexing against your shoulder, that’s so beautiful to feel.
“Mine, ‘kay? Mine.” Luffy’s talking the whole time through his laughter and you’re swept away by him as he continues to crush your body from the inside over and over, tidal waves on a cliff’s edge, he makes whirlpools in you.
“This is so fun, you’re so fun, so pretty,” he keeps huffing and you hear this over and over as he squirms and wriggles on your body, thrusts shallower because he can’t bear to pull out of you any more than he needs to. Luffy wants to be close and never leave.
He tries to have conversations with you that just spill into unending praise. You’re too dizzy and lost in this world of feeling to respond most of the time but you kiss him whenever he wants, you tell him he’s beautiful and that he feels so good whenever your voice is there.
He’s swelling in you, veins bulging and rubbing so far up inside you that you feel him throbbing in your stomach, his twitching cock encouraged by your clenching, leaking, every muscle wracked with craving and overstimulation.
“Gonna fill you up ‘cause you’re real pretty,” he laughs against your lips, twisting into you deeper still, “gotta make ya all mine.” He still sounds so sweet and so soft, just a playful little puppy.
Even as he groans and begins to pump you full.
Love feels like this, love is raw and endless like this, love makes you float away. You close your eyes and now he lets you, you just hold him, you let the rhythm carry you and it feels like so long until he’s done. He doesn’t want to pull away but his legs give out. His knees finally hit the deck, he squeals in delight as he’s pulled from you with a wet little sound. But he’s still hugging you, of course.
“Heh, felt so good.” Luffy’s smiling with all his teeth, his chin sparkles with saliva, and your neck is dripping too, “thanks, darlin’. Love ya so much”
“Love you too. I love you, Luffy.” You don’t want to ever leave from his arms and you feel so empty now. But you’re soaked in him, neck and thighs both shining.
His hand rests gently on your back, helping you sit up, your slip falls back down over your body and it’s all wrinkled now. Luffy smooths your hair, he pets you, now is when he just wants to stare at you and not say a word. But when he sees the blooming red and purple trailing from your ear to your collarbone he starts to shake a little bit.
“Aw, this ain’t hurtin’ right?” he murmurs, tracing the bruises and teeth marks with his fingers so softly, carefully. There’s no blood, it’s just glossy with layers of drool, he’s proud but he needs to check on you first.
“No, it’s not bad. Don’t worry, I like it.” You kiss him right next to his mouth but he turns, quickly, because he wants your lips. “Whole crew’s gonna know I’m yours, that’s all.”
This makes him smile. He sees no reason for embarrassment or shame, you’re his so he can bite you when he wants. You feel his muscles twitch against you again as he laughs. And he’s flushed all red, hibiscus on his warm honey skin. Those eyes, dark brown eyes melting with that lavender of the sunset which is almost gone now, fading silently. So orchid blue then, on loving, deep Bulgarian rose.
“Good! I want ‘em to.” he rubs his head against your cheek, still biting just a little. And now he’s moving like he wants to pick you up and carry you, even though you’re both tired. But it’s because he’s hungry, and in that throaty little voice he asks, “wanna go get snacks?”
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I See Through You.
MDNI 18+
3.2k words
Satan!Noah sebastian x Lost soul!Y/n
Christian/Religious themes, Satanic themes, Corruption kink, Mentions of death, Wax play, Oral sex (male and fem rec), Unprotected sex, Squirting, Dirty talk, Mentions of breeding kink
“The Devil is real. And he's not a little red man with horns and a tail. He can be beautiful. Because he's a fallen angel, and he used to be God's favorite.”
—
Noah's pov.
Fuck. It should be ME. I'm the fucking king.
—
Third person's pov.
He had been banished from the holy scene. His mind had been corrupted. He was God's favorite. The closest thing to becoming a god he would have ever gotten. Until…
His mind would run amuck at night. After the sun had set on the sacred land, laying in bed with his brethren just rooms away.
Day after day he had gotten sick of bowing down for the divinity. Growing like a disease. Growing and rooting itself deep within his bones, the veins that allowed his suborn blood to flow. Spreading deepest in the soul his God had granted him eternal life with.
Submitting himself to his almighty had become a tiring, weakening agenda. His hunger for power burned deep within his mind.
His position as the anointed cherub no longer satisfied his starvation for authority.
His attempt at dethroning God led him to be thrown, tossed, banished from the pearly gates every mortal soul had prayed to enter.
—
One of his now ex-brethren, bestowed a script to him. Curled together like an ancient pirate's map. On the scroll before him was one final message to the unholy individual from the Lord.
“Oh, my poor Samael. Where had I gone wrong? Pride, greed, envy. For how could you let them engulf your intelligence? To cause such rebellion? You, a lost soul, can no longer hold a position in my holy land.”
As he finished the script, he felt his soul burn and shrivel into complete nothingness. Nothing but a black void leaving him falling out of the sacred heaven he yearned to be the king of.
Falling through each layer of the Earth, he could feel his skin burning and aching as he did so. He landed in an unbeknownst hole, passing out on impact with rubble and dust falling upon him. On that cursed day, the eternal fire was born.
—
If you are cast out, what's your next move going to be? Will you return cold? Or will you turn up the heat?
Last thing I sold them, had been my dignity. But, the truth is the devil sold his soul to me.
To me.
To ME.
—
Noah's pov.
I had awoken in a displaced land. A funnel shaped cavern. Aggression and insanity ran cold through my veins. An inferno I was placed in.
If I wouldn't have an opportunity to rule the heavenly kingdom, I shall make my own. For lost souls, for sinners and those of who act upon blasphemy. For those who will not succumb to God. I will be the king of the mountain of purgatory.
For I will create a kingdom, not as its jailer, but as its healer. I will heal every soul that is not worthy of being in heaven. I will create an army, one so powerful that it can take down God and his disciples.
—
Third person's pov.
Noah, as he had renamed himself, had spent years stacked upon years building and crafting his domain. A safe place to heal broken souls that were undeserving of heaven.
He had now accumulated centuries worth of individuals who lost their spot in the promised land. They were all dependent on him as their ruler, their king.
He had rediscovered himself. He no longer was a spirit of God, rather the opposite.
He no longer had soft, white, pure feathered wings. Instead his back was adorned with a set of deep black wings. They were covered with coarse fur, rough to the touch. His once dark honey colored eyes were now pitch black. He had grown fangs that looked perfect to sink into a soft, flawless neck.
He had all he could ever imagine…except a love to sit beside his throne, to rule his domain with him.
His heart desired and thirsted for a true love. Although he had millions of souls in his kingdom, he hadn't met a single one that could give him what he needed.
They were all too much like him. He wanted someone he had coax upon him. Someone he could play a game with.
He hadn't taken a leave of absence since the day he decided to create his own space. Maybe it was time to change that. A trip to the mortal world.
—
Y/n's pov.
I sat upon a bench in the midst of a forest, taking in a deep breath of the midnight cool air. I had no place to go.
Parts of my soul, broken and seemingly unfixable. I was cursed to spend my days roaming the Earth as nothing but lonesome in my own purgatory. I would spend my day and night praying, atoning for my sins. Seemingly little, insignificant sins to anyone else were the reason I was stuck in this temporary state.
My Lord had promised if I could atone for my sins, I would be allowed into the promised land. I wanted nothing more, but my Earthborn body had long turned to dust, my hope slowly diminishing.
—
If God came down from his kingdom, he came down from his throne and we asked him if he'd take us back, he would surely tell us no.
We live and die in vain like treasure on a sinking ship. All in the name of a God we'd just abandoned and forget.
—
Third person's pov.
He had his eyes set on her. A lost soul, set in purgatory. Oh, how easy it would be to convince her to bestow her gift upon him.
She seemed perfect. Her skin having a soft glow to it. He knew if an Earth bound body could see her, they too would fall in love with the sight. Her glow gave off as a blue-ish tone, telling him all he needed to know.
As he moved through the trees, he watched as her panic became prominent.
“No one knows I'm here…unless?”
A small glimmer of hope shone through her sadness at the idea that her Lord had finally decided she was able to step foot into the holy divinity.
Her blood ran cold as a jagged finger ran across her skin.
She was so soft, the panic in her eyes set his body on flames. Her pure mind was one he could imagine 100 different ways to ruin.
—
Noah's pov.
“What are you doing out here by yourself, angel?” My voice came out rough and coarse, while hers was much flowy, softer than mine could ever be.
I took a stand of her hair, taking in her delicious scent.
“Wh-wha-! Who are you!?” Her chest was rising and falling like a scared little bunny, her eyes darting back and forth across my features.
“I know you've heard of me. The Prince of Darkness, Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, The Antichrist. Baby, I'm you're one and only-” I was cut off, her screech throwing her into a fit of madness.
“THE DEVIL!?” Her cry must have been heard for miles, to any other lost soul or angel that was Earthbound at the moment.
I pulled her to my chest, covering her mouth.
“Shut the fuck up. I'm here to make a deal.”
A deal with the Devil.
“I see through you, angel. I know exactly what you are. A lost soul, hoping to atone for your sins. Am I close?” I spoke my words slowly and calmly, not needing a miscommunication.
Her head weakly nodded against my heaving chest.
“I'm going to take my hand away, and you're going to let me talk. Do you understand?”
Another nod was given.
Removing my hand oh so cautiously, I let her sit back down, holding my finger up to my mouth, indicating she needed to be quiet.
“He won't let you in there, baby.”
“You don't know that.” Her words flew out of her mouth, cold and harsh.
“Oh, but I do.” My index finger softly gliding down her cheek. She must have been previously crying.
“I was his favorite, you know? I had more power than any other angel. I was second below God himself.” My hands now placed behind my back as I paced back and forth. I didn't miss the way she watched me like a hawk.
“I wanted more. I needed more. He was far too greedy. He casted me out, sending me falling through Earth's layers, down into the deepest parts of the plane. His sacred, holy land was too much to bear. So, I created my own. My own kingdom.” I watched the starry night sky, all the stars twinkling as I explained my story.
Looking down at her, her face was painted with many emotions. Confusion, anger. I smirked to myself, knowing I had her questioning the almighty spirit.
“B-but God is…is good. He's purity and kindness.”
I scoffed.
“Come with me, my sweet angel. Rule with me. You will have power and you can be your own divinity. I can give you everything he could and more.” I whispered the last part into her ear, letting myself smile against her skin.
“Why…why are you beautiful? I thought-”
“Thought I was red? With horns and an outdated tail?” My eyebrows furrowed together as I spoke.
—
I see through you, I know what you are. I see the devil more than I see God.
—
Y/n's pov.
He was beautiful. Gorgeously put together, with a black suit, dress shoes and tattoos staining his skin. He was so enticing.
My head was dizzy and I could feel my core slowly weakening. This was absolute insanity.
I had no idea why I felt the need to say yes to his offer. His words were smooth like fresh honey floating through my ears.
Although tempting, I had to be strong. He could be lying. I had read the bible 5 times before passing to know this is what he does.
He's seducing, he tempts your faith, your religion. He gets in your head. He tempts you with bad decisions. He had powers beyond man. He was the reason Eve sunk her teeth into the forbidden fruit. He was the snake that left hissing in your ears after you had committed a sin.
“Come with me, I can make all your dreams come true, little one. I can make you belong.”
Belong? Your soul ached and yearned to belong somewhere.
“You can give in to your sins, free of guilt. Free of shame. No worries of fear of punishment.” He made a tempting debate.
Is this what you wanted for yourself?
“He'll leave you alone, you won't see him like you'll see me. Is that what you would like? He'll send messengers to talk through. You won't catch even a glimpse of him.”
I couldn't stand the thought. My mouth spoke before my brain could speak.
“Okay. I'll come with you.”
—
Third person's pov.
A sinister smile spread across his lips.
“This will hurt a little.” He muttered as he tilted her head to the side. He sunk his teeth into her neck, covering her mouth as to muffle her cries. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he felt their minds morphing into one.
Giving her a mark. A mark to tell everyone how easily he had corrupted her mind. How she was now his.
Noah pulled away, licking away the blood that resided on his lips.
As for Y/n, she felt her body burn hot. Aching pain spread through her body, her soft blue glow now turning orange.
She watched as he cleaned up the mess, licking the blood away on her neck.
“Oh, my sweet angel. You've made the right decision.”
—
As the pair now made their way into the kingdom, innumerable souls congratulated their king on his new found love.
They soon after found themselves in the Devil's bedroom. She hadn't taken Satan for one to sleep much.
“It isn't for sleeping, I promise that, baby.” He chuckled at his own comment.
As soon as she took a spot on the bed, covered in soft, red sheets, he was attacking her lips.
—
Y/n's pov.
You weren't complaining. He had promised you an eternal life, free of guilt. What would be the point in worrying about it now.
You let his lips venture your body, his fangs gliding across your skin every once in a while.
He had started leaving purple marks across your neck, close to the freshly marked wound he had given you previously. A way to say you were his.
“Oh, fuck. Baby, I'm going to corrupt your precious little mind. Fill it full with sinful thoughts about me.”
He took your hand, moving it down his shirt, down to where his cock was painfully straining against his pants.
It caused you to ache beneath your own. Your mind went dizzy with the thought of him. He was gorgeous and was about to give you everything you could ever want.
You had taken some initiative and unzipped his pants while he took his tie off, throwing it somewhere unbeknownst to you. He undid the first couple of buttons on his shirt and you, quite frankly, gawked over his body.
He was toned. He had tattoos littering his skin everywhere. His dark eyes watched as you took a long once over of his body.
“Fuck, you're beautiful. Truly.” Your words were quiet, seemingly scared that God would somehow hear or see the activities the two of you were getting up to.
“As are you. You'll be perfect at my side. For the rest of forever.” His hand caressed your face. He did truly find you breathtaking.
Your big doe eyes were something he could find himself staring into forever.
You were now something the holy trinity could never take away from him.
You pulled his pants down, causing his cock to be set free. Something roared in you.
You licked your lips before devouring him.
You swallowed his cock, slowly taking more each time your head bobbed up and down. Soon, he was reaching the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him.
His hands were placed at either side of your hand, using it as leverage to fuck into your throat. You took it so well that he could lose himself in your touch. The way your arms were wrapped around his thighs, helping him go deeper into your throat made him weak and want to crumble.
You felt your cunt wetten for him. The sight of his hair falling out of place and his chest heaving through your teary eyes made you need him. You wanted him to enter your temple and destroy it.
His thrusts became sloppy, faltering here and there. You pulled away from his cock, muttering filthy sins as you stroked him.
“Let me taste you. Give it to me, baby.”
You were forced down onto him once more as he let his seed spray down your throat. Letting it coat your insides felt like bliss.
It was mere seconds before he led you to lay on your back. His hands were clawing and scraping against you, in such need and hurry to remove you of your clothes.
The second your panties hit the floor Noah was nose deep in your pussy, taking in your taste and smell.
Your eyes rolled back as your mouth was left gaped. A hand flew into his hair, pulling and tugging at it, causing his once perfect hair to now be disheveled.
“Oh- oh fuck-” You gasped as he licked and slurped along your clit. No man had ever pleased you as Noah was right now.
He wasn't a man. He was a fucking demon.
His middle and ring finger slid across your wetness before plunging into you.
Something in Noah felt like this is what he had been waiting for. This is what he was made for. He was made for you.
His fingers quickly found the right way to please you. The calloused pads of his fingers rubbing the right spot.
You bit your bottom lip and he somehow knew you were close to toppling over the edge.
“Do it. Let yourself go. Let yourself be mine.” His voice came out as a growl against your cunt as his fingers quickened.
“No- I can't I'm gonna-” You couldn't finish your sentence before your orgasm took over your mind.
Your orgasm left a mess everywhere. You hadn't known until you heard the wet sloshes against Noah's palm.
“Oh my- I've never done that before. How-how did you…?”
“Done what? Squirt? Fuck, angel. I'm Satan himself. Did you doubt me?” He had an shit eating grin plastered on his face.
“Shut the hell up and fuck me.” Something took over you, all you could think about was his cock ramming into you. Destroying every thought you'd ever had of God and those “precious” pearly white gates.
“Look at you, mere moments ago you were trembling with fear. Now you're begging for my fucking cock.” He chuckled and crawled up your body, kissing and licking at your skin.
It didn't take long for him to position your legs over his shoulders, feeling his cock stretch you out as he entered you.
“Your body is a temple. And I'm here to fucking destroy it. I'm here to get in your pretty little head. Corrupt those holy thoughts with distasteful, nasty, sinful thoughts.” His words were venom digging into your brain, making your mind their home.
His thrusts were becoming faster, now that your pussy had gotten used to his size.
He had grabbed a candle that was permanently lit by his bed and watched the wax drip onto your skin. You hissed as each droplet made its spot on your skin.
Slowly but surely, Noah had made an upside down cross upon your stomach. You couldn't care for the dull burn the wax drips had left as they dried.
You could feel Noah's cock pushing its way into your fucking stomach. He was so inhumanly big, you almost forgot where you were and who you were getting fucked by.
Once the wax had set, you pulled Noah into you, clawing your nails deep into his skin. He growled over the feeling of your nails making dents so deep into his immoral skin.
Before you knew it, Noah's shoulders were bleeding and you were both merging into one.
“Noah, please, please harder!” Your words were barely decipherable as your second orgasm was approaching.
“Now. Give it to me now.” His words were enough to send you into a spiral.
As you had your own orgasm, Noah shot hot strings of seed deep into your womb.
“Fuck, ‘m gonna put a baby here one day.” Noah said as he rubbed your stomach.
He took the blood from his bruised shoulder onto his thumb, placing it onto your tongue.
"Forever, we are one."
He finally had a respective queen to be by his side for the rest of eternity.
—
Woke up in the light convinced my life had made it to its end. Burning up beneath the sun, while my father drained of blood.
If he's there, I've got a message for the man that's up above.
Fuck. You.
Taglist: @vinyardmauro @missduffsblog @lma1986 @embracethereaper42 @skulliecadaver-blog @mrscevans @viofcrows @gipsonnikki @philomenie @bloody-delusion-expert @bloodymug @millyhelp @fuckyouimstillstanding @cookiesupplier @concreteangel92 @bruisedleftknee @sprokat @itsafullmoon @darling-millicent-aubrey @eclipseeetop
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Devoured
Astarion has only known hunger, be it for gold or for blood in the two and a half centuries of his existence. He feels that he can never be satiated, at least not until he meets you.
Astarion x GN reader | 1,295 words
CW: References to Astarion’s past abuse, sexual content, cursing, vampire feeding, blood
(Thanks so much to @brabblesblog for doing such a stellar job beta’ing this for me! If anything’s still messed up that’s on me)
Read this on Ao3
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It seemed to Astarion that all he had ever known was hunger. Before his death he had only been peckish though; he had gathered a taste for riches and glamour rising through the ranks of Baldurian society.
He had sampled the gilded crumbs of debauchery amongst the elite and he had found them quite to his liking. He had enrobed himself in silks and diamonds, had sipped wine from gold and crystal goblets, both of which cost more than most peasants would ever see in a lifetime. He had indulged in carnal pursuits, used to grandstand and garnish attention, and ultimately he had become a glutton for power — power which led to his famine.
(More under the cut)
Astarion has never known true hunger like the ever-unsatiated, unnatural emptiness that has taken over every shred of his being after his untimely death. He is voracious, animalistic; violently craving the blood of sentient creatures every single second of his pathetic undead existence.
But he had been denied that abundance every single one of those countless seconds.
He had been starved to the brink of madness for nearly two hundred years.
But he hasn’t been broken.
He had been fed cold, fetid rats when he yearned for the warmth of red blood coursing through sentient veins. Astarion longingly imagined the feeling of his fangs sinking through supple flesh as his victim panted below him, his teeth so tantalizingly close to their neck as they moaned in ecstasy, knowing that even if he lived another five hundred years he’d never experience anything other than the hands of countless strangers on his body as he starved.
He’d known nothing but humiliation as his body begged him to bite. Just fucking bite. Feed and feel satisfied for the first time in centuries…
But he could not obey his own urges, could obey nothing but his cruel master.
But he hasn’t been broken.
He would never forget those nightmarish years, never forget that starvation — not ever in his eternal lifetime , but he could dull that time of horror whenever he’s with you.
In his time on the road with you the vampire spawn has felt the ecstasy his fangs sinking through sentient flesh many times; not so many that he’d ever forget the endless years of desperation, of course, but he has tasted the blood of many sentient beings and has found it delectable. He relishes in their quickened pulse as he takes their lifeblood, panicked and struggling as they regret their choice to ambush your party.
And as delightful as all that is, it is nothing compared to the blood you gave him freely, intimately.
When he had decided for himself that he wanted space to figure his life out and what he wished for himself, to rediscover what had been lost after so many years as an unwilling thrall, you had readily given him that space. It was a dark time in a dark and hollow land, and again he starved. Despite his revelation to you of how he manipulated you, you had readily offered your wrist to him so that it didn’t have to be as intimate as feeding from your neck if he didn’t want to.
And so Astarion took your offer; in the dark of his tent, he lapped at your wrist and took sustenance as you gently stroked his silver-white curls with your free hand, comforting him deeply as he fed. You had asked if you could touch him first, of course, and he had smiled at you, nodding, before kissing your wrist and biting as gently as he could;opening up a vein, allowing enough blood to flow.
During this time his mind was burdened with many regrets, especially at how your relationship had started. He had slept with you a few times as payment, in a way, for keeping him safe. You hadn’t known that, of course.
You had thought Astarion was attracted to you when he propositioned you, and he was , of course he was — but that wasn’t the reason he had sex with you in the first place. He had nothing else to give, and using his body as a bargaining chip yet again was something that he had grown to deeply regret as you spent more time together, laughing and telling stories, learning about one another while being faced with neverending horrors and the potential for the most horrifying of fates.
You helped him when he needed it, you shared with him what little you had, you gave him your promise that you’d destroy his former master — and of course in time you did. You actually listened to him, the first time anyone had ever truly done so in hundreds of years. And then you gave him space.
The spawn’s sluggish, undead heart hadn’t truly been his own for two centuries, but in his freedom he had plucked it back from Cazador’s icy grip and had learned what it meant to carry such a heavy, guilty thing beneath his ribs. It had been a grim host to the horrors that had been wrought against him and of those he had inflicted on others.
But it isn’t broken, and he made room in his heart for you.
He helps you when you need it, he shares with you what little he can, and he promises you that he’ll be by your side through all the horrors yet to come.
He has listened to you; after hundreds of years of tuning out the prattle of his victims and the vile words of his master, he has truly heard your voice. He has grown to care for you… to eventually love you. Gods, more than anything he loves you.
You are so much more than he feels he deserves, and when he had felt like being intimate with you once again it was so much different than all the years he had spent having uninterested sex with a stranger, some poor victim that he knew would be dead by the morning. He had been forced to use intimacy as a weapon for so long that he thought he’d had his fill of it for good, wasn’t sure that he could ever truly see it in a positive light again.
But with you, he did. On that night in the graveyard every kiss was thoughtful, every movement, breath and touch was with passion; at the first thrust into you it was pure pleasure, almost like it was truly the first time and you both only knew love, and love and love.
He had never imagined he would ever love and be loved in return, had never experienced it before death and had certainly thought he’d never do so in the hell of his undeath, but here you two were. Laying together on his grave under the moonlight, both fully clothed once again, your body heat warming him like a miniature sun.
In Astarion’s long life he had tasted riches and extravagance that had left him wanting ever more; had laid starving upon filthy damp stone, begging uncaring gods for just a taste of blood, just a drop. He knew that unless his curse was lifted he would never be free from this gnawing hunger - he could never in a million years devour enough blood to satiate that undead thirst.
But laying here with you, stroking your hair as you doze, he feels his reclaimed heart overflowing with warmth, better than anything that can ever flow from a golden chalice or an open vein. He can never recall a time before that he has ever felt so happy, so loved.
He gazes at you in awe, now sleeping peacefully at his side and Astarion realizes that he is truly satisfied for the first time in his life.
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UPPER MOON YANDERE HEADCANONS~ PT.2
Characters: Muzan, Gyutaro, Sekido, Urogi, Karaku, Gyokko, Kaigaku.
A/N: I would like to thank Yoshinohirmet for the request! I thoroughly enjoyed adding to my Yandere Upper Moon series. As for my readers, thank you from the bottom of my heart for all of the love. Take care of yourselves and enjoy <3
Warnings : Verbal abuse, Physical abuse, violence, obsession, Yandere themes, etc.
Muzan ・❥・
Muzan, a man with a twisted secret.
You’re the one chosen to take on the role of the demon's wife.
Muzan's obsession won’t be known.
As far as you know, you’re only here to maintain his facade of a perfect family.
Your only job is to help him live a "normal" life and keep his true identity hidden.
Deep down, a twisted spiral of obsession consumes Muzan slowly but entirely.
Although you serve a purpose that benefits Muzan, it’s merely an appropriate excuse for Muzan to get close to you.
Something about you is as intoxicating as his desire for the blue spider lily.
He himself can’t explain his unhealthy attraction to you.
Each day, he loses more and more control over this dark passion that burns inside.
Muzan needs you entirely. He’ll tell you lies until his last breath, just to keep you dependent.
You need him; you’re merely nothing without Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his.
Muzan prefers to silently watch and stalk.
Seeing you exist and your movements, untainted by the presence of another, satisfies his desire ever so slightly.
Muzan just loves the way you exist naturally when nobody is around. Everything about you is fascinating. The way your eyebrows furrow while reading, the way you bite your lip when focusing, how your right eye is a bit wider when you smile—he loves it all.
In your eyes, you disgust Muzan. You serve no purpose other than being his "wife". He barely speaks to you, let alone acknowledges your presence.
At least, that is what you believe.
Muzan will slip one day. He can’t keep pretending that his body doesn’t yearn for you. He’s slowly losing control.
Muzan's spiral of hidden obsession will eventually engulf you both.
Gyutaro ・❥・
You’re the only thing that Gyutaro has—the only possession of his that is worth anything.
If Gyutaro doesn’t have you, he has less than nothing.
Nights would be spent with him obsessively touching and admiring you.
Over-the-top praise would be whispered in your ear as his fingers shakily traced your supple skin.
Gyutaro has a meal schedule set in place for you.
He desperately needs to see you in the best condition possible; he knows more than anyone what it’s like to almost die from starvation.
Gyutaro treats you as a trophy to show off, his little pretty lover.
Although he doesn’t take well to other men or women staring at or touching you.
One gaze that lasts too long from another sends Gyutaro into a blinding rage.
Gyutaro has a lingering fear that you'll see someone who meets your unattainable level.
He won’t ever have the only thing that he has in his pathetic life taken from him.
Gyutaro secretly craves your acceptance—just a small reassurance that he isn’t the scum of the earth.
Deep down, he fantasizes about being attractive and finally being able to proudly call himself your lover without utter shame and embarrassment.
Gyutaros strength is the only thing he has an ounce of confidence in.
He may never be able to compare to something as small as your hand when it comes to looks, but he can protect you proudly.
Gyutaro will gladly give up his life for you over and over again.
Sekido ・❥・
Not a soul was safe from Sekido’s wrath, but you were somehow the exception?
You were on a mission with other demon-slayers when you first met him.
Your existence hypnotized Sekido; every movement of yours made his own existence worthless to him.
All that mattered in the moment was you.
Your comrades were killed in no time; as for you? He didn’t lay a single hand on you.
All attempts to hurt Sekido were futile.
Sekido doesn’t want to take you by force, but he will if he has to.
Sekido would take you into hiding. For now, he wants you to himself with nobody to interfere.
Months would be spent with him in the forest.
Days consist of him admiring you, trying to figure out what's so special about you.
Why do you make him feel this way?
Sekido wouldn’t force physical contact until his emotions were too much to bear; he'd hold out for as long as possible.
Once he actually gets his hands on you, it’s hard for him to control himself.
Sekido isn’t exactly gentle with you; he has too much pent-up anger, but he tries.
Disobeying in any form earns you verbal abuse or physical restraint.
Don’t test Sekido; he can’t always control himself.
Urogi ・❥・
You make excitement run its course through Urogi’s body.
Such a beautiful specimen you were through his eyes.
Urogis feathers can’t help but ruffle at the thought of you belonging to him.
His sizable wings would wrap around you tightly, preventing you from leaving as he dragged you to a new location.
Somewhere, the two of you could stay together for as long as you both live.
Seeing the fear in your eyes, hearing your screams, and watching your hopeless attempts to escape makes his fire of excitement burn brighter.
Urogi knows that such a smart and beautiful person as you would soon understand that he is what's best for you.
Nothing, absolutely nothing, could ever come close to his love.
Attempt to escape, and you’re wrapped in his soft but chilling wings again.
"Can’t you see how good I am for you? Keep up this bad behavior; you’re making things much more exciting."
Urogi wouldn’t use any of his abilities on you; he doesn’t need to.
His physical strength alone is enough to keep you his. It’s much more entertaining this way.
The way Urogi scans your body using his blinding yellow eyes with a soft but chilling smile on his face makes you weak in the knees.
He’s expresses nothing but joy and excitement, no matter what you attempt to do.
There is something awfully off about Urogi; he knows this, and you know this.
Karaku ・❥・
Karakus's obsessiveness is only natural; it goes hand in hand with pleasure.
There have been many that Karaku has been fond of, but nobody could dare touch your level.
The way your little face scrunches up with determination while you swing useless slashes at him drives Karaku crazy.
Your hopelessness is so precious to him.
Karaku pays an awful amount of attention to your body; the way you maneuver fascinates him.
Karaku thoroughly enjoys touching you unexpectedly; he simply does it to see the way your body reacts.
You’re basically Karaku's doll, his new porcelain doll wrapped in plastic.
He’ll do anything in his power to make you completely dependent on him and him alone.
Karaku breaking and molding you into his little dependent doll is only a cover-up for how much he needs you.
If you need him, he won’t ever have to worry about the one thing he needs most escaping from his grasp.
It takes much effort to make Karaku the slightest bit unhappy.
Throw a tantrum? He thinks it's cute.
Hurt him? He enjoys pinning you down, Karaku will put up with all of your antics.
The only thing that can manage to set off Karaku is trying to escape.
Attempting to escape his grasp drives him mad; why would you ever try to leave him?
Karaku will hunt you down until the second he takes his last breath.
Gyokko ・❥・
You were the first thing to make Gyokko pause in awe, besides his own vases.
A mere human with beauty that puts one of his vases to shame? Gyokko couldn’t wrap his mind around the phenomenon.
Gyokko spent a couple of weeks stalking you from the shadows.
He needed to capture your beauty somewhere, and that somewhere was on a vase.
Gyokko spends hours studying your features, painting out every little detail of your existence on an empty vase.
Your essence needed to be captured permanently.
Gyokko wants nothing more than to show you his work—just something, anything that’ll impress you.
All he wants is your validation—to make you pause in awe just as much as he did when he first laid eyes on you.
Deep down, Gyokko knows better; he shouldn’t dare show himself.
He has just enough sense left to acknowledge his form, half of his body encapsulated in a vase, and a terrifying face as a cherry on top.
Gyokko only has enough confidence to watch you silently from the depths of the night.
By now, there are at least fifty vases, all in your name.
Gyokko quenches his heart's desire for you by admiring you on his vases; it’s almost as if you’re really there.
Somehow, someday Gyokko will have you posing right before his eyes as he paints every inch of you.
Kaigaku ・❥・
On the outside, Kaigaku is seen as an arrogant narcissist.
What lies inside is someone insecure, who craves your acceptance more than anything.
Kaigaku ingrained your low worth compared to him into your head.
This is the only way he knows how to keep you by his side for as long as you live.
If you continue to stray, Kaigaku will resort to physical violence.
He knows no better; this is the only way in his clouded mind.
There are moments where Kaigaku gets slightly vulnerable.
This typically only happens after a battle.
Kaigaku will spend hours on end begging for your acceptance.
The demon only wants to hear that he still has a purpose, even if it's minor.
His vulnerability is hidden once more the next day.
Kaigaku will return to his verbally abusive ways, denying anything that happened the night before.
Kaigaku's only worry is that you'll see through his facade.
He can’t bear the thought of you seeing him for who he truly is.
Until that day comes, Kaigaku will force you to be by his side.
With him, you are nothing more than his puppet.
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭
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In the mood for...
Jan 16th
LINK LIMIT REACHED (please look in replies for more recs ^^)
~*~
1. Hello, looking for fics that discuss or focus around wy being in a different body and yeah kinda just focused around that. thanks!
the soft animal by cafecliche (T, 5k, wangxian, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, the physicality of moving on: the fic, LWJ is the best husband, Podfic Available, (the presence of) MXY, and a whole bunch of Baby Lans)
a better world by ilip13 (G, 1k, WangXian,
Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Slice of Life, Soft WangXian, mild body dysphoria, Hopeful Ending)
a kind of emptiness by ScarlettStorm (E, 11k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Eating Disorders, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Eating Disorder Recovery, low angst, Happy Ending, seriously in spite of the tags this fic is very soft, Tender smut, Frottage, Praise Kink, Additional Warnings In Author's Note)
~*~
2. hopefully something similar to this
thank u!! @/weiwuxianfan34
hunters seeking solid ground by Attila (E, 23k, WangXian, Canon Compliant, discussion of canon character death, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Getting Together, Yearning, Literal Sleeping Together, Really Excessive Amounts of Hurt/Comfort)
~*~
3. Hi, for the next itmf, do you guys have and lwj/wwx/lxc recs? Like with the three of them together in a relationship. It can be cannon era or modern era, I don't really mind either but I would prefer cannon era. Thank you for the help.
our close and kindred ties by exmanhater (E, 41k, WangXianXi, Pregnancy Kink, Incest, almost incest, Post-Canon, Gender Changes, Always a Different Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Sex, Riding, Vaginal Fingering, Established Relationship, Situational Incest Only, POV Outsider, Pregnancy, Family Feels, Fluff, Incest Adjacent, Threesome - F/F/M, Relationship Negotiation, (slight) Pregnancy Kink, Kid Fic, Parenting, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Double Penetration, LWJ is a service top, Strap-Ons, Anal Sex, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Restraints, Parenthood) has f!wangxian but otherwise i think it's post-canon-ish setting?
oh we have moved forward in pain by rainbowshoes (E, 47k, WangXianXi, past 3zun, past Niecest, Incest, Post-Betrayal Depression, Severe depressive episodes, Bruises, Bite marks, Consensual sexual injuries, Self harm through sex, self harm ideation, Nightmares, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Excessive Drinking, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Scars, Past Child Abuse, implied ace jc, Explicit Sexual Content, Guilt, Canon-verse version of safe-wording out, Canon-verse version of subdrop, Child Abuse, discussion of death and murder, Discussion of wwx’s first time in the burial mounds, Broken Bones, Starvation, eating corpses, Insecurity not-so-accidental child acquisition, Angst with a Happy Ending, Sort Of, Sibling Incest, mix and mash Mashup of cql verse and novel, anti-lqr)
set my soul alight Series by Skadiseven (E, 42k, WangXianXi, Modern AU, Jadecest, Sibling Incest, Toronto, Halloween Costumes, Halloween, Canada, Jade Xianwich, WWX POV, Power Play, LXC POV, Rough Sex, Intercrural Sex, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Aftercare, Sort Of)
take this weight of mine by soliloqui (E, 84k, WangXianXi, Post-Canon, LXC in Seclusion, Depression, touch starvation, Self-Harm, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Dissociation, Canon-Typical Violence, Unreliable Narrator, Dual Cultivation, mild fuck-or-die, Mild Consent Issues, please check end notes of chapter 2 for more information, Sibling Incest, Hurt/Comfort, gentle smut, Healing, demisexual LXC, demisexual lwj, Protective LWJ, Protective LXC, Protective WWX, lqr's a++ parenting, Angst with a Happy Ending)
🔒Embers by xantissa (E, 38k, WangXian, XiXian, WangXianXi, Jadecest, Angst, drama, Fluff, Falling In Love, sex pollen trope (curse), dub con, Comfort, Grief, Forgiveness, Happy Ending, Sibling Incest, Switching, Flirting, Learning to live again, Magic, Curses, Everyone is Badass, lwj has a sense of humor, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M, Slow Burn, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)
🔒Magnificent by Anonymous (E, 36k, WangXianXi, Post-Canon, Sibling Incest, Threesome - M/M/M, Deepthroating, Mutual Masturbation, Nipple Play, Blow Jobs, Jadecest, Light Angst, Past NieLan, Sharing a Bed, Canon Compliant, Top LWJ, Switch LXC, Switch WWX, Spitroasting, Face-Fucking, Come Eating, Snowballing, Facials, Praise Kink, over-stimulation, Ass to Mouth, Intercrural Sex, Laughter During Sex, Rimming, Come as Lube, Magical Healing Cock, i guess, Come play)
给我再去相信的勇气 // the courage to believe by howodd5ever (E, 55k, WangXian, WangXianXi, Threesome - M/M/M, Jadecest, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Undernegotiated Kink, Choking, Spanking, Dom/sub, Rough Sex, dub con but trust me wei ying is into it, Polyamory, Getting Together, First Times, porn with a tiny bit of plot if you squint, Bottom wwx, bratty WWX, Marks, WWX Has a Breeding Kink, mostly cql canon timeline but otherwise franken-canon, angst but not about the poly stuff, Cockwarming, a little rimming as a treat)
Fraternal Fissures by Foregone_Shadow (E, 33k, Jadecest, WangXianXi, Angst with a Happy Ending, Threesome - M/M/M, Dual Cultivation, Healing Sex, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Sibling Incest, Explicit Sexual Content, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Somnophilia, Reference to relationships between 3zun, POV Alternating, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Tender Sex, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts, Care and aftercare, Bondage, dom!lwj, Sub!lxc, Top / Bottom Versatile Characters, LWJ is canonically huge, Size Kink, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, Light BDSM, Voyeurism, Depression, Dubious Consent, LWJ talks dirty, Marathon Sex, switch!WWX, Lots of bathing, gagging, Blindfolds, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Belly Kink, Orgasm Denial, Prostate Play)
~*~
4. hello! this is an itmf request. i would love:
A) recs on good case fics - i have a soft spot for those that take place during the cloud recesses study arc, but any and all case fic recs welcome :)
B) recs on de-aging/age regression fics - whether wangxian or other characters. thank you thank you! @/potatokunst
4A)
see you yesterday by glyphic (M, 138k,
WIP, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Ghost Hunters, Time Loop, Case Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss, Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn) if OP is open to modern AUs
🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)
🔒 Vagabond by xantissa (E, 65k, wangxian, Slow Burn, Mystery, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Frottage, Case Fic, murders, Supernatural, Angst, Fluff, those two are so in love it hurts, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, badass LXC, Canon-Typical Violence, topLWJ, Bottom LWJ)
build me no shrines by occultings (microcomets) (M, 54k, WangXian, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, First Time, Getting Together, Confessions, Sharing a Bed, Hair Washing, Sentient Burial Mounds, Case Fic, Post-Canon, CQL Compliant, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Light Angst, Flashbacks, mild body horror, foot washing, Happy Ending, Non-Sexual Intimacy, …then sexual intimacy, [Podfic] build me no shrines by flamingwell)
爱不释手; never let me go by yiqie (E, 68k, WangXian, Case Fic, Blood and Injury, Demons, Body Horror)
in your skin by darkredloveknot (enheduane) (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, Horror, Body Horror, Blood and Gore, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Non-Consensual Body Modification, kinda??, Reflections over death and self-worth, mentions of canon suicide, Near Death Experiences, [Podfic] in your skin by flamingwell)
there was recently a whole event about casefics! Not all of them are wangxian but a lot are so maybe one will catch your interest
💖 I’d be the one to hold you down (kiss you so hard) by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf & tardigradeschool (E, 85k, wangxian, JGY/LXC, NMJ/LXC, modern, leverage au, canon-typical violence, unhealthy relationships, depression, heists, found family, murder, hurt/comfort, angst w/ happy ending)
🧡 moonlight caught in mutton fat by Raitelzen (T, 45k, WangXian, Case Fic, Curses, Curse Breaking, Transformation, mild body horror, Hurt LWJ, Ghosts)
Your Hand in Mine by cerbykerby (T, 20k, WangXian, Humor, Comedy, Pining, cursed to hold hands, Light Angst, Sharing a Bed, First Dates, Embarrassment, Fluff, bathing together, Canon Compliant)
Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground (T, 39k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Case Fic, Intimacy, Curses, Canon Compliant, Post-Canon, Cuddling & Snuggling, Getting Together, Romance, Sexual Tension, Scent Kink, m.. maybe??, its not as intense as a kink, Fluff, Scars, Sharing a Bed, Nonverbal Communication)
this river runs to you by sundiscus (T, 53k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Mutual Pining, Dragons, Literal Sleeping Together, Tender wound tending)
4B)
grow by cafecliche (T, 14k, WangXian, Age Regression/De-Aging, Character Study, Post-Canon, podfic available)
home is where we are by halfdemonvash (T, 17k, wangxian, JC & WWX, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng are Bad at Communicating, JC & WWX Reconciliation, but only somewhat because these these things take time, Age Regression/De-Aging, Angst and Feels, Hijinks & Shenanigans, accidental baby acquisition but it's actually your older brother, references to wwx's past being homeless, and also his past food insecurity, rated T for jiang cheng's language, and light sexual content in the beginning, Post-Canon, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, Junior Trio Shenanigans)
Bringing Up JC by Mikkeneko (T, 31k, JC & WWX, JC & JL JL & WWX, JL & LSZ, Kid Fic, Age Regression/De-Aging, Fluff and Angst, anticipate about one part kid cuteness to two parts angst, Reparenting, reliving trauma, unpacking JC's childhood issues, no therapy in the jianghu so this will have to do, Take Care reveal, Yúnmèng Siblings Feels, JC & WWX Reconciliation, WWX Is Good With Children, WWX Has a Fear of Dogs, Golden Core Reveal)
🔒 Silver & Gold by beeswaxing (E, 162k, wangxian, post-canon, de-aging, fluff & angst, happy ending, fix-it of sorts, family bonding, established relationship, non-sexual intimacy, BAMF WWX, pining, protective WWX)
found your writing on my wall by howodd5ever (T, 25k, WangXian, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Accidental Baby Acquisition, De-aged WWX, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Referenced Child Neglect, discussion of parental loss, child food insecurity, Case Fic, kind of, Nightmares)
🔒suddenly an old song fills my heart with home, my eyes with tears by RoseThorne (T, 724, WangXian, JC & WWX, Curses, Rebirth, Memories, Memory Loss, Age Regression/De-Aging, Recovered Memories, POV Third Person)
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5. Hi, I am looking for fics in the canon-ish setting where characters undergo major injuries or illnesses that disable them but they are still bamf? (Last part added to a FF)
we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) WWX loses a leg & continues fighting the SSC with no-one being the wiser
🔒 no new age by everythingispoetry (M, 146k, wangxian, LSZ & LWJ, LXC/JGY, LXC/NMJ, Canon Divergence, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Permanent Injury, Recovery, Disability, Parenthood, Character Study, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Growing Up, Family Dynamics, Self-Discovery, Mental Health Issues, Grief/Mourning, Families of Choice, Developing Relationship) LWJ is left disabled by the 33 lashes punishment, & pushes through it, which I would think qualifies for BAMF status
🧡 Company by WithBroomBefore (T, 29k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Pre-Relationship, Getting Together, POV LWJ, Fix-It, Pre-Canon, at least to start, WWX goes to Cloud Recesses, But Not In The Usual Way, fear of character death, Everybody Lives, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, Light Angst, good teacher LQR, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, brief discussion of past minor character suicide, Kitten, Not YZY Friendly)
🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX's Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)
Obscuring the Sun by Karmiya (E, 24k, WIP, WangXian, WWX & WN, the sunshot campaign, Past Domestic Abuse)
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6. ITMF a fic where preferably wwx is an amputee but lwj is okay too and I’d also prefer it in modern setting but again cannon timeline is fine as well @/zerokogane
we’re starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 92k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Time Travel, Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Golden Core Reveal, Burial Mounds, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Starvation, emaciation, Cannibalism, Self-Harm, Amputation, Suicidal Thoughts, Sunshot Campaign, let JZX and WWX be friends club) link in #5
🔒some things go forward by everythingispoetry (T, 73k, WangXian, Modern AU, Hospitals, Teenage Drama, Slow Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Happy Ending)
Work in Tandem by MimiSpearmint (E, 23k, WangXian, Modern with Magic, Single Parent LWJ, when you just want disability-led sword lessons for your child, swordflight instructor!wwx, swordflight instructor!lwj, Fluff, give lwj friends agenda, Protective LWJ, Getting Together, Intercrural Sex, Choking, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Implied off-screen D/s negotiations)
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7. Hey! Do have any recs where wwx never loses his golden core? Like the Just Say Yes series? Could be an au, or anything. Thank you!
Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not YZY Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing)
Until The World Embraces Me Home by azri (T, 5k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ LWJ, LWJ Has No Golden Core, Role Reversal, Not LXC Friendly, Not JC Friendly, Not cultivation world friendly overall tbh, Sunshot Campaign, Friends to Lovers, Temporary Character Death, WangXian Get a Happy Ending) LZ loses his core but WY keeps his
A Thousand Things by tickertape (M, 108k, wangxian, canon divergence, WWX is not adopted by Jiangs, develping friendships, miscommunication, misunderstanding, nightmares, panic attacks, hurt/comfort, slow burn)
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8. Hi, itmf recently completed wips. What's new and good is ready for the binge reading. Thank you! @/best-before-end
pale shadows of forgotten names by Chrononautical (T, 56k, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Good Sibling LXC, Badass LXC, He gets there in the end it just takes a while, Not particularly JGY friendly, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Canon-Typical Behavior, Unresolved Sexual Tension, the universal fear of growing up to become one of your parents, Canon Divergence, Everyone Lives AU, Except WN but he's very polite, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Imprisonment, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, not between wangxian, Drunk LWJ, to lighten the mood, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Traumatized WWX, though he will not admit it, Taking time to heal, canon-typical communication skills)
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9. Hello! I am in the mood for a wangxian arranged marriage fanfic. I would prefer a longer story (over 50k words, if possible). It can be canon or even AU. I would like the story to focus not only on the relationship between LZ and WY but also on the politics behind it. It can also be omegaverse. It would be great if their relationship is rocky at first and then becomes better. If there's more fanfics like this, I would be grateful for all of them. Thank you very much. @/broodyelii
Concord by Deastar (T, 41k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Gūsū Lán Sect Rules, Depression, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending)
🧡 a stone to break your soul, a song to save it by rikke (M, 179k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage) Definitely meets the length criteria, though its been long enough since I last read it that I don't recall how much it went into the politics of the marriage
love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, immortal WWX, slow burn, pining, arranged marriages)
❤️ A Myriad of Blossoms by Itszero (E, 56k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, YLLZ WWX, Hurt LWJ, Cruel wwx, he's cruel until he's not, Protective WWX, Caring WWX, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Smut, Bottom LWJ, Dark WWX)
The Scarlet Lotus by rainbowninja167 (M, 137k, WangXian, Marriage of Convenience, Secret Identity, Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Canon-Typical Violence, canon-typical war crimes, Yunmeng Bros, the mortifying ordeal of getting seduced by your own husband, nonlinear chronology we die like cql, just kidding nobody dies in this fic, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication)
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10. Itmf wangxian fics with WWX in peril (happy ending only please).
pitfalls of greed by glitteringmoonlight (T, 3k, wangxian, post-canon, outsider pov, BAMF WWX, kidnapping, violence)
❤️ kick at the darkness 'til it bleeds daylight by AlfAlfAlfAlfAlf, tardigradeschool (T, 75k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Eventual Happy Ending, Getting Together, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Inspired by The Parent Trap (1998), Kid Fic, teen shenanigans, two a-yuans, Fluff and Angst)
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11. I am currently reading "Get it right (mdzs time travel) Series" by AmiraAlzilu (AO3) and now I'm ITMF for a time travel fic where LXC and LQR are specifically called out for their lack of trust in LWJ witness testimony (aka child/elders in the Burial Mounds) and believing a sworn brother over family. Bonus for a) apologies or b) digging a deeper hole aka surely LWJ is mistaken, Meng Yao would never, I'm looking at you chapter 15 to 17 of this fic LXC (yes I'm salty). Bonus bonus for consequences on LXC's loose lips telling things to others he was asked to keep in confidence.... @/mreisse
I'm #11, and you know what? Recs calling out LXC and LQR is also fine :)
Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) Okay so this isn't a time travel fic, so feel free to disregard, BUT! Does have LXC coming to WWX for help & seeing the truth, & characters calling him tf out on how it took him this long, so requester may still be interested
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12. this is an itmf ask!!
fics where wwx is in his full yiling patriarch glory, I want to see scary yllz, possessive yllz (for lwj ofc) anything. longer fics pls but anything is fine, just no wips please haha!!
🔒hold me fast, fear me not by cicer (M, 16k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fairy Tale Elements, Mpreg, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, YLLZ WWX, brief reference to abortificants, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, may be interpreted as noncon by some)
curse of the dragon emperor by lulu_kitty (E, 96k, WangXian, Dragon AU, Canon Divergence, Mythology References, Identity Porn, Cursed WWX, Trans LWJ, Trans Male Character, Misgendering, Canon-Typical Violence, Gender Dysphoria, gender euphoria, Phoenixes, Dragon WWX, Fox WWX, Double Penetration in Two Holes, Vaginal Sex, Anal Sex, Cunnilingus, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Dirty Talk, Submissive LWJ, Trauma, WWX Has PTSD, Minor Character Death, Prince WWX, Emperor WWX, Soulmates, Arranged Marriage, Mpreg, Trans Male Pregnancy, Size Difference, Dragonxian has two dicks, YLLZ WWX, technically!, It's more like YLLZ adjacent)
your darkest roads by comefeedtherainn (E, 76k, WangXian, YLLZ WWX, non-yunmeng wwx, Kinda, No Golden Core Transfer, Dark WWX, d/s dynamics, No noncon, playing with subverting some tropes/expectations)
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13. I swear the only reason I can still consume Wangxian content daily is because of your recommendations.
There’s a couple fics I’ve been craving for a while and haven’t been able to find any I really love, so any help/ recommendations would be much appreciated!
A) Lan Xichen focused fics. It’s so hard to find fics that centre him.
B) Lan Sizhui focused fics. Mainly him with his dads/ family, but also him remembering his past would be great! Baby or adult A-yuan.
C) Wangxian being parents. Wei Wuxian being single parent. Just them being amazing dad’s content.
I’d appreciate any of these prompts 💞✨💫 @/jinxedjaz
13A)
Chapter 2 of Every Mother's Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, Madam Lan & WWX, Madam Lan & LWJ, Madam Lan & Lxc, wangxian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, Madam Lan rescues women from abusive husbands in feudal Japan and honestly that's so valid of her, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & QHJ, Give Madam Lan a name of her own, let Madam Lan find out that QHJ died in a fire as a treat, now with bonus Lan Xichen!) chapter 1 is more focused on LWJ and WWX, I recommend both :)
Weep You No More, Sad Fountains by athena_crikey (T, 59k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LXC & JGY, Canon Divergence, Fix-it fic, Whump, Curses, Fever, Delirium, Stabbing, Loneliness, Confessions, LWJ's emotional repression, WWX giving everything as always, LXC realising sympathy is not support, LQR Being an Asshole) link in #11
i told you when i came i was a stranger by Caramelized (M, 50k, OFC/LXC, minor WangXian, Isekai, Transmigration, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Amateur cartography, Butterfly Effect, Sunshot Campaign, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, No Golden Core Transfer, Dimension Travel, Politics, LXC the politician, Self-Insert, Foreknowledge, Angst with a Happy Ending) it's SI/OC but heavily features LXC (including some chapters from his POV). also has one of my favorite characterizations of LXC i've seen in fic
To Love What Is Mortal by treemaidengeek (T, 22k, LXC/SL, Post-Canon, Grief/Mourning, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, [Podfic] To Love What Is Mortal by flamingwell) as well as most of the works in this series.
Gentle Exile by rynleaf (E, 9k, LXC/SL, Post-Canon, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, References to Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Character Study, Epistolary, Post-Canon Exploration, [PODFIC] Gentle Exile by flamingwell, semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))
13B)
When You Wake, 怎能当梦一场 by acertainrogue (T, 39k, WangXian, WWX is in a coma, Angst with a Happy Ending, Modern AU, Single Dad LWJ, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Parenthood, YZY's A+ Parenting, JFM's A+ parenting, wangxian family) this is completely from lsz's pov
this blood in my mouth by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 3k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX & LWJ, Post-Canon, POV LXC)
The Living Looked That Day by violettressed (T, 19k, LSZ & WN, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Ritualistic Self-Harm, Mild Gore)
🧡 Lan Sizhui Sees Dead People Series by darkbrokenreaper (T, 30k, WIP, WangXian, LWJ & LSZ, JC & LSZ, Canon Divergence, Fluff, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, lsz sees dead people, Paranormal)
as i stumble homewards by the_pretzel (T, 27k, wangxian, canonical character death, found family, food issues, trauma, LSZ pov, angst w/ happy ending, fluff) LSZ raised by ghost!WWX
Symmetry by Vir_Abelasan (M, 13k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, One-Sided ChengXian, One-Sided ChengZhui, Canon Divergence, LSZ is raised by wwx, Wwx still dies sorry, Revenge, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Dark LSZ, Manipulation, Power Imbalance, Torture, Not JC Friendly, JC’s Canonical 13 Years Murder Spree, BAMF LSZ, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, LSZ Gets to Go Apeshit) LSZ gets to have a lil revenge, as a treat
Remember, Remember by Izzyaro (Isilarma) (G, 1k, LSZ & WN, LJY & LSZ, Character Study, Post-Canon, Family, Families of Choice, Grief/Mourning, Angry LSZ, LSZ Needs a Hug, not for jc fans, LSZ gets a hug) LSZ remembers a few things, & gets to be angry
the kite string and the anchor rope by fleurdeliser (M, 39k, wangxian, after yiling date, sick child) LSZ is sick for a chunk of this but is still the central character
keeping score by hauntedotamatone (T, 6k, LSZ & WWX, Background WangXian, the opposite of reconciliation, Protective WWX, Duelling, Grief/Mourning, not for jc fans, Swordfighting, Resentment, LSZ centric, No JC & WWX Reconciliation) featuring protective dad WWX
Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not rated, 46k, WangXian, Junior Quartet Centric, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics) being a coming-of-age type story as LSZ discovers his past with WWX
13C)
emergent properties by luckymarrow (E, 8k, WangXian, Modern AU, Family Fluff, Trans Male Character, Trans LWJ, Queer Families, Queer Youth, Adoption, Baby LSZ, Teen MXY, Crossdressing, but not as a kinkgender expression, Dilf4Dilf Wangxian, Penis In Vagina Sex, Blow Jobs, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, gender euphoria, Cunnilingus)
at no other time by luckymarrow (M, 2k, WangXian, Modern AU, Queer Families, Queer Youth, Child LSZ, Family Fluff, Non-Explicit Sex, farming, Wangxian Run an Organic Farm as God Intended, Found Family, Families of Choice, Adoption, Trans Male Character, Married WangXian, Established Relationship)
Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx’s biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending) this one also has WangXian being great parents, but it's not the main plot of the story.
my little love by mellowflicker (T, 54k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Parent WWX, kindergarten teacher!lwj, Kid Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Pining)
box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj, Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)
❤️ Seen and not heard by eatmyass (E, 51k, wangxian, case fic, no sunshot, kid fic, dadxian, strangers to lovers, found family, LWJ pov, pining, fake/pretend relationship, first time, falling in love)
❤️ Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste for williedustice (T, 36k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Adoption, Family Fluff, Kid fic, Family drama, Fluff, [PODFIC] Attempting the Impossible by Ariaste by lunatique)
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14. thanks for your hard work admins! itmf darkji fics :) once again, ty!!
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15. Can you please give me all the Fic Recs you can find on A) WWX getting his body back? Post canon. I’m struggling to find them. And also B) post canon reconciliation docs with JC and Jin ling, and/or C) post canon fica where wwx night hunts and gets injured, and nearly dies? And worries everyone. Please and thank you. @/the-daydreamer
15A)
Touch That Body, (It's Not Mine) by brrrrrRawr (T, 3k, WangXian, WWX in WWX's original body, Fluff, Pet Names, Blushing, No Smut, Genius WWX, yunmeng bros reconciliation, endgame lotus pier, big bro wwx rights, also dad wwx rights, BAMF WWX, Bad Writing, Body Dysphoria, So OOC)
15B)
Rotten Work by ShanaStoryteller (Not Rated, 63k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Protective WWX, Protective JL, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Reluctant Matchmaker JL, [PODFIC] Rotten Work by sakizar) qualifies for both 15B and 15C
Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) this fic works for both b and c I think
Imprints by Lisa_Telramor (G, 47k, WangXian, accidental puppy adoption, Humor, Panic Attacks, phobia recovery, Post-Canon, JC & WWX Reconciliation, Poor Life Choices, Self-Acceptance, Developing Relationship, fluff with a side of anxiety lol, WWX adopts a puppy, Dogs)
other side of paradise by blueseam (T, 12k, JC & WWX & JL, Post-Canon, Platonic hair-washing, excessive amounts of communication, Emotional Hurt/Comfort)
singing through the dark by twigofwillow (G, 13k, JL & WWX, WangXian, Post-Canon, Yunmeng bros reconciliation if you squint, angst with a tiny bit of fluff)
everyone else is spring bound by Lise (T, 18k, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Post-Finale, Dysfunctional Family, Family Bonding, Minor WangXian, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, JC Needs a Hug, POV JC, Family Feels, Light Angst, Reconciliation, Awkward Conversations)
some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Road trips, rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, [Podfic] some good mistakes by kisahawklin )
an aging wound by Lise (G, 7k, JC & WWX, POV WWX, Post-Canon, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, Awkward Conversations, Light Angst, but mostly just the awkward conversations, Dysfunctional Family, Post-The Untamed (TV), Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Dynamics, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels)
With Absolute Splendor by Lise (T, 43k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Wedding planning, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, Complicated Relationships, Angst with a happy ending, [Podfic] With Absolute Splendor by kisahawklin, [PODFIC] With Absolute Splendor by Gwogobo)
Jiang Cheng goes Traveling Series by gbuzy12 (G, 11k, JC & LWJ, JC & WWX, Light Angst Post-Canon, yunmeng bros reconciliation)
Reeds in the Wind by merakily (T, 26k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Canon Compliant, Character Study, Yunmeng bros Reconciliation, Rabbit Therapy, Sewing Therapy, PTSD, Emotional Baggage, Hurt/Comfort, JC is Bad at Feelings, JC Needs a Hug)
15C)
let the yoke fall from our shoulders by occultings (microcomets) (G, 2k, WangXian, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Character Study, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Gūsū Lán Juniors Dynamics, Happy Ending, Family Feels, Established Relationship)
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16. Any fanfiction about the xicheng ship.
Audience of One by WinterDreams (T, 181k, XiCheng, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, Celebrities, Inspired by 10 Things I Hate About You (1999), Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Singer LXC, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Slow Burn, Family Feels, Family Bonding, past emotional abuse, Post-Betrayal, Venerated Triad Feels, Yunmeng Duo Feels, Nightmares, Fluff and Angst, Babysitter Ā-Qìng, Domestic Fluff, SongXiao mentioned relationship, Soft XiCheng, Eventual Happy Ending, implied MingYao)
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17. pls rec some post canon fluff :)
with such a suffering, such a deadly life
by cqlorphan (T, 7k, wangxian, post-canon, curses, curse breaking, getting together, angst w/ happy ending, fluff, hurt/comfort, affection, touch-starved LWJ, LWJ whump, cuddling & snuggling, love confessions)
Continuation by thefaceofno (T, 13k, WangXian, Canon Continuation, wwx builds a lotus pond in cloud recesses, Hair Brushing, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Angst, Pining, gay disaster lwj, Post-Canon Fix-It)
Deeper grows my longing by feyburner (T, 4k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, First Kiss, Deeper grows my longing [podfic] by someplacelikebolivia)
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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***
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kai winn adami is like the kind of crazy that makes me crazy. and puts in mind a female mystic from the mid-to-late middle ages. where the very person needs god bc the person is barren of something, food or purpose or existential strength, only winn takes this sideways-sanity into the the arena of political authority and at no point are you ever able to doubt her sincerity and at no point are you ever able to trust her anyway bc she's crazy (but fully in control). she would starve herself to feel the touch of the divine yet claim the touch of the divine without starvation and you would believe her bc you know she would starve herself for the touch of the divine. and to make it all just that bit More--to add to her bigness--her gods are real and the power she yearns to touch is real which makes the power she does wield precarious, bc her attention is split. she is the poster-child of the way a slowly-tortured and fundamentally-denied people can slip into the the "we're-all-mad-here" feeling, even after the denial stops--does it ever stop? is she not still starved for god? is she not still tortured and denied and rebuffed? must she starve everyone else so they can also see it, the way hope can never be anything but immaterial? and you want to say: god is not real. but in this story that's not true. the gods just aren't talking to her. so maybe she's not crazy.
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MANNA— CHAPTER FOUR: TOAST
Dark!Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Dark!Will Graham AU fic
TW for eating disorders, noncon, abuse, drugging, mild Daddy kink (it'll all make sense). Cannot stress the ED/anorexia warnings more strongly for this chapter guys!
This is chronologically the fourth chapter in the series
--
You sit with your back to Dr Lecter as he readies himself to leave for his morning appointments, feeling like an ancient sacrifice to some forest beast, blindfolded and anointed, its snail-fed bride; the dread of unseeing, of not knowing what he does as you stare at the wall is so clever a punishment that you comprehend entirely why more brutal forms were inflicted before it.
He is ingenious in his malice, this man. The fear of the worst of things is the stick that will make you the supplicant to his merest whim.
In cyclical paths you think of Hannibal’s attack at the breakfast table, how he had intuited your intent to cut his throat before you had finalised the thought. The gymnast's grace with which he’d caught you, the psychic recognition of revolt— he has held others captive, before you, surely.
Likely he has killed.
There are many like Dr Lecter, in the medical field, rapists and murderers in their masses, scything the weak, and allowing their names to fall through the cracks in the system, where few care to retrieve them. Already you feel yourself staggering into that hopeless black, soundless as your gaoler guides you back into the en suite by a hand at your nape.
“You may take a bath, if you wish,” he says— how had he known you’d only stood at the sink that morning? “I have provided toiletries for you. No razors, I’m afraid. If you desire to shave, then Will or I must be present, which I doubt you would prefer, at this time. Besides, I have to leave for my first appointment in a few minutes. I trust that you will enjoy the solitude.”
You keep your back to him, half-swooning under your dread of those pitiless eyes.
“I hope that you will not do anything unwise, while I’m away,” says Hannibal, into the frigidity of your silence. “There is no mention of active suicidal ideation in your records. I would be surprised if you drowned yourself; of all the poetic figures you resemble, Ophelia, in her madness, is not of their number.”
“Why?” you whisper. “After what’s happened, I should want to die.”
Hannibal’s arm glides past you, twisting the faucets of the bath until water beats a war drum rhythm against the porcelain.
“But you do not,” he says, his voice so close to your ear that you jump. “Death, to you, would be an unfortunate symptom of the habits you keep. You are ambivalent about life, at the best of times, yet your goal is not to leave it. Your inherent belief is that you can maintain starvation at such a balance that you defy both those who have hurt you and God Himself.”
You watch hot water spin the air into steam, and a tear condenses on your left cheek, quite as warm.
“Does God even exist?” you ask. “If He did, He’d get me out of this.”
Dr Lecter unscrews the top of an expensive soap bottle and pours it into the bath, smoking the room with the scent of dusky vanilla; of course, his perfume for you would be gourmand.
“God kills and aids with equal relish. Who is to say that it is not your suffering that he would prefer?”
“That’s what you want?” you ask, in a whisper like a fragment of snow. “For me to suffer?”
“No, little one,” says Hannibal, touching your quivering lower lip with a gentle thumb. “If that was so, I would have left you to die in your parents care. What I want is for you to eat, and gain trust in those that yearn to help you.”
He straightens, smoothing down an imaginary crease in his suit.
“I have prepared lunch for you to eat while I am at work. I expect to see that you have eaten it.”
Your stomach, hard with breakfast, is nevertheless hollow enough to moan.
“All of it?” you ask.
“Yes,” says Hannibal, though not unkindly. “It is only a light portion. Will is joining us for dinner tonight.”
You sit down on the edge of the bath, your voice rising to a petulant note, as though Will were an unsavoury family friend, and not a man driven to rape by a whisper in his ear.
“I don’t want to see him.”
“Nevertheless, you will,” says Hannibal. “Like hunger, he is the spectre you must face, regardless of your fear of him.”
Hannibal switches off the taps and smiles down at you, undeterred by your unchanged, fearful disgust.
“Goodbye, little one,” he says. “And be good.”
You don’t reply, refusing to turn as he pats your shoulder and quietly retreats from the room. His leaving should be a relief, but his presence drenches the house like blood through a shroud. He scarcely seems to leave it at all.
You bathe rapidly, loathing to be at one with your nakedness, seeing it through your captors’ eyes.
Another set of clean clothes has been set out for you, a perfume of further vanilla, a clear bag of cosmetics, a weighty tome by Dostoevsky, and lunch in a pristine Tupperware box, which you avoid as you would a sleeping asp.
The bedroom door is locked, the sole, small window barred— new additions, you note from the shine on the steel. Hannibal has made definite your inability to escape; the only hope left bare to you is to draw attention from passers-by.
Desperate, you write a haphazard ‘HELP ME’ message in lipstick upon the window, hoping that the letters are large enough to be glimpsed from below.
That done, you sit in a convent-goer’s silence, cowed by the enormity of danger that has found you. The only thing that protects you from the engulfing depths of your abjection is anger, defiance that Dr Lecter thinks himself dictator of what may enter your body, food or flesh.
With a reedy surge of courage you vow to challenge his every attempt on your autonomy, even if you must do so quietly.
You begin with lunch. With a percussive gusto you throw the Tupperware into bathroom bin, thinking you’ve done well to avoid another round of narcotics, and to deny yourself what you do not think you deserve, after failing to abstain at breakfast.
The pasta smells delicious, of cloves and some ingeniously mixed sauce you know would break across your tongue in a tide of exceptional flavour. You pace from the bedroom to the en suite, close to retrieving the plastic tub from the clean trash bag and eating from it, unashamed of such a low; you’ve done worse, in your time, giving in to an animal urge to forage.
You lean against the wall, breathing in and out with trembling difficulty. Then you prise the Tupperware from the trash can and empty it out into the toilet bowl, flushing again and again until every remnant of food is washed down where even you cannot salvage it.
You are exuberant in your resolve, barely weakened under the burden of your captivity.
You shouldn’t be hungry, so soon after breakfast, yet you are— not in the way other people feel hunger, the ordinary cues having been lost to illness, long ago. Your desire for food is like that of a man-eating animal, driven more by a taste for flesh than necessity to eat.
That Will and Hannibal have given you a secondary conflict to wage war against your obsession is almost a gift— there is no longer much room amidst your crowding fears to pine over the food in your stomach.
Yet, there is enough. Purging has never been your particular habit—you’ve found it too difficult, requiring water you are too afraid to drink more than a glass of for fear of the added weight on the scale.
The French toast lies upon you like a sleep paralysis apparition in its density. Hanging over the toilet bowl, you choke on acid spittle, and promptly abandon the venture. Had there been laxatives, they would have been a fair alternative, but Hannibal has kept you as simply and functionally contained as a vivisectionist’s subject, which, to him, it seems, you are.
You bow to your defeat, on this count, allowing yourself another indulgence of tears. Only the fear of the calories you must burn thrusts you back on your feet, striding laps of the room until your vision swims with sparks.
Light-headed, you sprawl on the bed—the same that you were raped in, you think, and move to lie on the floor instead, comforted by the changed perspective of the room.
As a child you used to lie on your back like this, imagining that you could walk upon the ceiling. You’d lived years in such imagined lands, and would have remained in them, still, had they not grown dark, and overgrown by infiltrating matter. As you stare at the ceiling now it seems to blacken at the edges as though with a quickening mould, or else the fingers of some unseen thing, folding over your eyes until they shut.
*
You start from unsettled sleep to the gentle purr of an expensive car drawing in at the front of the house. Recalling your lip-sticked message, you blunder in a drowsy panic to the window and rub at the glass with your dress sleeve, spitting on the hem when the cosmetic merely smudges obstinately under your ministrations.
You cannot tell if the monster in the sleek Bentley below can see the window clearly, but you work rapidly, your breath sawing a panicked melody through your throat.
Though your dress is black, the cosmetic shows tellingly on the fabric. You wrestle the garment over your head and hide it at the back of a drawer, shoving on an almost identical item as movement stirs in the house below.
You sit down on the bed, picking the skin at your fingers as Hannibal approaches. When his key clicks in the lock you start, tearing a hangnail up to the cuticle. You suck your thumb like a child to soothe the wound, aware how infantile you must look.
“Hello, little one,” says Hannibal, politely, as he enters the room.
“I ate it all,” you say, in an all too eager rush. “The food. You don’t have to punish me.”
Your jailer looks at you levelly. His eyes are crow’s eyes, clever, and gelid.
“Let me see.”
He picks up the Tupperware, examining the box. Abruptly he circles the room, then the en suite, his slow tread an axe-man’s gait.
“You have lied to me,” he says, suddenly. “Lunch was disposed of. The toilet, I presume? Please do not insult me by claiming to have eaten it.”
You stare at him, nonplussed.
“I... how did you know?” you falter.
“I have a keen sense of smell. The scent of herbs is very clear in the air. An unusual aroma, for this particular room.”
There is a humour in his voice, but of a sinister kind you know well to fear.
“I’m sorry,” you say. “I couldn’t. I already ate so much, and you said I have to have dinner, so I...”
Hannibal shakes his head gravely.
“You must never waste food, if you can help it, little one.”
On a whim, you reach out to sieze one of his hands in yours.
“I didn’t mean it. Please don’t hurt me, Dr Lecter.”
He shakes his head regretfully.
“That is not for me to decide.”
You squeeze his hand as tightly as you are able, aware of how cold your fingers are in comparison to his hale warmth.
“Please, I’ll stay in solitary, or... or forfeit stuff, like they do at regular hospitals. Just don’t... touch me again. I can’t take it.”
“You discredit your endurance,” says Hannibal, smoothly. “It has presented itself as your greatest strength. It would be startling to see it fragment so early into your induction.”
You snap your hand back from him, cradling it as you would a broken bone.
“What’s wrong with you?” you hiss, and Dr Lecter releases a little grunt of amusement.
“I can only echo the interrogative. You have never opened up to any therapist about the most crucial traumas in your past. I am intrigued by their mysteries.”
You glance away, lips tightened. You will give him nothing of your secrets, not even the sheerest slip. He will use them against you, this you know.
“I must prepare for dinner,” says Hannibal. "Come along, little one. You will assist me. It will do you good to be in the presence of food through its preparation.”
*
As anticipated, your presence in the kitchen is fraught with excruciating temptation. As you grate vegetables and slice meat you often clear your throat to mask the thunder of starvation in your abdomen, which Dr Lecter politely ignores.
Though he maintains a flow of light, one-sided conversation, you know how narrowly he watches you, analysing every twitch and attempt to mentally detach from the scents and sumptuous plenty spread out on the countertops before you.
At last, he relents, an unexpected mercy.
“That’s enough. You may wash your hands and sit at the dinner table.”
You linger, gawking at him, not quite believing in your release.
“Go on,” says Dr Lecter, chuckling slightly. “I will join you presently. Our guest will be arriving, soon.”
Blinking, you say, “I’m... allowed to sit in there alone?”
With an almost fond glance, Dr Lecter says, “Certainly. You will not run, for you know that I will follow.”
Will arrives half an hour later, smelling of night rain and cologne. His expression is sullen and furtive as he greets you, his eyes floorwards, lashes fluttering behind his glasses.
You clutch the sides of your chair, silent, sickened, resentful; the man behaves as if it is he who was injured by the assault, as though the shame gnaws down to the core of him, leaving him raw and naked before you.
He sits in the chair closest to the door, whether to guard the exit or to forge the path to a quick egress you cannot say.
Hannibal sets a glass of wine before him; you he only gives water, as though you are not old enough to drink.
“The first course will be served presently,” he comments, surveying the tension at his table. “I hope that you will both enjoy it. You must be hungry, little one.”
You shake your head, afraid that if you open your mouth to speak you will only scream. This meal isn’t meant to tantalise the senses, but to torture: you know it from the unwilling reunion of his guests, of the punishment that leers from a narrow future upon you.
A quivering shrew, you stare at your untouched glass as Will clears his throat, pressed by the pains of your silence to speak.
He invokes your name, making it as foul as a curse.
“I don’t claim to be a master at first impressions, but the other night...”
“Please don’t talk to me,” you whisper, and Will flinches, pushing his glasses up his nose with bumbling fingers.
You’ve upset him, you realise, with a cold start of revulsion. Him, the violator, bruised by his own brutality, as though he’d no choice in the matter. Had he expected you to be his friend, to care for his sensitivities?
There is something wrong with Will Graham, you think, like a flaw in some creaking ship apt to annihilate the vessel, under pressure. That, or bleed all around him in his shrapnel, while he tends to their many pieces with all the moroseness of Beauty’s beast.
It strikes you that you should make him your ally, this hopeless Caliban, if you can stand it. You will need his favour, against Dr Lecter, to convince him to set you free.
Still, you cannot yet bring yourself to earn it. When Hannibal returns to set the first of many plates upon the table you are wordless in your terror, your fork as slippery as a salmon in your grip.
Will and Hannibal make conversation about a murder case in the area— both seem intricately involved in the psychology of the killer, discussing at length his motives in the poetic lexis you are becoming accustomed to, in this prison.
Still, their eyes and words wind back to you with a potent eventuality, displayed before them in your borrowed dress like a goldfinch chained to an elaborate perch.
Your food remains on your plate, flattened beneath your knife, a childish attempt to conceal your inability to eat it. There is too much weight in these scarce morsels, calories that would swell you into some fantastic horror, or so your thoughts inform you.
If you could eat, you would do so; even to save yourself it is beyond you.
Only water do you swallow, the bottom of the glass thick with a bitter sediment.
“We should talk about her, shouldn’t we?” asks Will, reluctantly, his gaze darting to your plate.
"Indeed we should," says Hannibal, his hand tracing the stem of his wine glass as he would the length of your throat. “Specifically, your response to her residence here, and to her treatment. You feel guilt for having carried out a punishment you feel was not entirely deserved.”
Will swallows, the click of saliva in his throat like the folding of a leaf underfoot.
"That's the problem," he says. "It did feel deserved. Violence for violence. There was a righteousness in defending you. I've felt it before, with GarretJacob Hobbs."
The name holds significance you cannot grasp. Who was this man, and what does he mean to your wardens?
"And like that day, protecting Abigail," Will continues, "I'm left looking at my own hands, repulsed by my own readiness to engage in a taboo and... enjoy it. But she isn’t like either Hobbs."
This, directed at you with a glance of murky guilt.
"She's unwell. Confused. And, as far as your patient was concerned, she was as in her right to protect herself as I was in correcting her."
"Stop,” you say, quietly.
Both men turn to you, startled by your sudden interjection.
"You disagree with Will's analysis of last night's events?" asks Hannibal, with interest. "By all means, tell us what you see. There is no sole analysis of any art; what picture do you glimpse from within the canvas?"
"I'm not yours," you say. "You can't correct me, like I'm something you own, that you made."
Dr Lecter examines your face with a dangerous patience.
"But we are making you. Or remaking, it you prefer. That is why you are here: a construction of what we two will define from mortar and broken glass."
You cannot respond to such unhinged logic without lowering yourself to entertain it, an undeniably clever tactic.
Hannibal brings another course to the table, another, another; Roman emperors could not have gorged like this, yet the two men—both lean, and Will particularly small—clear their plates as though swallowing mere air.
You pretend to eat, chewing food and spitting it into napkins or an empty glass when the other diners look away. It is only when Will barks at you suddenly that you realise he's been watching you, all along.
"What are you doing?" he asks, sharply.
"Nothing,” you mumble.
Will scoffs.
"Nothing? Nothing is not why you're here. You’re starving yourself. Why?"
Disgust pours from him like a vapour, tainting the air you breathe with his unearned judgement.
"Because... it's just what I do,” you say, limply. “It... helps. It's taken over everything.'
“Then stop letting it,” snaps Will; you don’t understand why he’s so affronted, why he has suddenly taken up the reigns of the game. “You're giving into this, letting it cut holes into you. You'll die trying to achieve some abstract state of being that you will never reach. Do you want that?"
Strange, the echo of your conversation with Dr Lecter by the bath.
"I— don't know,” you say, after a strained pause. “Sometimes I'm not sure if I care what happens to me. And sometimes, I get scared."
Will speaks through gritted teeth.
"So let go of it."
You could laugh at so preposterous a command, but instead you say, "I can't."
The atmosphere at the table has subtly changed, all players on the board at last.
"Why not?” asks Will, softly.
You perceive something like care in his voice, an impossibility.
"Because it makes me feel better," you say. "Stronger. I don't want it to go away."
Hannibal sits back, listening in purposeful silence.
Will removes his glasses, placing them into his pocket.
"Today, at this meal, you’ll try,” he says. “Appreciate the effort that was made for you."
At this you do laugh, a soft, broken sound.
"Go to hell. You're a monster. You did what he told you to, and— and you jumped like a dog to do it. Aren't you ashamed?"
Dr Lecter’s posture tightens slightly, and Will flounders, losing a little of his confidence.
"I know it's probably not what I should have done,” he admits. “It’s a radical treatment. And dangerous. But I— we can't take it back. And if I can contribute to you evolving from this then I'll do whatever it takes."
There is honesty in this confession, somewhere, even empathy.
"Don't act like you care about me,” you mumble, and shove your plate away from you, across the table, knocking over your glass in the process.
The effects of whatever drug was in the water are taking hold, making you feel loosely unstable, your inhibitions cast down, and forgotten.
Hannibal’s smile has fallen.
"Will,” he says, curtly. “I think you have tolerated quite enough from our obnoxious guest. I suggest that you consider discipline. She has already broken the rules in place for her today. A meal discarded, a message for help written on her window— It is fortunate that no one came close enough to the house in my absence to see it."
You stand up from your seat, swaying slightly, your heart shuttering like cards on a bicycle wheel to find yourself caught you in your efforts to escape.
"I hate you,” you say. “I want to leave. Let me go."
"Hannibal,” Will cuts in; his face is white, and greasy with anxiety. “I'm not ready to handle this again."
Dr Lecter’s expression shifts darkly.
"Then I will fulfil that responsibility on your behalf."
He rises from his seat and is behind you for the second time this day before you've the sense to run. Shunting you forward onto the table top, he tears your dress methodically up your back, his free hand holding you down with the same carelessness with which he’d handle unsatisfactory meat.
"You are sure that you do not wish to participate?" he says, over your shrieks of protest.
Will shakes his head. His eyes are rolling like a bull’s in his distress.
"No. I— can't."
Hannibal stills; you feel his hand between his belt and your behind, on the precipice of setting loose his sick lust.
"Then should I choose another punishment? There are many at our disposal."
"Don't leave it up to me to decide,” croaks Will. “I feel... precarious."
"I forgive you your uncertainty,” says Dr Lecter. “I, however, have none."
A drugged swell flows through you, looping a weird ecstasy about your abdomen as Hannibal leans down to speak to you directly.
"You are a very disobedient girl. You know the consequences, and yet you do not abandon your misdeeds."
"I'm not playing your stupid game,” you whine, dimly away of how foolish you sound. “I'm not playing.”
“Of course you are,” says Hannibal, coldly. “In time you'll forget that it was ever a game, to begin with.”
He forces himself within your cunt in a smooth and gliding viciousness, sending another brocade of sensation through your loins. The drug you’ve ingested makes the pain a most succulent wonder, playing your nerves with all the sinister beauty of the Theremin.
You sob as he fucks you, slow, and sure, and deep. It should not possibly be pleasurable, is intended only to exert power, and to humiliate— but he cannot help but create art, casting you on the stage of his design.
As Hannibal hurts you, he is looking at Will, whose face bears a quickening darkness. It strikes you quite suddenly that Dr Lecter wants the other man’s approval, perhaps even his jealousy; you understand that you are a disposable object that holds the temporary interest of these two.
It may not last.
Should they tire of you, what then? Thrown back to your parents, perhaps, more broken than you arrived. Surely not, for you may spill their secrets to the world, and ruin their lives.
Something worse, then.
You circle back to that earlier thought, and terror flies back in all its night glory.
Suddenly you twitch and shake in horrified spasms, and though Hannibal continues to fuck you something alters almost imperceptibly in his pace.
"Stop," says Will, suddenly. "That's enough."
"You cannot leave a deer half-killed, Will,” says Hannibal; glancing back over your shoulder, you are horrified by how calm he appears, even now. “Maimed, it will stumble, weakened, until another predator picks it from the herd. I must hunt her to the end, Will. It is all that can be done."
You see your tears soddening the tablecloth, mucus pooling beneath your cheek.
"Don't kill me," you whimper. "I don't want to die."
Hannibal stills a moment, pulling your head back to look into your eyes.
“We do not intend to kill you, little one," he says. "Only for you to accept what you are. You will humour what we ask of you?"
"Yes!” you cry, with a delirious bray in your voice. “I— I’ll try!"
Blue eyes, black eyes, both pairs so equally bright.
"Good girl,” says Hannibal, and resumes his use of your flesh, his cock making a gauntlet of you, every thrust grinding you against the elaborate tablecloth with such intelligent pressure you groan beneath him, juddering with the effort it takes not to come.
Will's gaze has changed, and there is colour in his cheeks. He grips the edge of the table as though to prevent himself from falling, or else rising to join his companion in your debasement.
"Please stop," you stutter out, wanting to bite your own tongue off for the embarrassment of the utterance. “I won’t be bad anymore.”
Hannibal slows deliberately, his cock withdrawing to the point it almost slips from your cunt before he sinks it in the lake of your arousal again.
"Come, then," he says, simply. "And you may go to bed."
In a wailing convulsion you climax at once, scrabbling at the floor on steepled toes as the pleasure rolls from your cunt through your thighs. Hannibal waits for your last twitch to cease before he finishes within you, utterly soundless as he leans down, kissing the back of your neck in a gesture that is curiously gentle.
He steps away from the table and helps you stand, holding you to his chest as you whimper in the after bursts of sensation.
"Are you still troubled, Will?" he asks, over the top of your head.
The other man looks shell-shocked, his pallor an almost grey.
"I'm... undecided."
You pull away from Hannibal, remembering with a flare of insane joy that you are released from the table, that you need not eat, after all.
"Then I am mistaken in perceiving another response in you," says Dr Lecter.
Will looks hurriedly away, and it is only as you push past him to flee for your room that you understand Dr Lecter's meaning. The younger man adjusts himself, flushing, sitting as close to the table as space will allow.
He is hard, having watched his friend fucking you.
Will Graham is not so repentant as he'd taken such pains to seem.
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This story is a direct result of @kooriicolada pitching an idea to me (again) and me going "lemme write that down real quick" (again). In conclusion, neither of us has self control and you're benefitting from it (again).
The working title is Romance Comes Later. Hope you enjoy? 😅
Also, happy holidays to you all! I'll be posting more stuff this week so stay tuned!
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Warnings: a/b/o dynamics
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He raised one of his hands and with movements that were painstakingly slow he reached out to place it along the curve of Tobirama's cheek. Without the ever-present happuri the omega's features appeared much softer. He looked younger like this, the innocence of childhood not entirely gone yet.
It made Madara think about how young Tobirama actually was as he stroked the delicate skin under the omega's left eye. Even with the glove on he could still feel the warmth of Tobirama's blush and he smiled at that, amused.
Tobirama nuzzled against his palm, his eyelashes fluttering as he blinked lazily, drowsy with what Madara suspected to be exhaustion finally catching up with him.
"You should rest," Madara said quietly.
"I'm not tired," was Tobirama's whispered response. "Just… It's nice. This. I— Nobody really does this."
"Mm? What do you mean?" Madara leaned in, his forehead against Tobirama's. The omega's breath caught at the gesture. It was more than obvious he wasn't used to this, which was a thought that didn't sit well with Madara for whatever reason. "What is it that nobody does?"
"Touching," Tobirama responded. His voice was small and the single word hard to catch, but Madara heard him anyway. "Nobody— not like this."
The admission was shockingly honest. It made something twist in Madara's chest – something that felt an awful lot like anger.
He wasn't a stranger to the concept of touch starvation. It wasn't uncommon in their profession. Being trained to fight and kill from a young age tended to result in intense paranoia. Madara himself had some hangups about people he didn't know getting too close, but he still had his pack to provide the comfort when he wanted and needed it most.
The younger Senju brother, it seemed, didn't have that despite the fact he had family.
Apparently able to sense Madara's unease, Tobirama added, "Anija does mark me with his scent. It just… ends there."
"Only Hashirama?" Madara asked just to be sure. He didn't expect much from someone like Senju Butsuma, but the idea was that the man would push away his own child…
He felt Tobirama nod. "Touka-nee is a beta. She doesn't understand," he explained in the same soft, quiet voice. "It's… I'm used to it. But I also want… this. There's something I— I j-just want you close. I don't know why, I—" Tobirama paused for a moment before continuing, "You'll think I'm crazy, Uchiha-sama, but it's almost like— there was this story my mother used to tell anija and I."
"A story," Madara repeated. "What was it about?"
"Fated mates," Tobirama said with a vivid blush. Though he had ducked his head presumably in order to hide it, Madara could see clearly how red his cheeks and ears were. It was beyond adorable. "She told us that, um… that it could happen sometimes," Tobirama continued. "A match so good it felt life-changing. I didn't believe it could be true back then."
Madara hummed, considering. "But you do now." It was a statement, not a question. "You think this is why we're so… drawn to each other.
"Yes," Tobirama responded. "It seems plausible. I don't— I haven't felt this type of pull before."
"Me neither."
Tobirama looked up at that. There was something entirely too vulnerable hidden in his wide eyes – a type of hopefulness and yearning that Madara found completely disarming.
Heart in his throat, he cupped Tobirama's face in his hands and kissed him square on the lips before he could talk himself out of it.
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Warmth (Astarion Drabble)
Author's note: Blame my friend Ellen for this one- they know what they did, I'm not even an Astarion romancer. This is a quick messy drabble because I was having feelings about Astarion and his relationship to cold and warmth and heat- given vampire.
Technically- this is Astarion/Tav or Astarion/Durge. It coule be either, it's kept purposely vague. No gendered pronouns, no physical features, and no defining traits mentioned. If you really want, you could pop anyone in the "they" role, they only have one line since its not a dialogue focussed oneshot.
TW: Astarion's backstory, nothing explicit, but it's a drabble focused entirely on him so- trauma be here.
The world has had a chill for two-hundred years. Since the life was stolen from his veins and a new bastardized version placed in its stead. Astarion’s world has been chilled. Cold more often than not. Pale skin cool to the touch, innards hollowed. Heat no longer lingers in his skin, no longer pumps through his veins- he’s never fed enough for the blood to truly pump. Barely kept at the edge of starvation. A bone deep chill that rarely recedes, his body never warm- not even his.
The only breaks are not warmth. But smothering heat, cloying heat- the slap of flesh, the friction of grinding bodies. A temporary surface level heat, it stays in his skin for a moment, but it never reaches his bones. It’d burn him alive if it did. Stick sweat, the sear of groping hands, touches he doesn’t want, didn’t ask for, made to take, made to endure, made to be used- his body is not his, the only retreat a wandering mind.
He thinks he prefers the chill. Even in the coffin, it was coldest by far, even when he screamed and his throat ran raw- even the blood drawn from his clawing, breaking fingers couldn’t warm him. But at least the only hands in the prison were his own, well- not his, but a small comfort regardless.
Blinding rays of sun, sand beneath his fingers- a jolt of fear, a prey animal instinct curling around his insides and demanding he run. The sun, bright and big, it hangs above his head and he waits for the flames. To die in smothering burn and ache, for all to end in heat.
His skin doesn’t blister, doesn’t char- it warms.
And he can’t help but think faintly that two-hunded or more years ago, a version of him that’s long since died- liked to feel the sun on his face, when it felt like his.
No one takes the sun from him, not truly- only missing out on it’s rays when the night falls and he finds himself yearning to feel it again. But in those moments, it’s replaced by the crackle of bonfire. Flickering orange flames throwing off thin remnants of warmth, though it comes of his company is far larger waves.
The body heat most give off, most with proper pumping hearts, the living. Even without their skin touching his, he can feel it when they linger around the same space- the warmth that comes off their skin, when they share stories and pass around cheap acrid excuses for alcohol.
A small bump, a jostle, his skin prickles- hackles raised like a cat, an arm brushing his when their leader turned too quick. When they forgot the space between them, an accident, barely last a moment but the warmth of their skin lingers on his own, doesn’t burn, and there’s an apology on their lips a moment later. For something so small, so pathetic- already sorry, sorry to touch him without meaning to, without asking to. They treat his body like it’s his, he wishes it felt like it was.
Warmth of blood- a full belly. He’s never felt so sated, so powerful, so warm. He drains boards until they’re nothing but hide and flesh, drinks a bear until his stomach feels it may burst- but it never feels like enough, never sated after knowing hunger so long.
He tries to sneak his fangs between their veins, to sape some of the warmth that still a tenday later still clings to his arm- to know what it may be like to eat what he never could, to have more power. Maybe then his body will feel like his own, he tries to take without asking- that’s what the world does, so why shouldn’t he?
But then they let him. Let him feed. Let him eat, allow him to sate himself. Allow him to climb over their body, to feel the same warmth of their body nears his- then drain the heat of their blood. To drink until he can feel a chill enter them, until he nearly sapped all that precious warmth, only then asking him to stop. Forced to tear his fangs from their flesh, a bone deep warmth inside of him, settling in his veins- in his gullet. He thinks this may be what people mean when they speak of the warmth of a homecooked meal, he can’t remember if he’s ever had one- but this feels cozy, pleasant, warm.
And they let him do it again.
Let him feed when he needs to. Let him sidle up to their side every couple nights, lean into that warmth, bury his teeth- and he waits for the burn. Waits for that warmth and comfort to give away to the scorch of a wandering hand. For the spike of arousal he feels in their system when he bites to become a grope, a push, to find himself on his back, and used. His body not his own.
But their hands never stray. Never demand. Never even ask. They allow him his fill and allow him what he wants after. At first to leave with no questions, no fuss- no ask for more, just a kind good night as he saunters off with a full belly. Later, they allow him to stay. Allow him to pull off their bleeding veins and linger. To lay the weight of his head between their neck and shoulder, to lean into their skin. Never a question, never an accusation- there are no demands made of him. Allowed to sprawl like a cat against a sun warmed patch of grass.
He feels the sun, he sates his hunger, he knows warmth- but the chill is never far behind. He’s a hunted man, a hunter in a bog- a reminder that he’s not cut his collar, but merely lengthened his leash. That until he can sever it, until he can off off the hand yanking it back- he will never be free. His body will never be his own. He will find himself again in a world of chill and burn.
It’s a plan. A strategy. Not affection or love that pulls him to invite them out. Someone to keep him protected. To help keep him safe as he figures his way out of this, as he tries to sever his leash. They’re the obvious choice. The leader of the motley crew, at times desperate good doer, already fond of him, and most importantly- they want his body. He feels it in the casual lingering glance, the hormones in their blood when he drinks from them- they don’t say it, but they want him. And if they’re willing to slaughter a hunter for him now, what will they do once they’ve been given his body? How much harder will they fight for him if he gives them what they want? All anyone wants from him.
His body is a weapon, wielded by Cazador for two-hundred year- why shouldn’t he wield it as well?
This time it’s his choice. It’s different. He initiated. He asked for this. Not in a pathetic simpering self blaming way, but he verbally asked for it- he invited them out. His way to claw back some power, some control, to use and be used but on his own terms- for his own safety, his own freedom. It’s his choice, for once in two-hundred fucking years it is his choice.
But it feels like it did every time before. He chose this, but it doesn’t feel like it. Still a tool but he’s learned how to work without his master, still a means to an end- his flesh just the way of getting what’s needed. The same cloy of body heat, the cling of sweat, his mind far away. His body not his own, abandoned as it does what it needs to. It’ll help him in the long run, it’ll be okay, steel his nerves, and wait for it to be done. Tells himself there’s a power in this, he’s making a choice, he’s choosing himself- protecting himself, that he’ll never feel the bone deep chill again.
He feels half frozen when he lays at their side.
He plays his act as well as he always does. Uses his body when he needs to. Manipulate. Seduce. Trick. Running off a script he’s memorized over and over. Same song, same dance- telling himself he’s running the show. But between lies and disassociation, the other things bleed through.
Warmth. Being asked for nothing but a cuddle on a cold night, his flesh unable to warm- but they ask to curl around him all the same. They give them sweet words and kind gestures, he gives them back with a smile that doesn’t always reach his eyes. They worry for him, fret over him, and at some point he realizes he’s the only one pushing for those burning touches. Those moments where his mind has to wander to make it okay, because otherwise- why would they keep this going on? If he’s not spreading his legs, what good is he? He can’t risk them losing interest. Can’t risk them growing bored before he gets the leash severed, before they’ve helped him- before he’s used them.
A broken mirror, long forgotten after a conversation of forced compliments and faded memories. He assumed it’d been abandoned at the same campsite he’d thrown it against the ground on. Reminded that he’ll never see the visage of who he was again, that who he was is but a stolen memory.
But it’s silver decorated handle is laying face down in his tent night. No speck of dirt nor grime, plucking it up between his fingers. His eyes narrow, a portrait in charcoal, the paper tucked neatly within the framing panel where the mirror glass once sat. The visage of a man looking back at him- sharp eyes, hair curling around his ears, smile lines- a name jotted in the corner.
Astarion.
It’s him. And he knows exactly who did it. The only person who would, the same person now poking their head into his tent- but something is wrong.
His face burns with warmth and heat, up his cheekbones and clear into the tips of his ears as they poke their curious face inside, their own face a deeper ruddier shade than usual. An awkward scratch of their neck, acknowledging he found their present- asking if he likes it, but how can he even know when there’s a sudden inferno in his face. Not smothering or cloying, but hot. Fever was a symptom of the parasite wasn’t it, is that what this is? His fingers graze his cheekbones, brush along his jaw- they feel warm and alive, but they shouldn’t
“Something is wrong, my face is- my face is burning,” he yells, he warns, feeling the fear in his chest pit- of course he’d turn first, the world too cruel to do anything else, “Am I, is this-”
Hands delicately cup his cheeks, warm, so warm- their eyes examine him as they did the night they played his mirror, the heat only worsens- the fever spikes. Their thumbs stroke along his jaw where tentacles would split his flesh.
“No squidier than before, love- just a little flushed,” they tell him and the heatn only spreads- flushed, blushing. He hardly ever had the blood to do it before, barely enough to perform how he was forced to.
But his stomach is no longer concave. His skin so rarely chilled. And an affection he’s lied to get is turning his face scarlet. Too much, far too much- pitting a heat in his chest, where the warmth has never reached.
And eventually he can lie no more. Can use no more. Defenses laid down and vulnerabilities splayed out like viscera in an autopsy. The truth of how it hurts to be used, how it hurts to never be in his own body, how it never feels like it’s his body, and how it hurts that he’s done it to himself as readily as Cazador did it to him.
He waits for the rejection, refusal- what good is he if he cannot sate them, what use is he if not fro what’s between his legs, and if can no longer give that- what else does he have to give?
Arms wrap around him- warmth. And he hardly knows what to do with himself, where to put his hands, or how to pull them in. But it settles in his bones and he longs to cling, to allow himself to cling. To cling to every promise on their lips, that it’s okay, he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to- that they don’t need anything from him he isn’t willing to give.
That never need feel a touch he doesn’t want.
That his body is his own.
It may be the first promise he’s never seen broken.
His body is his own, his life is own, and he’s allowed the space to learn what that means for him. He’s allowed to make choices, some good, some bad. He tries things outside his comfort zone- some good, some bad. Sometimes he feels silly, making choices, agreeing to things- only to find himself unhappy, uncomfortable. To learn it’s not something he wanted. But every misstep, every utterance of ‘I thought I was ready, I thought I’d be okay,’ is met with nothing but warmth, it’s okay that he didn’t know. It’s okay that he’s relearning how to own his skin, his body, his life- that it’s not an easy process, but he’s learning who he is. And he doesn’t need to know every answer, they’ll learn them together in time.
But the leash still clings. A hand still pulls and temptation calls to him.
And he makes a choice.
He stabs and he stabs, until his blade chips into the floor. The warmth of blood on his skin, soaking into him- Cazador’s. The hand that pulled finally severed and his body wracks with tears, with hurt, and he cries out. Cries out for two-hundred years of chill. Cries out for the power he didn’t grasp. Cries out for everything he’s lost, he’s gained, and the path that lies ahead. Cries for the sun that may never warm his skin again.
Cries until arms wrap around him, until he’s pulled into familiar warmth- until he’s sobbing into the joint between their neck and shoulder, the place he’s began to see as home. A promise in their touch, in their love, their grace, their kindness- that he may never know the warmth of the sun, but he’ll never feel that chill or burn again, that their warmth will fill the spaces where sunlight can no longer reach.
He hopes that too is a promise he’ll never see break.
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