i was wondering if you could write for arthur morgan and a child!reader but it’s like ellie and joel (maybe they’re reading a joke book together for smth)
Arthur x Child!reader whose relationship is like Ellie and Joel
• When you first join the gang, Arthur doesn’t volunteer to look after you. In fact, he actively tries to avoid the responsibility because he already thinks there’s enough blood on his hands.
• Unfortunately for him, everyone else keeps saying, “Arthur, take the kid with you,” until he eventually gives up arguing.
• The two of you bicker constantly during the first few weeks.
• You ask too many questions, wander off to investigate things, or complain every time he tells you to stay behind.
• Arthur responds with the same tired, “Because I said so,” every single time, which only annoys you more.
• Arthur develops the habit of counting heads whenever the gang moves camp.
• He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until one day he gets to your spot, doesn’t see you immediately, and feels his stomach drop before you pop out from behind a wagon carrying firewood.
• You’re one of the few people who can get away with teasing him.
• If you imitate his gruff voice or jokingly call him “Old Man Morgan,” he’ll roll his eyes and mutter, “You’re gonna be the death of me,” even though he’s trying very hard not to laugh.
• Every time the gang plans a dangerous robbery, Arthur immediately checks whether you’re coming.
• If someone suggests bringing you along, he’s already shaking his head before they finish the sentence. “Kid stays in camp.”
• You hate being treated like you’re fragile and constantly argue that you can help.
• Arthur doesn’t deny that you’re capable, he’s seen what you can do, but in his mind there’s a huge difference between capable and grown.
• Despite all his complaining, Arthur slowly starts teaching you practical skills himself.
• How to track animals, identify edible plants, clean a rifle safely, ride difficult trails, patch torn clothing, and stay calm if things go wrong.
• If you’re lucky enough you could get some 1 on 1 gun lessons with him where he’d teach you how to fire certain weapons and you two would practice on can/bottles all afternoon.
• His reasoning is simple: if you ever end up alone, he wants you to know enough to survive.
• Arthur isn’t overly affectionate, but he’s incredibly observant.
• If you’re quieter than usual, skipping meals, or limping slightly, he’ll notice long before you say anything.
• His version of asking if you’re okay is something like, “You gonna tell me what’s botherin’ you, or keep makin’ me guess?”
• Whenever you’re scared after a bad mission, he never tells you to “toughen up.”
• Instead, he’ll quietly sit nearby while cleaning one of his guns or carving a piece of wood, giving you space until you’re ready to talk, or not talk at all.
• There definitely was a time where you would’ve mentioned wanting a horse and then the next he’d have gone out and got you a Mustang (since wind Mustangs can be found around The Heartlands) or just bought a cheap one at the stables.
• Without realizing it, Arthur starts planning his rides around things you’d enjoy.
• If he spots wild horses, a nice overlook, or a strange abandoned cabin, he’ll make a small detour.
• When you ask why you’re stopping, he’ll shrug and say, “Thought you might wanna see it.”
• Once, when you two were in Saint Denis and Arthur mistakenly let his eyes off you for one second, you had somehow gotten your hands on that cursed joke book.
• That book would definitely earn you a good handful of his small scoffs and sighs.
• You definitely remind him of Isaac and about what he would’ve been like if he grew up.
Hii! Do u write for will graham alongside hannibal ? If so, please can I request hannigram with an autistic reader (was thinking like teen) who likes to wander off a lot ? Not yk purposeful but general elopement
Night Wanderer
Platonic! Yandere! Hannigram X Autistic! Reader
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, settings, or franchises mentioned in this fanfiction. All rights belong to their respective creators and copyright holders. This story is written purely for entertainment and non-profit purposes.
The Lecter-Graham estate looked peaceful. From the outside, that is. From the inside however, there was not a single nook in the house that wasn't flipped around. On one hand, Hannibal was quickly searching underneath the tables, looking inside the basement, and checking every room.
Will, on the other hand, was looking for any signs of breakouts. Whether it's inspecting the windows, doors, all the way to checking the security camera. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Any person looking at them through the window would wonder whether they are searching for a theif? Or perhaps a lost, important item?
But in reality, they were looking for you, their dear child. You weren't their biological child, they took you in later in life. Took you in is a more civilised way of describing it. They wanted a child of their own for a while, but they wanted someone who can fit into their lifestyle.
They kidnapped you after discovering you are on the spectrum. Will, being on the spectrum himself, felt you were the most suitable candidate to be their beloved child. Hannibal, being a psychiatrist, understands all aspects of autism and how to care for someone on the spectrum. He prides himself on that fact.
While Will tended to wander in his sleep, you were the opposite. You tended to wonder while awake. They attempted to protect you by making sure the front door is locked, and keeping one copy of the key with one of them. They never left you alone at home, therefore there was always one of them that had the key to unlock the door.
That day, will came back from his work exhausted, only managed to open the door and then fall asleep on the couch. What he forgot to do is lock the door behind him. You, being your curious self, managed to slip past Will and to the door, because ypu noticed a dog from the window that resembled the family dog you had growing up.
Upon close inspection, it wasn't your family dog, it was a random street dog. This lead you to a series of events that lead to you reaching a small store. You stood there, looking from behind the glass at the products the store had. You wondered your way into the store, and started looking at the items up close, grabbed a few that seemed interesting, and went to the cashier.
Upon reaching him, the cashier started scanning the items one by one, told you the total price. At that moment, you realised you didn't have any money in your pockets. You started looking around, nervous. The cashier immediatly managed to spot that you were lost.
Back to the estate, Will was blaming himself for not being a suitable caretaker. "I fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t mean to- I was right there," he said, breathless, pointing out the spot he was resting in. "I thought I'd hear them if they moved.” Hannibal slowed down his searching and looked at Will. He knew that Will will not forgive himself for resting, which will result in days of lack of sleep because of guilt.
"Sleep happens. Hypervigilance cannot be sustained indefinitely, especially by someone already carrying so much." He said, dropping the pillow he was carrying in his hand, walking towards Will with slow, measured steps. Hannibal rested his hand on Will's shoulder in an attempt to ease his worries.
“What matters is not the moment you closed your eyes,” Hannibal pauses, deliberately. “but what we do now.” Hannibal now looked at the door, key still attached to it. "Did you forget to remove the key from the door?" Will turned around, hand, almost pulling at his hair.
He looked at the shiny keychain dangling on the door, realisation slowly creeping in. Before he knew it, his breath started getting shorter and quicker, making him clutch his chest. "Breathe, Will." Hannibal said, holding Will's shoulder in between his arms. "It's alright."
"I have connections." Hannibal paused, a plan already formed in his head. "I’ll contact the police department myself." His voice remained even, reassuring. "I'll send them a recent photograph." He said, now walking away from Will towards his phone.
He made several phone calls from local police stations, sending a couple of photos they took of you after they took you in. The police managed to contact places around the town to inform them about you being missing. That, is how the cashier person managed to return you back to your home.
When Hannibal and Will opened the door to their house seeing you with police officers around your sides, they immediately caved their stoic, passive aggressive personas to relieved parents. Will pulled you from your arm toward his chest and held you close, his head buried in your hair. Hannibal breathed a sigh of relief. He was barely able to control his fear against losing you, but he was glad he managed to stay in control to support his husband.
Hannibal quickly thanked the police officers and then closed the door, gently guiding you and Will inside the house. This entire situation has tired all of you, leaving you to immediately go to Hannibal and Will's bedroom, lay on the king-sized bed. Will wrapped his arms around your back, and Hannibal wrapped his arm around your abdomen.
It didn't take you a long time for all of you to fall into a comfortable sleep, the weight of the day finally crashing all of you into a dreamless sleep. Tomorrow, Hannibal thought, he will enhance his security protocols, making his protection system that he and Will developed for you to be almost invencible. He will go the extra mile to make sure that you are safe and sound in their arms.
Author's Note: Not proofread, I got exhausted 😭 sorry in advance.
content batfam & alien! Reader, bruce adopts reader, gn! reader, mantis-like powers (guardians of the galaxy), platonic batfamily x reader, fluff, mild hurt/comfort, sunshine reader, starfire-inspired reader, adoption, homesickness, grief/trauma references (mild), jason's death/trauma implied, bruce's childhood trauma implied, mild mentions of violence/crime
characters bruce wayne, dick grayson, jason todd, tim drake, damian wayne, duke thomas, stephanie brown, cassandra cain, clark kent
masterlist
Wc 4k
bruce finds you after a justice league incident where you crash-land in gotham, immediately touch his arm, gasp, and say, “You are very sad and have not slept since the age of eight.”
you are painfully sincere, extremely emotionally perceptive, and have no idea how earth customs work.
you tell people their “internal weather” is gloomy. you call lying “verbal camouflage.” you think handshakes are strange because humans “briefly trap each other’s fingers to prove they are not enemies.”
bruce wayne
Bruce acts calm about adopting an alien child, but internally, he is absolutely spiralling.
He reads every alien biology file the Justice League has. He makes contingency plans, dietary charts, safe-room protocols, emotional support protocols, and probably a binder titled “Alien Child: Unknown Customs, Known Needs.”
You call him “Father Bruce” very formally at first. Then “Bat-Father.” Then “Dark Dad.”
Then, after watching him brood on a rooftop, “My beloved nocturnal tree of sadness.”
Bruce pretends not to like this.
He loves it.
You can sense his emotions, so his whole “I’m fine” act collapses immediately.
Bruce: “I’m fine.”
You, touching his sleeve: “You are experiencing grief, guilt, back pain, and the emotional flavour of wet stone.”
Bruce: “...”
You: “Also hunger.”
Alfred: “At last. Someone useful.”
Bruce is extremely protective of you because you’re new to Earth, but you’re also weirdly powerful, so half the time he’s protecting Gotham from your enthusiasm.
You once accidentally levitate during a charity gala because someone complimented your outfit, and your joy “became too large for gravity.”
Bruce calmly puts a hand on your shoulder and says, “Feet on the floor.”
You beam. “Yes, Father Bruce.”
The press loves you because you answer questions too honestly.
Reporter: “What’s Bruce Wayne like as a father?”
You: “He is very loving but pretends to be furniture.”
Bruce nearly chokes.
dick grayson
Dick immediately decides he is your emotional support human.
You adore him because his emotions are bright, warm, and acrobatic.
You call him “Brother of Flips.”
Dick: “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me.”
He teaches you slang. This is a mistake. You start saying things like, “That villain’s vibes are rancid,” and “Father Bruce, your coping mechanisms are not slay.”
Dick is so proud.
He also teaches you hugs, high-fives, fist bumps, and dramatic entrances.
You love hugs. You become terrifyingly good at them. Like, emotionally healing bear traps.
Dick notices you can sense when people are hiding sadness, so he gently teaches you boundaries.
“Sometimes people aren’t ready to be read,” he tells you.
You take this very seriously and start asking, “May I perceive you?”
Dick cries laughing the first time.
You become one of the only people who can get Dick to admit when he’s overwhelmed.
You simply sit beside him and say, “Your smile is doing too much work today.”
That gets him every time.
jason todd
Jason does not trust you at first.
Not because you’re an alien. Gotham has weirder things on Tuesdays. He doesn’t trust you because you’re too sweet, too open, and too good at seeing through him.
You touch his hand once by accident and freeze.
Jason immediately pulls away. “What?”
You stare at him with huge, sad eyes. “You are very angry. But underneath it is a small boy holding a crowbar-shaped shadow.”
The room goes silent.
Jason: “Don’t do that.”
You: “I am sorry. I did not mean to open your sorrow cabinet.”
He avoids you for three days.
Then you show up at his apartment with soup because you sensed he was “emotionally crunchy.”
He tells you to leave.
You ask if that is “a real leave” or “a wounded animal leave.”
Jason hates that you’re know the difference.
Eventually, he becomes one of your fiercest protectors.
He teaches you swear words and then gets offended when you use them incorrectly.
You: “This soup is bitchin’ with despair.”
Jason: “Close enough.”
You think Jason’s helmet is wonderful.
You call him “Red Bucket Warrior.”
Jason: “Do not call me that in public.”
You, immediately at a Justice League meeting: “Red Bucket Warrior has arrived!”
Clark loses it. Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. Jason considers exile.
Secretly, Jason loves that you’re never scared of him.
You once tell him, “Your anger is loud, but it does not make you monstrous. It is only pain wearing armour.”
Jason leaves the room.
Later, he brings you a book and says, “You might like this.”
That’s Jason for I love you, kid.
tim drake
You are fascinated by Tim. You think he is “small, fragile, and powered by forbidden bean water.”
Tim says he’s not fragile. Then he passes out standing up.
You scream because you think he has “entered death mode.”
Tim becomes your Earth Culture Tutor, which is deeply ironic because he’s barely functioning as an Earth citizen himself.
He explains memes to you. You misunderstand them constantly.
Tim: “So ‘no thoughts, head empty’ means—”
You: “Ah. Like when Father Bruce attends a social event.”
Tim: “Exactly.”
You and Tim become dangerous together because he has plans and you have zero impulse control.
Tim: “We need a distraction.”
You: “I will scream in seventeen languages.”
Tim: “That could work.”
Bruce, over comms: “No.”
You adore Tim’s detective brain. You call him “Brother of Many Tabs.”
Tim pretends to hate it, but he changes your contact name to Alien Gremlin and yours for him is Sleep-Deprived Oracle Bird.
You can sense when Tim is anxious before he says anything. You’ll quietly hand him a weighted blanket, coffee, or sit beside him without touching.
He appreciates that you learn not to pry.
One night, Tim asks, “What do I feel like?”
You think carefully and say, “Like a candle pretending to be a lighthouse.”
Tim is silent for a long time.
Then he says, “That’s actually devastating. Thanks.”
damian wayne
Damian declares you suspicious immediately. “You are not human.”
You gasp. “You noticed! You are very clever.”
Damian does not know what to do with sincere praise. It disarms him more effectively than any weapon.
At first, he sees you as an intruder.
You see him as “small blade brother.”
Damian: “I am not small.”
You: “You are emotionally small in a way that bites.”
Damian: “Tt.”
You adore his animals. Titus loves you instantly. Alfred the cat tolerates you (which is high praise). Bat-Cow accepts you as kin after you solemnly bow and call her “Honoured Milk Beast.”
Damian pretends not to like you, but he starts teaching you about Earth animals.
You take everything literally.
Damian: “This is a robin.”
You: “Like Brother Dick? Was he once bird-shaped?”
Damian: “Unfortunately, no.”
You are one of the few people who can make Damian laugh accidentally.
You once ask if murder is considered “bad manners” or “illegal seasoning.”
Damian laughs so hard he has to leave the room.
Eventually, Damian becomes quietly possessive of you as a sibling. If anyone insults your alien habits, Damian appears like a tiny storm cloud with a sword.
“They are adapting. You are merely stupid.”
You cry because that is the nicest thing Damian has ever said to you.
He panics. “Do not leak from your face. I defended you adequately.”
duke thomas
Duke is one of the easiest people for you to be around. His energy feels steady, bright, and grounded.
You call him “Sun Brother.”
Duke actually loves it.
He helps you adjust to Gotham because he knows what it’s like to enter the Batfamily later and feel like everyone else already knows the choreography.
He tells you, “You don’t have to become like them to belong here.”
That hits you hard.
You ask, “Even if I am strange?”
Duke smiles. “Especially then. This family runs on strange.”
You and Duke bond over light. Your alien biology reacts to certain kinds of sunlight or starlight, and Duke’s powers feel comforting to you.
Sometimes when you’re homesick, he sits with you at sunrise.
No big speech. Just warmth.
You tell him his light feels “like a door remembering it can open.”
Duke gets quiet. Then he says, “That’s beautiful.”
You grin. “I am very wise before breakfast.”
stephanie brown
Steph adopts you emotionally within five seconds.
She calls you “space bestie.” You call her “Purple Joy Warrior.”
She teaches you about waffles, glitter, sarcasm, prank wars, and reality TV.
This is catastrophic. You become addicted to makeover shows and start rating villains by “emotional renovation potential.”
Joker: “Why so serious?”
You: “Because your aura is mouldy and your outfit lacks narrative cohesion.”
Steph falls over laughing.
You and Steph prank the entire Manor. Nothing harmful. Mostly glitter, googly eyes, and changing Bruce’s ringtone to dramatic opera.
Bruce: “Who did this?”
You, glowing faintly with pride: “I participated in bonding crime.”
Steph: “Snitches get stitches, bestie.”
You: “I do not want stitches.”
Steph teaches you that sometimes “crime” means “family fun with plausible deniability.”
Bruce bans this lesson immediately.
It does not work.
cassandra cain
Cass understands you better than almost anyone.
You read emotions through touch. Cass reads bodies like poetry. The two of you can communicate without words almost immediately.
You sit together often, shoulder to shoulder, watching people move through the Manor.
You call Cass “Quiet Star.”
Cass smiles every time.
She likes that you do not expect her to speak. You like that she understands feelings without needing them explained.
The first time you touch her hand, you feel calm, discipline, grief, love, and a deep, deep loneliness.
You simply squeeze her fingers and say, “You are not empty. You are full of quiet light.”
Cass hugs you.
Everyone pretends not to cry.
You and Cass become terrifying in combat together. She moves like shadow; you float, dodge, and occasionally knock enemies over by accidentally blasting them with emotional energy.
You once shout, “Your hostile feelings are unpleasant!” before launching a goon into a dumpster.
Cass gives you a thumbs-up.
That’s basically a standing ovation from her.
clark kent
Clark is delighted by you.
He gives off such warm, golden energy that you immediately trust him.
You touch his hand once and gasp. “You are made of kindness and solar explosions.”
Clark blushes.
Bruce: “Don’t encourage him.”
Clark becomes your guide to being alien on Earth.
He understands the homesickness, the loneliness, the weirdness of learning human customs while everyone assumes you’re fine because you look mostly okay.
You ask him if he ever feels “too not-from-here.”
Clark gets very soft.
“All the time,” he says. “But Earth became home anyway.”
You think about that for days.
You also adore his cape.
You ask if it is a “formal blanket of heroism.”
Clark says yes. Bruce says no.
You believe Clark.
You and Clark sometimes float together above the Kent farm and look at the stars. He tells you about Krypton. You tell him about your planet.
Neither of you has to pretend not to miss what you lost.
Clark is also the one who gently explains that Bruce adopting strays is basically his love language.
You ask, “So he collects wounded beings and gives them bedrooms?”
Clark: “Pretty much.”
You: “That is beautiful and concerning.”
Clark: “That’s Bruce.”
extra
You struggle with Earth sometimes. The food is strange. The customs are stranger. Gotham is loud and wet and full of fear.
Some nights you sit on the roof of Wayne Manor staring at stars that do not form the constellations you know.
Bruce finds you there.
You tell him, “I am happy here. But I am also sad there is no here that contains everything I miss.”
Bruce sits beside you.
For once, he doesn’t try to fix it. He just says, “I know.”
You lean against him.
He lets you.
After a while, you whisper, “Your sadness is quieter tonight.”
Bruce says, “So is yours.”
That becomes your thing. Sitting together. Saying nothing. Letting the night hold both of you.
Because somehow, impossibly, the alien child with too much heart and the human father with too many ghosts learn how to be family.
Bro I keep imagining being partners with The Long Quiet and him just being like O-O cause all the voices like you and he doesn’t know where to start. Idk it just makes me happy. :)
I'm assuming this is a request? I'm gonna take it as a request
THE LONG QUIET & THE VOICES X READER ROMANTIC HEADCANONS
You got a 12-in-1 deal! Lucky!
At first it can be a bit unnerving to see Quiet just stare at you for minutes at a time without even moving while there's an entire war going on in his brain, you're gonna have to be patient
While all the voices love you, they have different ways of expressing their affection for you, their conversations tend to go something like this
Paranoid: Oh no no no no no this is bad, wh-what if we mess it up? What if they hate us for it? Oh no, have they secretly hated us this whole time? They're just waiting for a chance to hurt us?!?
Opportunist: Now, now, don't work yourself up over nothing, but we should still be cautious, pay attention to their face, watch our back, make sure they can't backstab us
Broken: We'd deserve it...
Smitten: Nonesense! Our beloved would NEVER put us in harm's way! Don't you see the way their eyes shine as they look into ours? There's nothing but the purest form of love in them!
Stubborn: Ugh, quit it with the chatter! I just wanna get this over with so we can fight them!! Do you see their muscles? I bet they'd pack a mean punch!!
Contrarian: I wanna see if we can throw them out the window, we never got to try it with the Princess that one time
Hunted: We've been silent for too long. They're getting worried
Cold: All of this is pointless, just ask them already
Cheated: Can't believe I'm saying this but I agree with the freak, just fucking ask them already
Hero: Yeah, I doubt they'll hate us for... Uh... What were we gonna ask them?
Skeptic: we wanted to ask if they could do the dishes tonight despite it being our turn
Hero: Oh yeah!
Quiet's feathers are really fluffy, so you basically have a giant, feathery pillow all for yourself
Your dates would vary a lot, going to a fancy dinner that Smitten found, having fun in an amusement park and getting in all the super-intense roller coasters because cold and contrarian wanted to, watching some crappy murder mystery series at home and Skeptic figures out the killer in the first episode so now he's pointing out any plot-holes he finds so you two can laugh, some friendly sparring (Stubborn would want to go all out, but neither of you can respawn since you're not in the construct so he has to hold back), cuddling in bed when one or more of them is having a bad day, etc
Speaking of bad days, I imagine they'd all have their fair amount of them, after all that they've gone through, nightmares and bad memories are to be expected, but with your help they become way less terrible
And don't think it's one-sided, if you're ever having a bad day, rest assured they'll all try their damn hardest to cheer you up and help you however they can, most of them aren't very good at feelings, but they're all determined to make you feel better, and you can bet your ass they're not giving up, whether you need help with a problem, someone to distract you, or just a shoulder to cry on, they're all here for you
Hiii!!! I love your fics!!! I just read the akward Jasonxreader and I was wondering if you could do something like that for Dick, but instead the reader is nervous and awkward. Like Richard has *actually* been in a bunch of relationships, and we’re freaking out a bit because we haven’t, and don’t really know what we’re doing or if we’ll even compare, that sorta thing??
BABY, PLEASE TAKE IT SLOW
dick grayson x male reader
authors note: oh, I like the way you think. When I first read this, I immediately thought of dick wanting to take their relationship further, but every time it gets steamy, the reader pulls away (with dick seeing it as teasing.) However, the reader has to sit him down and say, point blank, 'I'm a virgin, legit you're my first everything, so please be gentle.' And while this might make dick more aroused, (cause he will be the first and last dammit) he's a nervous wreck. Like his skills show, which makes the reader freak out (cause this is new), but he's pulling himself back so much it makes him also freak out cause you're just that hot. Don't know if I'm making sense, but yeah! (I also made this be male reader because I just sat to write this and making it male centered was easier.)
WARNING: 18+ SMUT AHEAD
Things were getting heated. You kissed Dick, arms on your lap like a good little boy because you LEGIT DIDN'T KNOW WHAT TO DO OTHER THAN MOVE YOUR LIPS AGAINST HIS. Meanwhile, Dick was having the time of his life. Your shyness about this sort of thing only made you more desirable in his eyes, your behavior almost that of a tease.
Your breath hitched as his fingers toyed with the button of your jeans and suddenly you were pulling back. "Wait."
Dick's eyes were dark with desire, his hair slightly mussed from your earlier exploration. "What's wrong? Did I go too fast?"
You shook your head, hands trembling as you tried to form coherent thoughts. "No, it's not…I just…"
Dick's expression softened slightly, though the hunger in his eyes remained. "You've been doing this every time things get intense. Are you teasing me or…?"
The question made you panic. "No! I'm not teasing you, I swear."
"Then what is it?" His voice was gentle now, concerned.
You took a deep breath, deciding there was no way around this. "Dick, I need to tell you something."
"Anything."
"I'm a virgin," you said bluntly, the words tumbling out in a rush. "Like, legit, you're my first everything. First boyfriend, first kiss, first everything. So before we go any further, I want you to please be gentle."
Dick froze, his eyes widening slightly. A mix of emotions crossed his face. Surprise, then something primal and possessive, and finally, what looked like nervousness. "Oh," was all he managed at first before clearing his throat. "Wow. Okay. That…that actually explains a lot."
"That's the problem though," you admitted quietly, looking down at your hands. "You've been with so many people. You know what you're doing, I, on the other hand, am going to disappoint you. I won't be any good."
Dick's expression softened completely. He gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Hey. That's not going to happen. Do you know why?"
You shook your head.
"Because this isn't about performance or comparing you to anyone else. This is about us. About you and me. And honestly? The thought of being your first, of getting to show you everything, to see you experience all of this for the first time…that's more exciting to me than any experienced partner could ever be."
"But what if I'm terrible?"
Dick chuckled, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "You can't be terrible at something you've never done. And I'll be right here to guide you through everything. Besides," he added with a smirk, "teaching you is going to be incredibly fun for me too."
His lips met yours again, but this time the kiss was softer, more innocent. When his fingers returned to your jeans, he paused, eyes seeking permission. You nodded, breath catching as he slowly unbuttoned them.
"Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable," he whispered against your mouth. "We can stop anytime. I mean that."
His hands began mapping your body with reverence. You tensed when his fingers brushed against your erection, but Dick soothed you with soft kisses along your jaw. As he eased your jeans down, you couldn't stop the tremor that ran through you.
"Beautiful," he breathed, eyes dark with something deeper than just desire now. "So fucking beautiful."
He positioned himself between your legs, pausing to grab lube from the nightstand. "This will feel cold at first but I'll warm it up."
True to his word, he coated his fingers with the slick substance, rubbing them together before touching you. You jolted at the first contact, but Dick's free hand found yours, intertwining your fingers.
"Breathe. Just breathe with me."
As his first finger pressed inside, you instinctively tried to pull away. Dick stilled immediately, concern flooding his features. "Too much?"
You shook your head, embarrassed. "No, just new."
"We'll take it slow," he promised, leaning down to kiss you deeply as he began a gentle rhythm. "Tell me when you're ready for more."
It took several minutes before you felt ready for a second finger, and Dick was endlessly patient, whispering praises against your skin. By the time he added a third, you were arching into his touch, pleasure overriding your initial nervousness.
"Ready?" he asked, voice thick with restraint.
You nodded, unable to form words as he positioned himself. The initial stretch burned slightly, but Dick watched your face intently, pausing whenever you tensed.
"Almost there," he murmured, pressing kisses to your forehead. "You're doing so well."
When he was fully inside, you both stilled, breathing heavily. The fullness was overwhelming but not painful, and Dick's weight was comforting rather than suffocating. "Okay?" he asked, searching your eyes.
You managed a nod.
He began to move slowly, and the discomfort gradually melted into pleasure. Your inexperience showed in your awkward responses, but Dick seemed to find it endearing, adjusting his angle until you gasped.
"Like it?" he asked with a knowing smile.
You could only nod as he hit that spot again, pleasure coiling in your stomach. His pace remained measured, never overwhelming, always watching your reactions.
"Touch yourself," he encouraged, noticing your restless hands. "I want to see you come undone."
Following his guidance, you wrapped a hand around your dick and jerked off, matching his rhythm. The dual stimulation made you almost cum faster than you expected. "Dick." you gasped, back arching.
"I've got you," he promised, increasing his pace slightly. "Let go for me."
Your orgasm crashed over you with surprising intensity, leaving you trembling beneath him. Dick followed moments later with a low groan, burying his face in your neck. Afterward, he cleaned you both up with gentle hands before pulling you into his arms.
"How was that?" he asked softly, fingers combing through your hair.
"Intense," you admitted. "But good. Really good."
Dick pressed a kiss to your temple. "We have all the time in the world to explore more. Next time, maybe you'll want to be in charge?"
The suggestion made you blush but you nodded against his chest. "Maybe."
Not like full-on authoritarian, but he’s got lots of rules he expects you to follow to a T
Bedtime at 9:00 sharp, and you WILL be getting your needed 8+ hours of sleep
If you wanna go out somewhere?
Where are you going? For how long? Who will be there? Does he need to drop you off and/or pick you up? Will there be a trusted adult with you? Are you done with your homework yet? And what about chores?
Absolutely ZERO boyfriend, girlfriend, and/or romantic partner allowed until you’re like 27
And no phone until you reach high school
He still loves you, though ^^
When you were younger, he’d read you bedtime stories to help you fall asleep
Y’all would have matching outfits & pajamas
Liked to keep you in his arms a lot
When you misbehaved, he’d get down on your level and gently but firmly chide you
Packs the BEST lunches
Literally eating like royalty
He’s making sure you’re getting all your necessary proteins, vegetables, fruits, etc.
He’d probably teach you Lithuanian
He’d also teach you how to play the harpsichord and definitely played lullabies on it for you when you were younger
Frequently checks how you’re doing in school
Probably goes to parent-teacher conferences
Helps you with your homework if he’s not busy ^^
If he is busy, he’ll hire a tutor to help you
Shows you off to all his friends and coworkers
Literally so proud of you
Yes, he makes you attend his fancy dinner parties
And if you have any musical talent, he is 100% making you play in front of everyone to show off how skilled you are
If anyone is rude to you, he will eat them…eventually
You sat with your friends in a circle, watching as they each shared a cigarette one of your friends had stolen from their father.
They handed it to you and you stared down at it as it burnt, thinking about what your father would do if he found out.
You sighed and smoked some of it, coughing wildly as the smoke hit the back of your throat.
Your friends laughed along with you as you tried to catch your breath.
Your thoughts swarmed with ideas of what your father would do it he ever found out.
He was out of town for the weekend and you were staying with Will.
And Will definitely wasn't nearly as observant as your father.
--
You arrived home the next morning after staying at your friends house.
You opened the door and walked inside, looking around for Will.
"Will! I'm home!" You called our as he rounded the corner.
"Y/N, did you have fun last night?" He asked, there was a slight edge to his voice and you were scared he had found out.
"Uh... Yeah, it was fun."
"You do know your father would have your head if he found out what you did." He declared at you looked at him in shock.
"How the..."
He cut you off, holding his phone up of a video your friends had taken last night.
"I created a fake account and followed all of your friends accounts." He said as you rolled your eyes.
"That's a breach of my privacy! Also... Please don't tell father!" You begged, walking closer to him as he sighed.
"I won't... I did the same around your age, and I'm going to do exactly what my father did." He said as he grabbed his car keys.
"In the car, now." He demanded as you rolled your eyes again and followed behind him.
"It was just one try of a cigarette! Everyone else was going in and I didn't want them to make fun of me." You explained, getting into the passenger seat of Will's car.
"I know that, and I'm very aware you're not the kind of kid to do that stuff unless...pressured. But, that doesn't change the fact that you did it, and I can't keep this from your father unless you learn something from it. Got it?" He said as he started the car.
You stared forward and nodded.
Maybe Will could sense your nervousness, or maybe you just weren't that great at hiding it.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Y/N. I would never do that, neither would your father." He reassured as you breathed a sigh of relief.
Will knew you past before Hannibal, he knew what your biological parents would have done if they caught you smoking.
You drove for a while until Will turned into a hospice.
You sighed and looked at him.
"I get it okay? Smoking kills, I just did it to blend in, okay?" You whined as Will looked at you.
"But, did you friends do it to blend in? Or were they the ones making you do it. I want you to speak to someone, after that you can make the decision if you still want these friends in your life. Now, come on." He said before getting out of the car, you followed him into the hospice, staying close to him as you noticed everyone nodding or waving at him.
You made it to a room and entered with Will.
You saw an old man laying in bed staring out the window.
He glanced over and looked at Will.
"Bloody hell, I thought I'd be dead before I had to see your ugly mug again." He grumbled in a British accent making you laugh softly.
"Who's the kid?" He muttered as Will chuckled and walked in further.
"This is Y/N, I caught her smoking last night. Thought bringing you here would be a good lesson for her." Will said as he sat beside the bed and gestured for you to do the same.
The man chuckled and looked at you.
"Smoking, huh? That's why I'm in here, dying in this damn room." He said as you gulped a little.
"So, I'm guessing you'll tell me to never do it again..." You muttered as he laughed dryly.
"Fuck no! I loved smoking, I don't give a shit if it killed me, all that matters is I had some fucking fun." He said as you laughed softly, turning to Will who was smiling.
"Don't know why this idiot over here thought my advice would do any good." He said gesturing to Will.
"Well... The lesson wasn't to scare her into never doing it," Will turns to you, "it was to teach you that you have choices in life choices that are yours to make but you need to understand the consequences as well. So, if you want to be with those friends who drink and smoke, that's okay if that's you. But, I really don't think it is."
You looked at Will, a shocked expression on your face.
"No... It's not who I am." You muttered making Will smile softly.
"Why'd you bring this nerd in to see me, Will?" The old man said making you laugh and shake your head.
You sat and chatted for a while longer and Will eventually explained how he had come to know the old man.
You weren't too shocked to find out Will met him when he was arrested for indecent assault.
You walked out with Will and got back into the car.
"Thank you..." You muttered, not looking at Will.
"I won't tell your father. He will be angry at you for smoking...I was angry because I knew these people weren't your friends, you just needed to see it." He said as you smiled a little and looked at him.
"Saved me an hour lecture from father about how deadly cigarettes are... But, I understand. And thank you, instead of punishing me you...taught me. Guess I'm not used to that." You muttered making Will smile.
He knew Hannibal was a great father, but he also knew he could be quite harsh with his punishments, he was never physical but his lectures could probably kill someone eventually.
DARK PLATONIC Hannigram (Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham NBC) x Reader
Minors, do not interact
Author’s Note: N/A
Type: Restored
Description: Never assume anything. Never trust strangers. Especially ones that leave generous tips and exchange friendly smiles.
Word Count: 1,190
Warnings: Moderate to severe descriptions of wounds, blood, violence, kidnapping, unhealthy relationship, needles, sedation
By clicking or tapping on “Keep Reading”, you consent to viewing/consuming this media. Minors do not interact. The cultivation of one’s internet experience is up to the individual, and any other personal preferences do not dictate the creations of others nor myself. The recreation, reformatting, re-posting or distribution of this content on other platforms is not welcome and I ask that any and all parties would keep from doing so, thank you.
“I think I would like to try the buttermilk oolong. No sugar, please.”
“Oh, trying something new are we, Mr. Lecter?” You grinned, ringing up the single order of tea.
Hannibal offered a smile in return , making sure to place a coil of neat bills in your tip jar when your back was turned. “Variety adds spice to life. And yesterday, you were quite right in saying you make an excellent matcha latte. I doubt I will taste one better any time soon.”
Your regular’s praise brought another wide smile to your face as you started measuring out the perfect amount of tea. “You’re much too kind, Mr. Lecter.”
You were such a delight. Always cordial, well-groomed, dutifully studious and hardworking. Not to mention you had a real talent in the kitchen of the local cafe a few blocks away from Hannibal’s psychiatry practice. It was fitting to have someone of your caliber by his family’s side; it was clear your own family was either not in the picture or they simply took you for granted.
Why should Hannibal not try to provide the life you so clearly deserved? Perhaps it was that line of thinking that drove him to the disillusionment that you would eagerly appreciate such a rare gift.
He could not have been more wrong, in the days to come he could not have done more to make you absolutely incensed and uncontrollable.
“Hannibal?” Will poked his head into his husband’s kitchen, face looking quite pallid. “They’re not eating.”
Placing the dishes he had used to cook your evening meal in the dishwasher, Hannibal lightly bit the inside of his cheek. “Are they unable to eat? Or are they unwilling?”
Giving an exasperated sigh, Will motioned for him to come and see for himself. Brow furrowed, he walked into the room where you had been securely tied, arms securely bound behind your back. You looked up at Hannibal as he entered, fixing him with a hateful scowl.
“You’re being a disdainful brat.” He said, keeping his voice calm. Using both hands, he hauled you up off of the floor, sitting you at the edge of your new oak bed. “You will need your energy if you are going to…adapt.”
Will held out the tray of food, keeping a comfortable distance away from you. “You might want to be careful–”
“Nonsense.” Hannibal insisted, grabbing a chunk of bread from the platter. Returning his attention to you, he held the food against your lips. “I would not stoop so low as to poison food. This is good, you have my promise.”
Your mouth opened wide as you clamped down on Hannibal’s prone fingers. Giving a pained hiss, he tried to draw back, but you ground your teeth until Will pulled you off with a harsh tug.
Whipping back around, Hannibal was seething, holding onto his bloodied hand “You little–!”
Giving him an amused smile, you relaxed in Will’s grasp, silently goading him on. Brushing his hair back out of his face, Hannibal took a few quick breaths before straightening his posture. It was obvious you were trying to rile him up on purpose and he would not be party to your whims.
He was more disciplined than that.
“Will,” he said calmly, his features becoming still, “let them go. We…will try again later.”
Hesitantly, his husband pulled away, following Hannibal out of your room, not forgetting to lock the door behind them.
Falling back onto the bed, you could hear their voices fade away into the recesses of your kidnapper’s apartment. Fear and betrayal had made you wild with grief and an unrelenting desire for vicious atonement.
You should have known better than to accept a ride home from a patron; truthfully you only knew him as a regular. Five days a week he would frequent the cafe you worked at in the early morning and late evenings. In that time you would have liked to think that Hannibal Lecter was nothing more than a wealthy and eccentric man that took delight in making your day with generous tips and friendly banter.
There had been a handful of instances in your young life where you had become privy to the more sinister side of humanity; experiences such as your own should have made spotting someone so conniving and deadly, relatively straightforward. But in speaking with him and all those friendly exchanges, you had seen no harm in letting Hannibal drive you home after a particularly exhausting day.
Your head still throbbed where he had struck you aside the head.
Though your body ached and was in dire need for rest, such luxuries could not be afforded when your very life was at stake. Sliding off of the bed, you took in your surroundings, keeping an eye out for anything sharp, but it seemed Hannibal Lecter and his husband had confiscated anything that could have been used as a weapon or tool.
Besting either of them in a brawl was nothing but an unrealistic fantasy; you would have to find a way to escape without detection.
Not one to surrender in the face of insurmountable circumstances, you shifted your arms back in front of you. In the absence of anything pointed, you resorted to biting at the thick ropes that constricted your arms. It took hours of relentless pulling and grating your skin against the rough material of the rope to loosen the bonds. The blood that dripped from your abrasive wounds, offered some slickness that aided you in working yourself free. While finally able to move in full, you felt somewhat numb and tingly. In looking at your arms, you could see the vigor of your efforts had split the skin down to the tissue and then some.
Paying no mind to the dull tenderness, you turned to the one grand window that seemed to offer the promise of freedom. Your fingers fumbled with the locks, digits trembling as you tugged the first latch open. As you did, an ear-splitting alarm sounded through the room, catching you entirely off guard. Trying to shake off the shock, you tried desperately to pry open the second lock.
From behind, you could hear the door slam open, followed by two sets of hurried footsteps. Hannibal’s arms gently wrapped around your midsection, hauling you backwards as Will quickly shut the window, effectively shutting off the alarm.
“No, no no!”
In Hannibal’s unusually light grasp you thrashed violently, biting and kicking at anything within reach.
“Will, darling?” Hannibal gave an uncomfortable wheeze. “The medicine if you please.”
“Of course.” He said, digging something out of his back pocket. “Try and hold them still.”
His movements were swift, giving you no time to protest or try to fend off Will’s advancement. You could feel something thin pierce the flesh of your thigh before being retracted. Unable to form words, you could only watch through lidded eyes as your body became utterly useless.
“That’s it, angel.” Hannibal whispered, laying you on your bed. “Let the medication do its work. Let yourself rest and we will try again tomorrow….You really are so much better than this…”
Warning: self harm, The reader is kind of crazy. This story is short.
Do not use my post without permission, that is stealing
The office was steeped in shadow and refinement, much like the man that owned it. The office itself was bigger than your apartment. It was making you feel like a rat from a swage. The man in front of you was dressed in a suit while you sat there in your baggy jeans and hoodie.
You were sitting on the edge of the leather chair. your elbows resting on your shins as you fiddled your fingers. Your eyes were focused on them, trying to ignore the man who was looking at you like you were a gazelle in the Savanna and he was the lion. He was looking at you, watching you, assessing you.
“You seem particularly troubled today, [Y/N]” Dr. Lecter’s voice was velvet, the kind that wrapped around you before you could realize that it had coiled around you too tightly. The question itself made Anger fester inside of you. A bitter laugh bubbled from inside of you, you didn’t pick up your gaze from your fingers that twitched around nothing.
“Troubled” you echoed, your voice low and restrained. “that’s a nice way to put it”
“You’re angry” Hannibal observed. your shoulders went rigged. Your fingers curled to form a fist, your nails digging into your palm. And when you finally spoke up, you were gritting your teeth “I cannot stop seeing them…it’s like, it’s like I close my eyes and they are the only thing I see. My fingers are stained with their blood.”
you couldn’t see it but feel how Hannibal’s gaze sharpened. The leather crouch beneath him groaned as he leaned forward to you. “And who are them?”
The question made something in you snap. Your head shot up to glare at. Hannibal could see your eyes burn with something wild and raw. “Does it even matter? İt's mine! It’s my family’s, friends? I-i don’t even know anymore.” Your voice broke as you spit out the words that burned your tongue. “I feel it. The blood, clinging to my skin” you had to stop yourself from speaking so your voice wouldn’t crack.
A silence took over the room as you tried to regain your confidence to speak. The silence was being broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing. Your hand trembled and you averted your gaze back to the ground. Hannibal rose from his chair slowly, measured steps carrying him towards your distressed Body. You didn’t react, too far gone in the torrent of whatever had broken free inside you.
“[Y/N],” Hannibal said softly, his voice threading through the chaos like a needle through cloth. “you do not feel guilty because of your intrusive thoughts, you feel guilty because of your lack of guilt”
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes wide at the true assessment of his words. “It’s not normal” you choke back a sob.
Hannibal stood beside You now, his presence looming yet calm. “Normalcy is overrated,” he replied. “You do not need to feel guilty over your thoughts. instead of fearing them you need to use them.”
“Use them? Are you fucking encouraging me to murder people?” Your disbelief came out as a shout. Yes, that was what Hannibal was suggesting but he couldn’t tell that to your face.
“You told me you paint”
“I mean, yeah” you shrugged one of your shoulders, not understanding the reason for this assessment. “I want you to paint your thoughts [Y/N]. thoughts that are intrusive can be damaging to the brain, especially if you bottle it up.”
A grounding hand clamped your shoulder “you do not need to hide from this feeling [Y/N]. You must simply understand it”
——
That night you found yourself in the basement you used as an art studio. The studio was dark save for the single cheap lightbulb that emitted light that tired one’s eyes quickly. Its glow was harsh on the scattered canvases around the room. Your eyes were red because of lack of sleep, and that cheap light. You stood at the center of the room, shirtless. Sweat clinging to your skin. You were slightly shivering from the cold that creeped inside the room from upstairs.
Your chest rose and fell with each harsh breath you took, you felt like you just ran a marathon even though you haven’t moved for some time now. Before you stood a white canvas, empty, blank. Waiting for you to make the first move. If you could just raise your brush and paint, the painting itself would reveal itself but your finger only twitched from where they stood at your sides.
You glared at the canvas like it was insulting you, mocking you. And maybe it was mocking you. You could hear laughing ringing in your ears. The razor blade trembled in your hand as you held it over your palm. Your breathing was shallow, rapid, the rush of adrenaline drowning out the sound of reason in your mind. The first cut was shallow, a thin line of crimson welling up almost immediately. You hissed through your teeth, clenching your jaw against the sting.
And then you pressed your hand against the canvas.
The blood smeared in uneven streaks, but it was enough. Enough to start. With each uneven streak you could feel your shoulders relax. It was starting to feel like you could control your breathing again. Laughter bubbled in your chest as finally figures emerged from the chaos, piece by piece, as though it had always been waiting there, hidden in the canvas, waiting for you to find it and suddenly all that money you wasted on therapy stopped feeling like waste.
The room smelled of iron, the metallic tang of blood thick in the air. your head swam, but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. The smell was addicting, the way blood contrasted against the canvas was addicting.
You used your fingers to shade the branches of the trees, your thumb to smudge the lines of the swing. But your blood was drying too quickly, so you pressed your palm against the blade again, deeper this time. A sharper hiss of pain, a deeper pool of red followed suit.
By the time you were finished, your hands were trembling, your vision blurred from exhaustion and blood loss. You slumped back into your chair, staring at the painting before you.
Your childhood home stared back at you. The trees that surround your house, the swing that your brother used to love. It all stared at you. You were waiting for the fear, because everytime you dreamed of this memory dread followed behind it.
But it never came. Instead your heart felt light with relief and a twisted sense of triumph.
i would love some platonic yan hannigram if that’s on the table >:D
I keep thinking about platonic yan Hannigram with picky eater! reader... Poor Hannibal tries to impress them with fancy food at a dinner party and they don't like it 😭
"How do you eat this? It's basically raw." You mumble with a frown, using your fork to poke at the duck slices cooked to a perfect rare.
"It's not raw, my dear. It's rare and entirely safe to eat." Hannibal responds patiently,
You side eye him and look down at your plate, poking the meat again. A trickle of cooked blood mixes with the sauce and you grimace.
"It's squishy and it bleeds. It's raw. Aren't you supposed to be, like, a doctor or something?" You ask, playing it off as a joke but clearly concerned about Hannibal's mental well-being if he wants you to eat something that you deem to be entirely inedible.
Will snorts. Hannibal gives him a look.
"How about you try a little? I don't think that Hannibal is going to feed us dessert if you don't at least try it." Will says gently, his coaxing being used as a form of apology to his partner.
You nod and begrudgingly take a bite of the mashed potatoes. They're buttery and flavorful, suiting your tastes perfectly. You eat all of the potatoes that aren't touching the sauce or duck blood.
"The potatoes are really good." You say after a few moments and Hannibal's expression softens slightly.
"You're not going to eat the rest of them?" He asks.
"No. It's got blood on it." You say firmly, examining the rest of your plate to find something else you're willing to eat.
Hannibal takes note of all of your preferences. He needs to know what you like for when he and Will take you home. Cooking for you while maintaining his own refined palette will be a culinary challenge but it's one that he knows that he will relish. Both he and Will are eager to have a child to raise together.
Sweet, means I can finally get some NINAH ideas out my head.
So I am thinking of something with the Protag mainly but honestly I think this could end up working for any of the guys.
The reader is horrible at hiding the fact that he is a visitor but still somehow was able to get a place in the house of the Protag, like everything about them just feels / looks off but he isn't actually causing any harm so no one is really sure what to do with them. But it turns out that he is actually just killing only visitors that threaten harm to the protag (or whoever you choose) and not humans.
He's just a really odd guard dog that has become too attached to living people.
The Protagonist/Hermit x Visitor male reader
Headcanons
Reader is based on the NINAH oc I cooked up for fun, except you’re a visitor. I don’t have a name for the protagonist, so if y’all have any good ideas, lemme know.
hope yall enjoy this.
I like to think you show up on one of the early days, like day two or three. At this point you’ll most likely be the strangest person to show up at the protagonists door.
Unlike other residents, you’re covered from head to toe. Since reader is based on an oc of mine, you wear a gimp hood with a zipper over its mouth and eyes, a leather straitjacket, leather pants and boots. Only one of the zippers over the eye is zipped open.
At this point it’ll already be obvious you aren’t completely normal. You're a bit too tall, maybe your legs are too long, or it’s the fact that your eye is visibly bloodshot and your pupil is rolling around like a marble.
Had this been in the game, I feel reader would be a character you only allowed inside for a specific ending, items or lore. But this is a fun story, so :3c
The protagonist wouldn’t know all the signs of a visitor yet, and for some reason, he lets you inside.
The room you decide to take place in, will be his bedroom, sitting at the edge of his bed. If the seductive woman shows up at the door the protag can’t let her in, since you won’t leave his bed.
You don’t speak much, just hover, staring. Sometimes he’ll hear you growl or gurgle behind the door when he walks past his bedroom.
And other times he can hear you whispering to yourself. The words are gibberish, or at least a language he doesn’t understand.
You also won’t leave his room even when he sleeps. The first night the protag tried to stay awake, but at some point you turn, pull your arms from the straitjacket, and start massaging his ankles and whispering to yourself.
It should be really off-putting, and it is, but it’s like a lullaby. Whatever language you’re speaking is like a warm loving hand on his bruised and hurt soul.
After you show up, the cashier girl, if she’s been allowed in, will start to get very scared of you and paranoid. If the protag talks to her, she’ll comment about you opening the door to the storage room and just staring at her, for hours, during the night.
She's the only visitor you don’t kill because she realizes what she is, loses it, and is killed by the protag. After this happens, the protag notices that you start rumbling at the foot of his bed. It's not really a cat-like purr, but something wet and guttural, like boiling mud.
It's clear to the protagonist and other residents that you aren’t human, especially when you start bleeding from the mouth, which leaks through the zipper of your hood.
Or when the protagonist sees your hands and finds dirt under your fingernails. For one reason or another, the protagonist, who’s ended up finding a weird comfort in your silent creepy presence, just comments about you being dirty.
When he takes an aura photo of you, the shape is barely human, it’s like you aren’t even trying. It feels more like something out of a medieval painting of the devil.
Some residents will comment about you not breathing, not eating or drinking, or even blinking. Multiple of them will be creeped out by you. Confirmed visitors will say you’re dangerous and try to talk the protagonist into making you leave.
But to the protagonist you feel kinda like a big misshapen and gross dog, in a way. After a night or two you start curling up at the foot of his bed, limbs cracking and twisting to curl up in a small ball.
He's heard you growling at the door once or twice too, the noise something disgusting, foul and off-putting. It makes the hairs on his skin stand up and his heart race, like his body knows you’re not meant to exist.
Your worth becomes very clear the first night there are three visitors in the home. Since the rule is two visitors, but you don’t kill, then it’s three.
Everyone will hear a terrifying noise, imagine the shy guy from scp, then a wet tearing and then a thud. Obviously no one dares to move, even the normal humans who just saw you kill a visitor.
Then there’s a wet dragging noise, the front door opens, you throw something, and the door closes again. They hear running water, as you clean the blood off your leather, and then you crawl back into bed.
The protagonist will see the blood dragged on the floor, and when he’s told by whoever was in the room that you killed the visitor, protag will pat you on the head.
He doesn’t say anything, but you start doing that gurgling rumble again, your pupil blowing so large it almost swallows up the entire visible eye.
The protagonist jokingly offers you a treat, something random he finds in a cupboard like a cracker. The zipper on your hood pulls open on its own, and you take it, your tooth as white as chalk and your gums bright red with blood.
Other human residents will be terrified of your presence, some will want you gone, others will see the appeal of a visitor that only kills other visitors.
They learn quick enough that you’ll kill humans though, when the suit guy tries to pull a gun on him. None of them actually see what happens because you move so fast, but suddenly suit guy is missing his head, and you’re coated in blood.
Protag finds himself starting to care about you, not as a lover, at least not yet, but you’ve dug your way into his chest somehow. With all your weird inhuman shapes and sounds.
He isn’t actually sure how strong you truly are, until you chase off the pale visitor. When he shows up at the door, you fly at him like a feral mutt, your body twisting and turning like rubber.
They can only really see you guys fly off into the dark, letting out the most terrifying noises as you rip into one another.
It's only next morning when you show up just before the sun goes up, carrying the arm of the pale visitor, like some weird copy of a cat bringing a dead bird to it’s owner.
What the protagonist doesn’t know, is that you’ve strung everything else up around the property, as a warning to FEMA and other visitors.
With you present, there would be another ending, if the relationship between the protagonist and you deepens. At some point he notices that he can be alone, with just you, and nothing happens.
FEMA might try to come knocking, but even they are scared away by ‘that thing he keeps in his house’, but the protag doesn’t care.
He's comfortable, his house and property being left untouched by whatever chaos goes on outside, hell, it’s even like the heat of the sun won’t touch it.
As the world burns, the protagonist sits on his porch, with you draped over his lap like a weird cat, drinking a cup of coffee, because somehow you can leave and return with all kinds of things.
All in all, he’s living a great life, a nice isolated life, just you two. And if the world around the borders of his property starts blurring, and then disappearing, well, why should he care.
He doesn’t look into what you are and can do too much, even if you seem to be warping reality. As long as it’s to make him happy and comfortable, then it doesn’t matter.
yandere prince! who you forgot could be as terrifying as he was right now.
"open the door [Name].." he whispered from the other side, and you nearly did.
god he was soo sweet right now, so ever lovingly gentle. and you knew. you knew that if you opened the door he would be nothing short of beautiful and sweet and everything you'd ever want him to be.
"i can hear you seeetheart, don't be scared, this isnt my blood anyway."
what a sickening thing to say. his blood or not you wouldn't be able to unsee the choked gurgling from the man your prince decided to partially decapitate.
"[Name], baby..don't fight with me please? I love you so fucking much, I would never hurt you and you know that.."
"I...you promise?"
Hook, line amd sinker.
"Just open the door i'll show you..."
You creaked the wooden board open by a sliver, Anoul immediately pulled you into his arms, uncaring that the blood from his clothes was melded into your chest now.
He didn't waste another second, pulling up your face into his lips and covering you in kisses. Rather bloody ones.
"My prince I–"
"My princess? Come." He cut you off by lifting you up and into the room you were just hiding in.
"[Name], you know you can never leave me, not even in death right?" His face was nose to nose with yours.
You didn't answer. Maybe because you didn't want to believe it, or maybe because you did.
I really want to see Littlest Wayne having more interactions with the justice league, especially Hal! That bit of him getting emotional after the baby says his name was adorable 😭
You don't have to tell me twice. Get ready to get a lot of uncles and aunts 🤭 featuring more Bruce x Hal because I'm shameless
Slightly spoilerly warning: ⚠️ Emetophobia ⚠️
The Littlest Wayne: Meet the Team
Masterlist is Here!
"Oh! No. No, I don't — I'm good, actually. No thanks."
Clark gives Hal a curious look, but doesn't try to pass you over to him after that initial rejection. He smiles down at you and goes back to gently tracing the tip of his finger up and down the bridge of your nose. Your eyes droop almost immediately, then you're asleep a minute later.
"They're beautiful, Bruce," Diana says, clapping a hand against his back. Bruce, to his credit, barely stumbles.
"No names in costume," he says.
"You literally brought us your infant child to coo at," Barry chimes in, cracking open a bag of chips. "They're in a Cookie Monster onesie. I think we can let it slide just the once."
"Hnn," Bruce mutters. He lets the edges of his cape fall over his chest, cloaking his limbs and torso until he looks like one, solid shape. "Only the once."
Barry grins, zipping past him to stand in front of Clark and gush over your snoozing form. Oliver held you for a minute when Bruce first showed up to introduce you to the team, then Dinah stole you from him and peppered kisses all over your face until you were squealing with laughter. J'onn carefully held you how he was instructed and told everyone you were thinking about how colorful they each looked. Arthur jokingly asked if Bruce wanted him to baptize you. Arthur swiftly lost his baby privileges. Then Diana held you kind of like someone weighing a ham, nodded once, called you "phenomenal," and handed you off to Clark, where you currently remain.
It was a little curious to see Hal so vehemently refuse to hold you when, as far as Bruce can see, he hasn't taken his eyes off you the whole time you've been in the Watchtower. Even more curiously, before Clark did that little nose trick to get you to sleep, you'd been staring right back at him.
Bruce could go Full Investigation Mode on this, but he understands that it might be a bit much to do to someone he's only been seeing for, like, ten weeks. They haven't even talked about labels yet.
So he does a small guilt trip instead.
Just a small one. Microscopic, really.
Completely harmless.
When he holds out his arms for you, Clark reluctantly surrenders, and you snuggle up to your father with a soft huff. Bruce delicately thumbs over your cheek, taking a moment to admire you, then carries you over to Hal and puts his very harmless plan into motion.
"It's a shame you hate my baby."
Hal looks like he got shot. Guilt Trip Plan: 6/10, too traumatizing. Refine for future use.
"I'm kidding," Bruce says, trying to cushion the blow. "Calm down."
"Jesus, Spooky," Hal mutters, rubbing his temples, "do you ever just ask normal questions outright?"
"Of course I do," Bruce says. "Last night, when we were both free, I asked you if you were interested in having se—"
"Okay!" He waves his hands, glancing at you with panicked eyes, which Bruce finds absurd. You're barely old enough to comprehend the fact that you have a body, let alone the ability to start processing language. You don't even know your name. You do kind of recognize Bruce's voice, but mainly when he's changing or feeding you, and only by his tone. It's all just senseless noise for you, otherwise, stimuli you allow to wash over you without putting conscious thought to it.
Bruce sighs and takes a smaller step closer to Hal. Hal takes a step back.
"I'm very curious about where this is coming from," Bruce says, choosing to be blunt. "You're fantastic with children, in and out of costume."
He takes another step forward. Hal takes another step back.
"Yeah, sure — kids and stuff — not babies," Hal says. "Kids can walk and talk and aren't...y'know, breakable."
"The baby isn't made of glass, Lantern."
One step forward. One step back.
"I know that! But they're also, y'know...just there. Kids are just tiny people. Babies are babies."
One step forward. One step back.
"I feel obligated to inform you that babies are also classified as people. They have social security numbers, birth certificates —"
One step forward. One step back.
"You know what I meant, don't get smart with me."
"I'm trying to know what you mean, actually. It's not like you don't want to hold them, I can see in your face that you do. The question is why you won't."
One step forward. One step back.
"Bruce, I need you to turn that gorgeous detective brain off for ten seconds and realize how intense you're being. I'm literally being backed into a corner."
Bruce stops walking. Hal can't walk back anymore because he's flush against the wall. Oops.
He acquiesces with a step back and turns his focus back on you. Your eyes are twitching under the lids. He wonders what you're dreaming about.
"This child is mine," Bruce says quietly. "I'm not asking you to step up and play stepfather, Hal, but this is a package deal. Them, and my boys. If that's too much...if that's a deal breaker —"
"Oh," Hal says, "no. Hey, no, of course it isn't! I'm not like that, B, I'm just — I've never — ugh."
He wills the domino mask away so he can rub his eyes, groaning, then shakes his head.
"They always puke!"
Bruce pauses. Thinks. Comes up empty. "Elaborate."
"Babies! Every time I hold a baby, they vomit on me. It's like some horrible magic trick or something, but I swear to you, I've never held a baby and it be able to keep its formula down."
Hal looks very distressed as he admits this, gesturing emphatically to get his point across. Bruce finds it endearing.
"Babies are the most adorable things on the planet. You think I don't wanna take them from you and snuggle up on the couch all day? I do! But they're gonna hurl about it!"
"Okay."
"I swear I'm not lyi— okay?"
"Okay," Bruce says. "I don't want you to get puked on, and I don't want to clean up more baby vomit than I have to. It stains absolutely everything it touches. It's a nightmare." He shifts his weight, rocking you slowly when you start to fuss. Is it a bad dream, or do you feel stuffy in the onesie? He'll take you home and get you down in the crib, soon. "But that's good to know. We'll figure something out."
"We will?" Hal says. "You aren't upset?"
"No. In fact, thank you for admitting it. I would have been pissed if you made my baby spit up and didn't warn me ahead of time."
Hal snorts. Bruce cracks a small smile, looking back down at your sleeping form. You seem to be settling again.
"So you'll have to wait a little longer to say hi to uncle Hal," he murmurs. "That's fine."
"Sorry for eavesdropping, but if he's Uncle Hal, can I be Uncle Clark?" The Kryptonian asks, almost shyly as he floats over. "Also, I didn't make the baby spit up. Can I hold 'em again?"
"We get to be uncles?? Hell yesssss," Barry says, pumping his fist.
"I will be the most impressive uncle among you," Diana declares, cracking her knuckles. "How do we battle for such a title?"
"You're an Auntie, Di."
"Then I will be the most impressive auntie among you."
"I think we're all just gonna let you have that one. You win."
Diana smiles, triumphant.
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