this was written for @dust-of-starsandlittle-hopes :) thank you for bringing it to me to write <3
“You’d think the princess would be a more skilled negotiator - offering me two concessions in exchange for nothing?” His hand reaches out, his fingers catching on a slipped lock of your hair and twisting it around his fingers - the fabric of his gloves is smooth and pleasant against the strands, “Should I be flattered that you’re fond of my company, or worried for our kingdom’s future?”
Silco/f!Reader
Masquerade/Royal AU
4,593 Words - NSFW
Slight Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Semi-Public Sex, Mutual Pining
---
Of all the etiquette and social graces you’ve had drilled into your brain since you were old enough to speak, not one of them included the correct posturing to tell an unwanted suitor to take a hike. It was always implied you’d never be in public social situations without a chaperone attending you - whether that be one of your ladies in waiting, or a guard detail.
But here you are, bereft of both thanks to the sheer amount of people gathered for tonight’s masquerade. And just as you feared when you’d become separated from your subtle guard, you’re caught alone and unawares on one of the more secluded balconies. Your lower back presses into the concrete rail to put more distance, but it only allows him to step closer.
He’s wearing a half-mask, with distinct eye holes that show the red veins of his bloodshot scleras. The night is still rather young, and you’ve had a few drinks yourself, but he’s obviously tumbled over his limit in a way that would inhibit his decision-making about approaching women when unwanted.
Or perhaps he would not have cared whether he were in his cups or not.
“I’ll not tell you again, back away-”
“You don’t want that, do you dear?”
“I assure you, I very much do,” You insist, eyes darting to the left and right, trying to decide if you’ll make it fast enough if you were to duck beneath his arms.
He’s so close now, enough that he can probably hear the panicked pounding of your heart as you hold your breath. The man smells foul, like too much wine and the odor of an unwashed body. Your hand twitches, ready to reach up and remove your mask just as his breath washes over your face in a vile, rolling breeze.
“You’ve got a pretty voice, bet I could make you sing all night. I know how to treat a lady-”
“Do you? It seems as if you’re doing a rather poor job of it, from what I can see. She looks as if she’s about to pass out from your very odor.”
The sight of a gloved hand curling around your accoster’s shoulder catches your eye, and all at once you’ve been freed by the forceful turning of his body. Instead of fleeing like you should have, you instead lean heavier against the railing with far too much relief and a deep inhale. Suddenly the air tonight smells sweeter, now that you’d been deprived of it.
There are words exchanged, but you only hear the tail end of them as you come back to your rights, “...It’s best you remember that you’re far from the apex specimen that you believe yourself to be. Run along now, I heard they’ve just opened another cask - perhaps your next drink will be your last and will put the rest of us out of your misery.”
You think he says something in response to your savior, but it’s a bit choked and garbled. That grabs your attention, and your eyes flick up to see the tendons of another man’s hand wrapped around the alcohol-soaked man’s neck for a half-second. Then he’s gone, scurrying back between the heavy curtains that separate this balcony from the prying eyes of anyone inside.
And you’re left with your savior - tall, dressed neatly in an array of crimson and gold that’s been dulled so as to not shimmer too brightly in the light of the chandeliers inside. He liked to be understated, despite the fabric and tailoring of his clothing for the evening being made of high-quality fabric.
His mask is rather interesting, with its eyes being nothing more than mere slits and betraying nothing of what’s going on beneath it. There are painted designs on it, swirls that match the color of his outfit, but it completely masks his visage from you. No hints as to who he may be.
As he steps closer, not so much that he comes anywhere near where you’d feel trapped once more, you catch the scent of his cologne and it tickles something in the back of your mind. It’s painfully familiar, but not enough to latch on to any concrete name or person. The mask does its job well, you suppose.
His head tilts down, then up, and you realize with a flush that he’s not being forward with his gaze on your body, but instead he’s simply checking to see if you were accosted in any way other than verbal. Subtly you shake your head, and his shoulders drop enough to show his relief.
“Rather strange company you keep, my lovely.”
“I assure you, it was very unwelcome.”
The man approaches, but veers enough to stand at your side and look out at the darkened gardens. They haven’t been lit by anything more than the moon this evening, since the guests are all intended to stay within the confines of the palace. Even still, you can make out the shapes of the trimmed hedges, the moon catching just enough to show the blooms of flowers as bobbing little dots among the leaves.
You turn to lean on the railing next to him, and silence reigns for all of a single heartbeat before he breaks it, “You were capable of fighting back. Why didn’t you?”
Perhaps you’re too trusting, or maybe you have had a drink too many tonight, but your answer is rather forthcoming, “Unfortunately my protection for the evening got separated from me, and our prior friend saw fit to capitalize on that.”
“That didn’t quite answer my question, but I can read between the lines well enough.”
And his head tilts, just enough to let you know that he's side-eyeing you, and perhaps you were a bit too loose-lipped with your information. There’s not a doubt in your mind that he’s either figured out who you are, or at least is aware that you’re of extremely high breeding. Whether it’s one or the other, he doesn’t let on, but you don’t feel uncomfortable that he holds that knowledge.
“Have you had enough of the evening air? You’ve goose bumps.”
“If I go inside with you, will you honor me with a dance?” Your boldness surprises yourself, but he only regards you for a moment through those unreadable slits in his mask. Perhaps that may have been too forward a question for him, but he turns enough to lean an elbow on the railing and look at you directly.
“You’d think the princess would be a more skilled negotiator - offering me two concessions in exchange for nothing?” His hand reaches out, his fingers catching on a slipped lock of your hair and twisting it around his fingers - the fabric of his gloves is smooth and pleasant against the strands, “Should I be flattered that you’re fond of my company, or worried for our kingdom’s future?”
“If you’d like to look down your nose at my generosity, I’ll gladly take up with another.”
The laugh that rumbles from his chest rasps around your ears, and you find yourself shivering once more at the mere sound of it. It’s pleasant, almost smoky in nature, and you desperately wish to hear it once more. You get his answer, instead.
“Do you seek to wound me, your majesty? Seeing you in the arms of another tonight would be a blow I could never recover from - I’m sure you understand.”
Perhaps you do, but not in the ways that he expects. Secretly, you’re grateful that the masquerade allows for a modicum of anonymity - if only to keep your eyes from wandering from the one they always seem to drift toward when the masks are off and the rigid rules of society are put back into place. Rules that wouldn’t allow for you to so callously speak to the secret object of your adorations like you plan to do with this man.
The man takes you inside - not by force, but by offering his elbow until you tuck your hand into it and walk too close to be anything but amorous. He doesn’t chide you for it, and if anything he tightens the bend of his elbow to keep you secure. It’s an approval, mutual and assured.
There are so many revelers tonight, all gathered for some arbitrary festival that really only exists for the upper-class as an excuse to gather and cavort and underhand one another. You’re uninterested in all of that - always have been, the game of politics in all its finesse has never come naturally to you. That’s why you have advisors, chosen specifically to provide insight in their given expertise.
They’re for your father, but as the only child of the crown, they’ll soon be for you upon your marriage. It’s not been decided, but the space in your heart is already occupied by another that sees you in no such light. Even if they did, it’s been doomed from the start - perhaps even frowned-upon.
No, marriage to Silco, advisor to the mercantile and overseer of trade, would not be your family’s first, second, third… or perhaps any choice.
But you push him from your thoughts, just for tonight. You can indulge in a different desire tonight, thanks to your savior-turned-companion that brings you to the dance floor and seamlessly guides you in with the other spinning couples. He’s skilled with leading, and you find you have to do nearly no work at all to keep pace with him as he adjusts to your smaller stride.
Through the thin fabric of your dress, his hand on your waist is searing hot and almost as distracting. If you weren’t so practiced, you would have stumbled when his thumb shifted to slip beneath the small cutouts just above the swell of your hips - he’s forward, and you find it’s exactly what you need to supplement your own bravery.
“You know, I think it’s rather unfair that you summarily guessed my identity and I still haven’t a clue about your own.”
“Doesn’t that take away the excitement, princess? Dancing the evening away with a mysterious stranger that’s more than willing to let you be free with your words and affections?” You’re spun away, then brought back in even closer than before. If his mask weren’t in the way, you would have met him with a kiss. Perhaps he expected it, and his head tilts as if he were about to anyway, “If I were to remove this mask, I fear you may be disappointed with what you find. Better you believe I’m someone dashing and deserving of your attention.”
“I find it hard to believe that you could be anything but that, mask or no,” His fingers twitch against the skin of your side, all four fingers gliding up into that cut in the fabric to brush against the bottom of your ribs. If he can feel your goosebumps, you can’t tell through his body language.
“Forgive me for being on edge, but I’ll tell you this. You do know of me, princess, and I mean you no harm. For tonight, and onward when the masks are removed and I’m forced to skirt around you as if tonight never happened.”
There’s no answer to come from you, not when he’s made such a clear declaration of his heart without providing you his identity. Thoughts whirl in your mind just as surely as he whirls you deftly through the bodies of others, and one finally settles with a determination you cannot absolve yourself from.
“If you long for me so summarily,” Your fingers trail up his lapels, up his neck, to the soft skin between his collar and jawline. He swallows, muscles tensing against your fingertips and you know you’ve got him, “Perhaps I can show you where I go where no one disturbs me. The gardens are beautiful at night, I’m sure you’re aware.”
He doesn’t answer at first, nor does he make any agreement until the song has drawn to a trembling end and silence hangs in the air for a second before the next song begins. He bends just enough to speak into your ear, slightly muffled by his mask, “And what would you have me do, princess?”
“The things you’re frightened of doing when we’re no longer obscured.”
And he laughs again, the proximity making your very bones hum with the frequency. His hand slips from your ribs to your back, and he holds you close enough that you feel as if you’ll never need to part from him again, “Oh, darling. If you asked this of me in the daylight, I’d be powerless to your will. There’s not a thing you could request that I’d deny. Take me where you wish, I am your shadow.”
Most doors are locked, but you have your ways of circumventing that rather easily. Despite being in the lead, his hands grasp at you and his fingers find those little cutouts in your dress that give the access he so desires as he follows along. You should be cold, with the season turning to Autumn and your state of dress, but with such simple actions he’s doing things to your body that make your blood run scorchingly hot.
The hedge maze, something you’ve memorized in its entirety since the time you could toddle around on your own two feet. No one bothers with it, especially not on an evening like tonight where the amusement and entertainment is to be had on the other side of the grounds rather than a well-trimmed, twisting formation of thick hedges.
Your destination is the center, where a fountain and benches and low-hanging trees would hide you, but it’s not meant to be. At least, not by your partner’s standards. When you pass a bench deep enough that there’s no chance of being found, that’s when he strikes. Laughter leaves you as he all but hoists you onto the bench, your back hitting the carved marble and immediately becoming chilled at the contact.
He seems to relish in that sound of delight, but coaxes something more languid and pleasant from you as his fingers find your hair and comb through it - the style’s been ruined, but you don’t have a single care for it when he’s hovering over you and surrounding you so thoroughly that you’re certain the rest of the world has ceased to exist.
“Tell me, princess, how much you’ll allow me to indulge in you?”
There’s not an ounce of hesitation as you answer, “Thoroughly, to your heart’s content.”
“My heart wouldn’t be content until I could call you my own in every sense of the word, princess,” His fingers glide down, slipping beyond the edges of your mask just enough to graze the skin of your temples before they go further down your cheek, your neck, the swell of your breast where he stops to squeeze through the fabric. Your breath catches at his clarification, the true depth of how much you’ve managed to affect him without even meaning to.
“I would take you as my wife, my queen. You’d want for nothing, everything that I am would be for you, and in return I would claim your heart, your body,” He abandons your chest to graze ever lower, to the waist of your skirts where he starts to bunch at the fabric, slowly but surely raising it higher and higher, “I would create an heir with you, as many as you desired, over and over again so that everyone knows you belong to me without hesitation.”
His words are raw, almost vulnerable with their confession despite the complete anonymity his mask gives. But you’re taken by them, and a sick little part of your heart coaxes you to imagine a face under that mask, one with mismatched eyes and a look of quiet disinterest in the world until he looks upon you with a quirk of his lips. The exception to it all, the reason your heart had been won so thoroughly in the first place by him.
Tonight, it’s Silco under that mask, and you grasp at his lapels to draw his attention, “Perhaps we can start on that tonight.”
“You would allow me, a stranger to you, to take a liberty that would ruin you so thoroughly?”
“You’re a stranger because you refuse to reveal yourself to me - but you said yourself that you know me, you mean no harm,” Grabbing at him is your only way of providing affection when he keeps himself masked, and you reach for his hair that gives immediately under your fingers with its softness, “But if you want the truth, perhaps there is a face I am imposing on you beneath that mask for my own comfort.”
“At risk of hurting myself, I’d like to know who I’m masquerading as this evening.”
Your skirts are pulled to their apex, and he settles himself between your parted thighs with intent. Would he turn from you, if you revealed who you wished he was? Would he simply step into that role so that the both of you could reach for dreams beyond your reach tonight? With a hope in your heart for the latter, you whisper, “Silco.”
And he freezes, fingers pressing into your inner thigh but going no further. His entire body screams of tension, of shock, and you regret your decision swiftly. You should have kept your thoughts to yourself, allowed your affections to fester rather than spill out for the first time since their conception.
He doesn’t pull away, nor does he advance. His mask simply stares at you with shock that you cannot see. Words come from him, deliberately pronounced as if he’s unsure how to say them, “Is that truly who you dream of? Who you wish would have said those words to you?”
“As you said - at the risk of hurting you… yes. Desperately, with every fiber of my being.”
The clatter of his mask hitting the ground startles you into flinching, but there’s nowhere to go with the bench at your back keeping you stationary. It matters little, not when lips press against yours with a fervency that makes you whine in longing. Your eyes are open, and met with cool blue and swirling red that stare into you with an unheard of heat.
Embarrassment should have been your first reaction for being so open with your feelings, but you realize as he pulls away with a shuddering breath that he’d been the first to display his heart so openly - you merely followed in his footsteps with your bravery.
Once more you flinch, but not from the sound or his kiss, but the feeling of his fingers having left your thigh to press against the fabric covering the apex of your thighs. Seeing him like this - unmasked, his face softened at every edge into something undeniably loving - arouses you far more than any physical act could.
“Tomorrow,” Silco starts, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Your eyes catch the movement, but you can’t stray from his eyes for too long as he presses his forehead against your own, “I will approach the King with a letter I've drafted for far too long. I will demand your hand with an offer he’d be a fool to refuse. You will be mine.”
The fabric of your underclothes are pushed to the side and you’re bare to his fingers as they glide along your arousal, from bottom to top where he circles your clit until you sigh his name in appreciation. It’s the encouragement he needs to swallow thickly and make another promise, “But tonight, I will take you just as I said I would - recklessly and with the hope that our irresponsibility is fruitful.”
The stretch of his two fingers is immediate, though he gives you but a moment to adjust before he works you with steady strokes and presses against the walls. You clutch at his shoulders, your nails digging into the lush fabric he wears until you’re sure you’ve left indentations that he’ll no doubt treasure. Silco openly watches your expression, easily seen even beyond the simple mask that you wear.
There’s a hardness against your thigh, foreign in sensation but you know of it just the same, and you shift to press against it more thoroughly in hopes of coaxing him to take you. His teasing is too much - he gives you no further fingers, he presses no deeper, and you’re desperate for something further. His lips curl, just as they do when he watches you from across the room, and your pulse stutters at the sight of it.
“Impatient. I didn’t lie to you - I could deny you nothing, and I’ll not begin now,” It’s a promise, punctuated with his fingers leaving you to travel to his own mouth instead. Watching his tongue drag across them is lewd, but you cannot look away as he keeps you trapped with his actions. What other wicked things could that tongue do?
The wonder doesn’t last long, quickly being discarded in favor of his swift fingers unbuttoning his pants and pushing them down enough to free his cock from its confines. Though you have nothing to go off of, your immediate thought is that it’s pretty - long, curved upward slightly, and flushed an urgent pink at the tip in a way that speaks volumes of his own arousal.
“Gaze all you want - it’s all for you, princess.”
“Give it to me, then.”
Silco doesn’t tease you for the impatience. Rather, he lifts your leg to his hips and guides himself to your entrance with words laced with the roughness of his need, “I’ve no doubt you’ll take everything I give you. Every inch of me, every drop of my release until you can handle no more.”
“And I’d still ask for it, nonetheless,” You’re breathless, and it only hitches further as he presses in slow and sure. You’re torn between pulling him close and asking him to wait, but before you know it your head is arched back and the bones of his hips are flush against your inner thighs. Silco’s fingers brush away the sweaty hairs at your temple, your skin still frightfully heated despite the chilled air.
“Look at you,” Silco marvels, trailing his hands down your face to your neck. The webbing of his thumb pressed just-so against your windpipe, and you know he felt the immediate jolt from your heart as his fingers press into the side of your neck, “I knew you’d be beautiful taking my cock like this, but you truly are a vision. Just when I think your radiance can’t grow further, you shine brighter. I wonder how much you’ll glow when you’re round with my child, hm?”
Your answer is a moan, lascivious and pleading for him to do more than let you adjust and talk you higher with his words. Silco obliges, but only enough to set an achingly slow pace that you can’t urge him to increase, “How many times do you think I’ll need to take you until I’ve put a baby in you? Just the once? It won’t stop us from pleasing one another, bred or not, but perhaps I’m a little selfish in hoping we’ll need to try again.”
“A-As many as you want, Silco-”
“We’ll work on that diplomacy. You’re so giving - you’ve offered me everything I’ve wanted tonight, wrapped in this pretty package,” Silco leans closer, his fingers pressing tighter into the sides of your neck until the world starts to waver in your vision. It makes your body tense, and you know you’ve tightened around him by the way his words cut off with a groan. You can nearly taste that sound on your tongue with his proximity, and you savor it.
“What do you get from all this, I wonder? What is it that I can provide you that another suitor cannot,” Silco emphasizes his words with a sharp, hard thrust. Even choked-off by his hand, you manage to yelp into the night air as he hits something deep inside that you’ve never felt before.
“I-I…”
His hand backs off enough for you to take a heaving breath, and as the world comes into focus, you’re captured by Silco’s burning gaze. The declaration leaves you with confidence you’ve never felt before in your life, its surety more concrete than anything before.
“I love you.”
Silco’s breath leaves him like a punch to his gut, and his free hand slams down onto the bench next to your head for purchase as he sets a pace that could almost be bruising if you could be bothered to care about it. He leverages himself with that hand on your neck - careful not to leave marks beyond a redness that will remain when his fingers leave you.
Silco doesn’t say the words back, or if he does you don’t hear them between the keening sounds leaving your throat that his fingers wrap around to choke you - lovingly, somehow. Words leave you, a jumbled mess that doesn't seem to make sense until you deliberately set your focus to pleading, “Release inside me, Silco… Claim m-me… Make me yours.”
“As if you need to beg me to fuck a baby into you, sweet thing,” Silco speaks this into your ear, his teeth grazing against the shell with a promise to bite down, one that he doesn’t act as until he finishes, “I’m going to fill you with my release until it drips down your thighs - or perhaps we’ll stay out here all evening with my cock inside you to keep it from leaking.”
“Please-”
Silco cuts you off with a kiss, harsh and a bit clumsy with the thrusting of his hips, but he rights himself in time to swallow the harsh sound of your orgasm as it rips out of you. It’s almost as electric as the feeling itself, your body reacting in ways you’ve never felt before. Silco lets you cling to him without complaint, even as your fingers tug harshly at his hair and your teeth catch on his lower lip until you’re sure he’s bleeding.
But he treats you just as roughly with his own release, squeezing almost too-hard at your neck and cutting away your air for a moment long enough to nearly be frightening. His own sharp teeth drag to your collarbone, biting down to muffle the sound of his pleasure as you feel his release inside you. Every wave of it feels almost euphoric and you’re almost certain you’re crying in some way.
Silco brushes the wetness of your eyes away before the tears can trail into your hairline, and the sensation feels so sweet that you nearly sob at the tenderness. His kiss comes next, so much softer than any of the ones before, and the realization hits you that you’re suddenly surrounded with everything you’d ever wanted.
In the morning, after Silco’s spirited you back to your rooms and assured your comfort in many ways, you sleep late enough that your ladies come to wake you with a vibrating happiness that is almost contagious. They make no mention of your quiet soreness or the way you linger in the bath for too long, but there are little smiles that you share with them that tell of your activities the night before.
And then the King summons you, with nothing but the Queen and Councilor Silco in the drawing room, and you can tell by Silco’s countenance that the deal has been struck.
10/10 for giving me what I need. I just love so many things about Slade/Dick.
I love pairings with dangerous trade offs
Works as endgame OR a threat to Dick’s safety
(Which means 2 different ways to get hurt/comfort out of it ❤)
Outsider POV! The fam wants to know wtf is going on
It just knows my id way, way too well ❤❤
I’m gonna draw a ternary diagram, ok
I mentioned [here] what I thought Dick needed from a partner: 1) someone to pay attention to his needy ass, 2) Someone who can overcome his tendency to fall in love with new people, 3) Someone who make him take a fucking break before he burns out saying yes to everyone who asks him for help.
Slade is equal to all these tasks, and he and Dick have excellent chemistry. But that doesn’t take into account that in many versions of Slade, he is a very bad man.
Hence the Ternary Diagram! I will read a fic from anywhere on this fucking diagram. Some days a dirty bad wrong PWP from the noncon corner is what I want. Someone days I prefer a (arguably non-canon) Slade from the h/c corner who forms a big dangerous wall between Dick and whoever’s hurting him (and gives him the hugs Batman won’t). XD
But we have all this space in the middle right? Slade/Dick combines dubcon and and dominance and hurt/comfort in ways I wouldn’t have expected. In that middle space, you get:
To Conciliate a Tiger by Rubynye, which is dubcon/noncon because Slade has coerced Dick into 24 hours of sexual companionship for intel that Dick needs to save lives. But at the same time, you can tell Dick trusts Slade. And what does Slade do with 24 hours of control over Dick? Yes, they have sex, but also Slade ties Dick down and feeds him really expensive sushi. And just generally pampers him and tries to get Dick to stop running himself ragged. And it is… strangely comforting… to read? I remember reading this for the first time and just thinking, “Oh.”
Slade/Dick has this great mix of “I’m going to control you” and “I’m going to take very good care of you while I do”. Which is something I think Dick finds very hard not to react to, especially when he’s been running himself into the ground. Dick wants attention and affirmation. Slade is more than willing to do that, but the price can be very steep. And I’m not saying this is a good thing. But it sets up this GREAT TRADE OFF.
I love Slade/Dick for the trade offs.
You can change Slade/Dick from “Could work” to “Someone rescue Dick NOW” just by dialing up Slade’s need for control or twisting his idea of “taking care of Dick”.
Or you can dial it back down! And get some very satisfying hurt/comfort in which Slade is still a Mostly Bad Man but the outcome is mostly positive for Dick:
What No Man Wants to Lose by firefright, Skalidra (Dick has to rescue current comics Slade, who is (for now) more heroic than not)
Give Me a Break by Skalidra (Slade is guarding the shipment Dick needs to destroy. It goes badly for Dick right up until the bad guys ask Slade to go to far.)
This Night by Mikimoo (A jaydick story in which they (accidentally) call Slade for help when they need extraction. Slade is dangerous and morally gray but he’s got a weird connection with Dick. FYI, story contains off screen rape.)
And then there’s my other favorite genre, in which Slade is nicer than he ever would be in canon but I don’t care:
If There’s a Prize for Rotten Judgement (I’ve Already Won That) by DCdork (hurt/comfort where a deeply exhausted Dick passes out in Slade’s safehouse)
Safest Place in the World by Skalidra (Dick takes TIGER to Slade’s safehouse. Tiger is not amused. XD)
Remember the period in comics when Nightwing was the most widely respected and trusted hero (aka the best period)? That shit doesn’t come free. Heroes are reaching out to Dick for help and Dick is saying yes. That’s great! Except when you have someone like Dick who craves constant affection and affirmation, but who was raised by Bruce “I can raise the bar higher” Wayne.
The kid is not good at saying no, is what I’m saying.
And it is so good for me for Slade to be this dangerously appealing way to escape that. Just for a little while – as long as Dick’s sure he can escape his escape. Isn’t that a great fantasy though? To have someone stronger and scarier and meaner than ALL your responsibilities who can just make them go away for a little while? *happy sigh*
Some closing thoughts:
Bruce loves Dick truly and deeply but he can’t show it. Slade’s love is (usually) neither true nor deep, but he is very willing to show it. Talk about seductive.
My ideal Slade/Dick has either JayDick or DickDami as endgame. Ultimately Dick is too much a leader and a control freak to let himself be owned by Slade for long without hurting himself. And I love the idea of Jason or Damian struggling to understand what Dick gets from Slade and if they can give him that instead. (I just get this image of Dick bursting into peals of laughter: “You’re going to dominate me?” and Jason not taking that well. He is very large! And angry! He could do it, you asshole!)
That said, I would read endgame Slade/Dick in a heartbeat if the circumstances are set up to make me believe it. Like Skalidra and Firefright’s What No Man Wants to Lose or darker AUs like When nobody else is looking by Petra (read the epilogue at the end too!)
I love that even when Slade/Dick is comparatively healthy there’s still an element of danger and walking a knife’s edge to keep it interesting. Mmmmm yes. ❤
I know this is a long post - but omg it gave me feels. Can you imagine how intense their love had to be to survive how homophobic it was back then. 😭😭😭
can we get rid of the concept that boys don’t like mushy romantic lovey-dovey shit? boys can like dates. boys can like flowers. boys can like gentle kisses. boys can like rom-coms. boys can be overwhelmed with adoration and appreciation. they need to be taken care of emotionally just as much as anyone else does. spoil them, treat them like kings. let them cry without having to worry about judgement. play with their hair. be the big spoon sometimes. give them spontaneous gifts. let them rant and whine. comfort them. guys have emotional needs. they need to be taken care of, too. love your boy the way you want your boy to love you y'all
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