come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto
synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.
word count; 4.6k
contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues
a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33
”holy shit!”
the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.
”satoru, it’s too early for this...”
”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.
your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.
(snowing.)
with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.
satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.
maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.
it’s beautiful.
satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.
all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.
the first snow of the year.
and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.
there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.
like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.
and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.
(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.
and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)
high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.
and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.
a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.
he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.
— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.
satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.
(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)
”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”
he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.
it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.
so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.
satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.
”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.
”never.”
a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.
a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”
and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.
his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”
his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.
he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.
when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.
you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.
hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.
satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.
because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.
what more could a man want?
”hey, idiots!”
the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.
”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”
”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.
suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.
(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)
with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.
”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.
then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”
satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”
a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”
a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”
and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”
satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.
despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”
”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.
”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”
satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.
suguru sighs.
”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”
his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.
he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.
when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.
the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.
(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.
and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)
suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.
when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.
that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.
”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.
satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”
but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”
a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”
you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”
a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.
and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.
his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.
and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.
(i'm sorry, you big baby.)
satoru grins.
you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.
”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”
he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”
”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”
”and don’t play dumb, either.”
a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”
said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.
and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.
”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”
satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”
you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”
”hmph.”
suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.
and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.
that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.
this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.
(married.)
sometimes he still can’t believe it.
”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”
and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.
and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.
your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.
his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.
(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)
and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.
a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.
and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.
”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”
”— you’re disgusting.”
the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.
and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.
you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.
then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”
”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.
silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.
”… santa can only do so much, baby.”
two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.
”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”
you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”
”of course not! blasphemy.”
a moment passes.
”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”
a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.
then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.
he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.
and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.
he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.
for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?
(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)
— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.
it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.
and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.
warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.
he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.
and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.
he hopes it never goes away.
3K notes
·
View notes
A compilation of my favorite hannigram quotes, related lines or conversations throughout the series.
— Uhm... Just because?
S01E01: Apéritif
Hannibal: "God forbid we become friendly."
Will: "I don't find you that interesting."
Hannibal: "You will."
S01E04: Oeuf
Hannibal: "Feeling paternal, Will?"
Will: "Aren't you?"
Hannibal: "Yes."
S01E09: Trou Normand
Hannibal (to Will): "Who knows Abigail better than you and I? All the burden she bears. We are her fathers now. We have to serve her better than Garrett Jacob Hobbs."
S02E01: Kaiseki
Hannibal: "I miss him."
Bedelia: "You are obsessed with Will Graham."
Hannibal: "I am intrigued."
Bedelia: "Obsessively."
S02E09: Shiizakana
Hannibal (to Will): "No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love, we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved’s potential comes true. I love you, Will."
S02E10: Naka-Choko
Hannibal: "Stay with me."
Will: "Where else would I go?"
–/–
Alana: "It's just hard to know where you are with each other."
Will: "We know where we are with each other. Shouldn't that be enough?"
S02E12: Tome-wan
Will (to Hannibal): "You're right. We are just alike. You're as alone as I am. And we're both alone without each other."
–/–
Will (to Hannibal): "I bond with Abigail, you take her away. I bond with barely more than the idea of a child, you take it away. You saw to it that I alienated Alana, alienated Jack. You don't want me to have anything in my life that isn't you."
-/-
Hannibal: "Achilles lamenting the death of Patroclus. Whenever he's mentioned in the Iliad, Patroclus seems to be defined by his empathy."
Will: "He became Achilles on the field of war. He died for him there, wearing his armor."
Hannibal: "He did. Hiding and revealing identity is a constant theme throughout the Greek epics."
Will: "As are battle-tested friendships."
Hannibal: "Achilles wished all Greeks would die, so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. Took divine intervention to bring them down."
S02E13: Mizumono
Hannibal: "We could disappear now. Tonight. Feed your dogs, leave a note for Alana, and never see her or Jack again. Almost polite."
Will: "Then this would be our last supper."
Hannibal: "Of this life. I served lamb."
Will: "Sacrificial."
Hannibal: "I don't need a sacrifice, do you?"
–/–
Will: "You were supposed to leave."
Hannibal: "We couldn't leave without you."
...
Hannibal: "Time did reverse. The teacup that I shattered did come together. A place was made for Abigail in your world... You understand? A place was made for all of us, together. I wanted to surprise you. And you... you wanted to surprise me. I let you know me. See me. I gave you a rare gift. But you didn't want it."
Will: "Didn't I?"
...
Hannibal: "Do you believe you could change me, the way I've changed you?"
Will: "I already did."
Hannibal: "Fate and circumstance has returned us to this moment— when the teacup shatters. I forgive you, Will. Will you forgive me?"
S03E02: Primavera
Will: "A valentine written on a broken man."
–/–
Will: "I do feel closer to Hannibal here. God only knows where I'd be without him."
Abigail: "What did you see?"
Will: "He left us his broken heart."
Abigail: "How did he know we were here?"
Will: "He didn't. But he knew we'd come."
Abigail: "He misses us."
S03E03: Secondo
Hannibal: "He said he forgave me."
...
Bedelia: "Betrayal and forgiveness are best seen as something akin to falling in love."
Hannibal: "You cannot control with respect to whom you fall in love."
–/–
Chiyoh: "How do you know Hannibal?"
Will: "One could argue intimately."
Chiyoh: "'Nakama'? It's a Japanese word for very close friends."
Will: "Yes, we were 'nakama'."
–/–
Chiyoh: "Why are you looking for him after he left you with a smile?"
Will: "I've never known myself as well as I know myself when I'm with him."
–/–
Jack: “Will Graham understands Hannibal. He accepts him. Now, who among us doesn’t want understanding and acceptance?”
–/-
Bedelia: “What your sister made you feel was beyond your conscious ability to control or predict."
Hannibal: "Or negotiate."
Bedelia: "I would suggest what Will Graham makes you feel is not dissimilar. A force of mind and circumstance.”
Hannibal: “Love. He pays you a visit or he doesn't.”
S03E04: Aperitivo
Jack: "You remember when you decided to call Hannibal?"
Will: "I wasn't decided when I called him. I just called him. I deliberated while the phone rang. I decided when I heard his voice."
Jack: "You told him we knew."
Will: "I told him to leave. 'Cause I wanted him to run."
Jack: "Why?"
Will: "Because... because he was my friend. And because I wanted to run away with him."
–/–
Dr. Chilton: "Will Graham is alive because Hannibal Lecter likes him that way."
Jack: "Maybe it's one of those friendships that ends after the disemboweling."
Dr. Chilton: "I would argue, with these two, that's tantamount to flirtation."
S03E06: Dolce
Jack: "Hannibal will slip away. Will you slip away with him?"
Will: "Part of me will always want to."
–/–
Hannibal: "If I saw you everyday, forever, Will, I would remember this time."
Will: "Strange seeing you here in front of me. Been staring at afterimages of you in places you haven't been in years."
...
Will: "I wanted to understand you... before I laid eyes on you again. I needed it to be... clear. What I was seeing."
Hannibal: "Where does the difference between the past and the future come from?"
Will: "Mine?"... "Before you and after you."
...
Will: "You and I... have begun to blur."
Hannibal: "Isn't that how you found me?"
Will: "Every crime of yours, feels like one I'm guilty of. Not just Abigail's murder, every murder. Stretching backward and forward in time."
Hannibal: "Freeing yourself from me and me freeing myself from you. They're the same."
Will: "We're conjoined. I'm curious whether either of us can survive separation."
S03E07: Digestivo
Hannibal: "Do we talk about teacups and time, and the rules of the disorder?"
Will: "The teacup's broken. It's never gonna gather itself back together again."
Hannibal: "Not even in your mind?"... "Your memory palace is building, it's full of new things. It shares some rooms with my own. I've discovered you there, victorious."
Will: "When it comes to you and me, there can be no decisive victory."
Hannibal: "We are a zero-sum game?"
Will: "I miss my dogs. I'm not going to miss you. I'm not going to find you. I'm not going to look for you. I don't want to know where you are or what you do. I don't want to think about you anymore."
Hannibal: "You delight in wickedness and then berate yourself for the delight."
Will: "You delight. I tolerate... I don't have your appetite."
Will: "Goodbye, Hannibal."
–/–
Hannibal (to Will): "I want you to know exactly where I am, or where you can always find me."
S03E09: ...and the Woman Clothed with the Sun
Hannibal: "Is there a child in your life, Will? I gave you a child, if you recall."
–/–
Will: "You called us "murder husbands.""
Freddie Lounds: "You did run off to Europe together."
S03E10: ...and the Woman Clothed in Sun
Bedelia: "Have you been to see him?"
Will: "Yes."
Bedelia: "You haven't learned your lesson have you? Or did you just miss him that much?"
–/–
Bedelia (to Will): "My relationship with Hannibal isn't as passionate as yours. You are here visiting an old flame. Is your wife aware how intimately you and Hannibal know each other?"
S03E11: ...and the Beast from the Sea
Will (to Hannibal): "I'm not fortune's fool. I'm yours."
S03E12: The Number of the Beast is 666
Will: "Is Hannibal... in love with me?"
Bedelia: "Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for you and find nourishment at the very sight of you?... Yes. But do you ache for him?"
S03E13: The Wrath of the Lamb
Hannibal: "When life becomes maddeningly polite, think about me. Think about me, Will. Don't worry about me."
–/–
Will: "I knew you wanted me to know exactly where I could find you when I needed to."
Hannibal: "And you did."
Will: "I need you Hannibal." ... "Please."
–/–
Will: "It really does look black in the moonlight."
Hannibal: "See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us."
Will: "It's beautiful."
283 notes
·
View notes
Fluent Freshman - Part 12
PREVIOUS
If there was one thing no one would ever guess about FF it is that he unapologetically LOVES Black Friday.
You may be thinking. Ugh Black Friday. Everyone is so rude and tired. The deals aren’t even that good. It can turn into a blood sport at the drop of a hat over a toaster that is 15% off.
You are correct.
That is why FF loves it.
It is the one shopping day of the year where every single one of his instincts are correct, valid, and useful. He has pulled his gran out of the way of elbow drops, he has avoided the gaze of a woman in PINK sweat pants who was looking for someone to steal a blender from, and he knows without a doubt that the cashier hates him already so there’s no need to worry about whether or not they hate him.
It’s like a breath of fresh air!
Everyone is just as antagonistic and awful as he thinks they are!
Shopping is actually the blood sport he always feels like it is!
So there he is standing in a line at the nearest store (Target) waiting to be let in with the masses who all look ready to stab one another for better positioning for a TV. The jokes on them though because his only goal is the grocery section and he deals with the threat of repeated stabbings for BREAKFAST.
He spots an IHOP in the distance and hopes his gran doesn’t feel too lonely. They’ve gotten buttermilk stacks together at the IHOP by the mall for years after the two of them finished Christmas Shopping.
Someone elbows him in the side to get his spot in line but FF does not really care. Again, he doubts any of these people are going to be racing him to the all purpose flour.
It’s 4 AM and the barricades come down.
There’s a rush of people pushing and shoving but FF just steps to the side and watches as they all rush in. He’d mostly stayed in the line because the throng of people made it easier to stay warm. He had left his jacket back at the house because the five hour energy might be making his skin feel super sensitive but he is pretty sure that if he wore his nylon jacket he would die.
The five hour energy also may be upping his anxiety just a little bit.
He walks into the store at a leisurely pace and while the crowd fights over the carts he grabs one of the baskets. He can feel the eyes of other shoppers all wondering if he has some insider knowledge on a good deal that would only require the basket or if it’s a matter of who gets to the back to receive the ‘redeem’ coupon.
He sees a few shoppers get lured in by his siren call and much like a siren following anything that FF is about to do will undoubtedly lead to their downfall.
But FF doesn’t care about that.
He cares about HIS downfall.
So he makes his way to the grocery section and ignores the six different shopping assistants who try and guide him to where he ‘should’ be shopping and each of them only give him increasingly confused looks when he states his intention to go to the grocery section every single time.
Is it easier to ignore their stares when the five hour energy have set his baseline heart rate to something that might be too fast to register as a heartbeat? Maybe.
It is easier to ignore the confusion on their faces when he can see both the past (he asked for TWO favors from Andrew in one day how is he still alive???) and the future (still malleable at the moment apparently. There’s even a future where Andrew actually just is trying to make overtures of friendship but he dismisses that one as INCREDIBLY unlikely and looks at the far more viable one where Andrew at least makes his death quick while he enjoys his great gran’s brownies.)
It’s good to set reasonable goals for yourself.
So he arrives at the grocery section which is deserted aside from one employee who may or may not be asleep against a shelf. FF looks and….not a shelf he needs so he is not about to wake that poor man up.
So he gets everything he needs for his great gran’s brownies (he’s trying to buy his life here so he is not about to assume he can use ANYTHING in the house), the ingredients for a good breakfast (because he really needs to eat something that is not a five hour energy or sugar for the sake of his poor stomach and he may as well get enough for everyone), and (since Captain Neil mentioned it & he is trying to buy his life here) the ingredients to bake another pie.
While he grabs cinnamon he checks to see if they have grandma’s love in stock but, alas, it continues to be unavailable commercially.
He stares at the whipped cream for so long that the employee asleep in the other aisle woke up and asked if he needed help and, startled, he dropped it in his basket. “No I’m good.” He says before power walking out of the grocery department and deciding to brave the Home Goods section to buy some incense so that he can hopefully channel the spirit of his great gran to assist him in this, the darkest of his baking hours.
He arrives at the check out stations and finds the shortest line .
He can feel eyes on him, inspecting his purchases, judging them, judging him, who the fuck goes grocery shopping during the Black Friday rush?
FF.
FF goes grocery shopping during the Black Friday rush.
The cashier looks for hidden cameras but FF has no such thing accompanying him today or ever (as far as he knows.)
After a moment the cashier must look at the ever growing line and decide that whatever scheme they think FF is up to isn’t worth trying to figure out. They offer a membership card, FF valiantly declines to get one despite the two attempts.
He is out the door with four bags of groceries that all have a target on them that feels a little too correct. It’s 6 AM now (he really did lose a lot of time at the whipped cream section) and he’s walking back to the house in Columbia.
He actually feels a little bit better since he at least got to experience his actual favorite blood sport (sorry Exy) and he even got another 2 five hour energies while he was in the check out line so he could replace some of the ones that he had gone through.
“Smith?”
He would like to thank the combined weight of the groceries for keeping his feet on the ground when he heard Captain Neil’s voice.
He turns and Captain Neil is looking at him wide-eyed in his running gear that Smith has seen him in. “You were shopping??” He asks.
FF nods and lifts up the four bags as evidence. “Why didn’t you pick up your phone?” He asks.
FF almost scoffs but he doesn’t, “You can’t be distracted when you’re in a Target on Black Friday. That’s how you take an elbow to the eye.” He responds because it’s like Captain Neil has never experienced the WWE-like environment of Black Friday shopping.
Captain Neil blinks at him.
“Text Andrew or me next time you’re going to go off into the night or just let us know beforehand. Andrew would have driven you.” Captain Neil says and grabs two of the bags out of FF’s hand. “C’mon let’s get back and maybe you can get some sleep.” Captain Neil sighs.
“I’m fine.” FF adjusts the bags so he has one in each hand.
Captain Neil does not say anything so FF assumes that he has accepted that.
***
FF had not been asleep on the couch when Neil had walked through the living room. Neil, in a move that had Andrew fully waking up, went back to the room to check his phone to see if FF had texted him an update on going out. All that greets Neil is the impersonal series of texts that mostly confirmed when practice times had been changed, when the bus was leaving, and spelling on various Spanish words.
FF isn’t a big text person.
He’s more of an in-person kind of friend.
Neil likes that about him most of the time.
“What.” Andrew asks face still half buried in Neil’s pillow.
“Smith isn’t on the couch.”
That has Andrew getting up despite the early hour and their activities the night before. Neil watches as Andrew grabs his own phone to scroll through but seems to come up with the same lack of communication that Neil does.
Andrew does do the extra step and hit the call button.
But all he gets is the confirmation that the VM has not been configured that has greeted them every time FF misses their calls. (Voicemails make FF anxious so when he got his new phone he just…never configured it.)
Neil knew that FF was not pleased with them and somehow the calm request to either stop fooling around or let him out had hit him and Andrew harder than any of the screaming demands that the two of them were usually met with from Nicky, Kevin, Aaron, or any of the other Foxes.
“You said he wasn’t mad.” Neil says.
“He nodded.” Andrew confirms.
“Maybe he went on a walk?” Neil tries as they come out to the living room. They look at the front door and find that it’s locked but it looks like Aaron’s keys are gone. “He probably is going to come back if he took Aaron’s keys since Aaron wouldn’t be the one he’d be irritated with.” Neil rationalizes.
“He didn’t bring his jacket.” Andrew says looking at the black jacket still on the hook by the door.
“We can go and see if we spot him.” Neil offers.
Andrew nods and Neil heads out first since Andrew is still in his sleeping clothes and will need some time.
Neil had not expected to find FF walking back to the house with groceries for breakfast and the pie that Neil had mentioned hoping they could bake at the house.
“Is this for the pie?” He asks looking down at what was in the bags he was carrying as the walked back to the house. Neil managed to shoot off a quick text letting Andrew know that it was fine, FF just went grocery shopping.
FF just nods, “Got everything but Grandma’s love.” He says.
FF is a nice guy to brave the stores on a morning like this but FF also looks like he hasn’t slept a wink.
“Did you sleep at all last night?” Neil asks.
“I’m fine.” FF repeats.
Neil really is starting to understand his friends’ hatred for the phrase.
They get back to the house and Andrew is sat out in the living room. FF stops and blinks at the sight of him sitting there.
It is a well-known fact that Andrew does not willingly wake up early most days unless he has to. Neil is glad that Andrew has a friend that he’s coming to care about the way Andrew cares about FF.
Andrew gets up and yanks the bags out of FF’s hands. “Go to sleep. Today will be irritating if you’re half-asleep.” He says with a scowl and walks to the kitchen to put away the groceries FF had bought.
FF just looks at where Andrew had gone uncomprehendingly for a few moments and Neil figures he’s just tired. Neil feels guilty that him and Andrew messing around in the car like that had rendered FF unable to sleep and the two of them had agreed last night that from now on when FF is in the car they can talk all they want but hands stay on the wheel and eyes stay on the road.
FF is plopped down on the couch when Andrew and Neil come out of the kitchen after putting away the groceries (“These are the ingredients for brownies.” Andrew had noted as he put away melting chocolate.) and he’s looking through his flashcards again and not sleeping. He hears Andrew make a disgusted noise next to him and the next thing he knows Andrew is smacking the cards out of FF’s hands.
“Go. To. Sleep.” Andrew enunciates.
FF stares at him, then down at the flashcards. “I don’t think I can.” He says which is better than him lying and saying he wasn’t tired even if the truth had Andrew’s mouth stretch into a thin line that meant he was beating himself up for something.
“Try.” Andrew orders. “Just lay down and close your eyes. Nothing will happen to you while you’re sleeping.” He says.
FF blinks but nods turning on the couch and laying down. The blanket is still over on the lazy boy that Neil had set it on the night before and Andrew rolls his eyes before grabbing it and tossing it over FF.
“Thanks.” FF says before closing his eyes.
Neil looks to Andrew who nods and Neil accepts that there’s nothing else to be done for now and heads out on his run.
***
FF can admit that he’s a bit adrift in what Andrew and Captain Neil are doing right now.
He really should go grab another five hour energy because falling asleep IN FRONT of an irritated Andrew Minyard feels like a death sentence but “Nothing will happen to you while you’re sleeping.” And having a blanket thrown over him did not feel like a threat even if he can feel Andrew’s eyes watching him.
FF is tired and when he’s tired he tends to make stupid decisions. So FF lets himself drift off to sleep while the man who was likely going to move him to a secondary location sat and watched.
His dreams are not peaceful.
He’s running, can’t escape, an echo of words he should have considered before letting himself drift off and he knows he’s going to DIE.
He wakes up with a start to the smell of bacon, eggs, and hashed browns with Nicky standing over him. “Hey there sleeping beauty! I made you a plate!” He says and hands FF a plate of breakfast that smiles up at him with a bacon mouth, egg eyes, and hashed brown hair.
FF takes the plate and digs in immediately. He needs his strength.
“Today will be irritating if you’re half-asleep.”
Andrew Minyard was going to hunt him for SPORT.
NEXT
Do your civic duty and: CAST YOUR VOTE TODAY ABOUT MEMES (closed)
Per Your Requests:
@i-have-three-feelings @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie
@theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun
As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you didn’t get a notification there might be something switched around in your settings that won’t let me tag you properly? (Cheesecookie whatever you did let me actually select you this time)
513 notes
·
View notes