#this is not a new thought by any chance it's been floating around but I wanted to gif it hehe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hugshughes · 3 days

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Liquid Courage J. McCarthy

JJ McCarthy x fem!reader

synopsis - JJ calls you in the middle of the night, inebriated and affectionate. His confessions leave your heart heavy as he sleeps off his drunken haze on your couch. It isn't until the next morning JJ realizes the extent of what he's admitted.

wc - 3.4k

contains - UNEDITED! super cute! alcohol consumption, underage alcohol consumption, JJ gets drunk, eating, hugging. ALL WHILE SOBER: kissing, touching, makin out kinda. reader is insecure about herself (even though she's so cute and pretty), drunk confession, reader gets sad, cursing, i think that's it! oh takes place like october of last year! Rushed ending sorry

an - based on THIS request! LOVEEEEEEDDDDD THIS REQUEST SO MUCH! this was so cute loved it!! #imnotdead :D

You hummed to yourself as you pranced around your kitchen, the banana bread you just put in the oven leaving the aroma of your apartment warm. Your hair was in a braid down your back, your adorable pink striped Victoria's Secret pajamas soft against your skin. Music played from your Alexa, your nighttime playlist floating through the air, one of Olivia Rodrigo's new songs gracing your ears.

The thick socks covering your feet kept them from the cold of the linoleum in your bathroom. You took out your contacts, throwing them out before slipping on your glasses. You grabbed your phone off the counter after exiting the bathroom, seeing a couple Snapchat notifications, some from TikTok, and a few messages from your best friend. All three of her texts had said something along the lines of how you should've come out tonight. The third one said how JJ McCarthy was asking where you were. You sighed, turning your phone back off and checking on your banana bread.

JJ had been your friend since freshman year. He was very sweet and so kind. He was so mature and was one of the most polite people you knew. You'd always thought he was extremely cute, I mean, who didn't think that? He had the cutest smile, and the softest dirty blonde hair. His blue eyes were gorgeous. He'd started his little flirting game with you about halfway through sophomore year. He'd compliment you endlessly whenever you saw him, he'd randomly ask you out in the middle of a conversation. That same smile on his face, bright as ever. You, of course, took it all as a joke, a cruel one at that. You assumed JJ was just a flirty guy with a flirty personality, you'd experienced it before. There was zero chance someone like JJ McCarthy would like you.

"Come on. You guys really think he's being serious when he says that stuff?"

"Yes! We do, because he likes you, and it's so obvious. He doesn't talk to us like that, does he?"

You rolled your eyes. Starting to get pissed with them. Your brain could not compute the idea of JJ really liking you.

"Why in the world would JJ McCarthy, probably the most eligable bachelor on the campus of Michigan, like me? I'm not one of the prettiest girls at Mich, let alone am I the prettiest girl that likes him!"

Sometimes you would wonder that if you thought you were pretty, then maybe you'd believe them. You had bad underlying insecurities that stopped you from believing that any guy would like you, let alone someone like JJ.

You leaned your forehead against your silver fridge, the cool of the metal relaxing you. You could hear its low whirring and humming with your proximity to it. The sound occupying your brain as a white noise, leading you to close your eyes. You might've actually fallen asleep if the timer for your bread didn't go off, you scrambling to shout at your Alexa to, 'Please, stop!' You grabbed oven mitts and grabbed the tray after sticking a toothpick into it to check the middle. You set the pan down on your cooling rack, sliding your gloves off. You grabbed your phone and paused your music, going to sit on the couch while your bread cooled.

You stalked your friends Snapchat stories, they were all having fun at the big party everyone seemed to be attending. You halted when you saw your best friend's private story, you knew it only had a handful of people so she posted silly and random things on it.

What she'd posted was a zoomed in photo of what resembled JJ McCarthy with his head thrown back against the couch of whatever frat house they were in. His face looked miserable, and the caption on the photo was saying how that's how she too reacted when you didn't come to parties. You immediately slid up, typing in all caps telling her to shut up. You said how he was not upset over you, and how she was stupid and drunk. It was all lighthearted, you both knew it.

She immediately typed back to you, claiming he'd drunkenly asked her at least four times where you were and why you didn't want to come see him. You giggled to yourself, believing it for just a few moments. You typed to her for a few more minutes before your phone started vibrating in your hand, JJ's contact coming onto your screen. You were met with the photo you'd had him saved with, him smiling that bright beautiful smile across the table from you at Panera sometime during last school year. What was JJ calling you for? You slid to answer, holding your phone to your ear. It was oddly quiet on his end, though he was actively attending a party. He called your name, and you called his.

"JJ? What's up? Are you alright?"

"Hi! Oh my gosh, hi. I can't believe you aren't here right now, I was only excited to see you."

You smiled sadly, he was endearing, and so totally plastered.

"Aw, JJ, I'm sorry. Where are you? It's pretty quiet for a party."

"Oh, yeah. I'm just in the bathroom, standin' around. I got bored. Ya' know, I miss you."

He was so drunk, his words were melting together, but his happiness stayed solid throughout.

"Jay, are you alright? Do you need someone to help you leave? Is Blake there? Colston?"

"You should, we can hang out! But yeah, he's 'round here somewhere. Lemme go get 'im."

You said okay, letting the boy look for his friend. The noise on his end got louder as he left the bathroom. You giggled when you heard him shout hey at random people around the house. You heard JJ call your name into his phone, then again.

"JJ, I'm still here. Any luck finding Colston?"

"Why don't you jus' go marry Colston if he's all 'yer gonna talk about"

You barely heard it, he muttered it with the phone a few inches from his mouth. You were shocked at the words JJ said. What?

"What, JJ?"

"Wish y'were talkin' about me."

You smiled, still a bit confused. His drunk mind was extremely silly.

"I'm talking to you, aren't I? The only boy's call I'd pick up this late."

JJ was ecstatic, smiling brightly as he continued through the party, looking for his teammates.

"I see him! Colston! Come here buddy, she wants to talk to you."

You heard a confused colston mutter 'Who's she?' before he took the phone from JJ, seeing your contact before talking to you.

"Oh hey, what's up?"

"JJ is like, absolutely plastered if you couldn't tell. Are you all good? I asked him and he told me he wanted me to pick him up. If I come get him can you bring him to my car? I'm already in my pajamas."

"Yeah, think Jay'll definitely love that. Kid hasn't stopped asking about you since we got here. I'll have him outside whenever 'ya get here."

You responded with an affirmative, thanking Colston. He handed the phone back to JJ, who was very happy to hear your voice again.

"Hey! What's up? Colston said you're coming to get me."

"Yeah, I'll see you in a couple minutes, okay Jay?"

"Awesome."

He hung up and you giggled. How did you go from an innocent call with the boy to asking him if he needed to be picked up? You shook your head at yourself, standing and grabbing your keychain.

You left your apartment and drove to the house you knew the party was at. Your friends had told you which house it was in case you changed your mind and came. It was less than ten minutes before you were in front of the bustling house, seeing two boys standing on the sidewalk.

You rolled down the window as they walked over, shouting hey to them. JJ was visibly drunk, stumbling just a little as he leaned into your car, a big smile on his face.

"Hi, pretty."

"Hi, JJ."

Colston helped his teammate into the car, making sure you were good to take care of the boy.

"Yeah, we'll be fine, Colst. I'll let 'im have my couch for tonight. I'll text you if I need anything!"

He nodded, lightly slapping the side of your car twice before retreating to the house. You turned your music back on, leaving it at a low volume as you turned around to drive home. You glanced at JJ and noticed the biggest pout on his face.

"JJ McCarthy. I know I didn't just drive over here to get you just for you to be pouting when you get in my car."

"Just text Colston about it, why don't you?"

You busted out giggling. Drunk JJ was such a treat. His jealousy over your friendship with his teammate was incredibly hilarious.

"I might if you don't start bein' nice t'me."

"Sorry 'm being mean."

He barely murmured it, though it was all you needed. You smiled brightly at him, laughing to yourself. JJ never got drunk, he usually opted for just a drink or two, or being the designated driver.

You got home quickly, making small talk with the now sleepy boy. You parked in your spot, hopping out of the car and walking around the hood to help JJ out. He'd stayed at yours after a party once or twice before, but it had always been with a couple other people. Tonight it was just you two.

You walked in, stepping into the elevator right behind JJ. The two of you stepped out of the elevator as the machine dinged and the doors slid open. JJ grabbed your hand as you walked down the hall to your door. You glanced at him, softly smiling. His eyes were barely open, but he still had a smile on his face. You didn't take the action as anything serious, JJ was a physical touch kind of person. He was always hugging people, patting shoulders, bumping fists. He was extra physical with you though, not that you noticed. You were the only girl he ever really acted like that with, again, not to your acknowledgment.

You wouldn't let yourself believe he liked you. Convinced it would hurt too much when eventually he got a prettier, skinnier, bubblier, more likable girlfriend and left you in the dust. JJ had eyes solely for you, though. He only ever looked at you. He asked anyone and everyone if they knew where you were or if you were coming to the party for God's sake.

You closed the door behind JJ and locked it, telling him to make himself at home. He took his shoes off, trying to neatly organize them in your shoe cubby. He wandered over to the couch as you kicked your shoes off and entered your kitchen. You grabbed a cold water bottle, two Ibuprofen tablets and two Tylenol tablets, the perfect hangover cure. You noticed your still warm banana bread sitting on the counter, perking up.

"Jay, do you want some banana bread?"

You heard his footsteps then saw him come around the corner, his eyebrows raised.

"Hell yes."

You giggled, gesturing for him to come stand by you. You flipped the pan over onto the cooling rack, opening the drawer directly in front of you, pulling out a bread knife. You felt a head slip into the crook of your neck, warm breath on your neck. Heat rushed your face, JJ's contagious smile spreading to you.

"Hi, crazy."

You pointed to the water and pills on the counter as you swerved out of his reach, going to grab a cutting board and a plate.

"Take those and your head won't hurt in the morning. Well, I don't know how much you drank, but that'll definitely make it better."

He nodded, immediately following your directions. He gulped down half of the water bottle while you came back over, laying the loaf of bread on the cutting board. You cut a couple pieces off, setting one onto the plate before sliding it over to JJ. He smiled at you, beginning to devour his snack. Hopefully it would absorb some of the alcohol in his stomach.

"You're amazing, you know."

He said it in a way that made it seem like he meant it on a deeper level than you'd usually assume. He said it like he truly did believe that, and it wasn't just because you fed him warm banana bread. You shook your head, brushing it off as you tore of pieces from your slice.

"No, don't shake your head a'me. You are. You act like you're not but y'are."

He was too good at making you feel special. You were just too scared to believe any of it.

"I just like to take care of people I like."

You smiled innocently at him, shrugging your shoulders as you moved to grab a proper storage container for your bread.

"And I just like when the girl I like believes me when I tell her she's amazing."

You froze in your spot. Sure, JJ had flirted with you for about a year. But, he'd never downright told you he liked you. He's drunk out of his mind. You sighed when you turned around, trying to smile at the boy as you stared into his sleepy eyes.

"You're so sleepy, JJ, and drunk."

He nodded a little, his eyes never leaving yours, that smile never leaving his face. He didn't really notice that you'd downplayed his feelings, he'd noticed even less that he'd straight up told you you were the girl he liked. All he could really notice was how beautiful you looked in the dim light of your kitchen, in your cute pajamas and glasses, hair in a messy braid.

You set JJ up on your couch, getting him another water and some thick and soft blankets and a pillow. You ran your hand through his messy hair as he laid in the couch beneath you. His eyes were begging to close, but he still smiled at you. You quietly told him to go to sleep, turning to leave. You'd only made it to the light switch before he called your name.

"I really do like you, 'm not just drunk. Just get too nervous to tell you, 'm sorry."

Your heart was heavy. You wanted to believe him, but how could you? JJ had never shown what you deemed as genuine interest in you when he wasn't inebriated. All he did was toss flirty comments around, throwing his arm over your shoulder every once in a while.

You couldn't lie and say you didn't notice the different look in JJ's eyes as he peered over the back of your couch. The truth in them.

"If you even remember this in the morning, we can talk about it. Alright?"

"That's perfect."

He smiled at you one last time before sinking below the back of your couch, out of sight.

"Goodnight Jay."

"Night night, pretty."

His words made your heart squeeze. You knew that the affection you felt for JJ wouldn't change, no matter if they were just drunk fibs.

You switched the living room lights off, heading into the kitchen. You set out another water and more pills for whenever JJ woke up in the morning. You checked the locked once more before turning all of the lights off. All you heard as you headed back to your bedroom was JJ's heavy breathing, it calmed your racing heart. You left your door cracked open incase JJ woke up needing something.

Your glasses slid up your head as your rubbed your eyes, sighing. You kept reminding your heart that JJ didn't really know what he was saying, that he would regret it.

The bed you slept countless nights in was uncomfortable as ever tonight, you tossed and turned for most of an over before climbing out of bed. You threw your cute pajamas onto the hardwood floor and traded them for a Lululemon bra and some shorts.

You fell asleep after another forty minutes of shifting every minute or so. Your sleep was light and poor. You woke up a little after four am, just three hours after finally falling asleep. Sleep finally took you again for a couple more hours, just until a little after nine.

After lying and staring at your ceiling for half an hour, you slowly sat up in bed, getting up. You exited your room, dragging yourself to the living room. The couch was empty, the blanket JJ had used folded neatly on top of the pillow. How sweet was he? You turned and walked into the kitchen, finally spotting the dirty blonde boy you wanted to see.

He turned at the sound of your footsteps, smiling. He was holding a water bottle, his eyes tired and his hair still messy.

"Good morning, JJ."

"Hi."

You felt nerves wash over you. This was it, where he either apologizes and regrets everything he said last night, or you got everything you'd hoped for. You went over to where he was leaning against your counter, hopping up to sit on the counter by him. His head fell to your shoulder as if by reflex.

"How do you feel, Jay?"

"Good, better 'cause y'took care of me."

"I just gave you some meds, Jay."

"Still."

You smiled, leaning your head on his. Maybe it would all be okay. Maybe he would be in love with you. You took a deep breath, now or never.

"Jay, do you-"

"Yes."

You pulled your head from his, turning to give him a look.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say."

"I remember what I said."

You bit your lip, still nervous. You look to where your feet dangled in the air, suddenly scared of his gaze on you.

JJ was nervous as hell too, though. You hadn't said that you liked him back, he definitely remembered that. He was beginning to take your silence as disinterest. He just stared at you, waiting for some indication of how you felt.

"And?"

"'And?' And, I like you."

Your nerves escaped from your body in a giggle, the churning of your stomach now butterflies. JJ did not appreciate the laughter though, taking it the complete wrong way.

"You don't have to laugh at me, shit."

He reached his hands to his eyes, rubbing hard as he started off, away from you. You giggled again, realizing your mistake. You jumped from the counter, sighing JJ's name out.

"Wait, wait Jay, I'm sorry. It's not like that."

You grabbed his arm, trying to halt the taller and stronger boy wasn't easy without his compliance. You shouted his name again and he stopped, turning to you.

"I'm not laughing 'cause you like me. I'm laughing 'cause I barely slept last night worried that you wouldn't like me."

JJ finally looked at you. His eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"What's do you mean? I literally told you I liked you!"

"JJ! You were so drunk! I wasn't about to convince myself that JJ McCarthy liked me just 'cause he said so while he was plastered."

"I wasn't plastered! And, what do you mean when y'say it like that?"

You rolled your eyes, halfway annoyed. He didn't get it.

"JJ, you could probably get with any girl on the Michigan campus if you wanted to. I wasn't convinced that out of all of them you'd actually want me."

"How could I not like you?"

The truth in JJ's eyes made you feel seen. Like he actually knew you. You smiled sappily, pulling the boy down by his shoulder, kissing him deeply. One of JJ's hands gripped the back of your head, the other pulling you closer by the small of your back.

There you were, standing in your kitchen kissing the boy you could've sworn never liked you. The boy you'd been infatuated with for a year. He was finally yours.

JJ pulled away from your lips, his hands moving to cup your face. His smile was brighter than ever. You both laughed, looking into each other's eyes for just a few seconds before JJ pulled you back in.

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hayden-christensen · 2 years

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#obi-wan broke the right side #ahsoka broke the left side #but only luke was able to fully unmask vader and bring back anakin

You already have, Luke.

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bywons · 19 days

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𖧷 HEARTSHAKER — LHS

⌕ lee heeseung doesn't know what he wants from his rival, better marks or a kiss

pairing. student!lee heeseung x student!fem! reader wc. 1.4k tw/cw. jealousy, kissing genre. academic rivals to lovers, fluff, highschool au sru's note. requested for my nini love ♡ shitty title ik but i hope ya'll like cuz i dont T0T ( CATALOGUE?! )

¤ feedbacks and reblogs are always appreciated! PLS REBLOG ♡

96 out of 100.

thanks to the almighty above that lee heeseung is tired, the basketball jersey stuck to his back, sweat covering his face and colouring the red fabric darker as he pants for his breath, or else the test paper in his hands would have been crumpled and ripped to shreds.

not because of his number obviously.

“99, i knew i rocked this paper!”, a dulcet, familiar voice floats up to heeseung's ear from behind him, followed by a mean eye roll from him and his stance still. heeseung doesn't bother to turn around, not when he recognizes the infuriating feminine voice and already visualises the usual dark brown braids hanging by the either sides of her face, school tie too tight and almost reaching the last button of the shirt.

“why the long face?”, jake's interruption breaks heeseung out of his trance, as he takes the much unwanted seat beside him, “96 not enough for ‘ya?”

“oh shut up”, heeseung returns jake’s scoff slamming down his physics answer sheet against the wooden table. both heeseung and jake know it's not enough, whether it's a 96 or a 99 ’cause,

“it's never enough unless i cross y/n’s marks”, heeseung sighs, the answer sheet dampening under the pressure of his sweaty hands, as his forehead became the victim of the other.

everyone in the class is aware of the cutthroat competition and abhorrence between the two brunettes, already expecting the usual bickering episode between the two whenever it was time for exam results, and even if by chance someone got the same results as any one of them, they'd do their best and not bother the two.

but today is different, today heeseung doesn't find his usual energy to bicker with the braided girl sitting at the back of the class, not when she managed to beat him thrice in a row at his own game!

“last time it was a marks’ difference and now three? how is this even possible?”, heeseung groans while flipping the sheets over and over as if something magical would happen and increase his numbers.

“i heard park sunghoon's been studying chemistry with her,” jake sighs, pushing his fingers through his dark hair as he turns his head to the side, but his eyes steal a glance at heeseung, and he smirks, “‘ya know, the chemistry toppe—”

“yeah yeah i got you jake, i know who he is”, heeseung presses the bridge of his nose a bit too hard, the familiar face of the boy floating up to his vision, though he can't remember where his loved moles are on him. oh how all the girls are head over heels for park sunghoon.

is y/n one of them too? he could swear they're hanging out too much.

stupid thought, stupid stupid thought. heeseung winces at his sudden curiosity, why is giving this matter so much thought? he doesn't like y/n anyway, he doesn't like her bickering, he doesn't like her annoying attitude, he doesn't like her hair, he doesn't like her scent and he definitely doesn't like her smile. so lee heeseung shouldn't really get his head messed up in this.

the school bell rings, bringing out new tedious groans and sighs from the students as they dawdle to their next classes.

“i think she's coming here—”

“don't you have a physics class to be at, jake?”

“yeah yeah shoo me away all you want to”, jake scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips when he slings a bag on his shoulder before leaving the class, “bet you can't shoo away her.”

and before heeseung even knew it the class was empty, except him and as empty, dispersed out in the crowded hallways to their next classes. that is unless the previous dulcet but annoying voice came closer to heeseung.

“heeseung!”, you chirp, approaching him from behind, “how was your paper?”

“ugh what do you—”, heeseung's anger dies down when he turns around to face you, your hair's not done into braids today, instead it's let open with your tie loose this time, a few drops of sweat sticking to your forehead, dance practice maybe? “—w-want?”

“your marks of course,” you giggle at his stutter, taking a seat beside him, “wanna make sure if i beat you or nah.”

“yeah you did, but not on your own huh?”, heeseung scoffs, looking down at you. he realises his heart skips a beat when you tilt your head to the side, holding eye contact.

not good.

“huh? what do you mean heeseung?”, you pout, acting ever so confused by his accusation, “not on my own?”

“oh come on, the whole class knows it now”, heeseung rolls his eyes, “park sunghoon, rings any bell?”

“oh hoon?”, you grin, covering your mouth and suppressing a small giggle, “he did help me a lot with chemistry, he's so sweet!”

heeseung doesn't realise his face is getting hotter and redder by the minute, both by your presence and the pronunciation of somebody else's name. he has a nickname already? hoon? no way, you have only ever interacted with him, whether it was bickering or asking for notes or silently sitting beside each other. so how did this other guy pop up?

“hoon,” heeseung mumbles his nickname, his eyes searching for something in yours and he doesn't even notice he's sounding jealous, “how are you guys so close already…”

“well he's been tutoring me chemistry for a month now—”

“a month?!”, heeseung's brows lift up and his jaw hangs open.

heeseung doesn't know if he likes your new look, the way the curls of your hair rests on your shoulders, the way your tie is loose from your neck and the way your head tilts to look at his, heeseung's heart skips a beat and it knows something is wrong.

“why? is something—” your lips fall apart, a soft blush takes place on your cheeks and you giggle again, in a teasing tone you nudge heeseung's arm, “aww are you jealous?”

“what? don't be ridiculous now.”

“heeseung is jealous, you are jealous, you are jealous j-e-a-l-o-u-s”, you continue this song, nudging heeseung and teasing him more and more, causing his cheeks to heat up, eyes turning back to the open window and then back to yours.

“shut up y/n, you're not funny”, he scowls, the soft breeze enters the empty classrooms and hits the both of you like a refreshing wave.

and in that moment, through your teasing manner, the empty classroom, the echoes of your laughter and the soft breeze caressing your hair, your long dark hair that matched his and the way his heart skipped a beat, the way his heart always skipped a beat while you were around, he realises it's something good.

“if you shut up now i swear y/n”, heeseung tried and kept his best ‘angry at you’ acting.

“oh really? then why don't you make me?”, a soft chuckle leaves your lips and you squint your eyes.

it happens all so fast, heeseungs soft lips on yours, falling right into place. it tickles you a bit like feathers and pulls you in, until you realise that's his hand snaking around your waist. the kiss was delicate, caring and brought so much warmth from a person you only argued with.

you gasp for air, first one to pull back.

you meet his eyes, scurrying through yours and cheeks all red, probably embarrassed of what he did. the kiss quickly coloured your cheeks, a shy smile playing around your lips and a small glint in your eyes.

“i-i don't know what i did—”

“its okay heeseung”, you shush a nervous heeseung, the proximity increasing the pace of your hearts, “do you like me?”

“i love you”, heeseung answers almost instantly, “i love everything about you.”

“me too”, heeseung is the most relieved as he hears this, that hoon guy got nothing on him now. he's the winner.

“so, are we gonna date then?”, he chuckles.

you nod, “let's surprise the class together!”

lee heeseung doesn't know what he wanted when he got his answer sheets. better marks than y/n, a bickering episode with her, or maybe her to fall in love with her? he doesn't know.

a smirk falls upon his lips and he pulls you closer by your waist. he looked ever so magical and beautiful up close, that you wish the bickering had died down earlier.

“whatever you say, pretty girl”, he leans in for a second kiss, indulging himself more into you, he swears his heart will beat out of the chest as soon as his free hand makes contact with your dark strands of hair.

outside the class stands a grinning jake with a bored sunghoon, and a quite high five is shared between the two, carefully peeking inside.

(📌) :: TAGLIST IS OPEN! @euncsace @ii-nu @leaderwon @dimplewonie @yrhome @heartswonn @jwonistic @aaa-sia @ashtxrie @kgneptun @lilacnini @haechansbbg @river-demon-slayer @in-somnias-world @teddywonss @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @mylstserenade @branchrkive @aishigrey @nctislifue @greyminyoon1 @ro-diaries @rikibun @sleepyxxhead @belowbun nets! @/k-labels

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bet-on-me-13 · 7 months

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The Ghost King's Son

So! Cloning is a difficult process.

It takes time, lots of time. Sure, it's possible to accelerate the Growth of a Clone to make them older in a shorter time frame, but that often leads to Destabilization within weeks of completion.

And Cadmus didn't want to take any chances when designing their Kryptonian/Human Hybrid. They started growing him much earlier than they originally did, and let him grow at a semi-normal rate for most of his life.

This comes back to bite them in the butt however, when an asset breaks out of containment and ruins their Internal Power Generators. This causes a blackout that takes hours to resolve, and by the time they fix it all and reestablish the Security Systems, they notice one of the Clones is missing.

The Kryptonian/Human Clone has escaped.

...

Kr-1 is confused. He had woken up in a tube a few hours ago to some alarms, and decided he didn't like it, so he broke out. Then he wandered around until he ended up outside, and just kept on Wandering.

It had been hours, and he didn't know where he was. It seemed to be some type of Forest, but he didn't know what kind.

He just kept on wandering. It started to get boring though, the trees all looked the same and there weren't even any animals around. Then, something interesting happened!

A green thing appeared in the air! It was glowing and swirly and had a kind of pull to it. So, he touched it. And it sucked him in. And now he wasn't in the Forest. And this place seemed much more interesting!

There were a bunch of floating rocks, and the sky was green, and everything else was purple.

And there was a man. Looking at him hurt his eyes, he seemed to be a kid and then an man and then an old man and then a kid again whenever he blinked. He was saying something, but Kr-1 didn't understand him. He didn't think he had been taught language yet? What was language?

The Kid/Man/Old-Man lead him to a big building made of bricks and mortar. It looked like a big spiky building with towers and walls and stuff. Inside it looked cool, with candles and carpets and even more stuff.

He was taken to a room with a guy who didn't hurt his eyes to look at. He had white hair and green eyes, but his skin wasn't blue like the old guy. He had a piece of ice on his head, it looked like a crown but it was glowing.

The Guy walked up to him and pointed to himself, and kept repeating something. "Danny".

Eventually Kr-1 realized that it was his name. He then pointed to Him and said "name?"

He tilted his head confused, and the guy, Danny, let his head fall with a sigh.

"This is gonna be harder than I thought."

He wondered what those words mean?

...

It had been a few years since the newly dubbed Conner had begun to live with Danny.

He had been hesitant to adopt the Living 9 yr old Child when Clockwork had brought him to his Castle, explaining that he had run into a Natural Portal, but he had accepted in the end.

It took a while to teach Conner how to understand Language. He seemed to know very little for a kid his age, but after Clockwork had dug around his personal timeline they figured out that he was a Clone. He probably hadn't reached the Information Planting Stage of development when he escaped.

After learning about this however, Danny began teaching him everything he should have learned in his early life, such as Elementary level education and some social interaction. He even brought around Ellie to see if she had any advice for helping him develop into a healthy young boy.

She did help a bit, but was mostly preoccupied with spoiling her new Nephew rotten.

Eventually, Conner had caught up to the level he should have been at his age, and started living in both the Realms and in Amity.

He was having a good life, had some great friends, and was even starting to learn to use his Kryptonian Powers now that they were coming in.

He loves his new Family, his Dad is goofy and fun, his Aunt Ellie likes to spoil him rotten, his Aunt Jazz is the responsible one but still loves him, and even his grandparents are great in their own Insane way.

But not all great things can last.

...

It was supposed to be a normal Field Trip. Conner was 15 and his school was taking a Trip to Washington DC, to see the sights or to learn about history or something.

But stuff happens. They just so happen to pass by a certain lab, that lab just so happens to be testing out a new Yellow Sun Energy Detector, and one of the Scientists who worked on Conner just so happens to see him in the bus as it passes by and the detector goes off.

In the end, they manage to recapture him and place him back into his Pod, beginning to prep him for Reeducation. (Let's say they mamage to repress his memories)

Cut to 1 year later and a team of Sidekicks break into the Lab and successfully steal away the Clone again.

The Clone who knows he had a dad who had black hair and blue eyes, who helped him use his powers, who looks a lot like Superman.

Conner, in his slightly Amnesiac state thinks he has already met Superman and that he had raised him. Which makes it so much more hurtful when Superman outright rejects him. He thinks his Dad just rejected him, the Dad who he thinks he remembers loving him very much.

(Danny had been frantically looking for his son for over a year now. Where is he? Is he Okay? What happened to him? He knows at least that he isn't dead yet, but he really wants to find his son)

#Dp x dc #Dpxdc #Dc x dp #Dcxdp #Danny Phantom #Dc #Dcu #Ghost King AU #Conner Kent #Kon-El #Conner is the son of Danny #Since he was made much earlier on he had a chance to escape earlier in the timeline #Amnesia #Conner vaguely remembers his life with Danny but thinks that it was Superman cause they look similar #Angst #I wanted to let Conner still join YJ #This is how I decided it would work

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beenbaanbuun · 7 days

Note

hii bunny! 🤍🤍

i was wondering if you maybe could write something angsty with mingi? like he’s had a long day and snaps at you a little after seeing your clothes on the floor or something.. like it would never bother him on a normal day but it’s just been a long day for him

it’s not too harsh but it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him have that tone with you so obviously it’s a lot for you 🫣 it doesn’t take him long to realize and regret it but by the time he does you’re already outside on the verge of tears and getting some fresh air.. he basically panics and texts you and calls you 😭 there’s no answer for around 10 minutes and just as he’s about to go outside and look for you, not even bothering throwing an hoodie on, he opens the door and sees you standing there with a little bag with his favorite snacks that you bought for him and he immediately starts apologising

sorry if this is quite specific i just hope it helps a little with your ideas! if you want to change anything you can! you can add smut and make it angsty or you can make it sweet and soft.. maybe even both 🤷‍♀️

i feel like he’s so gentle and definitely would love his partner too much, and just the thought of that he’s upset them could kill him

i cried writing this so i hope you enjoy it 🫡

——————————————————————————

to say that mingi’s day was hard would be an understatement. he barely slept the previous night, the constant beeping of the fire alarm begging for new batteries that they didn’t yet have keeping him awake into the early hours of the morning. he thinks it was sheer exhaustion that sent him to sleep at just gone 4am, and he was equally exhausted when san woke him two hours later for practice. he had half a mind to tell his friend to fuck off and just go back to sleep, but then he heard the beep of the fire alarm and decided he had no chance. he was going to have to stay awake.

then came practice, which was never easy, but for some reason was so much worse today. it started with yunho, who was being so much stricter than usual, jaw clenching and eyes filling with fire if anyone even dared to get a single step wrong. with mingi’s tired brain, he wasn’t afraid to admit that most of those glares were aimed at him; intricate footwork is more difficult when you can hardly string two thoughts together, it seems. annoyance doesn’t help with that either, yet with every pointed look at yunho gets him, he feels his blood boiling more and more.

then you have the troublemakers who seemed to make it their sole purpose today to annoy every single other person in that room. san and wooyoung were naturally loud people, but today they seemed to have the dial turned up to twelve. of course, yeosang was dragged into it too, offering quiet, but not unheard, snarky comments to go along with whatever nonsense the other pair were babbling about. mingi wasn’t sure how much more of that high-pitched cackle he could stand before it made his achy head explode.

and last, but certainly not least, there was hongjoong, perhaps mingi’s biggest issue out of his members. he too seemed to be in a bad mood, but unlike mingi who had yet to retaliate to any of the shit show going on around him, hongjoong just couldn’t seem to shut his mouth. someone misstepped? he’d yell at them. someone misspoke? he’d yell at them. it was just a constant wall of sound coming from his leader and mingi wasn’t sure just how much more he could take until…

“everyone just go,” hongjoong groans, anger and frustration laced through his features. “it’s clear no one is taking it seriously today so just go!”

a miracle.

mingi wastes no time in grabbing his bag and running out of the practice room without even a glance back at his members. perhaps later he’ll text them and let them know where he is, but for now he just needs you. he needs your arms to wrap around him and keep him warm as he sleeps. he needs your voice to float around his brain as he drifts away. he needs you.

he’s thankful that you live close because before he knows it, he’s at your door, fishing your key from his pocket. he fiddles with it excitedly, scraping it against the door a few times by accident before finally slipping it into the keyhole. he twists it and pushes it open, expecting to find you buzzing around your apartment like a cute little bumble bee.

instead he’s met with silence and darkness, curtains still drawn and your lively little self nowhere to be seen. there’s pots in the sink, mess strewn across the floor and the trash bag from last night still propped up by the door. mingi lets out a long sigh.

he knows it’s wrong of him to feel annoyed by all of this, and normally he wouldn’t. it’s just after the day he’s had, all he wanted was to cuddle up to you in a nice tidy, stress-free apartment. now he has to take your load on his shoulders as well. he has to pick up your pieces whilst he’s still desperately trying to hold all of his together. but this is it; this is his last straw, and the irritation and frustration he’s been barely holding back all day suddenly bursts free of its dam. he cant stop himself as he kicks off his shoes, not caring where they go (it’s not like it’ll make any difference with the state your apartment in is anyway) and storms his way down the hallway to your bedroom.

your door is already open, and through it he can see you still in bed. you’re curled up under the quilt, just like he has wanted to be all day. just like he hasn’t been able to because he has been busy. for some reason it only fills him with more annoyance, and he steps over the threshold into your room and slams the door behind him.

he can see that the sound startles you, but he can’t find it in him to care. he just stares down at you, a mixture of anger and disappointment twisting his features as you groggily sit up to look at him. your eyes are red, as are your cheeks, but mingi just brushes it off. the painful pang in his chest upon seeing you like that is hardly enough to outweigh everything else he feels.

“really?” he bends down to pick up a t-shirt before holding it up to show you. you stare at it blankly, not sure what he’s trying to get at.

“what’s wrong, mingi?” your voice is strained as if you’d been crying recently. if mingi wasn’t so blinded by everything, perhaps he would’ve noticed how fragile you seem to be. perhaps he’d be able to take a step back and see that you need him to comfort you, not berate you. it’s a shame his head is too full of his own feelings to even consider yours.

“what’s wrong?” he scoffs, throwing his arms up in exasperation, “this! everything!” he gestures wildly around your room as if it explains anything. “i don’t need to deal with this shit right now, baby! i can’t!”

he watches as your brows furrow in confusion, hurt washing over your features. there’s something in his that tells him that it’s enough, that he’s said and done too much already, but there’s still more on the tip of his tongue and he needs to get it out of him before he bursts.

“i have enough on my plate without having to take care of you, alright?” his voice comes out harsher than he means it to, more of a shout than anything else, and by the way your expression tightens, he can tell he’s hurt you.

that’s when it all sinks in for him, when you hum, nodding your head slowly as his words echo around your brain. your eyes look down at your hands, thumbs picking at one another awkwardly. he’s said too much, gone too far, he can understand that now. like, really understand it. he should’ve stayed silent. ignored the shit spewed across the floor and crawled into your bed like he’d been wanting to do all day.

well shit, he thinks to himself, he never meant to hurt you. he doesn’t know what he wanted to do by telling you those things, but this wasn’t it.

“sorry,” is all you say when you toss the comforter off your legs. you’re dressed in the same clothes that he saw you in yesterday; had you slept in them? “i, uh… i’ll get out of your hair for a little while, mingi. it seems like you need a little alone time… you’re stressed.” and with that you stand up. mingi lets you, unsure of what to say to you as you grab your wallet from your nightstand and push past him. your hand feels like a hot iron pressed against his shoulder as you side-step him, and he almost, almost, goes to catch it.

before he can, you’re gone, and all he does is stand there as he listens to you open the door and walk out of the apartment.

your apartment.

he sits on your bed, twisting his hands into the comforter as he tries to ground himself. he’d kicked you out of your own apartment because of what? he doesn’t even know himself. he can’t wrap his head around the sudden burst of anger that washed over him like a tsunami. there was no escape from it until it passed, and now he’s left with with aftermath; the pain of upsetting you.

he knew from the moment he stepped in your apartment that you weren’t doing well. the drawn blinds, the pots left over from last night; he’s seen it time and time again and he’s never been upset at you for it. there’s been no anger or frustration there. no cross words or disappointment. nothing except sympathy and the desire to make everything okay for you again.

so, what? he got jealous because you were allowed to sit and wallow in your bad mood and he wasn’t? he got mad that coming to your apartment wasn’t the perfect whirlwind of softness and affection that he’d hoped for? god, he feels pathetic for how he treated you. even more so at the fact that he still feels so desperate for your comfort. he knows he doesn’t deserve it, but holy fuck does he need it.

he lets himself sit there in the pain for just a little while longer. perhaps if he lets himself hurt enough, he might deserve to have you back in his arms. if he repents, everything might be okay again. you’ll forgive him for what he said to you and hold him gently like he needs. you’ll whisper sweet words and kiss his head like he wants. you’ll be kind to him despite the fact that he hasn’t been kind to you. you’ll let him rest…

when he feels enough time has passed, he slips a hand into his pocket to grab his phone. there’s a message or two from his members asking where he went, but he ignores them. they can wait, you can’t. he locates you contact, pressing his thumb against the call button and letting it ring. a few seconds pass before he hears it loud and clear; your phone in the other room. he perks up a little—maybe you’re still here! his legs carry him faster than he can process. he swings the door open with little care about the way it slams against your dresser, and tumbles into the kitchen… where your phone is abandoned… with you nowhere to be seen.

mingi’s heart plummets even further. you’re gone, and now he won’t even have a way to know that you’re safe. it’s still daylight outside but what if you get lost? what if you stay out too long and it gets dark? what if you need him? he lets out a cry of stress, hands flying up to grip his bleached locks tightly in his hands. he feels fucking useless.

for just a moment he lets himself play the blame game with himself. it’s his fault. all of it is. anything could be happening to you and it would be his fault. he upset you and he let you leave! it’s all him, him, him… that makes it his to fix too.

he doesn’t let himself think as he walks over to the door. he doesn’t bother with a jacket, his brain telling him it would take too much time to slip it onto his shoulders. hell, he barely bothers with his shoes! just slips his feet in, not sparing a single thought to the way his feet are currently crushing the backs down. that’s the least of his worries, anyway. he can buy new shoes, he can’t replace you.

his hand reaches out to grab the door handle. it’s just centimetres away, almost close enough to grab it. his fingers begin to curl around the metal, but someone else gets there first. the handle dips down, and the door creeks as it opens just the tiniest bit. mingi gasps, moving at the speed of lighting to pull the door even wider. he knows exactly who’s on the other side, and his desperation to see you can’t be contained. he barely even looks at you before scooping you up into his arms.

“ouch, mingi,” you squirm as he holds you tighter than you think you’ve ever been held before. “you’re trapping my hair! let go, you giant oaf.”

he doesn’t, but he does loosen his grasp just a touch. not enough to let you fully breathe again, but just so you can save your hair from being pulled from your head. you’re grateful for that, at least, but it doesn’t stop you from trying to wriggle free. “let me go,” you reiterate, body still moving as he holds you against his broad chest, “i need to give you something but i can’t when you have me trapped!”

“you don’t need to give me anything,” he pouts as he presses a wet kiss against your hairline. it’s all very sweet, but you can’t help but feel like now is not the time.

“yes i do!” you twist your body in a way that makes it impossible for mingi to keep hold of you, gasping in a dramatic fashion as if you’d been starved of oxygen completely. mingi can’t help but smile at your performance, even if his arms do feel a little too empty now you’re not in them. you are absolutely adorable, after all. “i need to give you this because it’ll melt otherwise.”

that’s when he notices the clear plastic bag in your hand. if he looks carefully, he can just about make out the pint of hazelnut ice cream and the bag of shrimp chips; his favourites. confused, he brings his gaze back up to your face, noticing the shy smile that rests on your lips as you raise the bag up for him to take. “for me?” he asks. you only give him a quick nod in response. “but… why?”

when he doesn’t take the bag, you roll your eyes and stomp past him to the kitchen. it hits the counter with a thud, and mingi flinches. are you angry with him? of course, you have every right to be but if he’s being honest, he’s rather that you weren’t. he really needs you right now. he slinks up behind you, watching as you busy yourself with taking the snacks out of the bag. his arms ache with the desire to be wrapped tightly around your waist, but he somehow manages to hold himself back.

“because you’re obviously not doing good,” you say as you yank the cutlery drawer open to grab two spoons. it doesn’t go unnoticed when you pull out the flat one with the thin handle alongside the deep one with the heavy handle; his and your favourite spoons, respectively. his chest aches with love as you, actually rather violently stab the container with both of them. he always has loved your silly little antics.

“yeah, well you’re not doing good either,” he tries to argue, but you shut him up with a glare.

“me not doing well doesn’t mean i can’t try to help you when you’re not doing well,” you shrug as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “my feelings don’t negate your feelings and i love you, so i want to try and help you.” whether it’s a loaded statement or not, mingi can’t help but understand the irony. either you’re trying to teach him a lesson or the universe is. judging by the look in your eyes, he thinks it’s safe to assume that it’s you.

“i get it,” he nods, “i’m sorry for being a dick, you don’t deserve that.”

“i don’t deserve it, but i do understand it and i’m not going to torture you for it when it’s obvious you’ve been torturing yourself,” you point a finger up to his messed up hair, “what i am going to do is get in bed with you and eat a shit ton of ice cream, capeesh?”

“yeah, baby,” he smiles, “capeesh…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez angst #mingi fluff #mingi x reader #mingi angst

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ghostchems · 15 days

Note

hello my darling. i see your requests are back open… 👀 i've got a prompt for you if you so wish to write it… reader has been dead for decades, aimlessly wandering the halls of the ministry where no one has ever seen her, heard her or even felt her… until one day, she's walking (or y'know… floating…) through the halls and someone is walking towards her. He stops in his tracks and stares straight ahead. Then she realises…

he's staring at her… Choose a papa, any papa! Whoever you would like to write, if you choose to write it! 😘

a/n: almost 1k words of some sweetness. after reading the prompt i KNEW i had to pick Cardinal Copia 🥹 bee. thank you SO much for sending this in. hit me right in the dang feels

Loneliness has driven you to the busy corridors of the Abbey. Despite the clergy members quite literally seeing right through you, their presence around you is enough to alleviate the void inside you. You’ve had to make do over the decades but even after all of the disappointment there is still an unwavering flicker of hope that you’ll make some sort of contact. Who knew it would be impossible for a ghost to be noticed in a Satanic Ministry? Many attempts have been made, ranging from morose to macabre (floating candles vs. severed limbs) but to no avail. Perhaps there’s something wrong with you. Is your spirit not dark enough to be seen? You remember how you died and decide that can’t be the case.

You gave everything for The Olde One. The Ministry was a very different place back then.

You’re lost in the endless abyss of your thoughts until there’s a shift in energy around you. Something new. Someone new. The wisps of your ghostly train curl towards the ceiling behind you and gust of warm air blows your hair out of your face.

Oooh. A Cardinal. It’s been ages since there’s been one here, the last one being in 19—

Is he looking at you?

There’s no way but… his gaze is fixated on the space you occupy, eyes wide. He bears the Mark of The Olde One — just like the Papas, but even with the Eye no one has ever seen you. He picks up his pace, walking to you with such purpose. You feel an excitement you haven’t felt since you were alive but it’s quickly replaced with crippling anxiety. In a fit of panic you poof out of the corridor and reappear deep into the underground archives, far far away from any person. But the new Cardinal saw you. He really did. After vying for this for so long… you aren’t ready for it.

***

You’ve meandered further into more densely populated areas of the Abbey over the last two weeks after taking some time for yourself to come to grips with the fact that he saw you. Problem is now the Cardinal is nowhere to be found. The longer the week stretched the more you began to believe it was over — he must have only been visiting for the day and thus your chance at talking to someone other than yourself for the first time in 55 years has slipped through your fingers. But that same hope you’ve clung to keeps you pacing and wandering day after day, hoping to catch of glimpse of his black cassock.

One late night you find yourself perusing the library, hovering around the new releases aisle (you like to see how ridiculous the names of romance novels have gotten). The further you get down the aisle the thicker the air becomes around you, the familiar buzzing in your ear from the first time you saw him. There’s a dim light coming from one of the nooks. You steel yourself, you’re going to make yourself known like you planned. Glowing brighter than you ever have before, you float toward the light. How can a ghost have anxiety? You’d think all of those feelings would be gone but somehow you feel like you’d throw up if that were even possible. You reach the outside of the nook and suck in a sharp breath before peering around the corner.

His duochromatic eyes are on you instantly.

“Per favore — please, do not run away again.” He sounds quiet, sleepy but polite and he extends a hand out to you. “I was worried I would not see you.” You blink at him as you reveal yourself fully to him, his gaze taking you in.

“You… you really see me?” Your voice cracks, your ghost trail wiggling with how charged you are emotionally.

“Yes. I do.” The Cardinal stands, his hand still out to you. “I, ehh… I’m the new Cardinal, Cardinal Copia. What is your name?”

My name?

“You’re… you’re the only person who’s ever seen me.” Not an answer to his question at all but your brain is broken. All that time you spent hoping for this…

“Oh. Oh, poverino.” His fingertips graze your hand and you jump — he could feel you too? “Ah! I am sorry! Ehhh… what can I do? How can I help you?” Copia shuffles on his feet anxiously, making sure to keep a safe distance so that he doesn’t startle you again. Your guise is crackling, vibrating with energy, more than you’ve ever felt before. He seems… delighted by your prescience and it makes you feel warm.

“H-how? Cardinal, how?” You push in closer to him, wisps brushing against his cassock.

“Non lo so. I’ve… I’ve just always been able to.” He gives you a sad smile. “I eh… had some weird “imaginary friends” growing up. But please, you must… you must have a lot to say after spending so long only listening.” Copia may have the gentlest voice you’ve ever heard. You want to hug him especially since something about this feels deeply personal to him…but you compose yourself and instead take him by the hand as you sit on the corner of his desk.

“What do I even say now?” You laugh to yourself. “I’ve been so worried about ever being heard that I haven’t thought about what to say. What do you… want to know, Cardinal?” Even now you’re feeling shy.

He gingerly rests his hand on top of yours, a warmth spreading through you that you’ve never experienced before.

“I’ve wanted to get to know you since I saw you, fantasmina. Please, tell me about you.” Copia squeezes your hand with a kind smile. Speechless. You take a deep breath and nod.

You’ll tell him.

You’ll tell him everything.

#guys i am on a plane right now #forgot to add the damn pic #Cardinal Copia #Cardinal Copia x reader #Copia request #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction #papa emeritus reader #Copia x reader #papa emeritus iv #ghost band fabric

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hayakawalove · 3 months

Text

Valentine's Day

A/N: Will I ever stop writing poly satosugu? No. No I won't.

Summary: You had been with your two boyfriends for years, and each February they brought a smile to your face. This year seems a bit different although.

TW: Smut, polyamory, choking, AFAB reader, female reader, alcohol mention, alcohol

W/C: 5,664

Your boyfriends were theatrical, Satoru especially. Suguru, if given the chance, much preferred to do things under the radar and special. But then again he was not above putting on a show for you. Especially if Satoru was involved.

Because of this, it kind of surprised you when neither of them mentioned Valentine’s Day. It was the 12th already and so far there had been no mention of the holiday. You thought it might be because they were busy, but that didn’t mean they would forget, right? You knew you could have said something, but the boys usually planned things. Because of that, you didn’t want to get in the way of anything. So you decided to be discreet about it. You wandered into the kitchen and found them both sitting at the table, meager discussion floating from their lips.

“Hey.” You murmur, fiddling around the kitchen.

“Hi bunny!”

“Hey baby.”

Your eyes flick up and notice the two giving you smiles. Satoru’s eyes brightening up significantly, his smile akin to something like the sun. Suguru’s head tilted, his grin matching something much more graceful. The moon perhaps. Your sun and moon. You supposed that made you their stars, didn’t it?

You narrow your eyes before looking down at a spare cup.

“What do you guys wanna do this week?” You ask, hoping not to be too obvious.

You fill your cup up with water and lean against the counter.

“Oh, there was that new movie I was telling you guys about. It comes out on Tuesday.” Satoru thinks out loud.

“Whatever you want to do baby.” Suguru responds with a tight lip smile, his eyes gently closed.

Had they really not had anything planned? It was odd, but you didn’t want to push it.

It wasn’t like you particularly minded doing nothing for Valentine’s Day this year.

That’s what you told yourself at least.

It was finally Valentine’s Day and you had willfully resigned. This year you were just not going to do anything, and you tried convincing yourself it was okay. You requested the day off in advance, figuring that something would be planned, but it didn’t seem needed anymore. So, you were going to use the day to do nothing.

When you woke up in the morning, your bed was empty besides you. You had long gotten used to the feeling of your bed being filled to the brim, hot and stuffy after a long night's sleep with multiple bodies. Not seeing the two boneheads made you sad.

Your eyes float over to the corner of the room, where you stuffed each other their Valentine’s Day gifts underneath a pile of your clothes. Even if you weren’t going to be doing anything today, you still wanted to surprise them with it.

You get out of bed and patter around the house trying to see if they were anywhere else. Much to your dismay, the house was empty.

Your stomach grumbles while you pad your way to the kitchen. Normally, Suguru would be whipping up a storm in there while Satoru sat nearby to pester him. The kitchen was empty today, much to your chagrin. With a sigh, you grab leftovers and sit on a stool, flicking your phone open once you see Satoru’s name pop up.

“Hey! Thought you were gonna sleep forever.”

“Might’ve if I wasn’t alone.” You grumble.

You hear Satoru chuckle and you look at your food distatefully. The conglomerate of leftovers suddenly becoming the most unappealing thing in the world to you.

“Poor bunny.”

“Where are you both anyway?”

The line is quiet for a second as if Satoru was speaking to someone.

“Just had to pick up a few things for tonight.”

“Okay. Will you make sure to get milk too? We’re out.”

The line cuts to silence once more which confuses you. Usually Satoru had a lot to say, normally you had a hard time getting any words in during a phone call with him. After a couple seconds of silence and what sounds like the phone being muffled, his cheery voice comes back. You and Satoru begin talking again before something rouses you from the conversation. Your doorbell jolts you from the call, but you quickly glaze over it.

“Aren’t you gonna get that?” He asks.

“No, probably has the wrong address.” You say and pick at your nails.

“I'm not so sure.”

For the sake of entertaining him, you hop off your chair and make your way to the door. Once you open it, you find a black shopping bag on the ground. You look at it in confusion before leaning down to pick it up.

“Yeah, no, this definitely is the wrong house.”

Satoru sighs loudly causing you to pull the phone away.

“Just look in the bag!” He complains like a child.

“Alright alright.” You sigh before shutting the door, lugging the bag inside.

Usually you wouldn’t put up much of a fight, but today you were less than amused.

Once you arrive to your room, you plop the bag down on your bed and rummage through it. There was a white card on the top, peaking your interest. Your name was scrawled in gold on the front, the font looking much too fancy, as well as text on the other side. It read, “Your treasure awaits”.

Your heart begins to pick up. Satoru was on the line still, but there was no noise coming from him. With shaky hands you open the bag more, finding something else. As you pull it out you notice it’s a tight black dress, exactly your size. At the bottom of the bag there was another white card. On the front end it said “Suguru’s favorite place.” Flipping it over you see what’s written on the back. “You slid into my heart.”

“Satoru, what is all this?” You question.

“Looks like you have to find out.” He says joyfully, clicking the line, leaving your mind reeling.

You pull the dress on and look at yourself in the mirror. It looked really good on you. The boys really enjoyed picking out outfits for you, flaunting you like their own dress up doll. You didn’t mind really, not when they always paid for it. You hold the card in your hand, eyes flicking back and forth over the lettering. Suguru’s favorite place? He wasn’t very picky, he enjoyed lots of places.

Suguru really enjoyed the museum, you knew that. Images of him walking beside you, reading you all the placards filled your brain. He also liked the cafe that was nestled between stores several streets over. None of those made sense with the clue, though.

With a deep breath you close your eyes and think back. Each thought brought you back to one place. A park he liked seeing.

You stuff their gifts in a bag before setting off.

It was a quaint park. The grass was always green and there was a large field that families enjoyed picnicking at. Off to the side was a playground for children, a long plastic slide crossing the play area. You journey to the playground, eagerly walking to the slide, thinking back to the note that was left in the bag. You see another small bag on the slide and your stomach twists in excitement.

Opening the bag you notice a small box and another note. The note reads “Satoru’s sweet treats” and on the back says “I’m such a nerd for you”. You chuckle to yourself and open the box, seeing a bright necklace packaged inside. The chain was dainty and it held a diamond at the very end, one that shined brightly in the sun. It was hard getting the necklace on on your own, but you were able to manage after a couple minutes.

The next location wasn’t any easier to figure out. Satoru had many places he liked going to for sweets, so it was hard to narrow down.

You think you understood the game now. There would be a present at each location with a card hinting at the next spot. You couldn’t help but notice how the game was so very like the two men. Cheeky, but swirling with romance.

You had no idea why you were so worried they had forgotten the date.

After much inner debate you decided to go to his favorite candy store. It was fairly decent in size as it had to accompany the wide range of treats stored inside. It looked mostly empty when you entered, rows of colorful concoctions lining the walls. Your legs carry you down the aisles while you think back to the hint on the card. It made you want to check for their selection of nerds and sure enough, there was another bag nestled between boxes. This time it was filled with a bracelet, matching your necklace. The employees blush and comment to each other when you walk up, requesting help for your bracelet. They wished you a happy Valentine’s Day and you’re left to exit the store. The idea of Satoru and Suguru coming inside to hide your gift and explaining to the workers what they were doing made you chuckle to yourself.

The day continued much like that, each time you were led across town to find more gifts. The final note was the most confusing. All it said was “back to where it all began” without any other clues on the back side. You thought back to where you and the two had spent your first date. It was a secluded forest, a canopy of trees surrounding the three of you. You remember Satoru laying on his back, Suguru reclined with his hands keeping him up behind him, and you sitting with your legs crossed. You talked for hours.

Once arriving, you find the last bag. Inside was a hair clip, donning an amethyst and a turquoise. The two men fit so well together it was no wonder their birthstones did as well. The card inside the bag only had a phone number on it, so you flipped open your phone to dial it. A nice man answered, asking if you were Satoru’s and Suguru’s girlfriend. With a blush you confirm, hearing an engine starting on the other end. He told you he would be there shortly to pick you up.

This game was fun, and you really enjoyed all your gifts, but you were hoping you would be seeing Satoru and Suguru soon. Material items were nice, but they meant nothing if your partners weren't there by your side.

The car ride was relatively short but still felt extremely glamourous. You rode in a black sleek car, cushions softer than any other vehicle you had been in before. The driver drops you off at a five star hotel, bidding you a farewell before speeding off. You get the room number from the front desk and rush to the room. You nervously look at the door in front of you before knocking on it gently. While you wait, you bounce on your toes and heels and let your mind wander. The game had lasted hours, and your nerves were about to swallow you whole.

The door swings open, the force making your eyes widen in surprise. Satoru stood there in a white button up, eyes wide and frantic.

“Hey.” You speak, your eyes slowly trailing across his body.

Satoru’s hand flies out and grabs you, pulling you into the room. Your back is pressed against a wall and his lips are on yours. Part of you wanted to tell him to slow down, but the way his mouth felt against yours had your mind swimming.

Satoru’s tongue glides out, sliding against your bottom lip before you part your mouth open. His hands roam across your body, not settling anywhere for too long. His presence was overwhelming, suffocating and somehow not enough.

More, you needed more. If it was possible to fuse souls you were sure you would’ve by now.

Your hands clutch his shirt, if it wasn’t as expensive as it was there was a real chance you would’ve torn it.

“Satoru, I was only gone for five minutes.” A familiar voice speaks behind Satoru.

He pulls his lips from yours and stares deeply into your eyes, the tension palpable.

“Couldn't resist.” Satoru speaks, his tone heavy.

He pulls away from you and you feel yourself deflate, body aching for more.

“Our girl is just too beautiful.”

Satoru pulls you away from the wall, presenting you to Suguru. His hands hold your waist still while his chin rests on your shoulder.

You look at the man in front of you. Suguru was dressed in a black button up, his hair swept up into a bun. His fox eyes slowly slide down your body, taking you in.

“You look beautiful baby.” Velvet words grace your ears.

After all this time, still, still he made your heart flutter.

He takes a step forward, lifting up your hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours, before pulling your hand up to place a kiss on your knuckles.

“Happy Valentine’s Day princess.”

Suguru’s words float over to you, but you’re almost too distracted by the both of them to fully understand what he said.

“Thought you guys might’ve forgotten.”

Suguru pulls you away from Satoru and further into the room, and you notice a table in the middle of it. There were two candles placed on top, with three plates spaced evenly. Only now do you recognize a heavenly scent filling the room.

“Us? Forget Valentine’s Day?” Satoru laughs, pulling your chair out for you.

Satoru sits in one of the chairs opposite you, watching as you take everything in.

“It’s possible! I was about ready to order take out all by myself and watch the notebook on repeat.”

“Unfortunately you’re stuck with us.” Suguru graces you with a small grin.

“What’s for dinner?” You ask, watching Suguru carefully lift off the lid over your plate, then moving on to remove his and Satoru’s.

“Steak! Although Suguru insisted on making it himself.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow at Satoru before sitting down next to him. Scents from the meal slowly waft up to your nose, making your stomach grumble.

“I’m pretty sure you told me you liked my cooking better than anyone else’s.”

“And you caved immediately!” Satoru responds cheekily, making Suguru huff in annoyance.

Suguru was stuck trying to defend himself while you and Satoru were ignoring him, beginning to cut your steak. He eventually gave up, grumbling to himself before popping open a bottle of champagne.

“You should’ve seen him. He was running around the big fancy kitchen trying to prepare everything. I wish I caught it on tape. Do you think I could ask the hotel for their security footage?” Satoru rambles, popping a piece of steak in his mouth.

“I can picture it perfectly. How’d they let you in anyway?”

“Satoru bought their silence, he’s a sneaky dog.” Suguru answers, pouring champagne into both of your glasses, purposefully avoiding Satoru’s.

The meal tasted just as wonderfully as you could’ve imagined. It melted on your tongue, Suguru’s cooking never failing to amaze you. You were glad that Satoru convinced him to cook. You had fun eating at restaurants with them, but nothing quite compared to Suguru’s cooking.

“How long do we have the room for?” You ask, looking around at the wide open space.

You had never been in such a fancy hotel before, you didn’t even wanna know how much one night costed.

“Satoru just gave them his card so we can stay for as long as we like.”

“Is there anything your money can’t buy?” You cast a look over to Satoru who was happily humming while eating.

“Nope!”

The rest of the meal you and Suguru poke fun at Satoru, teasing him for treating money so fickly. Your laughter filled the room, making it feel even more homey when paired with the food.

Then again, you were sure anywhere would be home as long as they were with you.

Champagne flowed through your veins and you swore the bubbles did too. It felt like your skin was burst alight, your body floating on happiness.

You hum and reach out a hand, grabbing onto Satoru’s hand.

“Wanna dance.”

His eyes light up at your request and he turns to Suguru. The two men share a look before Satoru is hopping out of his chair, quickly heading towards you. The air of excitement he held only floated over to you, raising you up even higher.

You felt so good.

You kick off your heels and tiptoe carefully to the middle of the room. Satoru’s arms latch onto you, getting in position. It wasn’t long before Suguru strolled over to sit on the bed and watch, his phone held tightly in his hand while he played music.

You couldn’t follow the beat even if you tried, luckily Satoru was there to guide you through it. He teases you, his airy laughter tickling your ear. You could feel Suguru’s gaze on the both of you as he watched his lovers sway back and forth. Satoru’s body felt warm pressed against yours, his firm hand gripping your lower back.

Suguru leaned back and continued to leisurely sip from his glass, affection pouring over his features. He was thinking back to your earlier conversation. Could you really think they would have forgotten? Never in a million years would they forget you.

The room was spinning. No, wait, shit, were you spinning? You didn’t care. Your laughter echoes off the walls as you stand on your tiptoes to attempt to reach Satoru’s height.

You stop for a breather, hand clutched tightly in Satoru’s shirt. Suguru excuses himself to remove the plates of food, wanting to clear up space.

“That was so much fun.” You say breathlessly.

“Yeah? Want to have some more fun?”

You arch a brow but your question was answered before you could even ask it. Satoru had backed you up against the bed, making you collapse on it. You pull him down with you, relishing in the feeling of his full body weight against yours.

“Yes.”

His lips are on yours in an instant, fanning the flames under your skin. You could tell he was restraining himself a bit, his hand clutched tightly next to your head.

“Touch me, Satoru.” Your words leaked desperation.

“Fuck, don’t say that. We gotta wait for Suguru.” His actions don’t align with his words.

His tongue caresses against yours, his skin tingling once his tongue dips into your mouth. He had kissed your mouth billions of times, but each time he did he swore there was new territory for him to mark and explore.

“Can’t keep your hands to yourself tonight, Satoru.” Suguru chides from behind him.

Satoru pulls away and you feel an ache underneath your lips, begging for his lips once more.

“She started it.”

“Yes, we do have a needy girl on our hands, don’t we?”

Satoru moves out of the way, exposing Suguru to you. Your breath hitches at the sinful expression he holds while staring down at you.

His hands reach out to grab you, pulling you up to stand. His presence is overwhelming as he turns you around, pressing you against the empty table. You follow his motions to guide you down, his lips ghosting over your skin.

“Look so wonderful for us darling.” His words muffle against your skin as he places chaste kisses against your neck.

You can feel yourself shake beneath him, desperate for more. He was teasing you, but what kept you through it was knowing how satisfying everything would be once he deemed it time.

“Need it Suguru.” You whimper, fingers dug into his shoulders.

The heated atmosphere shifts, now drowning you in a lake of fire. Suguru pulls you up from the table and makes you lay on the bed. Your skin is prickling in anticipation, staring up at him. He leans down to press his lips against yours, quelling the fire inside. His tongue feels plush against yours as he drags it through your mouth. Suguru pushes your dress up to pull it off your head, only parting from your mouth to get out of the way. His tongue glides against yours and you taste the bitter bite of the drink, and you wondered if you could get intoxicated off the taste of it alone. Then again, you could always get drunk on him.

Suguru pulls back and kneels against the bed, spreading your legs open for him. He dips his head down, pulling your underwear off you at an agnoizing pace. Satoru whistles, causing you to snap your head up to look at where their gaze lay. Your underwear peeled from your pussy, strings of need attaching to it.

“Fuck.” Suguru whispers under his breath as he glides the clothing down your thighs.

You’re suddenly filled with insecurity, wanting to close your legs. Their eyes stared deep into you, mesmerized by your lust.

“Don’t just look…” You whimper.

Suguru refocuses himself and smiles, trailing fingers up your thighs to spread you out.

“My apologies princess.”

You want to scoff but the noise doesn’t make it out of your throat in time before a whimper escapes. You can feel the eagerness building up inside you as his lips ghost over you. The first time you feel his tongue press against you, you let out a guttural moan. It appeases Suguru, his tongue diving in deeper. He laves it against your clit, tasting the sweet nectar you leaked. You watch as the tendons in his hands flex as he clutches your thighs, bringing you down further against his mouth.

Your hole clenches pitifully as he pleases you. The warmth of his tongue teases your clit, moving in a circle.

The bed dips beside you and you see Satoru next to you, his hard cock in his hand. His eyes were glued to the way Suguru devoured you.

“Satoru.” You say in a whiny voice.

Precum leaks from his tip like a faucet, the sight making your heart pound.

You reach up and grab his cock, experimenting with a couple slow strokes. His chest heaves in response, echoes of low moans falling from his lips.

Suguru wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, your heels digging into his shoulder blades. He could feel the way you trembled beneath him, causing his cock to stiffen below.

Not yet, this was about you.

You pick up the pace, tugging Satoru much faster, mind caught between the bliss of Suguru’s mouth and bringing Satoru to the edge.

“How’s he making you feel bunny?”

You hang your head back, unable to focus on anything besides the primal desire within you. Suguru’s tongue strokes against you, working you up.

“Good- so so good.” The words sound foreign coming from you, your throat dry.

“Gonna cum on his tongue, right?” Satoru asks.

You moan louder, your thighs a mess of spit and your fluid.

“Yes, fuck need to cum.”

You squeeze the tip of his cock before sliding your hand down. Satoru whimpers lowly as he tries to not thrust into the palm of your hand.

Suguru dips his tongue once, twice, into your hole before bringing it back up, teasing your clit once more. Your mouth hangs open as you look back down at him, truly believing god himself was between your legs. Your legs twitch on either side of his head while you shamelessly grind further into his tongue, so close you could almost taste it. It rushes over you suddenly all at once and you’re cumming on Suguru’s tongue, body thrashing underneath him as he tries to hold you down. It gives him a burst of excitement seeing how you lose yourself beneath him.

He reluctantly pulls away from you, watching how you glisten below him. You try to regulate your breathing but fail miserably. Heavy hands work their way across your skin, attempting to bring you back down. It looked like the two were exchanging places. Suguru sits next to you on the bed, nudging a piece of your hair out of the way. His eyes were filled with warmth, nothing but admiration and love in the way he looked at you. It almost made you want to shy away from how intense it felt. He looked at you like he didn’t give you an earth shattering orgasm less than a minute ago.

Satoru’s thighs nudge your legs open wider, bringing your attention back towards him. His hairline was lined with sweat, desperation to feel something, anything corrupting his body. His cock stood at attention, in front of you.

“Please let me fuck you princess, need it, need you.” His voice sounded helpless.

You dig your teeth in your lip and nod, eager to feel him inside you. His tip slides down your opening and you force your eyes shut. Pleasure courses through your body, the idea of feeling more made your mind reel.

Satoru slides inside you slowly, his cock beginning to stretch you out. Your mouth hangs open and suddenly you can’t breathe. You could not get enough oxygen. It felt like you were surrounded by their love, surrounded by the lust you three shared.

He moans, struggling to keep his composure. His fists clench against the bed as he bottoms out completely.

A moment of silence is shared between you while you appreciate the other, enjoying how each other's skin felt.

“Ready, bunny?” He asks breathlessly, his patience running thin.

You nod, trapping his hips in between your legs.

He thrusts in, starting to fuck you.

Your moans bounce off the walls around you. You try to grasp onto something, anything to ground yourself. The force of his cock was knocking all the screws loose in your head, you couldn’t think.

His eyes squeeze shut as he goes. It looked like he might have been mumbling something under his breath.

Your clit throbs at the neglect, needing to feel pressure. You grab one of Satoru’s hands, guiding it between your legs.

He lets out what sounds like a breathless chuckle. Taking the hint, he begins to circle your clit with his finger.

Suguru moves on the bed, kneeling behind your head, his cock above your face. It’s inches away, the mere sight of it making you salivate.

“Wanna do something for me, beautiful?” He asks.

Your elbows prop up bringing you closer to him. You close your eyes and stick your tongue out, sliding up against his sensitive balls. He grunts lowly above you. Your mouth felt like heaven to him as you carefully suck his balls.

Satoru picks up the pace, the sight of you pleasing Suguru searing into his brain. He couldn’t focus on all of it at once, it felt like his brain was short circuiting. His hips stutter as he leans forward, desperate to get Suguru’s cock in his mouth.

Suguru’s chest heaves. The sight in front of him bordered on something holy. His two beautiful partners were in front of him, cherishing his cock. How lucky was he?

Your mouth gently glides over, paying attention to both sides of Suguru’s delicate flesh. Satoru slides his tongue against Suguru, feeling his cock twitch in his mouth.

Suguru pulls Satoru off, an audible pop ringing out. Satoru pouts up at Suguru, wanting to suck him off even more.

“Fuck, you have to stop or I’m gonna cum.” Suguru chastises, his eyebrow twitching.

You place several kisses around, ignoring him. Only when you feel Satoru start slamming into you harder do you come back to the moment. He holds your hips, keeping you in place as he molds your pussy to his cock.

You hear lip smacking above you, the sound of Satoru’s moans being muffled against Suguru’s lips. Suguru holds his face steady while his tongue swirls inside Satoru’s mouth. The taste of his own precum mixed with Satoru’s saliva made his brain feel hazy.

“Feels so good, feels so good!” Satoru pulls apart to chant.

Suguru smiles as he watches his boyfriend fall apart in front of him.

“She does, doesn’t she? You should be thanking me Satoru, for allowing you to let you use her first.”

His words have your pussy clenching around Satoru’s cock, making it borderline impossible for him to keep fucking you.

Satoru whimpers helplessly, his hands digging into your tender flesh.

“T-thank you Suguru, thank you!” Satoru’s gulping down oxygen.

Suguru hums, seemingly placated for now.

“You’re so welcome.” Sickingly sweet.

Satoru’s movements lose all rhythm, all reasoning thrown out the window as he chases his high.

“Gonna cum.” He murmurs, looking down and watching how your body all but sucks him in.

“Ask for it.” Suguru orders.

“Please let me cum now, please I can’t, she’s feels so fucking-“

Suguru slides two fingers into Satoru’s mouth and he eagerly wraps his hand around his wrist while sucking.

“What a good boy, of course you can.”

You feel Satoru’s hips stutter before his cum shoots out inside you.

Satoru moans loudly, all noises slightly garbled from Suguru’s fingers. Ecstasy fills your veins as you watch the sight above you. Beautiful beautiful men. His cock stills inside you while he pulls off Suguru’s hand. His body weight feels heavy against you as he leans over, pressing soft kisses along your throat. Suguru whisks himself off the bed leaving you only a moment of reprieve before he took Satoru’s place. He spread your pussy and grinned to himself.

Oh how he and Satoru loved to make a mess out of you.

“How we feeling pretty girl?” His voice calms your body.

You can’t find any words to say so you just grumble and wiggle below him. He chuckles before nodding his head, dragging his hands up your body leaving goosebumps trailing behind.

“So good for us, always so sweet.” He utters praises in between kisses down your chest.

“Just hold on a little bit longer princess.”

His tip rubs through your folds and you feel your body react instantly. Suguru pushes the head inside and revels how your back immediately arches up, hands clawing at his exposed chest.

“Relax, relax. I’ve got you.” He speaks so quietly you swear you feel your heart stop beating for a moment

He lowers himself down until your skin presses against each other. His nipple and belly piercings drag against your sensitive skin as he sinks deeper into you. Suguru’s lips part, mirroring yours while he watches your face contort into complete pleasure.

You try not to acknowledge the fact that his caramel eyes are flicking across your face. You wouldn’t be able to stand it if you saw how much he adored you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before he begins to fuck you. His cock drags in your walls, Satoru’s cum making it easier to slide through. Suguru tries to keep his composure as he watches you beneath him. He snakes a hand between you two and massages your clit.

Your body jolts beneath him as you moan into his neck. Both of them made you feel so good it almost made you wonder. Were humans allowed to feel this good?

Suguru hits deep inside you, his quiet moans mingling with yours. You look up and make eye contact with him, his pools of caramel swallowing you whole. His fingers speed up and you could feel yourself falling closer. You reach up and wrap a hand around his throat, bringing him down closer to your lips. Your lips smash together while he winces, your hand still wrapped around his throat.

“Fuck, yes, just like that baby.” His voice sounded husky, a combination of the pressure on his throat and the lust that consumed him.

You were going to be sore tomorrow but you didn’t care. You feel yourself start to cum and Suguru keeps pumping into you, bringing you down even more.

“Good girl, good girl.” Your chest twists and turns at his voice.

Suguru listens to the melody of your moans surrounding him while he slams into you. His cock forces itself into you even deeper as it twitches, cum draining out into your tight walls. His cum mixed with yours and Satoru’s, creating something sinful as it leaks down your body. You could hardly catch a breath as he started to drag himself out of you.

You suddenly felt extremely empty and exposed, feeling the two men’s eyes bore into you.

They share two kisses before Satoru is cleaning up between your legs, his loving cooes escaping his lips.

After you get all cleaned up you cuddle in the bed together, basking in each others presence.

“Oh, my gift is gonna seem lame now.”

Satoru turns to you and Suguru’s eyes widen. They hadn’t really expected anything from you. You bought them something every year, but they always told you you didn’t have to.

“You got us something? Where?” Satoru’s voice peaks.

“It’s in the bag by the table.” Your eyelids start to feel heavy.

You sink further into the bed, enjoying the feeling of Suguru’s fingers stroking your side.

Satoru hops off the bed and brings the bag over, rummaging through it. A big box of chocolates, definitely for Satoru. For Suguru, a teddy bear.

“Too cheesy?” You ask, feeling self conscious.

They had got you this hotel room, even going so far as to create a whole game to lead you to them, all of it was better than perfect.

Satoru tackles you on the bed, quickly placing kisses all over your face.

“It’s perfect bunny!” His words are slightly muffled from your face.

Suguru grabs the teddy bear and grins, holding it close to his chest.

Joy bursts from your skin and you try your hardest not to show your excitement.

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.” They say back, pulling you close.

#my writing #suguru x reader x gojo #poly satosugu #suguru x reader #suguru geto x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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moris-auri · 29 days

Text

I can't steal you (like you stole me) - part 1

dividers by @arcielee and @saradika

Summary: Spiraling after an argument with her husband, a chance encounter with a stranger shows her just what she was missing… and what she wants.

A/N; my first Tom Bennett fic so please be kind ❤️

masterlist

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: 18+/Minors DNI, smut, implied PTSD, later mentions of malnutrition and war

15 February 1940

In all the years she's frequented the Minerva Inn, she's never seen it as it is now, a hive of activity and growing more crowded by the minute. Almost every inch of the pub is filled to the brim, the moods of the people who called Plymouth home buoyant and lively, a result of the arrival of the HMS Exeter that had come into port hours earlier, casting a shadow like a great iron gray stain against the blue of the sky.

As her gaze roamed over the gathered people, she mulled over how it was almost too easy to forget the war beyond its walls. The second Great War, the Daily Telegraph had taken to calling it. She remembered it as clear as if it were yesterday, the Sunday that had been like any other. How she had barely stepped one foot inside after hanging the linens up did the crackle of the little radio on the table get louder, Chamberlain's voice resonating throughout the space.

This country is at war with Germany.

It had looped inside her head for days after- as it had for others, she knew without a doubt, almost everyone she had encountered going about their life as best they could, herself included. And when her husband had come home, the day after the booklets for rationing of certain foods had been handed around a month ago, did the inkling that had been a nagging thought in the back of her mind for weeks finally reached a head.

She was unashamedly grateful for it though, the distraction it brought, half afraid to even think what her thoughts would be if she had been locked within a room alone, overflowing inside her brain like water sloshing over the rim of a bucket.

"Another drink, dearest?"

She stilled, startled and caught off guard by the question as a shadow darkened the wood of the bar before her. She raised her head, the tension in her back lessening at the sight of the warmth in Mary's eyes as she met the older woman's gaze. She cleared her throat, letting her gaze drop to the glass in her hands, mulling over it silently. Did she?

The sensible side of her protested against it vehemently, feeling the buzz under her skin, the sensation not unlike a hive of bees. She began to gnaw at her lip, staring at her fingers as she thought it over.

"I shouldn't-" She said, swallowing the lump in her throat, feeling the alcohol burn a path like fire as she drained the glass, the sound of her hair sliding over the shoulders of her blouse filling her ears. "Actually, I would. Thank you, Mary."

Mary only hummed in response, casting a pointed look her way before turning her back to refill the glass without another word. For as long as she could remember, the older woman had been a fixture in this place, full of memories that were equal parts good and bad. Memories of coming here as a girl, hand in hand with her mother or her father. As a teenager with other girls from her school. As a new bride in white, feeling like she was floating on a cloud and full of joy, a smile stretching her lips ear to ear.

She murmured a quiet "thank you" when it was set in front of her, extending a finger out to swirl it over the rim, her shoulders dropping as she let out a sigh, the memories of the events of the past several hours rushing back.

The shouting had been the worst part. Nearly as loud as it was unpleasant, she had wished nothing more for it to end, feeling the anger thrumming under her skin as she forced herself to stand still, voice hoarse, listening to every word that had left her husband's mouth.

A part of her mourned who he had been before everything had gone downhill the day the declaration of war crackled across every radio from Plymouth to Dartmouth and beyond, the news changing them both in more ways than one. It had felt like he had turned into an entirely different person after that, growing more withdrawn and surly with each day that went by, leaving her with the feeling that she was walking on eggshells around him.

It had reached a near boiling point that morning- the details of whatever had set him off then having long since escaped her. "I can't go back there. Not now at least." She said quietly, lifting a hand to push her hair back, feeling the drops of condensation from the glass that had clung to her fingertips land in her hair.

Mary clucked her tongue in sympathy, setting down the pint glass she had been cleaning. "Have you got somewhere to stay?"

"I'll figure something out. I always do," she responded, smiling weakly.

"That you do," Mary agreed, patting her hand. "You're a good girl. Though I'd be more than chuffed to give him a piece of my mind."

She huffed a laugh at that, pressing the back of one hand to her mouth in an effort to stifle it, not that it did much good. "Oh, Mary…" She'd never felt more fond for the woman in front of her than she did at that moment. "Now enough about me-"

She started to speak, only to be cut off by the sound of someone coming closer on her left, the thump of a bag being set on the floor following barely a second later. "A pint for me, thanks."

Mary's attention shifted from her to the newcomer at that, barely wasting a moment before turning her back to them to fill a glass. She vaguely heard the music change, the not quite upbeat tune fading to a softer one, broken by the sound of the wood of the bar creaking as the stranger beside her rested his elbows atop the surface.

Her eye flicked in his direction, eyeing him warily as he turned his head to the side, the point of his chin all but digging into his shoulder.

"Penny for your thoughts?"

She pressed her lips together, feeling her cheeks heat as a quicksilver flash of irritation raced through her. Her skirt flared around her knees as she twisted, the heels of her shoes clicking on the worn flagstones. "Excuse me?"

The man turned, one hand hovering inches away from the pint glass, his other hanging at his side. Her lips parted involuntarily when he was face to face with her fully, and she couldn't help but note that he was pretty, startlingly so. His profile was unlike anything she'd ever seen, seemingly to be constructed of chisel sharp edges. Her eyes moved over his face, drifting over the bright shade of his blue eyes, to the beaten gold of his hair beneath the cap before landing on the fading bruise that sat high on his left cheekbone, nearly blending into his skin.

His mouth twitched, one corner lifting higher than the other as he grinned at her, crow's feet forming in the corner of his eyes. "Cat got your tongue?"

A cocky one then.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she spared him another glance before turning away. "Think you're funny, do you?" She had only lifted her glass to her mouth before she felt him shift closer, felt the heat seeping through his clothes.

"Hey now, I didn't mean it like that-'' he protested. His hand brushed across her arm, a layer of goosebumps forming as a response., and a ringing rose in her ears, all but drowning out every other sound.

She rested one elbow on the surface, the wood cool under her skin as she met his eyes again, his accent catching her attention almost instantly. "You're a Manchester boy, aren't you?" She couldn't help but ask him, her interest piqued. Anger still simmered under her skin, though not quite as potent as it had been.

His eyes narrowed immediately, her words seeming to strike a nerve in him. A vein ticked in his jaw, the expression on his face turning unreadable. "So what if I am? You've got a problem with that?" He asked, his tone bordering on defensive.

"You're a long way from home, is all," she responded, shaking her head amusedly. "Plymouth is hours from Manchester."

"My ship's docked for repairs."

"Ah." She made a sound of understanding in her throat. "You're one of the Exeter boys, then." she said, watching him reach for the pint, throat working as he swallowed. His diverted attention gave her the opportunity to take in his clothes, eyes moving over the standard twilight dark shade of blue of his uniform.

His upper lip twitched at the statement. "I am."

"What was it like? That fight you were in? Battle of the River Plate, I believe?" she asked, leaning closer to him. "I remember hearing about it on the radio."

The words died on her lips when his gaze lowered, settling blankly on some point over her shoulder, his expression shifting to something that was almost haunted. A shadow seemed to settle over his face, all but snuffing out any trace of the person she had been talking to only seconds before.

"If you don't-" she laid a hand on his arm, feeling a fool for asking. His gaze rose to her face again, the weight of whatever lurked behind his eyes making her pause, her breath stilling in her lungs. He blinked, once then twice, the movement rapid enough for her to almost miss it.

He let out a low chuckle, the bitter tone to it contrasting with the grin that formed on his lips. "It was fucked," he said finally, and she could see his tongue drag across his teeth left to right behind his lip. "It was fucked," he repeated, not tearing his eyes away from her own. "Seeing them like that-"

He shook his head suddenly, the movement making a strand of hair fall, brushing across his forehead, and she was hit then by the sudden urge to brush it back.

She bit her lip, suddenly desperate to change the subject. "What's your name?"

"Tom," he said, and she was almost sure he was thankful for it. She hoped he was, at least. "Tom Bennett."

She glanced down at the hand he stuck out, hesitating but a moment before taking it. She fought the urge to shiver as she did. The calluses on his palm rasped against her skin, warmth from his hand seeping into hers. He- no, Tom, met her gaze again, and she realized belatedly he had yet to drop her hand. She swallowed past the lump in her throat, reaching for her drink and savoring the burn of the alcohol.

As the night wore on, they talked, time seeming to stop as she sat beside him, the bar surface before them littered with several empty glasses. Loathsome as she was to admit it, talking to him felt effortless in a way, words flowing from the both of them easily. A part of her, half guilt and half longing for something, wondered what it'd be like to kiss him; to press her lips to his and feel the heat of him flush against her.

Her head lifted at the sound of the chiming of the clock on the wall, gaze finding the hands of it showing 11 pm. "I should be going," she murmured, shaking her fingers slightly, fighting the urge to sigh when he let go.

"I could show you a good time, you know," he said as he half leaned against the bar.

Half scandalized, she blinked, craning her head back to stare up at him, stumbling slightly as she stood, sucking in a breath when his hand shot out, clasping her elbow loosely. She all but ignored the warning look in Mary's eyes, feeling almost drunk on the alcohol coursing through her veins and the weight of his attention. "Tell you what," she exhaled, laying her hand on his arm, the material of his uniform coarse under her fingers. "If you're still here tomorrow, I'll find you."

Her hand fell back to her side when Tom shifted, standing to full height. He seemed to fill the space, towering over her, the grin on his face making her heartbeat jump. Something fluttered in her belly at the sight of it. "Is that a promise, then?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Unable to resist, her eyes flicked to his mouth, the thump of her heartbeat echoing in her ears.

She dropped her hand without another word, all but darting around him and making her way towards the door, putting as much distance between them as she could, feeling the weight of his gaze on her back as she moved toward the door on half unsteady feet, a gust of cold February air greeting her as she stepped onto the street.

She tipped her head back against the wall of the pub as she exhaled a breath, rifling through her purse for a light, the orange reddish glow of it casting a warm hue over her face, watching the smoke from the cigarette she held loosely between her fingers wafting higher and higher into the night sky.

#my fics #world on fire #tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #tom bennett fanfiction #tom bennett x you #tom bennet x reader #world on fire fic #tom bennett smut

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gretavanlace · 7 months

Text

Sugar II (part 2)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: language, angst, Josh is perfect, angst, also maybe some angst

I’m so happy that you are all enjoying Sugar 2.0 as much as I am! I’ve missed this little world so much and it just makes me smile to know that you missed it too ❤️

Curled up into a tight ball under hotel room sheets, your mascara smudges across and stains the bleach-white pillowcases. And you might feel a little guilty about that if you could form a halfway coherent thought.

You’d expected a coworker, also dragged into town for this god forsaken conference, when you’d heard your name skittering across the marbled lobby floors. Turning to find Daniel, dripping in Greek God beauty and memories, had stolen the air from your lungs.

Quite literally, you had found it impossible to breathe for a few panicky moments as your eyes darted around in search of those that might be tagging along with him.

The warm, nostalgic feeling of stumbling across an old, dear friend had been overshadowed and twisted by fear…and a horrible, throbbing sadness; there was a time when this was your life…the last time anything had made any sense.

The overwhelming urge to sob in his arms had left you aching when he’d pulled you in for a bear hug. Somehow, his being so near had made home feel that much further away.

Take me to him. You’d wanted to beg Danny, clinging to his sturdy frame.

Now, you just want to run. To pack up your things in a hurry and flee the building as if it were engulfed in flames. You wish you were shoving your bag into an overhead compartment on a plane bound for anywhere that isn’t here.

This is too close. They are too close.

Three years it’s been, and he is still the first thing that weighs like sand on your mind when your eyes blink open in the morning…and your very last thought before they drift closed at night.

Has it really been three years? It doesn’t seem possible.

You think of Josh, too. Of course you do. But it is with a distant fondness for what you had. He is a pretty memory. A good memory. One you can recall easily, and with wistful affection. You can speak of him readily, with gentle sentiment. It was a great thing you had, and now it is no longer. Simple.

Jake.

You try so hard not to think of Jake, but he’s there all the time anyway. Cozied up inside your head like he owns the place, no matter how many times you’ve ordered him to vacate. He always was stubborn, and his memory has proven no different. There is a hole in your soul shaped exactly like him. Hardly a blip of light in your eyes; you left most of it there with him all those moons ago.

You could so easily satiate your searing need in some minuscule manner, via YouTube interviews, balcony seats at shows where you would stand no chance of being spotted. The wails of his guitar could pour from your speakers and right into your chest whenever it feels too hollow. You could fall asleep to samplings of his velveteen voice, rasping answers to questions floated from radio hosts and devour written pieces where he speaks so eloquently and with such reverence about his craft…

You could, but you don’t.

You do none of these things. It simply cuts too deeply.

Early on, you did. Tortured yourself as you sobbed and cried out in the night like a homesick child. Yes, in those early days, you’d punished your fractured heart and yearning mind with pain; sunk your teeth into and gnashed them together, fearful of letting go.

But you’ve found your way. Tripped clumsily along, patching together a new normal slowly. The diamond that rests upon your ring finger reminds you of that…and you feel sick with self loathing. Weeping in this strange bed over what used to be, while he waits at home for you, happily watering your plants and tending to the household chores. Loving you from a distance.

He sends you texts just to say he loves you, and so you’ll know you’re on his mind. To ask if you’d like him to pick up anything from the store so you won’t have to worry about it when you return home. To remind you that he adores you in a hundred little ways.

…and here you lie, in a bed that isn’t the one you share with him, chest caving in around your heart, squeezed up tight and longing for Jake.

Jake, Jake, Jake…always Jake. Why won’t he go away?

A knock, swift and sure, startles you out of your misery with a jolt.

You don’t plan to answer, that’s a given…you’re a mess, complete with a blotchy, tear streaked face, and swollen eyes…so you’re silent as you creep over to the door to have a peek through the peephole.

He looks angelic, waiting out there in the hall nervously fidgeting. His curls look like home and your fingers itch to touch them, innocently. Almost the same, and so different all at once, now closely clipped at the sides. He looks reminiscent of his younger self. A little like the Josh you’ve only ever known through pictures; the Josh before he swept into your life like a tornado of light and smiles. He always was so beautiful. So offbeat. So eclectically mishmashed together and esoteric.

It’s like spotting a twin flame that you never expected to see again. Like the dead has risen…

…and before you’re consciously aware of your actions, you’re sliding the lock and cracking open the door.

“Hello, sweet girl.” His voice is soothing, and weighed down heavy as it slams into your head and scrambles your brain.

“Josh,” is all you’re able to manage, stupidly.

“As beautiful as ever, mama.” He smiles, flashing that tiny gap in his teeth that used to make you weak.

“Now, listen,” he holds a hand up and then shoes away whatever notion he’s about to bring up, “Don’t you hold this against our dear Daniel…I know you didn’t want to see us,” he lowers his voice into a conspiring whisper, “but you should know, he’s become a terrible tattletale in your absence.”

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact that you’ve left him standing in the hall like an unwelcome stranger. Against your better judgment, you invite him in.

He’s careful not to touch you, mindful of overstepping in a way that’s so out of character for him it makes you feel unsteady.

“You really do look lovely, sweetheart.” He smiles, “A vision. I’ve missed you, my friend. I’ve missed you very much.”

‘My friend’ stings a little at first, but within a blink, it settles and feels right - you were always friends. Friends before it became love, friends while it was love…

The Josh you knew possessed a great many talents, and quick adaptability was listed among them. He allowed the fickle winds of life to toss him about like no one you’d ever known, and had an ever present and uncannily firm grasp on relationships, and an admiration for how they can shift and morph.

He also always was a cool liar when it was for the greater good. Some things clearly never change.

Nervously, you sweep a hand through your hair and blot your eyes with the backs of your hands, “Lovely my ass…c’mere.”

With little reservation, you tug him in close and fold your arms around him. An unexpected huff of a laugh escapes you when you feel his familiar warmth.

He hugs you back, long and hard, with a soft, “Hi, baby, hi.”

“How’d you find me, you stalker?” You joke tenderly as he sways your bodies back and forth. “I didn’t give Danny my room number.”

That chuckle of his that you’d buried in the past trots out to say hello, “A trip to the front desk was all it took. Have you forgotten the Kiszka charm so easily?”

“Uh-huh,” you roll your eyes, though you’re still wrapped up tightly together and he cannot see.

“Okay,” he concedes “the Kiszka charm and maybe a hundred tucked into a hand or two.”

How strange that you had begged Danny not to tell him; his embrace is blissful and you’ve missed him terribly.

Still, there is a phantom in the room with the two of you, and you know without a doubt that he feels it too.

When he pulls back, his hands slip down your arms to clasp around yours…and he sees it.

“Oh my, mama,” he tugs it up closer for inspection, “would you look at that. Going to the chapel, huh?”

“I—“ for some unknown reason, you pull your hand away and tuck it behind your back as though you’ve been caught in a shameful act.

He tilts his head, regarding you carefully “Can we sit?”

With a welcoming gesture, you usher him in further, and like the gentleman he’s always been, he opts for the chair and doesn’t mention the disheveled bed, or its wept upon pillows.

After you settle in respectively, there’s a long stretch of silence in which you both seem to just sort of sink into being in the same room together again. Finally, he breaks the ice.

“He can’t know you’re here. It won’t be like this,” he waves a finger back and forth between the two of you, indicating the ease in which you’ve reunited.

A choked sob threatens to breach your lips at the mere mention of him, and your hand darts up to press it back.

“And he certainly can’t know about that.” Josh points to your ring winking obnoxiously in the light.

“Of course,” you nod rapidly, blinking tears back. “Yes, of course not…but, is he…” falling silent, your gaze lands on your bare toes and stays there.

“Is he, what?” Josh’s voice is kind, and you are so grateful for it. “Okay? No, sweetheart. He’s very far from okay. I should lie for him, I know I should. He’s my brother…I should tell you he’s happy. Happier than he’s ever been.”

“Will you?” There is a desperate hope in your plea that makes you cringe inwardly. “Will you tell me he’s happy?”

His eyes, so like his twins, and so full of sorrow, watch you for such a long time you begin to squirm this way and that in your seat. “Sit still, mama…” he finally scolds with the tiniest wink to soothe your anxiety, “he’s happy. He’s fine. But best if you just steer clear, alright?”

“So he’s happy? Or you should lie, Josh? Which is it?” Why are you asking? You don’t want to know. It’s infinitely easier to swallow the lie. You can’t stand the thought of Jake broken still and riddled with the pain you know so well.

With a sigh, he avoids your gaze. “You know the answer to that already, it seems. Are you?” His eyes flick towards your engagement ring, “Happy, I mean? Are you?”

Now it’s your turn to lie, “Yes. Very.”

He nods, and then glances at the mascara glaring from your pillows like evidence at trial. “Yes, it would seem so.”

“Josh, I—“

“Look,” he cuts you off, stressing with urgency. “We’re only here for the night. Lay low if you can. He’s bad off, and to see you would level him. To see you with that,” he once again points out your ring, “Would kill him. You leaving…”

A shaking breath rattles his shoulders, “It wasn’t easy for either of us, but Jake? Jake is still in that hotel room you walked out of a thousand nights ago. He never left, sweet girl. He never fucking left…and as much as I know that it’s not your fault…”

He trails off in thought and then drags in a hitching hiss of air, “As much as I know it isn’t either of our faults, I still place all that blame right here, with you and me. I can’t watch him descend any further, alright? So just lay low until we’re gone. For me, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a thousand questions beating like bird’s wings against the cage of your mind, “Yes, of course.”

Another lull slips in to visit until he shakes his head slowly, “How did I ever manage to get over you? You truly are beautiful. I’d almost forgotten…that’s heartbreaking.”

There is an innocuous lilt to his tone that warms your soul like cocoa with the fattest marshmallow bobbing along in the mug, and you feel your cheeks turn pink under his open, golden gaze.

“Me?” You laugh, “What about you, gorgeous? I love the hair.”

“Oh, you know,” he brushes his palms over the sides with a bashful shrug, “I let Sam trim it, scissors slipped…had to do something.”

“Still blaming Sam for all of life’s tragedies?” You laugh again. You always did laugh so freely with him, and you’ve missed it more than you ever allowed yourself to realize.

He scoffs with the faintest roll of his sparkling eyes “Obviously. That’s what the youngest is for, mama. You know this. And speaking of Samuel, you understand that Daniel will tell him, right? Those two might as well just get married and call it a day.”

Another giggle sounds out of you, “Don’t be jealous, Joshua. It’s unbecoming. Danny loves you, too…and Sammy I would say definitely considers you a solid acquaintance.”

“Yes, well, my acquaintance would be thoroughly crushed if he didn’t get the chance to at least say hello to you. Maybe later tonight? After the show?” He leans forward and toys with the beads swinging between his knees. “How would that be?”

“Only Sammy?”

He holds up two fingers, scout’s honor, “Only Sammy.”

You agree, and catch up a while longer until it’s time for him to take his leave, and you can’t help the confession that blurts out of your mouth without eloquence.

“You said he never left that hotel room,” you waver with bitten back tears. “It wasn’t…I don’t want you to think…it took me a very long time to leave that room, too.”

One last time, before the door closes behind him, his eyes linger on your pillow and the evidence of your tears, and then find yours, “Sweetheart, are you sure you’ve left it at all?”

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#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfic #greta van smut #gvf fic #greta van fic #jake gvf #josh kiszka #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiskza x reader #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiskza smut #josh kiszka fic #josh gvf #gvf smut #gvf josh #gvf

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brighter-by-the-daly · 7 months

Text

Millie Bright x Reader

Big Mouth

AN: Sparked from @wileys-russo’s comment on a previous fic ~ “Millie and her big mouth would most definitely out someone”

It was the 70th minute in the quarter final of the World Cup as the team were shuffling around preparing for a corner. England had been marked all evening and Columbia weren’t letting up anytime soon, you were in serious need of a new strategy and fast if you wanted to progress any further in the tournament. You were floating around in the box trying to break away from your marker whilst listening out for instructions from your captain, suddenly feeling hands on both your shoulders and being viscously shoved to the ground. You were in shock as the attack was completely unprovoked and the ball wasn’t even in play yet. The corner was delayed for a moment as you scrambled to your feet and as a warning was handed out to you, your teammates swarmed the ref to object. How could you push yourself to the floor? Is she completely oblivious to the abuse you had been receiving the entire match? As an arm pulled tightly on your shirt in another direction you were prepared to receive a yellow if it meant not allowing yourself to be bullied any longer. “Get the fuck off me!” you screamed, expecting to turn and face a Colombian player but surprised to see it was actually Millie pulling you towards her for protection. Your demeanour changed immediately as you let her move your body like a rag doll; wherever she wants you, you’re there. Squeezing you infront of her, the taller woman pressed her body tightly against your back and her arm wrapped around your stomach to keep you in place so you were finally unmarked for once in this game. Millie quickly grabbed Rachel too and directed her in front of you, sandwiching your body between them. “Hold Rachel” Millie directed bluntly, “tighter”. Squishing you so close together you could barely breath as Rachel reached around your back to hold you all in place too. Making three unmarkable players, others copied in doing the same to give you the best chance to advance. Millie muttered directions into your ear as close to your face as possible so the opposing team couldn’t hear your tactics, the last thing you remember before the ball was kicked in by Alex was Lucy joking about where she fitted into this threesome and laughing to herself.

‘I knew what I had to do but did I do it? Did I fuck!’ Being grabbed and pulled by the older women took all your attention away from what you were actually supposed to be doing and that was scoring, that’s why they were protecting you in the first place you idiot! As the ball was kicked, the girls instantly spread out taking the Colombians with them, leaving you stood by yourself in acres of space with a gawped expression on your face. Seeing the ball flying towards you, Millie’s voice hollered your name just in time for you to zone back in to your surroundings and plant the ball neatly into the net.

Back in the locker room discussions were flowing about your goal, winning the game and being awarded player of the match. Lucy was in the corner joking with the older girls about your spaced out look just before the ball hit your head, you were huddled at the other end of the room with your friends from youth level. “You did look so out of it before you scored” they laughed in agreement with Lucy. “I was taken off guard! I didn’t expect to be sandwiched between Mills and Rach” chuckling to yourself but the comment was met with quizzical eyes and confused expressions. “Were you-“ Hempo started before you finished the question for her. “Turned on? Yes” shrugging it off as no big deal. “Ohhh from the train? I saw you guys do that and could already imagine the memes! That wasn’t what I was gonna say though..” Hempo still had the confused look that seemed to never leave her face. “Wait, what did you think?” you asked, wondering if you’d just over shared unnecessarily. “That you got shoved pretty hard, I thought they took the wind out of you!” your best friend’s voice was muffled inside the clean shirt as she tried to push her head through the arm hole. Helping her get dressed like a mum would a toddler you told yourself that next time you must remember to let people finish their sentences so you don’t make a fool of yourself. Yet somehow you ignored your own advice and still kept talking. “Yeah I think I’m gay now!” you blurted out jokingly. “You’re gay?!” Millie bellowed behind you, luckily she didn’t seem to have heard the rest of the conversation but this still wasn’t ideal. “Who’s gay?” “(Y/n).” “(Y/n)’s gay?” “About time she told us!” Glancing around the room at all the voices chiming like dominoes at overhearing the gossip you were shocked to see how many people thought you already were. “Was it the train?” Lucy laughed with a smirk in the corner of the changing room she hadn’t moved from, “the TikTok edits are gonna loooove that!” The brunette was always showing off edits that had been made of her on the app, always seemed proud of them too. “Nooo! I’m not gay!” you exclaimed to make sure the whole team heard you. “You’ve gone all red tho!” Millie pointed out whilst poking your cheeks making you wish the ground would open up and swallow you. Backing away from the blonde who was making you flustered you ran for the showers, eager to wash away the thoughts and the sound of being outted. You’re not gay, you were just turned on by some very attractive women that you spend all your time with holding you in a certain way, that doesn’t make you gay and certainly not for your teammates!

The next day at training you felt the same forcefulness as the day before, two hands landed heavily on your shoulders shuddering you out of the daydream you were in. A blonde messy bun flopped in your face as her arms wrapped loosely around your collar bones. “Hey, sorry for shouting about you being gay, I shouldn’t have done that I was just on a high from winning” she said pulling you into her once more. Your body instantly became stiff with being so close to the defender again and as words jumbled in your mind unable to form a sentence, you just nodded in response. “I’m here if you wanna talk okay, love you” kissing your cheek before running off to join her group. Hempo was watching the interaction from afar and made her approach when she saw Millie had left. “You’ve got that same look on your face as yesterday” she laughed, “yknow just cause you fancy a woman doesn’t mean you’re gay” bending down to tie her shoelaces. “Thank you! That’s what I was trying to say yesterday, at least someone believes me” you breathed a sigh of relief. “I meant, gay and straight aren’t the only options (y/n). You’ve got bi, pans, demi and-” she trailed off listing sexualities you had never heard of before as the realisation hit that not even your best friend believed what you were saying. “Y/n, work with Bright over your link ups, they could use some work” Sarina shouted over the pitch interrupting your friend who was still spelling out the queer alphabet. Hempo looked at you sympathetically but also a little amused, “good luck!” she nudged as she ran back to her spot. You reluctantly walked over to your skipper who was as loud as ever, shouting encouragement and silly remarks about taking your time but once you got there you couldn’t even hold eye contact with her. Making an excuse that you didn’t feel well before running back inside, Millie’s eyes followed you, squinting in confusion. She knew something was wrong but didn’t know how to approach you in a way that would make you open up.

Once you’d arrived into the safety of your hotel room you threw yourself on the bed to scour the internet to look up all the unfamiliar words Lauren was telling you about earlier. Taking silly quizzes to find out what sexuality you are always came up as 100% NOT straight which made you even more confused. You’d never thought about it before but you’ve never really felt attraction to anybody, relationships never lasted long because you just didn’t feel anything. After a few hours of flicking through an LGBTQ+ encyclopaedia your eyes landed on a definition you were unable to divert your attention from:

Graces, gray A’s, or gray asexuals: Individuals whose sexual attraction exists within the gray area between sexual and asexual. They experience sexual attraction infrequently or not very strongly. Other terms that are used to describe this identity are semisexual, asexual-ish, and sexual-ish.

‘That would explain my very rare attraction to anybody I guess’, you thought to yourself. My demeanour and fashion sense could come across gay sometimes but that word doesn’t seem to define me, neither do any of the others. I must be a Gray A.. or Grace? That seems to fit well with me the most.

Sitting back to admire the screen while you soaked everything in there was a knock at your door. “Hey, can I come in?” nodding without words as the blonde entered your room and sat down on your bed. “Can you just talk to me please? I know I’ve upset you and just wanna make it right” she pleaded. “You haven’t upset me Mill” reassuring her as you sat down next to your friend. “It’s just..” you started to explain but hesitant with how to word it. “The other night when you pulled me into you it made me feel something.. different. It turned me on okay and then everyone started shouting about how I’m gay and I just got confused. But I’ve done some research and I think I know why now.” Planting the laptop onto her knees so she could look at what you had highlighted. “I’ve never heard of this?” she muttered while reading the definition. “Me neither, but it explains why I’ve never felt attracted to anyone and then suddenly I was” you shrugged, relieved with having an explanation now. “I do have that effect on people” she mocked swiping her hair from her shoulder. “You’ve got such a big head!” rolling your eyes and slapping her arm. “Hey!” she pouted, trying to slap you back but you’d moved out of her reach. “Matches your big mouth!” your laugh exaggerated but comforted in the fact that everything was out in the open and the awkwardness had floated away. “Okay, so we cool?” “We’re cool” “I won’t go grabbing you without warning anymore” “hmm. I liked it” punching her bicep lightly. “Good… cause my love language is touch” her hand glided from your shoulder down to your fingers, linking your hand in hers. “Really? Cause I hadn’t noticed!” your heavily sarcastic tone earned you a glare before being swamped in a huge bear hug.

#millie bright #millie bright x reader #engwnt #engwnt x reader #lionesses #lionesses x reader #woso x reader #woso masterlist #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso community #engwnt imagine #engwnt fics #lionesses imagine #lauren hemp #lucy bronze #rachel daly

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defectivevillain · 6 months

Text

this broken design, ch16

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: That familiar analytical gleam in your eyes lives in Hannibal’s mind as he sinks his teeth into his prey. Despite your departure hours ago, Hannibal sees you sitting across from him at the table. Dining alone has never bothered him; yet, right now, he can’t help but desire your company—your scintillating conversation, your sharp wit, your clever smirk. Indeed, his table feels uncharacteristically empty. Hannibal stares at the chair across from him—the same chair he’s grown accustomed to seeing you sit at—and takes another bite. Flavor explodes on his tongue, yet you are what dominates his thoughts.

Your experience in criminal profiling means that you've met a wide variety of people from all different walks of life. You've stared down hardened criminals and fought for your life against people hellbent on killing you. Even so, something about the FBI's new target, the Chesapeake Ripper, seems to elude you.

Then you meet Hannibal Lecter: an enigmatic jigsaw of a man with jagged corners and misshapen pieces.

Fortunately, you've always been rather good at puzzles.

read from the beginning here.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

some of this chapter is born out of me realizing, as i read The Red Dragon, that i essentially limited Alana’s presence in this fic to that one rather tumultuous interaction, instead of expanding on her potential as both a strong, intelligent side character and a friend to the reader. Hopefully this makes up for that a little bit. Alana’s pretty cool. I sort of lost sight of that.

warnings: negative self talk, suicidal ideation/thoughts, panic attack, hyperventilation, derealization, canon-typical blood, violence, & gore

The darkness swirling around you is relentless in its writhing, distorting and jerking you around in its shadowed grasp. For a while, you’re content to let the shadows take control. You float in an endless abyss. Memories flit before your eyes, just long enough for you to reach out to try to grab them. They never stay long enough, flickering and disintegrating before you get the chance to grasp them and dissect every miniscule detail.

Stay awake, says a whisper itching at your skin.

You take a deep breath. The next time you blink, you find yourself standing in a far too familiar place. Hannibal’s kitchen is quiet—eerily so, you think as your footsteps echo against the floors. There is hardly a sign of life on these countertops, hardly a stain or sprinkling of powder to assure you this place has ever been used. There is a single light boring down on the back of your head: a spotlight. You swallow hard and step to the side in an attempt to escape the light, only to find Hannibal’s rolodex sitting in the middle of the brightness. Your business card sits on top, displaying your name, phone number, email address, office location at headquarters, birthplace, height, weight, eye color, age, and any other demographic information you could possibly imagine. The font is tiny, yet you can read it with ease. Feeling a sudden urge to touch, you grab the business card and let it lie flat in your palm. There’s a tear in the corner, you realize. Frowning, you move to touch it, only for the tear to extend further down the flimsy material. Crimson dots appear on the white background, swirling and twisting until there’s blood collecting on your fingertips. You look down, only to realize that the dark red stains have permeated the fabric of your shirt. Puddles are gathering at your feet, marking your footsteps with every movement you make. The card melts into the blood gathered in your hands, and you’re left holding the tattered remains of your identity.

Stay awake.

You blink again. Abel Gideon is peering at you from behind the bars of his interrogation cell. “You have Lecter on a leash, don’t you?” Gideon remarks with a laugh. You huff a laugh under your breath. The thought amuses you, for reasons you cannot quite discern at the moment. “A very long leash, but a leash nonetheless.” Your hands tremble at your sides and you restlessly shift your balance from one foot to the other. Gideon’s gaze is knowing and it pins you to the ground.

Stay alive.

A blink. You’re standing in the doorway of your office at headquarters. Everything is as you left it, save for your chair, which has an inhabitant. Franklyn Froideveaux stares at you with empty eye sockets and a gaping maw. Blood slips down his gaunt frame, leaving murky red-brown streaks down his cheeks and around the cavity of his chest. You blink and his skin turns a murky yellowish green from decay.

“See?” Garret Jacob Hobbs croons from over your shoulder. You can feel the smile on his face, feel his breath hitting your neck and provoking a deep nausea in your gut.

Another blink. Blood slips hotly down your fingers as you stand in a dimly lit hallway. Your skin feels lit with flames and the knife in your hand gleams a sickening crimson. You want to release the weapon from your grip, but your fingers are locked around the blade with unshakeable force. The smell of death and decay wafting through the enclosed space makes your stomach turn. None of these sensations are powerful enough to rip your attention away from the corpse at your feet.

“Killing must feel good to God, too,” Hannibal remarks with a hum, hands behind his back as he regards Abel Gideon’s form. There is a mildly intrigued expression on his face as he studies the body, before looking back to you with eerily crimson eyes. As he pivots, bloodstained antlers stretch from his perfectly coiffed hair. They disappear in a moment—a trick of the light. His voice is dark and airy all at once. “And are we not created in his image?” You swallow past the nausea building in your chest. Time stretches on with terrible slowness. His gaze is flaying you apart. “Don’t you want God To want you?” He asks softly.1

“See?” Stay awake. Stay alive.

Darkness, then light. “To the Ripper, understanding is love,” Hannibal says, a flicker of a smile settling on his lips. His hands are folded and he leans forward. Your chairs are close enough to force you to knock knees with him, but Hannibal doesn’t seem bothered by the prospect. “You are the first person to see through his façade, through the layers of his mask.” His skin looks strangely patterned, as if it's made of ceramic. You reach out to grasp his face, to yank off his mask, only for Hannibal to catch your wrist and hold it in a tight grip. Suddenly, your chair is tipping backwards precariously, lurching further into the abyss. You try to reach out and grab onto something, but Hannibal’s hold is the only thing that keeps you tethered. The void crawls up your skin mockingly, waiting to drag you into its umbra. Your momentum is slipping backwards and you’re filled with an unsettling anticipation. Contrary to your expectations, Hannibal’s grip remains strong. You look at him. The Ripper looks back, a bloodstained smile on his lips. You feel his fingers trace the edges of your skin with a mocking gentleness, before you’re falling backward into the darkness again.

You slip out of the darkness and bolt up, only to find yourself in a painfully bright room. You can’t quite stop the gasp that comes from your lips, nor can you suppress the urge to look around frantically, searching for the signs that this is a dream. The incessant pain in your abdomen is a harsh reality check. You look down at the area, only to find meticulously wrapped bandages covering your lower torso. Your upper forearm stings from the IV burrowing under your skin.

“Hey,” a voice says. You squint in the bright light, waiting for the blurred figure in front of you to sharpen. It’s a nurse—the same one who helped you the last time you were wounded. She holds her hands out in a placating gesture. “It’s okay. You’re okay. You were just dreaming.” Her eyebrows are furrowed in concern, a sentiment you feel you don’t deserve.

You bite back your questions—knowing the answers are clinging to the blinding white walls around you. The nurse asks you several questions about your symptoms and your pain level, before departing with the promise that she will return soon.

The events that transpired in Hannibal’s office cling to your skin with fervency. Your abdomen burns, especially when you remember that Hannibal inflicted the wound. You shouldn’t feel betrayed. You shouldn’t be afforded the privilege of being betrayed, not when you knew Hannibal Lecter’s nature since that night you sleepwalked out into the middle of the street.

Even so… you enjoyed being in Hannibal’s presence. You enjoyed the song and dance you had gotten so accustomed to playing. You spent so long spectating the game that you forgot your role in it. You were a pawn, and nothing more. The thought displeases you. With each passing second, the ugly feeling in your chest grows and swells within the confines of your rib cage. It’s getting to be too much.

There is no one to sit at your bedside this time. When she returns, the nurse pointedly does not mention your husband. You don’t have the heart to tell her that your “husband” was the same person who stabbed you, or that your husband was never really your husband in the first place. She seems to understand anyway. Pity is hidden beneath the kind smile on her face. You stop making eye contact with her.

Lying in this hospital bed is a lonely existence, dominated by a constant state of pain (at worst) or mild discomfort (at best). The only interaction you get is from the nurse herself. You get the feeling she’d be a good listener, but your tongue feels ironed to the roof of mouth and your conversations quickly morph into anecdotes about her life. You’re grateful for the small kindness—for the prospect of being treated like a human being, despite it all. These small moments of humanity push you to keep going, even amidst the several voices crooning in your ears about your cruelty.

You don’t expect any visitors. Indeed, your first visitor is entirely unexpected. When you’re first told that someone wishes to speak to you, you think of Beverly, Jack Crawford… hell, even Freddie Lounds. You certainly don’t foresee Alana Bloom walking through the door, a gentle, reserved expression on her face. Seeing her brightens your day, and her presence reminds you that you’re not entirely alone. You welcome the thought.

“Alana,” you greet her, your voice rather raspy. You cough to clear your throat. “How are you?” You ask.

“I should be asking you that,” she responds with a wry smile. She stands at the end of your bed, before walking to the side. Alana regards the lonely chair at your bedside, before placing her hands on the back. She looks well—albeit a little tired. “I’m good. And you?”

“I’ve been better,” you decide to respond honestly. There’s no point in lying to Alana—she used to be your psychiatrist, your girlfriend. She would be able to see through your dishonesty anyway. Sure enough, Alana seems to appreciate your honesty, because her eyes momentarily widen before she moves to sit down. Seeing her sit in that chair makes your stomach turn. When you blink, you see Hannibal sitting there—lithe frame effortlessly arranged, tupperware in hand. You rub your eyes roughly, dispelling the image to the recesses of your memory. Alana was courteous enough to visit you—the least you can do is acknowledge her presence, instead of imagining her as someone else.

For a moment, you stare at Alana. A mundane sense of envy strikes you, but it’s fleeting. You don’t deserve to be envious of her good health and safe wellbeing. Your own hubris is the reason why you’re currently confined to this cot. You look at her for a moment longer, before letting your eyes rest on the plain walls around you. You can feel Alana staring at you with concern. Instead of acknowledging that sentiment, you let the first question on your mind pass through your lips. “Where’s Jack?”

Alana is silent for a few seconds. Is it a difficult question? You don’t think so, yet Alana almost seems to falter. Eventually, she must manage to find the words. “Busy, as I’m sure you can imagine,” she evidently settles for saying. Upon closer examination, her hands are clasped in her lap—whitened knuckles betraying her otherwise tranquil image. Alana’s next words are quiet yet firm. “He’s tracking Hannibal—the Chesapeake Ripper.”

You inhale slowly. Somehow, hearing her say that cements the reality of it all. Everyone knows Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper. It’s not just you anymore. You bring up an arm slowly, before tilting your head down and pinching the bridge of your nose. Somehow, it is this statement that reminds you of the pounding sensation behind your eyes and the aching clustered around your temple.

“Are you alright?” Alana asks, lips twitching into a slight frown.

“Yes,” you respond flatly. Your answer sounds devoid of emotion and purpose.

“Are you sure?” Alana persists. You don’t have the heart to lie to her twice in a row.

“...No.” You acquiesce. You rub a hand over your face, feeling rather small in this hospital bed. The sheets are slightly scratchy and the weight of them feels constricting, rather than comforting. You’ve never felt so small.

“I’m sorry,” Alana sighs. She seems entirely sincere and it almost makes you want to scream. You don’t deserve her sympathy. “I know you two were close. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.” That statement is incredibly reassuring, despite the frenzy you had worked yourself into surrounding Alana. When you reflect on the events of the past months, you realize that you have few allies and even fewer true friends. One of those true friends is sitting right next to you.

“Thank you,” you nod. Guilt stirs in your chest as you stare at your old psychiatrist and ex-girlfriend. Every time you’ve seen her since she kissed you, you’ve purposefully cut conversation short. Somehow, the thought feels silly to you now. Perhaps almost dying a second time does that to a person. You stare at Alana for a moment. She looks well put together, as always. “Alana?”

“Yes?” She questions patiently. That’s another thing you envy about her—her unwavering compassion, her unflinching patience. You could stand to learn a few things from her, you think.

“I’m sorry,” you remark. The sentiment has been dancing on the tip of your tongue for the past several weeks, yet you never got the chance to verbalize it. Life has been a whirlwind lately. You’ve been so caught up in everything swirling around in your mind that you never paused to think about those around you, or how they were affected by the recent turn of events. “For…” You break off, unable to articulate it. You settle for a vague hand gesture. Alana seems to understand anyways, as her eyes momentarily widen before comprehension passes over her face.

“Don’t apologize,” Alana is quick to say, nothing but sincerity written in the lines of her shoulders. Her eyes look slightly glassy for the briefest of moments, before she shakes her head and looks at you once more. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’m sorry for kissing you without warning.”

You nod in acknowledgement. Silence descends upon the brisk air, leaving the two of you to your thoughts. You’re not content to let this overbearing tension rule over your conversation. You clench your fists slightly, filled with renewed resolve. You stare at Alana for a few seconds, until she notices your gaze and returns it. “Friends?” You ask, extending a hand towards her.

“Friends,” Alana responds with a smile, rising from her chair to meet your outstretched hand. Your handshake is short but reassuring. It’s enough to convince you that there are no hard feelings between the two of you. Alana fills you in on some of what’s happened since your admittance to the hospital; mostly, though, the two of you talk about the small things. You know Alana is trying to give you some semblance of normalcy. You appreciate the effort, you really do… but you’re not sure you’re capable of pretending everything’s okay. Furthermore, the small things seem inconsequential—now that you’re entrenched in the middle of everything. Even so, you make sure to thank her before she leaves. You don’t know how you would have coped without seeing a familiar face. Alana smiles and promises to be back soon.

As you expect, Alana doesn’t turn up the next day. You certainly don’t expect her to stop by, since you know she’s always rather busy. Ultimately, you come to the conclusion that you want nothing more than to be out of this hospital. Even worse… apparently, the stunt you pulled with Beverly during your past hospital visit did not go over well. You’re firmly reminded to avoid any attempts at an early release. You’re too tired and embarrassed to argue. You don’t have anything better to do than rot in this hospital room, anyway. Besides, you’re certain you’ll be met with some unpleasant reminders of Hannibal as you get home. You think you have a few cardigans in your closet that you meant to give back to him. The thought sends a bolt of nervous excitement through you, and you have to actively talk yourself down that precarious ledge.

Alana does visit the day after. Beverly turns up the day after that and gives you several hugs. After that, at least one of your friends—Alana or Beverly— visits every day, which you’re extremely grateful for. You’re certain you’d go absolutely stir crazy in this hospital bed if you didn’t have anyone for company. Your conversations are typically fun and refreshing, like light breezes of summer air. Sometimes, though, you’re bogged down by your memories. Sometimes, you’re forced to remember the corpses you left in your wake.

Even with Alana and Beverly visiting, you’re given more than enough alone time to contemplate everything. You have ample time to pick apart Hannibal’s actions and discern his true motivations. So, when Jack Crawford finally visits, his shoulders drawn tight with stress, you’re prepared to recount that night to him. Jack is insistent on the fact that you don’t have to speak about anything you don’t want to, but you know the offer is more for pretense than anything else. He needs this information, needs to understand the Ripper’s past actions and how they govern his future. With that in mind, you wave off his concern and tell him about your late night meeting with Hannibal.

Jack is silent throughout, never once interrupting you or reacting in a manner other than an affirmative nod. It’s very characteristic of your boss; you think that you would have been unsettled if he responded with heightened or dramatic emotions. Jack’s cool composure is an anchor that you quickly latch on to.

“He wanted you alive,” Jack states, once you’re finished explaining everything. He says this with frightening assuredness. His utter conviction surprises you, prompting you to ask how he knows that.

Of course, you certainly considered that same possibility yourself, but it feels more real when you hear it from Jack. “The stab wound wasn’t fatal,” he points out. His gaze falls to the edge of your abdomen. The bandages feel extremely constricting. You wonder if they need to be changed soon. “It easily could’ve been. The Ripper is a skilled killer—he wouldn’t have missed unless he wanted to.” You take a shuddering breath in.

“He’s toying with us,” you manage to agree. Your hands fidget restlessly along the rough blanket thrown over your form. You feel restless once more.

“He’s toying with you,” Jack supplies. There is no room for argument in his voice. He doesn’t look restless, afraid, or frustrated. Not for the first time, you wish you had Jack’s control and constitution. However, you know Jack well enough to see the signs of tension in his clenched fist and drawn lips. “Taunting you, and the rest of us, by proxy.” That statement in particular sets everything in stone. Your theories are no longer just theories—they are unobjectionable facts.

“Jack.” you remark, trying to push the words past the dread settling on your tongue.

“Yes?” Jack asks, patient and restless all at once. You’re choking on the words. It’s such a simple sentence, yet so dangerous of an admission. If you told the truth—confided in Jack about how you suspected Hannibal the moment you met him, and grew to realize that he is the Ripper—you would certainly lose your job, not to mention all of Jack’s trust.

Selfish, your victims croon. Your psyche nods in agreement. It’s truly selfish of you not to provide Jack with your utmost honesty. You’re doing a disservice to every person Hannibal has ever killed, every waking moment the team spent hunting for the Chesapeake Ripper. You wasted so much time, so much space.

“I-” You try to continue. I knew. I knew and I did nothing. I am complicit in his crimes. Tears are slipping down your cheeks. You’re a rotten excuse for a human being. You don’t deserve to be alive. Why hadn’t Hannibal just finished the job? It’s cruel, almost. He allowed his other victims the mercy of death, yet he left you alive. You will forever be scarred—both by Hannibal’s knife and by the bone-deep knowledge that your silence made you an accomplice to his crimes.

Breathing is suddenly a far more arduous task. Your lungs burn and your throat feels as if it’s closing in on you. Your vision is extremely sharp and your shaking hands are drawn with harsh lines and even harsher edges. The world around you is suddenly rendered immensely inconsequential. The beeping of the machines at your bedside, Jack’s steady breaths, the traces of conversation slipping in from the hallway… It all fails in comparison to the chimes of the grandfather clock in your mind. You dig your fingernails into your skin, desperate for unspoken confirmation that you aren’t dreaming.

At this point, you’re panting. Drool falls from the sides of your mouth and hits the scratchy blanket. Every nerve in your body feels as if it’s on fire. You’re a puppet cut loose from the puppeteer’s careful hand, yet you’re still strung together with wooden bones and durable string. You bring your hand to your chest and try to breathe, but the more you try, the harsher and more rushed your attempts become.

“Agent.” There’s a hand on your shoulder. It’s enough pressure to make you feel as if you’re melding with the thin mattress below you, sinking into the floor and the shadows. For a moment, you can see Hannibal looking down at you in your mind’s eye, a contentious expression on his face as he lets you fall to the darkness below. “Breathe.” Jack grabs your hand and brings it to the inside of his wrist. His pulse beats steadily beneath your fingertips and you latch onto the rhythm. Jack begins counting, prompting you to breathe in time with him. You’re not sure how long it takes you to clear your airways—you just know that, at some point, Jack migrated from where he stood at the end of your bed to the side of the bed.

“Jack,” you try again. Your lips part but nothing slips out. It’s such a simple confession—a mere few words, yet you can’t utter them.

“Agent,” Jack interjects, before you can choke on the words you don’t want to say. His expression has returned to a combination of rigidity and anticipation. You know what Jack will say before he says it. “Can I trust you to handle this case? Do I need to remove you from this case? ” He doesn’t say that last part, but you hear it anyway. You take a deep breath and rub a hand over your face. Your eyes burn from all the tears you shed.

“I can handle it,” you assure him.

“You’re close to all this,” Jack remarks. He gets up from where he had been sitting and walks back to stand behind the edge of the bed. His gaze meets yours, but you know he isn’t really looking at you. That expression on his face means Jack is looking through his options, puzzling out the future in his head. You wait for him to refocus. “You know I don’t typically assign agents with personal investments in cases… But, you’ve been on this case for a long time. You know the Ripper better than anyone else does, whether you want to admit it or not.”

You stare at Jack silently, daring him to take you off the case. You know that your words will fail you here, so you hope your conviction shows through in your eyes. Jack stares back and, for a long moment, you’re both trapped in silence. Eventually, Jack seems to ascertain that you think yourself capable. He takes a deep breath.

“In terms of the Ripper, we currently have a unit determining his whereabouts,” Jack begins. “The Ripper—Lecter—covered his tracks very well. The last time he was seen was…”

“When he stabbed me,” you say for him.

“Yes,” Jack confirms. “As you know, Lecter is proficient at leaving behind very little—if any—evidence.” You nod, thinking back to all the crime scenes he created. There was hardly any evidence left behind. Hannibal was always meticulous and careful in his crimes.

“He only leaves clues when he wants to,” you continue. “He is not so kind hearted as to leave us clues for the hell of it, or because he slipped up. He doesn’t make mistakes.”

“We found very little in his office,” Jack concedes with a sharp nod. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Stress seems to tighten the line of his shoulders. “We did manage to find several concealed weapons, upon closer examination.”

“He stabbed me with a knife that was disguised as an antler on a deer sculpture,” you recall flatly. The thought makes your side flare up with pain again. “I shouldn’t have gone to his office. I should’ve come to you first. I knew, and yet…”

“Frankly, Agent, that is not my concern,” Jack states matter of factly. “The past is the past. If I were to dissect every minute mistake we’ve made along the course of this investigation, we’d never be able to proceed.”

“True,” you answer. You still don’t think Jack has truly comprehended the implications of what you just said. You knew Hannibal was the Chesapeake Ripper long before that night. After all, you didn’t explicitly state when you first discovered the identity of the Ripper. Of course, you suppose it is also likely that Jack was able to intuit that from your response. If that were the case, you can’t help but wonder why he hasn’t kicked you off this case or fired you.

You know it’s best for you to drop this particular line of questioning, so you do. For the duration of Jack’s visit, he debriefs you on what the team has deduced so far—both in terms of his current location and where he’ll go next. After an hour passes, however, your luck runs out. Your nurse enters the room and promptly shoos Jack out, claiming that you need time to rest. She is entirely impervious to his objections, even when he tries to pull rank on her. You’re rather impressed. Jack manages to get a last remark in, before the nurse can guide him out of the room.

“Lecter will turn up soon enough,” your boss states. With that, Jack departs. His cryptic remark leaves you with a lot to think about. You spend the rest of your hospital stay grappling with the implications of that statement, with the implications of Hannibal deciding not to kill you. You’re released from the hospital a week later with a troubled conscience and another scar to add to your collection.

Somehow, news of your battle with Hannibal has reached the press, Jack tells you as he drives you home in the dead of night. Ultimately, Jack decided it would be best to get you home during a time when most people are sleeping. You’re grateful for his foresight, because when you return home, there are no flashing cameras or microphones shoved in your face. You thank Jack for the ride and he nods, sending you one final unreadable look before driving away.

When you unlock your front door and swing the door open, you’re surprised to find that your house appears the same as when you left it. You close the door behind you and take in everything before you. Dust is beginning to collect on the shelves and surfaces—the space desperately needs a dedicated cleaning, but you know you don’t have the energy just yet. Right now, you’re content to cautiously walk to your closet and grab clothes. Despite the fact that Jack brought you a pair of old trainee clothes to change into when he arrived, you know you need a good shower to feel clean. The lukewarm water sliding down your skin is rejuvenating, but it doesn’t wipe away the dirt of your sins. You step out of the shower with clean skin and a muddy conscience. Drying off and putting on your clothes is an annoying affair, but you manage.

After your shower, it’s safe to say that you’re entirely lost. You don’t know what to do next. You need to eat, you remember. Unfortunately, your fridge is pretty much empty. You sigh and survey the space that you call home. It doesn’t feel familiar, despite the knowledge that it’s been yours for several years. These are all your belongings, yet it feels as if you’re standing in a stranger’s shoes. You look around the room, pausing when your eye catches on a scrap of newspaper. The TattleCrime article from before rests innocuously on the kitchen counter. You walk towards it immediately, as if possessed.

Criminally Insane. You stare at the photos featured in the article. The second photo—the one of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane—led you to realize that Frederick Chilton had been kidnapped. The first picture… It unsettles you. There are hints of the dark circles under your eyes that you now possess, but there’s also an unspoken confidence in your posture in the photo. You choke on a laugh, running your fingers along the rough newspaper.

It’s a miracle you’re still alive. Well, it certainly feels that way… but you know your survival can’t be put down to mere fate. Inexplicably, Hannibal did not aim to kill you. You contemplate what would’ve happened if he had aimed that way. You would have died in that office, certainly. Would you be free of this terrifying helplessness, this aching despair?

You manage to tear your eyes away from the article. After a moment of thought, you stuff it in a drawer—hoping you will never need to look at it again. Unsurprisingly, you still feel incredibly restless. You begin pacing slowly around the room, desperate for something to do. Perhaps this urge to do something is indicative of a deeper sentiment.

The cicadas buzz from the trees outside. You’re suddenly struck with a perplexing urge to step outside. You follow that urge and walk mechanically to your front door. Maybe someone is on your porch. You peek through the peephole, unsurprised to find no one there. After a second’s contemplation, you step out onto your porch, letting your arms rest against the railing.

The brisk night air doesn’t help your worsening mental state. You still feel numb, empty. Nothing feels real anymore. As you look out at your driveway, at the other houses lining your street, you’re hit with an immense sonder.2 How did you end up in this situation? How did you end up here, staring out at the suburbia around you and wishing you could take on the life of another person—someone who isn’t desensitized to blood, gore, violence, and murder?

You don’t know where to go from here. Your feelings are a dizzying combination of remorse, regret, and contempt—combined with an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking. You raise your arms and put your head in your hands for a moment. Succumbing to darkness has never felt so comforting and terrifying at the same time.

“Lecter will return soon enough.” Jack had said. There was a certainty in his voice in that moment—a sincerity that was surely unfounded. He was making a prediction and nothing more. Yet… the conviction in his tone made it seem as if he knew the Ripper’s next move. Surely, Hannibal hasn’t grown so predictable. Surely, he will continue to elude capture for as long as he wishes.

A car’s headlights reach your vision, and you watch as it slowly cruises down your street. There is a certain nonchalance to the way it slowly rises on the horizon. You frown, wondering what this person is doing driving down your street at such a late hour. Perhaps it’s a neighbor. You continue to watch warily. For a moment, you swear it seems as if the car’s slowing as it approaches. Surely that can’t be the case. It’s too dark to make out the details of the car—let alone the driver. You settle for staring in silence as it moves along. Within the blink of an eye, the vehicle moves past your driveway and into the dark expanse enveloping the space past your street. You exhale in relief, just realizing that your breath had hitched during the car’s brief stint in front of your house.

Why were you nervous? What were you expecting? You don’t want to acknowledge the answers to those questions—those solutions will only bring more problems. You shake your head. Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, and everyone knows. There should be nothing to be afraid of, except for a single thought that never seems to leave you. He will return for you, a voice whispers against the wind. He wants to finish the job.

You’ve never gotten so close to a case before. You almost wish you could travel back in time, to the first time you locked eyes with Dr. Hannibal Lecter. In that moment, you hadn’t been able to rationalize the intense foreboding and trepidation that seemed to crawl up your skin as he stared back at you. You had no true grasp of the danger you would soon experience, the lives you would soon take. When did you stop trusting your instincts? Your intuition is part of the reason why you’re such a successful criminal profiler, yet you were more than willing to entirely ignore it.

A chill hits your skin, but it’s not from the brisk breeze of night air that gently rustles your clothes. The unsettling feeling comes from the car in your driveway, the bright headlights illuminating the woody forest behind your house. Were you so lost in thought that you neglected to notice someone approaching your driveway? You squint and take a step closer to the driveway, wavering on the edge of your porch. The car looks familiar, and that realization nearly pitches you off the porch and careening to the ground below. The driver turns the car off and swings the door open with taunting slowness. A roaring sound fills your ears.

“Hannibal,” you remark. The driver closes the door and takes a step forward, close enough to the porch that the light hits their face and reveals familiar angled features. His lip is bleeding and there are droplets of blood scattered about his face. His clothing is ever so slightly rumpled. Other than that, Hannibal appears at ease. The Ripper looks at you, and utters your name in response.

You don’t know what to do, what to say. Your hands clutch the railing in front of you with enough force to send bolts of pain through your fingers. It feels as if your heart is racing faster than humanly possible. You’re reminded of the pain in your abdomen, the scar slicing dangerously close to your eye. You clench a fist at your side and walk down the steps of your porch, before turning and moving to stand at a strategic distance from Hannibal: close enough to see his face, far enough to have an illusion of control and safety.

The night is still. If it weren’t for your unexpected visitor, you might take solace in the tranquility of the midnight sky. Now, the stars seem to wink at you in warning. When Hannibal speaks, you nearly convince yourself that you imagine it. “I have evaded capture for long enough.” An ugly, foolish sort of hope settles in your chest. You try to push it away.

“You’re… surrendering,” you remark cautiously, waiting for him to dispel that notion. The Ripper does nothing of the sort. Instead, Hannibal stares at you, making strangely heated eye contact with you as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife. The moonlight briefly hits the metal, causing it to glimmer mockingly. Your stomach turns. The moon’s warm glow reveals more than just a shimmer—there are murky brown stains on the blade. You recognize the splatters as dried blood and your skin crawls. Hannibal is holding the very same knife he stabbed you with. He maneuvers it expertly, holding the blade and extending the handle towards you. Everything about this moment feels like a trap, but you willingly reach out and take the proffered knife, fastening it at your belt.

After a stretch of time in which neither of you elect to say anything, you decide that Hannibal must be telling the truth. Eyes locked on the man, you fumble around in your pocket for your phone and pull it out, dialing the only number you have memorized. Your intended recipient answers before two seconds pass. “Jack,” you say, your gaze still firmly fixed on the Ripper.

“Agent,” Jack responds. Hannibal is staring at you with intense scrutiny, evidently attempting to decipher what Jack is saying to you. That recognition causes you to pause for a moment. At your hesitation, Jack’s voice takes on a concerned yet impatient tone. “What is it?”

“I have him,” you say, vaguely satisfied that your voice sounds clear and composed despite the emotional rollercoaster you’ve been subjected to. “The Ripper. He’s in my driveway.”

Jack’s end of the line is quiet. You know it must be nearly impossible to believe. You look at Hannibal and then look back at the phone, realizing what you need to do. Taking a deep breath, you bring a shaky hand up and press the speaker button. Despite every instinct in your body screaming at you, you take a small step forward—and another—until Hannibal is close enough to the phone. For a moment, he stares down at the device pensively. Then, in the blink of an eye, he grabs your wrist and tugs you closer—evidently to get to the phone. You glare at him, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Hello, Jack,” Hannibal remarks, voice laced with amusement as he grasps your hand— the phone, you tell yourself—with unshakeable strength. Despite the severity of the situation, you can’t do anything but roll your eyes at his chosen greeting. It seems Hannibal’s dramatics know no bounds. Even when his very freedom is threatened, he will continue to wear his carved mask of politeness and elegance. You try to listen for Jack’s response. There’s still silence on the other end—Jack is probably dispatching a unit as you speak. You’re sure Jack himself will be on his way before long.

Indeed, Jack confirms that a team is on the way. He hangs up and your phone screen fades to black. Despite the call’s termination, Hannibal is still holding your wrist. “Can I have my hand back?” You ask wryly. You try to shake his grip off and pull away, but he doesn’t budge. Your heart is racing as you try to find an escape. Hannibal doesn’t seem keen to let go, instead looking at you with mild amusement written all over his face. It doesn’t take you long to come up with an idea. You attempt to shake off his grip once more, knowing it will not work. The moment you try to pull your wrist back, you take advantage of the momentum and aim a harsh kick just above his knee. Per your expectations, he doesn’t anticipate the attack and is forced to fall down to a kneeling position to avoid falling over. You lock eyes with him and tear his grip off.

Hannibal looks up at you on bended knee, entirely silent. You begin to realize just what you’ve done—you just disrespected him. You were the epitome of the rudeness Hannibal abhors. You swallow. If you weren’t dead before, you’re certainly dead now. The Ripper is still silent, before tilting his head down to hide his face. Fuck, you’ve really done it this time. You feel yourself taking an instinctual half step backwards, and you’re moments away from turning on your heel and running when you hear an odd sound.

Hannibal is laughing, you realize. It’s a far cry from the typical gesture of joy you’d associate with laughter, but his amusement is still evident. He brings his head up once more and regards you with interest. “You never fail to surprise me,” he remarks amiably, getting to his feet and pushing the dust from his pant leg with a quick swiping motion. Hannibal doesn’t give your threat any consideration, instead simply regarding you with that same eerie look you’ve grown to associate with his full attention.

Your hand twitches to grab the bloodstained knife at your side. You imagine yourself plunging the blade into Hannibal’s side, watching his smirk falter and his victorious expression crumple. The vindictive thought thrills you for a second, before you come back to yourself and feel immense revulsion and disgust. Hannibal almost seems to sense the mental gymnastics you're going through, as an intrigued expression flickers across his face before it’s gone in a flash.

Truthfully, you don’t know how long you stand there—across from Hannibal, staring him down as he stares you down, prey regarding predator—until Jack arrives. It feels like an eternity. Time seems to entirely stop during those moments. Somehow, the quiet is more informative than a conversation ever could be. You don’t need words—not when you can see the tight line drawn across Hannibal’s shoulders, the persistence in his gaze.

Even eternity must come to an end, though. Police sirens blink in the distance, drawing you away from your thoughts. You watch as several police cars find their way to your driveway. Jack sits in the passenger seat of the car at the front, and he’s quick to step out of the car. S.W.A.T. officers swarm out of the cars, weapons pointed at Hannibal. There is a horrible tension settling in the air, thick enough to make your breaths occur just a little faster.

Despite the exorbitant amount of fully-armed S.W.A.T officers, you’re still afraid. Hannibal is closest to you. If he wanted to, he could kill you—even with so many people present. You don’t doubt his strength or agility. These recognitions leave your heart drumming in your chest at an incessantly quick rhythm. You glance over at Jack and he nods, holding a hand up to the officers and walking towards you.

“Doctor Lecter,” Jack remarks. Even now, he is incredibly composed. You latch onto his composure and try to emulate it, though you know it won’t look convincing enough. The headlights from the cars are blinding and you turn your head, giving your burning eyes a brief reprieve.

“Jack,” Hannibal responds, his hands raised in the air in surrender. The Ripper is indeed powerless, yet the gesture looks mocking. A few officers step closer and surround Hannibal, who kneels down with his arms still raised high. “You finally caught the Chesapeake Ripper.” His hands move to rest behind his head.

Jack stares at the killer with an indecipherable expression. “You surrendered.”

“I want you to know exactly where I am,” Hannibal responds to Jack. After that remark, his head turns and dread rises in your chest as you realize he’s looking towards you. His eyes are glittering in the moonlight. “And where you can always find me.” You’re frozen, limbs locked as his crimson eyes pierce through you.

Vaguely, you hear Jack order for Hannibal to be placed in his car. The officers pull Hannibal up from his knees and escort him to the police car. The Ripper’s gaze is locked on you until he enters the vehicle. Jack remains where he stands, sending you a look. You incline your head slightly, to wordlessly encourage him to leave you. Jack seems hesitant to do so, but his sense of responsibility must win out, because he walks back towards the car. You still feel as if you’re being watched, and you get the feeling Hannibal is staring at you from behind the dark tinted glass. The police car slowly reverses out of your driveway, before heading down your street and eventually out of sight.

You purse your lips, before walking back up the steps to your porch. Everything seemed to have happened far too fast. In the blink of an eye, you’re left to stand alone, with nothing but your conflicting feelings of grief, anger, and remorse for company. Memories burrow their way under your skin. Each breath is a testament to your own cruelty.

Inexplicably, you reach up to touch the jagged scar cutting down your face. Your fingertips brush against the marred skin and you jolt. Your abdomen burns in remembrance. Hannibal Lecter has given you the quiet evenings, the comfortable silence settling in the air, and the thrill of an attentive, burning gaze that sends warm embers dancing up your skin.

But he has taken so much more from you in return.

Gone is the gentle caress of a hand on your cheek and the comfort of having unquestionable support. Gone is the hard-won feeling of being truly seen for who you are. Gone is the excitement, the anticipation of knowing that your companion can never truly be predicted. All of it is gone.

You look up at the moon glimmering in the dark night sky. You idly wonder if Hannibal sees it too. It’s a foolish thought. His cell likely won’t have windows. He has probably been confined to four walls of cement, a metal toilet, and a thin, dingy mattress on a cold metal frame. There is no hope for someone like Hannibal—he will earn several life sentences and spend his entire life in that cage. You have to wonder: why? Why would he surrender?

It was a tactical surrender—that much you know for certain. Hannibal could easily have spent the rest of his life moving from place to place, taking on new identity after new identity. He could have spent however long he wanted, camouflaged but free.

Freedom. Maybe that’s the answer. After all, that kind of aggressive mimicry is not necessarily freedom. Hannibal Lecter values being an enigma. The mystery that surrounds him, in part, relies on his reputation. Life spent in hiding isn’t really life at all. Even someone like Hannibal—someone with arguably everything to lose—would understand that sentiment.

You exhale slowly, watching as your puff of breath fades into the air. You suppose Hannibal’s statement may have carried some truth. You will always know where to find him; you won’t be able to bury the memory of him next to the other skeletons in your closet and leave him to rot. Whenever your psyche falters, Hannibal will be there—imprisoned within your mind palace, gathering strength and lying in wait.

Your phone rings in your pocket. You pull it out, momentarily surprised by the time displayed. It’s getting late. You hadn’t realized how long you spent lost in thought. When you answer, your voice sounds unfamiliar to your ears.

“Crawford,” Jack clarifies, cutting right to the chase, “We got him.” There is no further explanation needed.

“We got him, Jack,” you echo. The recognition sounds hollow, empty. Your gaze is pulled towards your driveway once more. Jack’s voice reaches your ears, but you can’t discern what he’s saying over the ringing in your ears.

Hannibal Lecter is behind bars now, yet you’re the one who feels trapped. You’re a prisoner—trapped in a cage of your own broken design.

1. Dracula by Bram Stoker

2. Sonder refers to the feeling of realization that everyone, including strangers and passersby, have lives just as complex and vivid as your own.

Sorry if the intro parts were confusing. I wanted to *try* to write it in a way that showed how weird and unusual dreams can really be, especially after traumatic events.The mind is infinitely powerful, able to conjure up a new reality at a moment’s notice. I liked the idea of the reader drowning in a whirlpool of their own mind’s creation—as they fight to get back to reality. (also, I found the word “umbra,” which is apparently used to describe the shadow created by an eclipse. I think that’s cool as hell, so I included it.) Dream logic never quite makes sense and can be extremely convoluted, which is why the intro is a messy assortment of memories with no clear beginning or end.

Y’all seemed to like my rationalization for the previous chapter, so I’ll include some similar notes for this chapter if you’re interested:

Hannibal’s surrender in this chapter is very much calculated. He realizes that he’s no longer free—since the FBI are onto him. There is a sort of cruelty in the life he would have to lead, as his “freedom” would include lots of mental effort, relocating, and subterfuge. Hannibal likely weighs his options, and decides between a life of constant stealth and relocation, and a life behind bars. It’s reasonable to assume that he also would have realized that his status as the Chesapeake Ripper would grant him special privileges as a prisoner—he’s aware of how much the Ripper has dominated the cultural zeitgeist and knows he will be able to use that notoriety to his advantage in captivity.

Of course, Hannibal also knows how to best dominate your thoughts: by remaining in one place. As he mentions, you will always know where he is and where to find him. You will not have to track him down by following the calculated clues he leaves behind—rather, you will constantly have to live with the underlying knowledge that Hannibal is accessible at any and every moment. In this case, Hannibal’s surrender is quite a tactical and manipulative move. He truly chooses to go to prison. It would be unsettling to know that the Ripper was on the loose, yes. But, the Ripper has been on the loose and free for several years already. On the other hand, it would be downright disturbing to know that Hannibal’s presence in prison is a willful choice—one that can be taken back at any moment. That can easily manifest a constant lingering fear in the back of the reader’s mind, in addition to an eternal desire to pin down exactly why Hannibal is remaining captive, chained. The chessmaster is willingly surrendering, but the game is far from over.

And now… Act 1 of this story is complete!

Never fear, Hannibal will return in Act 2! As for the other characters… Well, you’ll have to wait and see. ;) I will say that Act Two embraces some elements of The Red Dragon and Silence of the Lambs. Don’t worry, though—you don’t need to have read either of them. :3

Here’s a scrap for your efforts! (*throws you this unused dialogue like a scruffy middle-aged man with grey hair and a scratchy quarter-zip throws a piece of raw beef to the wolves outside his cabin*) This was one of the MANY options I had considered (but never used) for the big reveal:

“How long have you known?” Hannibal asks. “From the moment you invited me into your home,” you answer. There’s silence for a dreadful moment. “And you stayed.” “I did.” “Why?” “I like talking to you, I enjoy your company.… Does one really need a reason to keep the company of another?” You finish. A beat of quiet. “... I suppose not,” Hannibal acquiesces.

Act 2 will be posted as the second part of this series. Here's the link to the AO3 series: these jagged scars. I'll also post it over here on Tumblr. :)

Thank you so so so much for all the support! Your likes, comments, and reblogs keep me going! <33333

taglist 🖤: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#male reader #x male reader #hannibal nbc #hannibal Lecter x reader #hannibal x reader #Hannibal x gn reader #hannibal x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x male reader #Hannibal Lecter x gn reader #yall get the idea #transmasc reader #I CAN'T BELIEVE I FINISHED THIS FIC #LITERALLY ALMOST CRIED HAPPY ACCOMPLISHED TEARS LAST NIGHT

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copias-fluffy-asscheeks · 6 months

Text

Proposal In The Pumpkins

PapaIVxReader

2000 words | No warnings

He was nervous. Oh, so nervous. His hands trembled as he fidgeted with the gloves that adorned them. The entire day had been filled with mutters to himself, deep breaths and shuddered sighs, even an anxiety attack in a dingy broom closet.

He’d laid beside you as you slept, looking at you for most of the night, the hearts forming in his eyes and he was sure if you woke up you’d even see ones floating around his head. You were so pretty, so beautiful, and he wanted to enjoy this night especially; just in case it was the last he shared with you in his bed.

Today was the big day.

The day he’d looked forward to for months, the day he’d feared as well as dreamed off every night he’d fall asleep next to you. And now, as his time arrived, painfully slowly, he wondered if he would even manage. The longest three minutes of his life, he noted, checking the slow ticking clock for the 20th time this past minute. Another ‘last’ checkover in the mirror, scanning his paints, the rat bitten trousers he knew you loved on him and his frilly black dress shirt tucked neatly tucked in them. He’d had his dress shoes cleaned especially for this, he even wore new gloves.

Copia straightened his back, smoothing his palms over the nonexistent wrinkles in his shirt and running a hand over his hair to smooth back strands the air had ruffled when he’d paced around for a good couple of minutes. He wasn’t too scared you’d say no… Well, that's what he’d like to believe, anyway. Deep down though he knew that was the source of his fears. He could almost hear your voice ringing in his head; ‘’I- No.‘’ It was a terrible mixture of shock, awkwardness and disgust. Disgusted with him, disgusted with the idea he thought he had a chance.

What if you did say no? What would his life be without you?

He pushed it down, his chest heaving with a deep breath.

You weren’t like that, he knew. You were polite, no. That wasn’t correct. You were lovely, perfect even. In his eyes you were. You were the one who supported him through his times as cardinal, his facial surgery, his ascension to papa, the fuckload of paperwork that only ever seemed to grow. You were there, and you were here now.

And he loved you.

He loved you more than anything in this world. More than performing, more than the whole ministry, more than his religion, more than life itself. He’d drop anything and everything if it meant spending forever with you, both here, in life, and in whatever you’d face together afterward.

Copia pushed the door to the hall open, shooting a glance around to check for any siblings; usually, not many walked the hall near the papal chamber, but he just wanted to be sure, an interaction about work in the possibly final moments of happiness and light in his life was the last thing he needed.

The door to the front steps of the Abbey came into view soon, and as he pushed open the heavy doors he let out a sigh of relief to see you weren’t waiting for him yet - even if he was at least fifteen minutes early. He fixed his gloves, reaching into his pocket to fish out his phone, checking frantically for any text that you might cancel, that you might-

A pair of hands snaked onto his broad shoulders from behind him and he jerked, his phone plummeting to the ground when he stiffened. Relaxation was almost immediate as soon as he heard your endearing giggle, the same giggle that never failed to bring a stupid blush to his face, even now, even though he’s heard it countless times. ‘’Scared ya?’’ You hummed, moving your way to stand in front of him. Instinctively he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and nuzzling the tip of your nose to his. ’’Dolcezza! You’re early.’’

‘’So are you.’’ You beamed, pecking a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his cheek, then the tip of his nose. He wore the biggest, silliest grin ever, his worries quickly forgotten with you around. ‘’Well, I couldn’t wait. I have been looking forward to this evening all day, Tesoro.’’ He explained, his eyes closing and his body melting into your kisses.’’nervous or something?’’ you teased, raising your hands to smooth again over his shoulders before running one through his thick, soft hair. He squinted a playful challenge at you.‘’Not at all. Shall we head off, then?’’ You nodded, and Copia offered you his arm to walk you toward his car. He had specifically not wanted a ghoul to drive you both; he wanted this to be special, something separate from the ministry. He wasn’t Papa with you, he was Copia, just Copia; the love of your life and your best friend.

Placing your hand in the crook of his arm, you gave him a small grin. ‘’Lead the way, good sir.’’

He walked you to his car, parked somewhere further down the large parking lot, sharing words about the day you’d had. His hand came to cover yours folded in his elbow. Quickly enough the white LeSabre came into view, and as soon as you reached it Copia pranced with you to the passenger side to hold the door for you with an over dramatic bow, lifting his head to flash you that winning smile of his. There were a couple of siblings nearby, along with a ghoul who must have driven them into town. They shot you both glances, giggling at their papas theatrics.

Your door shut and Copia pranced around to the drivers side of the car, hopping in and starting it up. He rummaged through his glove box for a brief moment to find a nice CD to play, and settled on some old Italian love songs. He was humming along by the time the car hit the main road; you always loved how he looked so attentive when he drove, checking his mirrors, eyes wide yet so calm, a couple of stray strands of hair flailing around with the wind.

You both settled on a comfortable silence after a while of driving till his hand came to rest on your thigh, thumb tracing over the material that covered it. His hand moved up and down, caressing the flesh there. The CD played a steady tune still, and, one hand on the wheel, Copia looked over to you. You could see the hearts dancing in his eyes as his adoring gaze swept over your seemingly perfect features, your nose, your beautiful eyes, your soft lips.. He had to pry his gaze away from you with quite a lot of effort to look back at the road, a dumb little grin pulled at his lips. ‘’Almost there, Amore.’’ He hummed, giving the plush of your thigh a gentle squeeze, followed by some endearing little pats. He slowly moved his hand back to the wheel, eyes switching in favor of glancing at you every now and again. He had to focus or he might crash the car.

He parked the car into a small lot at the side of an empty road, the place you had settled for your date; a small pumpkin patch. Copia knew you loved October. The rain, the sun finally setting a bit later, the pretty orange hued leaves where they slowly drifted to cover the grounds, and most of all Halloween. You loved seeing the kids in the ministry dress up as ghouls and get their faces painted like their papas, you loved the nice atmosphere and of course the scary movies. Fall was your favorite season, and he wanted to make this as special for you as he could.

The sky was mostly dark and cloudy, but there were a few narrow holes that allowed the sun to shine through, giving the dark clouds pretty shades of yellow and orange. His fingers trailed down your arm to find your hand, twining your fingers together and leading you into the patch, watching you as you giggled and picked up little pumpkins, declaring you’d name this one some name he couldn’t remember, saying that one could look cute on his desk for company. He just trailed next to you like a lost puppy, mindlessly agreeing with what you were saying.

His heart was pounding as you walked and walked you unknowingly let him to the place he’d planned this all to happen.

Surely enough, as you walked the broad path you came to a little clearing, a neat line of carved pumpkins to the left of you. You were amazed for a moment by a large pumpkin in the complete opposite direction until you spotted the row of four, nearly identical ones that looked to be carved with much care. The carving wasn’t perfect, but you could see someone tried their absolute best. It was only when you read what was carved, one word per pumpkin, that you let out a giggle. How cute!

You heard shuffling behind you, and you turned to face Copia. You looked straight over his head, confused until your eyes flicked downward. What was he doing down there? It clicked as soon as you saw him opening a small, black box, his eyes nervously flicking all over your face. You looked back over your shoulder at the message written out over the pumpkins.

Will You Marry Me?

You looked back at Copia, back at the message, then back to Copia. A hand covered your mouth, tears pricking at your eyes as you looked at the small Silver ring and the little Diamond fancily secured in the middle. All you could do was nod your head yes frantically, and he took the ring out of the box, still down on one knee, and slid it onto your finger gently. You met his eyes just as he was getting up, glistening with his own tears, too, and you wrapped your arms around him. Maybe a little too hard.. You both tumbled to the ground, Copia landing with a painful ‘’Uff!’’ on his back, you following suit right on top of him. It wasn’t the most comfortable position to lay in, especially on the hardened dirt but you didn’t care. Your hair curtained around your face, arms wrapped around his waist and your legs between his. He looked at you, doe eyed and dazed from his fall and the mere situation playing out right now. You surged forward and kissed him, urgent but slow and it took him a moment to regain control over his body. He propped himself up heavily on his elbows to support the both of you, one hand moving your hair out of your face and cupping your cheek as he moved his lips against yours. His chest felt warm and there were butterflies fluttering around in his belly like he was some lovesick fool. Perhaps he was.

Finally breaking the kiss for air, you rested your forehead to his, the biggest beaming smile playing at both your and his kiss-swollen lips. ‘’Well?’’ he squeaked, still lost for air.

‘’Absolutely yes, Copia. Yes, yes, yes!’’ you giggled, sitting up and straddling his hips so he could sit up too. Once he straightened he kissed you again, and you looped your arms around his shoulders. He deepened the kiss, his tongue urgently prodding at you for entrance, his hands caressing wherever he could.

‘’Ti amo, Cara mia.’’ he mumbled against your lips before pulling back farther. ‘’I always thought Fiancé sounded better than girlfriend, anyway.’’ He pecked the corner of your mouth again before shooting you a wink. ‘’Or should I say Fearancé..’’

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes at his stupid pun, lightly smacking his chest. ‘’Shut up and kiss me again, idiot.’’

A/N: I loved this request! Working on the other ones I got sent in as we speak, they'll be shorter but I'll try to get them finished in the coming days.

Crediting: @ramblingoak for the great title & @delullu for the amazing 'Fearance' pun!

Taglist: @sweatandwoe @copias-girl @papasmicstand @lightbluuestars @random-bl-fan @dearlymrme @thew0man

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