In a different life, you still meet Bakugou when you're young, children. You see Bakugou's lights, but he doesn't see yours.
You keep it a secret.
You grow up together, pulling apart, unraveling at times like fraying seams, then snapping back into place like puzzle pieces, like magnets. Heâs not an easy person to keep close to the heart.
Youâre resentful, sometimes, though you know itâs not fair; itâs not his fault. You hate yourself, sometimes, for being happy to have him in your life, even when it hurts.
And then the war happens.
And you nearly shatter, struck with such deep regret that it chokes you. You should've told him, one way or another, when you had the chance.
Because you lose him, and you feel it, and it's like nothing will ever be right again.
But the light returns to his eyes. He survives. He wins. The war ends. And when he sees you for the first time after everything, his eyes widen, his expression turns blank, and he reaches out for you. You go to him before you can even think.
âWhat the fuck?â Bakugou says, running his hand up and down your arm. He pulls his hand away and stares at it as if he expects something to have transferred. He looks up at you and narrows his eyes.
âCan you see mine?â he demands, and your ears ring. Your breath catches, exhales in a shudder.
âYes,â you say, your voice unsteady. âSince I first met you.â
âSinceââ he snarls, cuts himself off. âWhy didnât you say anything?â
âI didn't think it mattered. You couldnât see mine, so. So why nowâ?â
âFuck if I know,â he says, scowling ferociously.
He's furious, lighting up in flares of orange that rival his explosions. Youâre a little bewildered at the intensity of his reaction. What does it matter? If you told him at first meeting, it wouldnât have changed anything. You try to wrap your mind around the fact that he can see your lights, now, but beyond his anger, beyond your confusion, youâre just so grateful that heâs okay.
He looks into your face, and itâs like he can tell what youâre thinking. His expression softens. He exhales harshly.
âYouâre so fucking dumb. Come here.â
You protest. You donât want to hurt him, he has all these things plugged into him, thereâs his arm and his bandaged face and his chest, but heâs dragging you onto his hospital bed, pulling you to him.
He bites your bare bicep and itâs like an electric shock. His mouth on you sends shivers through you. You push at his head. âOw. Stop, Katsuki.â
âSâwhat you get,â he tells you, a growl. âKnew it. Youâve always been mine.â
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Summary: just because you and Spencer have gotten together, does not mean the fun fact challenge is over to you (fluff, established relationship)
Note:Â Thank you for all of the love on fun fact. You guys are the best xx. In honor of fun fact hitting 1K notes, here is a bonus bit that did not make it to the final draft bc of the big word count (I was so sure not many people would read an 11k long fic, but thank you for proving me wrong).
Word count: 1k
You walked into the office, shrugging off the purple cardigan that was slightly bigger than your usual size and draping it over your chair. As usual, you placed your bag under your desk and turned on your PC before settling down, ready to focus for the day. Though, the second you spotted Spencer approaching, you instantly announced your daily fun fact.
âDid you know that peanut butter can be turned into diamonds? Fun fact.â From the corner of your eyes, you saw Emily pause at your statement. Spencer, on the other hand, grinned at your words.
âGood morning.â Spencer placed his coffee cup down on his desk first before coming to your side, holding yours out for you. You carefully took the ceramic vessel from him, muttering gratitude at his kind action. His other hand lingered on your back before withdrawing out of respect for the fact that you were both clocked in at work.Â
His eyes soon noticed the clothing item that hung on your chair.Â
âWas wondering where that one went,â your boyfriend murmured.
Boyfriend. Even after three months and having grown used to calling Spencer by that title, you still feel giggly at such a term. In fact, your lips curled right then while thinking of the word again.
You took in Spencerâs attire, specifically, the way that his purple button-up (coincidentally) matched the purple cardigan you had stolen from him two weeks ago. For a split second, you considered coordinating outfits deliberately with him, but in subtle ways.
âHold on a second, peanut butter can what?â Emily double checked.
âI know, right?â you breathed out before reaching under your desk and pulling out an information-packed tome, dropping the heavy object onto the furnitureâs surface.Â
It was Rossiâs courtesy. A month and a half ago, the old man decided to give you a fact book in hopes you could still win this bet before eight months were up. Unfortunately, his gift was unable to aid you much in your intellectual combat against Spencer, and thus, failed to prevent Rossiâs loss of his bet on a victory before the eight-month mark.Â
You carefully opened to the page where you had seen the fact and held it up for Emily to see.
âWell, would you consider having a peanut butter diamond ring?â she joked, though Spencer quickly jumped in.
âActually, I would advise against it. Oftentimes, the lab-manufactured results are small. So theyâre unsuitable for proposal rings.â His words almost felt personal with the way Spencerâs eyes fell to your hand, and you smirked teasingly.
âWhy? You think I should have a big diamond instead of a small rock?â Instantly, your boyfriendâs ears grew hot, and you almost laughed at the way he started stuttering.Â
âWell, I justâon average, women tend to prefer a sizable diamond ring when proposed to. But also, likeâwell, I meanâyouââ
âMe?â
âWith your finger sizeââ
âHow do you know my finger size?â
âYour ring was next to a couple of coins the other dayââ
âOh? And you decided to notice and remember this information, why?â You smirked, enjoying the way your relentless teasing was turning Spencer into a mess. But in all honesty, you were not that surprised. Spencerâs brain often stored information that most tend to overlook.
âYeah, Spencer. Planning to drop down on one knee soon?â Emilyâs added effort to poke at Spencer only made him more flustered, though the genius eventually was able to overcome it and continued speaking.
âWith your finger size, the most suitableâpreferences asideâwould be a 1.0-1.5 carat diamond ring, and the peanut butter manufactured ones would be nowhere near that. Besides, diamonds made of peanut butter are often discolored largely due to impurities such as hydrogen and nitrogen, which are non-carbon components, getting trapped during diamond formation processes that involve high heat. Meanwhile, diamonds are mainly made of carbon atoms.â
âWould you like to know my diamond size preference, Spence?â was your only reply, and those words had Spencerâs face blooming bright red. Once again, he stammered to organise his words, yet a sentence could not be strung together.
Together, you and Emily burst out laughing at Spencerâs speechless state. Though the two of you began shifting to get back to work. Emily returned to her own desk, amusement lingering on her face. Meanwhile, you slowly spun your chair back to your PC, your laughter replaced by a full-on smile.
Yet, Spencer did not move from his spot. In fact, the sight of you smiling and your eyes crinkling had Spencerâs gaze softening.
Eighty seven days since he had told you that you were his favorite fun fact, a title Spencer continued to frequently refer to you as.
Prior to the prospect of you two, Spencer had made peace with a mundane dating-less life, living in a repetitive monotone manner. But now that he has you, that kind of life sounded dreadful. With you, mundane things became highlights of his day and the staples of his boyfriend-adjusted daily routine.
But above all, every day, he got to learn new things about you, like where you like to read in your apartment, how you like to separate your laundry, or your preferred side of the bed. Each and every new detail he discovered folded into the wrinkles of his brain like all along, the organ was made just to hold facts about you.
The genius bit back a smile.
That afternoon, Spencer walked you to your car like always. But instead of saying goodbye and heading off to the metro station by himself like before, the genius got into your passenger seat, and the two of you left the office together. As you were driving both of you back to his apartment, Spencerâs eyes darted to your hand again.
His forever favorite fun fact.
Spencer found himself really liking the sound of that.
The corner of his lips lifted before he looked away.
Maybe someday.
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I came across an article - though I didn't read it, oops - about a woman who awoke from a three-year coma to discover she had "lived" a seven-year life during her sleep. This little blurb was inspired by that... Hope you like it!
Yan! SatoSugu x Reader wc: 1.2k
Warnings: Yandere, fem! reader, suguru may be cheating on his arranged wife with you, captivity, imprisonment (dog crate), unhealthy relationship, petplay-ish, drugging, references to suicidal thoughts, dub-con/non-con, oral (f! receiving), mdni.
On a particular dreary night, rain pattered against the basement window, streaks of water and filtered moonlight your only companions as you rested inside your dingy dog crate. As your eyes grew heavy, a faint high-pitched beeping sound drifted through the darkness. Love bites bloomed across your skin, still tender and throbbing, the marks making themselves known beneath the absence of a nightgown. Above you, the distant rhythm of footsteps echoed through the kitchen.
Satoru, perhaps.
He could never rest until he was certain the melatonin hidden amongst your more human kibble had taken its toll. Only then did he allow himself peace, content in the knowledge that his precious little bird wouldn't try to fly away before dawn.
Suguru was supposed to stop by tonight. However, he had to take care of his "nuisance," as he called his wife. A rather bitter claim, considering the way he'd held you against his chest earlier, his arms wound around you, gentle yet trapping all the same. Keeping you there as Satoru sat beneath your exposed slit. Panties had become a clothing option removed around year three or four, and he tentatively lapped at your juices while Suguru's fingers brushed through your hair. You could still hear his voice, soft and warm despite the cruelty hidden beneath. A thick finger had tilted your chin upward until your weary, blissed-out gaze met his half-lidded violet one.
"If I could stay here with you all day, I would, but duty calls, my dove."
You only wished you were the bird he claimed you to be. At least then you would have wings. The horizon would belong to you instead of them. A treat to imagine sometimes, usually on nights when sleep refused to come despite the drugs in your system fighting for your body to rest. Endless skies painted in baby blues and golden rays. Freedom so vast it hollowed your chest with longing. Anything would be better than a cage, even an endless sleep.
You supposed it was a mercy that Suguru wasn't here tonight. No risk of being dragged from your crate and into their bed in the dead hours of the morning. No Satoru burying his face against your throat, his voice dissolving into desperate little whimpers as he begged you not to leave him with his cock nestled deep inside you. Sometimes you wondered if he was searching for the woman he had once loved. Not you. Not the person you'd become after your wedding night, after discovering what kind of monster you had married.
You should have run. Should have thrown yourself from the hotel balcony and trusted the pavement more than the man waiting at the end of the aisle. Instead, you stayed. Or perhaps you were simply too pathetic to leap.
The beeping continued as your thoughts drifted through a haze of exhaustion. When you stirred again, your mouth felt stuffed with cotton. Satoru must have put too much in your kibble last night. Yet something felt off. After seven years of hell, one learned to recognize the smallest inconsistencies. You couldn't taste the lingering graininess. Nor the taste of the chalky bitterness of crushed multivitamins. All you could hear was that soft, rhythmic beep from a machine nearby.
For a moment, you wondered if you'd finally gone mad. Perhaps this was what happened when a bird spent too long in a cage.
Then other sounds emerged from the fog.
Voices. Footsteps. The distant murmur of nurses drifting through a hallway.
Your eyes fluttered open.
Fluorescent lights glared overhead, nothing like the perpetual twilight of the basement you'd come to know so intimately. Beneath you was not the cold metal flooring of the crate but the soft embrace of a mattress, swallowing you in warmth, like Suguru's waiting arms. The air smelled sterile and clean, yet beneath the antiseptic lingered the overwhelming fragrance of flowers. Bouquets crowded every available surface, vibrant bursts of life pressed into a room that felt strangely unreal.
A hospital.
Before you could fully process the realization, another sound reached you. Familiar footsteps.
"Visiting hours are over, Satoru!" a nurse called after him, irritation dripping off the tongue. You wished you could tell her not to waste the effort.
You could practically picture the careless shrug he'd offer in response. The charming smile. The complete disregard for rules that were never meant for men like him. Because knowing Satoru, he probably brushed right past her without a second glance. And knowing Satoru, he probably believed he owned the place.
Perhaps he did.
The Gojo family owned enough of the city to make the distinction meaningless. And Satoru Gojo sat comfortably at the center of it all.
You squeezed your eyes shut, counting sheep in an attempt to calm your racing heart. One. Two. Three. Anything to avoid confronting whatever strange dream this was. A hospital? Had you done something in your sleep?
The click of the door interrupted your counting. You stumbled somewhere between sheep twenty-three and twenty-seven. You'd have to start over. Ever the nuisance, Satoru somehow managed to invade even your sheep counting.
"Hey, baby."
Your ears perked at the softness in his voice. You'd grown so accustomed to his exaggerated baby-talk over the years that normal speech sounded almost foreign coming from him.
"I brought you more flowers. I don't want you to miss a year of us together. Happy year three."
You heard the quiet clack of a vase settling onto what little space remained. A moment later, the mattress dipped beside you. A careful gesture, as if the bed might break from his presence. Or you might too. An arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you close, mindful of IV lines and wires. You felt him shake. Once. Twice. Almost in time with your counting of sheep. Maybe he knew you were awake. Maybe he thought enough comfort might coax you back to him. A moment later, something warm dampened your hairline.
Tears.
You refused to process them. Satoru had cried before. Thrown tantrums. Pouted. Begged. Sulked when you forced yourself behind the couch, and he could no longer reach you, forcing him to call for Suguru to deal a punishment. This type of tear was different, far more raw than the version you've seen. As if you'd taken a beak to his ribs and pecked straight through his heart, splitting it open just for you.
"Suguru says it's time to move on. Says you and I were only arranged, that I shouldn't have gotten so attached."
Silence settled between you, and despite everything, your chest loosened.
You hated that it did.
Hated that hearing his voice still felt like coming home. How your body relaxed into him. As if some part of you recognized him as safety.
When he was the reason you needed saving.
You tried to remember the bites, the bruises, the cage, the crate, the years. You tried to remember every violation against your human rights disguised as affection, everything that should have filled you with disgust. Yet all you could feel was the way he clung to you now. Broken. Loving.
His face nuzzled against your temple. Wet kisses pressed against your skin, not heated and open-mouthed like usual, but damp from the tears spilling freely down his cheeks. You could almost picture those impossibly blue eyes glistening.
Maybe it had all been a nightmare.
A horrible, twisted nightmare.
"Suguru says we'll get rid of the crate," he whispered, his voice cracking as his lanky body trembled beside you. "If you come home with us."
The words shattered the fragile hope forming inside your chest.
If it had all been a nightmare, then why did he know about the crate?
A COVERT OPERATION . youâre not jasonâs girl, except you kinda are. pairing ! ex!jason todd x fem!reader wc ! 4.5k warnings ! sfw. fluff. written like a disaster rom com with more com than rom, jealous ex bf! jason, mr. spanky appearance sorta, a creepy unnamed guy appears + a misogynist asshole. reader does not take any shit. so yeah. mentions of alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking (reader & jason) + nicknames used : baby & amore (towards reader).
đď¸ based on this request and italian-american bf jason i & ii. also yeah, heâs pathetic and grovels a little.
art creds : @/shr0uds
now playing ! why donât you do right â peggy lee đ§
The first time it happened, you felt bad for the poor guy.
âJayâs girl, huh?â You turned at the sound of the voice, the warm bar lights casting a harsh glow over the manâs frame.
Sly, slimeball, or whatever the hell the guy told the bartender his name was as he racked up his tab â eyed you up and down, dark hair gelled to the side and a finger idling at the rim of his glass. He was huge, even from where he sat hunched against the side of the bar, his head tilted to the side and legs open in your direction.
You ignored him, plucking the toothpick from your glass and sinking your teeth into the cherry. How long had it been since you and Jason broke up? A week? Two maybe? Not that youâd seen him around lately to keep the score.
He was like that, with his profound ability of becoming a ghost and slinking away to the darkest crevices of the world, never to be seen unless he willed it, which you cursed the son of a bitch for because here you were with the utter bad luck of not being able to do the same.
His neighborhood was also your neighborhood.
His friends were your friends â some who you consider family, and while it mightâve been cute at first to be known as Jayâs Girl⢠from here in some washed up family owned bar all the way to the best food joints in Little Italy then to every bookstore in the Bowery and back â it afforded you no anonymity. Or rather, no time to mourn your failed relationship while pretending not to, because God forbid a girl just wants to get a drink at 9 PM without someone mentioning Jay.
âThis guy givinâ you trouble?â Paulie, sweet, pure hearted Paulie whoâd never hurt a fly â except for that one time he put three guys in the hospital for casing his joint sometime last Christmas â murmured to you, his hands busy drying a glass with the fluffy white towel slung over his shoulder.
âCause I can get him outta here if heâs giving you a hard time.â
âIâm all good, thanks P,â you smiled, lifting your glass over the bartop to nudge his wrist. âBuuuut, you can top me up again.â
âYouâre out of it, kid,â he laughed, but took the glass from you anyway. He hadnât asked you about Jason the whole night, and despite how refreshing it was, it still felt sort of odd.
Did everybody know where he was except you? Or was the alcohol finally turning you into the pitiful sap you always knew you were?
That solace turned reflection was cut short however.
âIâm just saying, everybodyâs skirtinâ around it and looking at me sideways.â The Slimeball chuckled to himself, as if he expected the tiny crowd to join in his amusement. âBut youâre a good looking girl⌠like a fine piece aâ somethinâ you know?â
Paulie, in the middle of mixing your drink, looked to you, then to the guy, and back to you again.
You only shrugged. Not tonight. Please, not tonight.
âWhat? Are you shy?â The guy turned to face you now, the sleazy grin of his face growing by the second. âDonât pay attention to them, baby, focus on me.â His stool scraped the floor with a high pitched squeak and in the next second he was on his feet towards you.
Immediately, you tensed, but he leaned forward just as quickly. âYou actually need to back upââ
âHey, manâ you need to watch it. Jace doesnât play about that one,â came a random voice youâre sure you recognize, another neighborhood cousin or something.
âAnd you need to mind your fuckinâ business,â Grimey Guy whipped his head around. âCause if thatâs true, itâs his fault for not watching his girl.â
Upon turning around though, he reached a hand out to touch you.
Your drink was already raised halfway when Paulie and another guy rounded the counter and practically yanked the guy out of his chair. For good measure â and some well needed release of frustration â you downed half your drink then threw the rest in his face, after which he was dragged out back and kicked out â and maybe kicked around a bit, who knows?
But, Jayâs Girl remained triumphant, and the fairytale lived on, until it didnât. Sort of.
âWell, that sure is a sight.â Roy whistled long and low over the thumping bass. He twirled a Marlboro Red between his fingers idly, grinning like the cat that caught the canary.
Meanwhile, Dickâs mouth fell open, eyes nearly bulging out of their sockets as a hand reached up to clutch his chest. âNo way... isnât thatâŚ?â
âShut up,â Jason, who stood only a few steps away from their little wives-at-teatime gossip huddle grumbled. His lips were set in a deep frown, eyebrows knitted tight and gaze dark.
A humorous sight, if one were to take into consideration that all three of them were in âdisguiseâ for tonight, gathering intel on some high profile guest here at Eden, aka The Cathouse, one of if not the most popular nightclub in East End.
It was alive, electric, bass vibrating through the floorboards and the scent of fruity liquor cloaking the air.
Across the sea of bodies was you, dressed in a silky little thing that was borderline obscene, and the very picture of everything Jason did not want to see, but so desperately needed to.
In truth, this was supposed to be Royâs job but the fuck-up fucked up and so now heâs here with reinforcements â a bored Dick Grayson who shouldâve been back in BlĂźdhaven yesterday but caught wind of the breakup, which he called âThe Great Departureâ and figured heâd stick around to boost his poor little broâs morale â so now Jason is here.
Heâs here in this shitty club where some illiterate hog had his hand inching closer to your ass by the second.
You were dancing, hips swaying and chest heaving with the rhythm, yet despite the effort you looked perfect, every bit of you.
From the slight staticky halo of your hair to the soft shine of sweat on your collarbone that looked like glitter and stardust and all things sweet, to your lips that moved in sync with the lyrics of the loud music â those lips, even when painted or lined or plain he can remember the exact curve and shape of them around the syllables of his name, the hiccup of a ti amo, the whisper of an amore mio, the shout of a fuck you, when he suggested that maybe another break is what you two needed.
âWow,â a whisper came from Roy and Dick nudged him so hard with his elbow that the fake mustache he was wearing hung loose on one side.
âShut your fuckinâ mouth,â Jason huffed, downing the last of a shot of something whoever left on the bar counter. And that fucking mustache just kept itching him, Jesus Christ.
The hog in question, God forgive him, had his hands on your hips, chest pressed tight against your back â a little birdâs chest, Jason thought.
His uncle, or really his neighbor that he called Zio Laurenzo because it was just how he grew up â would say itâs a cardinal sin to not have some meat on your bones to keep a woman warm.
Did he keep you warm? Jason wondered. He knew he always ran cold, youâd tease him for it all the time but he didnât even know why he was wondering about that now. Zio Laurenzo was a bum with a beer belly and two divorces under his belt. The only thing warm about him was his zuppa di pollo.
Madonna, he cursed in his head. Heâd been listening to punks and bums all his life, no wonder he messed up with you.
âYouâre a natural,â the guy whose name youâd already forgotten murmured against your ear. âYou related to Lola Falana maybe?â
You laughed loud and loose, just the slightest bit tipsy and feeling yourself too much. Itâs been a minute since youâve gone out, a couple more minutes since youâve entertained a guy just for the sake of it.
âMaybe.â It felt good. Not exactly fulfilling, but fun. You needed fun.
His hands guided your hips into a steady rhythm, your heartbeat matching each bump of the heavy bass.
You got lost in the music, in the heat rather quickly, your collarbones and forearms slightly slick with sweat and cold to touch but the alcohol hot inside your veins, the bumping and grinding of your hips against his even hotter.
âYou still havenât told me your name,â he shouted near your ear over the music, taking a gentle hold of your hand and spinning you around to face him. And oh boy, was he fine.
You told him your name with a playful smirk teasing at your lips, eyes hung low and a hand on his bicep.
The moment the last syllable left your mouth, the guy looked at you as if heâd seen a ghost, the heat of the club long diffused and an expression on his face that read bewilderment instead of sex.
âRepeat that?â
You said your name again and a hand came over his mouth instantaneously in utter shock. You could hardly believe it. âWoman, you tryinâ to get me killed?â He exclaimed in horror.
âWhat the hell are you even talking about?â Your lips curved into a frown.
He drew in a sharp inhale through his nostrils. âLook, youâre a nice girl and allâŚâ he met your gaze and cringed just a little, fearful. âLike what I mean is, youâre niceâ in a friend kinda wayâ like I wasnât tryinâ to put no kind of word to you or nothing like thatââ
The longer he spoke, the more your shoulders slumped and your nose scrunched up in confusion. Was this guy one of those fucking mood-swing-having kind of drunks, because the fuck?
âItâs just⌠you know, I donât know whatâs the situation with you two and if youâre steppinâ out,â he went on, scratching the back of his neck. âBut I canât go thereâ not that I was trying to, of course! Letâs get that solidâ cause youâre Jayâs girl and Iââ
âExcuse me?â
âNah, Iâm good.â He shook his head firmly. âEverybody knows he doesnât play about you.â
âEverybody knows this?â Your face screwed up in a mix of disbelief and offense. âListen, we broke upââ
He barked a laugh, right in your face. âLook, dolly, I came for a good time, not to get my ass beat. So I suggest you sing that little freshly divorced song with like, I donât know, at least six feet between us.â
âAre you serious right now?â
âYou have a good night,â he shrugged. âAnd congrats when you two get back together,â he said, giving you a quick nod before he walked away, easing between swaying bodies in the direction of the bar.
âFucking punk!â You yelled after him. What a drag.
âDo I have to keep wearing this mustache?â Dick groaned, index finger itching at his upper lip. He was sitting on one of the barstools, attempting to survey the crowd.
âOh, lookey here!â Royâs posture straightened and his teeth shone in a grin, a tiny umbrella that he plucked from a glass idly twirling between his forefinger and thumb. âCassio is steadily approaching.â
He turned to Dick who gave him a quizzical look.
âYouâre not well read at all, man,â he continued, tossing the umbrella towards a brooding Jason, leaning against the bar with his hands crossed over his chest.
âAnd who are you supposed to be, Bianca?â Jasonâs brows rose, then his expression shifted as he realized who Cassio was in question â the fucker that was dancing with you earlier.
A silence fell over the group as the guy rounded the bar and ordered a drink, scratching at his brow. He looked at Roy, then at Dick, both pretending not to look back at him.
Then he looked at Jason who was staring him head on.
âDo I know you?â The guy squinted, brows furrowed and head tilted forward. âYou from around here?â
âNo.â Jason responded, voice a little deeper for his disguise, or maybe something else entirely. Either way, it was fucking hilarious.
âAh,â the guy nodded, looking away. The air was heavy and awkward, and Royâs lips pursed with the effort of holding back a laugh.
âSo, uh,â Dick cleared his throat, fingers thrumming against the bartop. âThatâs a nice necklace, man.â
The guy looked up at him oddly. âYou tryna rob me or something?â
There was a pause, and Dick stuttered slightly before the guy chuckled. âJust fucking with you, sorry. But, yeah, thanks,â he reached a hand up to finger the chain. It was a silver cross with a few tiny diamonds. âMy girl got it for me.â
Jasonâs jaw ticked.
âOh, you donât say?â Roy grinned. Dick turned away to stifle a laugh under his mustache. âDamn. Thatâs real sweet, huh, Johnny?â
Johnny â or Jason, grunted under his breath in response. âLi mortacci tua.â
No way you moved on already. And least of all with BirdChest. No way, thereâs just no way.
He reached for the Marlboro Red that Roy abandoned on the bartop and fished a lighter out of his pants pocket. Before he could light it, Dick snatched it from his hands.
âYeah, sheâs a real nice girl⌠nags like hell though,â Random guy who you mightâve possibly moved on with, said. âJust the way these broads are, I guess.â
âItâs a bit much talkinâ shit about a lady who canât defend herself âcause sheâs across the room,â Jason intervened. Which he might as well, now that the scrub was calling you out of your name and he didnât have a cigarette between his teeth because somebody felt like parenting him on what should be a covert operation.
âOh, that one? Nah, not her.â The guy shrugged, sipping his drink. âThat one just set me up to fucking die, can you believe that shit? Came out to escape the nagging and what I get instead is a one way ticket to Death Row.â
âWhat do you mean?â Dick leaned closer, and when Roy looked at him with a bottom lip drawn between his teeth to hold a laugh, he only shrugged. Good goss is good goss.
âSheâs a real cute thing, you saw her right?â Roy and Dick nodded simultaneously. Jason scoffed. âWeâre dancing, right? And Iâm feeling her and sheâs feeling meââ
âYeah, fuckinâ stunadâŚâ Jason grumbled to himself.
âThen I go and ask her name, she tells me, and Iâm thinking to myself, where do I know this piece from, yâknow?â The guy continued. He shook his head. âMan, would you believe thatâs Jayâs girl?â
Dick and Roy exchanged a look, then shrugged in faux ignorance.
âJay? You know how many Jays are in Gothamââ Roy started.
âFuckinâ Jay from the Alley, man,â the guy exclaimed. âBig, burly son of a bitch. The one with the scar on his face. Motherfuckerâs built like a matadorââ
âOh, really?â Dick rested a hand against his jaw.
âReally,â the guy huffed. âAnd sheâs just out here looking like that and dancing on peopleâ have you seen the size of that guyâs fist? Fuckâs sake⌠I couldâve lost my life...â
Jason smirked to himself then shook his head to get rid of it. You werenât his girl, you werenât. Not really and not in all the ways that mattered.
Was he wrong for feeling a liiitle bit on cloud nine at the notion of Bird Chest the Handsy Hog fucking off because of two words? Maybe. But heâd been wrong about plenty of things in his life, he could do with another on his conscience.
âYo, Benny!â Came a shout and the guy in question whipped his head around. Oh, Bird Chest Benny. You wouldâve loved to witness this in real time, he thought.
âGo easy, fellas,â Benny said, downing the last of his drink and stuffing a few bills under the glass. âAnd watch out for that girl I told you about. Wouldnât wanna see any of you on the Missing Personsâ list.â
When Benny left the bar there was silence between the trio, a heavy, amused silence as Dick cradled his stomach to keep from bursting out into a guffaw.
Roy was the first to speak, and he sighed, long and dramatic, rising from his stool to stretch his aching arms. âO beware, my lord, of jealousy! It is the green eyed monster, which doth mock the meat it feeds onââ
ââYouâre done.â Jason interrupted, damn near lunging towards Roy who cackled with mischief, and Dick, who was still sitting there holding his stomach, had his lips pursed in intense thought.
âOh, wait a minute, I get it now!â Dick shouted, rising from his seat. âOthello!â
âNeed a light?â
Your entire body went stiff for a moment and a yelp escaped your throat. âFuckinâ hell,â you whipped your head around, cigarette dangling carelessly between your fingers and eyes wide with momentary fright.
âAnnounce yourself first, Dracula.â
Jason could only fix his face in a sheepish little smile, stuffing a hand into his jacket pocket to fish out the lighter heâd intended to use earlier but didnât have the chance.
The music from inside the club was muffled, the bass reduced to something like a tickle under your feet from where you both stood at the darkened back entrance.
You leaned forward, hands cupped and raised up to the click of his calloused thumb against the lighter, the small flame warming your fingertips.
âYou got a ride home?â Jason asked, one hand cradling both of yours and raising them nearer to the flame, the tip of the cigarette finally catching light.
âSomething like that,â you murmured, drawing in a puff, a soft plume of smoke leaving your nostrils. You withdrew your hands from his and he nodded, shoving the lighter back into his pocket.
He understood why. Of course, this wasnât a thing, not exactly and not anymore. So he kept his hands stuffed in his pockets, still unable to hide the long gaze that raked over your features from where the timid light of the cigarette and the brightness of the moon cast shadows over your face. You were beautiful.
âWhatâs with the mustache?â
He blinked. âHuh?â
You were so beautiful and he was so stupid.
âOh, that⌠that, uhâŚâ Jason reached up to peel the embarrassingly fluffy, hairy thing off his face. âThat was part of a covert operation,â he said, his voice coming out a little higher than he intended it to.
You laughed despite yourself. âA covert operation?â
âWhatâs it to you, Columbo?â He grumbled, a smile stretching on his mouth. He missed you. You hadnât even been apart for long and he missed you.
You dug your heels into the asphalt, taking a deep drag of the cigarette between your fingers. With a long exhale, you looked over at him then looked away, but he caught your gaze in between, his gaze shooting to the ground.
âSo⌠you and that guy in thereââ
âIs that seriously how you wanna start right now?â You turned to look at him. âYou were watching me?â
âI was gonna say sorry,â he looked up at you. âFor ruining your night. He didnât seem to stick around long, so I figuredâŚâ
âNo, youâre not.â You shook your head, an almost bitter laugh of disbelief leaving your mouth in huffs of smoke. âNo, youâre not, you fucking assholeââ
You were laughing, hiccuping through each harsh draw of breath and wheeze of laughter. Jason bit back a shit eating grin because of course you knew him well enough to call his bluff.
âYouâre right,â he nodded, the words coming as a brief mumble under his breath. âI⌠I donât know, I just canât remember why we broke up.â
âIf I remember correctly, you were the one who wanted a breakââ
He turned his body towards you and interrupted. âA break, not a break up.â Jason sighed, raking a hand through his hair. âAnd then you just started throwing shit at me, what was I supposed to do?â
âI donât know, Jason,â you flicked your cigarette away, outing the meek flame under your shoe. âMaybe call? Maybe come look for me? Maybe donât spy on me with the Jay sanctioned protection squad?â
He straightened his posture, blinking slowly. âIf this is about what happened at PaulieâsâŚâ
You scoffed. âWhat happened at Paulieâs was none of your business. I can handle myself.â
Jasonâs eyebrows rose in mock pride. âYeah, word on the street is you waterboarded the guy with a glass of rum and coke.â The smile on his face faltered slightly, and his voice came quieter. âI know you can. I know that. Itâs just different becauseââ
âBecause Iâm yours?â Your gaze met his, and youâd be lying if you said he didnât look the slightest bit pathetic. Good, he deserved that. You wasted half a rum and coke because of his stupid ass. âDonât make me laugh.â
He swallowed, taking his hands from his pockets and wiping them on his jeans. Okay, so yeah, he did deserve that. âI was an idiot. Iâm still an idiot⌠And I didnât mean to disappear on you like that.â
âBut you did.â
âBut I did,â he hung his head. âI did, and I fucked up, and you shouldnât even hear me out. Because I was too much of a fuckinâ coward to come find you but seeing you here tonight, I justâŚ.â
âYou just what?â He watched the way your mouth curved over the syllables. âGot jealous?â
âFollia,â he huffed. âDonât get hasty, I didnât say all thatââ
âOh my God, you were jealous,â you grinned wolfishly, eyes bright with amusement as you stepped closer to him. âYou thought I was with that guy in there.â
âAs if,â Jason rolled his eyes. âLook at him and look at you, in what world would you ever go for that sortaââ
âBut I was with him and not you,â your lips pursed just the slightest, a tease, but nothing short of the truth. âDid it make you mad?â
A brief silence passed between you two, his dark blue eyes drifting from your eyes down to your lips, then back up again.
âWhat do you think?â
âJealous, mad,â you raised two fingers, wiggling them slightly as you counted. âMad or jealous. Uno dei due.â
âBrava,â he hummed. âYouâre a natural.â
You tried to ignore the way your stomach did a somersault. âIâm still mad at you, and probably will be for a long time,â you said, lifting your head and pointing your nose at him firmly. âSo, if you felt jealous, boo fuckinâ hoo, thatâs your penance to pay.â
âI know that,â he nodded. âAnd I wouldnât expect you to forgive me, not unless I really worked for it, Iâm sure.â Jason reached for your hand and you let him, a calloused thumb stroking the back of your hand.
He was so warm compared to you right now, even though he ran cold. âBut I do want to apologize, if youâll let me.â
You pretended to think about it, your other hand reaching up to scratch the side of your head. âI mean, it really depends on the quality of your apology. You did leave me high and dry to go dress up as Mr. Potato Headââ
âAgain, it was a covert operationââ
âI just donât think a little apology is gonna cut itâŚâ you sighed with faux hurt.
âI swear to God, I will get on my knees right now.â Jason said, deadpan.
You quirked a brow at him. âYou wouldnât.â
Before the last syllable had left your mouth, his knees hit the cold asphalt in front of you, those dark blue eyes staring up at you, electric and determined. Your heartbeat roared all the way up to your throat.
âIâm sorry,â he said. âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry, Iâm sorry.â
âJesus Christ, Jasonââ you ducked your head in embarrassment, a shameful heat prickling your skin. You were suddenly aware of everyone and everything that could witness this display. A car driving by, a girl slipping outside to answer her phone, a guy idling on a bike parked a decent few feet away.
âGuardarmi,â he whispered. You looked up at him immediately. âFocus on me. Let me fix this.â
Your breath stuttered but you nodded all the same. âApologize,â you said.
âI was wrong,â he scooted closer. âI was wrong and Iâm sorry and I swear to youââ
âDonât promise me anything,â you interrupted, looking down at him. The faintest redness dusted the flesh of his cheeks. âApologize, better.â
âI messed up,â he continued. His hands rested on the dips of your waist. âI shouldâve called or come to you but I didnât. But Iâll fix it, Iâll do better by you. I know I donât own you⌠I know that, but when you take me backââ
âIf I take you back,â you clarified firmly. âIâm not your girlââ
Jason pressed a kiss to the hem of your shirt. âAnd if you donât like it, Iâll set it straight so no one calls you that again, you know? I never need you to be my girl â maybe not even mine, I just need you.â
âNot your girl yet,â you murmured, finishing your previous sentence. âI donât hear you apologizing.â
âMadonna Santa,â Jason nuzzled his forehead against your stomach. âI know, I fuckinâ know and Iâm begging on my knees here, doll,â he groaned. âMi dispiace, mi perdoniâŚâ
He looked up at you with those eyes and you covered your face in defense. âDonât⌠donât look at me like that, itâs cheating.â
âAmore,â he whispered but you shook your head with a muffled mm-mm. âHo bisogno del suo perdono.â
You peeked down at him from between your fingers, and he was still staring up at you with those big, wet eyes.
âOh my God, get up, you look stupid,â you huffed, but a smile played at the corner of your mouth the whole time.
âDoes this meanâ?â Jason shifted, rising onto one knee.
âFuck no,â you rolled your eyes. âAt least take me home first,â you grumbled and he deflated slightly, the sadness evident in the smallest downturn of his lips. You had to bite back a laugh.
âBut, you do owe me a rum and coke,â you continued as he rose to his feet, already walking ahead of him. Jason tried and failed to hide his enthusiasm, a grin blooming on his features.
âYeah?â
âWhat about your little entourage?â You asked and he looked at you quizzically. âThe rest of Mustache Incorporated.â
Jasonâs brows rose in realization. Roy and Dick were still inside. Nevertheless, he shrugged. âTheyâre uh⌠working on some notes about Othello for me.â
âOthello?â You chuckled, and he caught up to your side.
âCovert operation, remember?â Jason whistled. âWe have to have codenames.â
⢠content you hit a vigilante with your car . . . jason todd x reader, meet cute, fluff
Having a car in Gotham was a blessingâno late-night walks, no muggers, and no leering men catcalling you. It was a wonder how much more bearable the crime-ridden city was when you had a car.
Yet, even from inside your glorious vehicle, disaster still managed to strike you in the form of a man.
Or was it the other way around?
Either way, your hands gripped the steering wheel, sweaty and shaky as you stared up ahead with wide eyes.
All you saw was a blur of red before your foot slammed on the brake a second too late. There was a big thump while the car shuddered with you.
With a muffled, hysterical cry, you wrenched open the door and stumbled out.
âFucking hell,â you whispered, brows furrowed.
On the road was a groaning man in red. Your heart skipped a beat. At least the guy was still alive. Fear vibrated through you, your mind replaying the moment over and over.
You made your way closer to him, as if he were some rabid animal and not a helpless man youâd hit with your car.
The closer you got, the more you could make out the form of Red Hood.
You cursed and wondered if you should run. What if he tried to kill you for fracturing an important bone orâ
Your thoughts were cut off by his strained voice.
âYou gonna help or stare at me?â
You steadied yourself and forced your mouth to work.
âIâshit, Iâm sorry. I didnât see you running. Obviously I didnât do this on purposeâfuck.â You said it as calmly as possible, which sounded more like you were being held at gunpoint.
He didnât move a muscle, just stared at you like you were the insane one. His helmet had been removed, his jaw was clenched, and his raven hair was a mess. Oh. He was one of those people who looked hot while frustrated.
You swallowed and crouched down, awkwardly trying to help him up. You werenât much help with lifting a six-foot-something man.
âIâm so sorry,â you said again while the vigilante leaned on your smaller form.
âItâs fine,â he grunted.
âItâs not. I mean, you could have died.â
He snorted as you helped him onto the sidewalk where he stiffly sat, not showing any signs of major injuries. You could barely read the man, and the mask covering his eyes didnât help.
âEh, been there, done that,â he replied, watching you intently like he was enraptured by the person who got him temporarily incapacitated.
You gave him a weird look, your face screwing up. You opened your mouth to ask what that meant but decided against it. Was it rude to ask people about their death? You assumed it was.
âOkayâŚâ You trailed off. He wasnât saying much and you didnât know what to do. So, you rummaged through the pocket of your jeans and pulled out a lollipop. You wincedâit was all you had.
You held it out to Red Hood with a hopeful look in your eye.
âA peace offering,â you added when he didnât move, white lenses fixed on your face rather than your offering.
He sighed, a white strand of his hair falling across his forehead, and you wanted to brush it away.
You willed yourself to stay stillâyou would not embarrass yourself. But the way he was looking at you made you feel like it was too late for that.
âI already said it was okay, sweetheart.â His voice was low and rough.
Your mind decided to focus on the last word, zoning in on the way he said it. You numbly pushed the candy closer to his face.
A reluctant half-smile formed on his face, gloved fingers brushing yours as he took the candy from you, lingering a second too long to chase the warmth.
You cleared your throat.
âNext time, you should look both ways before crossing,â you told him.
His half-smile deepened.
âAnd deny myself the pleasure of meeting you again?âÂ
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Still thinking about [captive bred mer!reader and wild mer!ghost] and their first feeding time together....
You spend so long in that little cave, tucked into the shadowy corner whenever the big mer swam by. He was just so big! And spiky in places you aren't, and all the wrong colors!
After awhile he leaves you alone, instead swimming laps in the giant pool, chirping...something. you still don't understand him. It was easy to calm down in your cave, knowing he couldn't fit. It was harder to ignore your growing hunger.
You don't know how you'll get food, it's too scary to swim up and do the tricks! Just the thought of doing your usual splashing and flying from the water with the big mer around....no. best not to.
So you hunker down, tuck your tail over your arms and open you vents for the long night. It's not the first time you'll go without food but it never gets easier.
Something thunks outside your cave entrance, startling you out of your half-sleep.
A....crab? It's definitely a crab! Oh, wow! You didn't know there were any in the pool! Excited, you swim out to say hi. chest brushing the rock so you can be eye level, you chirp "hai!!! Helloooo!!! Hi!!"
The crab doesn't move. Hrm. Strange. You bat at it, churring in curiosity when it simply floats away a bit, still not moving. You paw at it, inspecting it, worried it might be sick andâ
A loud rumble above youâ the mer! You go to dart back into your cave only to realize it's so far away. He rumbles more, reaching a giant hand down to pluck the crab from its place, and instead place food down!
Ah. He must be helping the crab out.
You eat the food, making sure to save some for the big mer because even if he's scary he's helping the crab so you suppose he should eat too. He brings more and more, and you eat your fill for the first time in...a long time.
Above the surface, two workers talk to eachother about your feeding method. It seems whole foods don't work, but ghost is willing to tear them up for you. They will continue to monitor.
Jasonâs been grumpy all morning. He even denied you cuddles when you tried curling up against him before sunrise, and now you feel restless.
You miss his hands in your hair, his sleepy kisses against your neck, the way he'd mumble for you to stay in bed while keeping you close to his chest. Your morning rituals matter. Without them, a gray cloud follows you around the rest of the day.
Jayyy,â you call as you skate out of your shared room, socks sliding easily across the floor.
Heâs standing in the kitchen shirtless, like this is somehow part of your punishment too. His muscles are on view under the morning light cascading in. You grab onto his bicep before you fall. Usually, he'd lift you on the counter and stand between your legs while you ramble.
Today, he barely acknowledges you.
You groan. "Honey, I said I was sorry."Â
"Ten reps of I'm sorry," he mumbles, side eyeing you while holding his coffee.
You go to take the coffee from his hand. It's the only thing that could brighten your day now.
"Uh uh, what did I say?" Sleep still clung to his voice as it came out raspier, deeper. Heat pools in your lower belly. He holds the coffee away from your reach.
His hair's a mess, the black strands sticking out everywhere. He looks so good even when he's a grumpy mess.Â
You pout, and his eyes narrow.
"I'm sorry. I love you. Now shower me in love," you beg, reaching for the coffee. "Or at least lemme have a sip."
He holds the cup higher. "I don't knowâŚmaybe he can cuddle you." The coffee he made is probably just as bitter as his tone.
"Oh my god, it was a joke. I only want you."Â
"Then why the hell did you have to say, whatever the fuck his name is, is your hall pass?" he grumbles.Â
"It's Michael B Jordan," you say, "he's everyone's hall pass."Â
He glares. Unfortunately, it's kinda hot when he does it. His blue eyes fix on you, and his jaw is tight like heâs trying not to react. Your heart races at the way he's leaning against the counter casually.
"Jasonâ
"Nope," he cuts you off, and chugs all the coffee down. He goes to kiss your forehead as if on instinct, but stops halfway.Â
He grimaces. "No cuddles or anything for the rest of the day," he nods to himself, satisfied, like this is a perfectly reasonable plan.
But you know damn well he isn't going to last an hour without touching you.
you send your boyfriend a bad pick-up line â thank u @dontyouworrydaddy for ur brain
content: mostly fluff, probably ooc: I haven't written/made in anything in ... so long ... sorry if this is butt / it might take me a little while to get in the swing of things again
Imagine being the waypoint operator for the 141s comms, in charge of directing their chatter to the correct channels when needed, right?
Your station acts as an added layer of security, encrypting the route the channels take in the event they are hacked. Sure, you work with other teams but the 141 are your main group.
One...small caveat of being in charge of their comms, is that you have to actually listen to their conversations in case they request a patch to someone.
Which leads to you hearing...way more than you'd like.
Gaz: sir. Stop poking it. Soap's waitin'
Ghost: think he had health issues. Look at his femur, odd texture.
Gaz: oh shit, really? Let me seeâ
Followed by far too graphic descriptions of the poor blokes leg. You had to skip lunch that day. You do most days they have missions, gross fuckers act like you can't hear all the shit they say.
Meaning, of course, that you hear too damn much about their sex lives or lack thereof due to missions. It's nothing new, and given you know what they look like, it doesn't paint a bad picture.
But this time? You're shocked by the subject of conversation.
Soap: ahm tellin' you, it's been too damn long. The poor lass is crying for attention!
Gaz: why not the guy from IT? He's eager enough.
Soap: no. Not really feeling that right now. Actually, you know who sounds nice?
There's that characteristic smirk in soaps voice you've long since learned to identify. You absently hear ghost prompt him to continue, wondering how the hell price tunes them out so wellâ
Soap: our waypoint.
You choke, splutter. Your own coughing making it impossible to hear gaz and ghosts reactions, but when you tune back in soap is viciously defending himself
Soap: no, no! Listen! Have you heard that voice?? Christ, just that and I could get a better wank than I've had all month! C'mon, ghost, I know you agreeâ
Ghost: you know they can hear you right now, johnny? Got anything to say?
Gaz: *chuckles* besides asking to get his dick wet? Maybe beg for a moan or something?
....silence
Soap: ....hey waypoint? You there?"
You shouldn't. Christ you shouldn't respond.
All comms are recorded, and waypoints should only talk when absolutely necessary butâ but the 141 comms are wiped every 24 hours and...
You lean close to your mic, voice weaker than you'd like.
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Or: The one where you text your fwb a good ol' ÂŤyou up?Âť
Includes: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Wally West, Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent and John Constantine
Warnings: None really, just lighthearted fun. I'm really sorry for Wally's, he stays suffering in my posts â This is the start of a fwb collection though! All posts pertaining to it will be tagged under fwb!au and it'll be for both written and text posts <3
Morph's thoughts: Omg are you serious? My first post got so much love, thank you so much to everyone of you seriously!! I'm working in a couple longer written pieces so in the mean time I'll keep the texts going. As always, feedback is more than welcome and appreciated!!
Comments and reblogs are welcome and encouraged <3 Do not copy, repost, plagiarize, translate or feed any of my work into ai / Š gothamorphosis 2026 all rights reserved
Will feels pity. He really does. Seeing you squirm under his hold. Being the target of his stress relief was not something you thought you would be at first but here you both are.
His eyes staring down at you, almost mocking. His forearm under your head as his thumb slightly brushed your cheek. The soft skin under his roughened palm. Looking so pretty, cheeks damp with tears. Sometimes brushing them away with his touch.
His other hand in-between your legs. One leg on top of yours to refrain you from closing them. The sounds echoed the quietness of his cabin. Sometimes a bark or two but his mind was not at that.
It was at the soft mewls leaving your lips. His fingers slowly teasing that soft spongy spot. Over and over. Coaxing everything you had to offer. "C'mon baby, one more."
"can't Willâ s'too muchâ", you softly sobbed. Your legs threatening to close. Shaking when you straighten them. You couldn't even coax another plea before feeling the burn of another orgasm. Your eyes closing, another cry leaving your lips.
"there we go. .", Will cooed. Pulling his hands out before paying attention to your clit. Rubbing lazy circles. "Such a pretty girl for me", he placed a soft kiss on your damp cheek. His lips widening into a smile against your skin.
Your hips squirming while his fingers still worked on your clit. "so eager, want more?", he teased. Your whining making him laugh. He finally relented, having you spent as he brought his fingers to his lips. Licking them clean with a deep hum. "Taste so sweet, always so sweet for me", he whispered as he leaned down pressing his lips with her.
His tongue pushing against yours, making you taste yourself on his tongue. Pulling back as he traced your lips with his tongue before smiling. "So good for me", he praised before pulling you close. Letting you curl up against his chest as he pulled the sheets over the both of you.
Every thought that weigh his mind disappeared. The only thing that occupied it now was you. Everything about you was his hearts demise.
Tws: blood and injury, psychological horror, controlling partner dynamics, romanticized violence undertones and ritualized predation.
It was a mere short cut across your skin: the knife slid against your thumb as you were chopping onions; a sharp line of red drops glinting like rubies.
You flinched a little at first, holding your injured digit with your other hand while inspecting the wound.
âAre you alright, sweetheart?â He turned around to get a better look at you; His idea of a concern expression was a long stare, eyes spilling the feeling while his jaws and lips rested perfectly still; it made Hannibal all the more handsome in your eyes.
âIâm fineâ you looked at him âItâs just a little cut, Iâll wash it-â
âIâll clean your woundâ He reached already for the first aid kit he kept tucked in the top drawer, fingers moving with that effortless, practiced grace that made you trust him more than you should.
You didn't protest, it was good getting attention.
He squeezed your wound gently in the sterilized piece of cotton âI told you I am perfectly capable of cooking on my own.â
âI still want to help.â You simply replied.
He caressed your injured hand; sipping in the smooth flesh covered in skin, the wound just a crack into the red withinâ you'd taste exquisite, he's sure.
âBeing alive for me is enoughâ He shoots you a sweet smile âYou shouldn't bleed for just helping me.â
You mirror his expression, basking in the attention and care of your husband; one of the small joys you wanted.
The cotton sank in water, immediately drinking the liquid as faint red bloomed across the glass: blood.
The bathroom lamp sliced stern white light; you went to bed hours ago and he's finally left alone: he is never bored of you, he just wanted a little time to indulge in something else he loved about you.
As the cotton emptied its last elixir, he pulled it out and in one graceful move, he threw it in the trash can before drinking the glass of blood and waterâ slow sips, full taste and his hands shook in joy.
He resisted the urge to lick your wound earlier because he's fully aware of how his appetite rattled in its cage when you were the meal, he might have bitten off your thumb or chomped your palm. It's easier this way but never satisfying enough, your blood was the most he could have for now -even if they're just a few drops-.
Leisurely, the glass emptied and so his soul after each of these small occasions.
You were still asleep inside, having no idea nor aware of what your husband is doing. On his and your rings there is written:
âVolo bibere aquam puram quae es tu.â
Back then, you called it romantic and sweet, stroking your ego and need to be worshiped, and he can't help but wonder in these moments: Has it ever crossed your mind that it could be literal?
Tomorrow, if Iâm lucky, she might cut her finger off. Yet he doesn't want you hurt; torn between the urge to protect you and gore you apart as if a worshiper beholding his abusive idol.
Maybe if you die first he'll allow himself a feast.
âYouâre quite sensitive to my touch.â Hannibal murmurs, a gentle sound while he watches your stomach flinch away from his wandering hand. Your hips jolt at the smooth and deliberate contact and it sends a shock down your body. You pant, your mind momentarily dazedâ your head is still reeling back from the intense orgasm he ripped out of you with just his skilled fingers.
âA-Ah..â You whimpered out, squirming when his thumb rubs over your hip bone, holding you into place. Embarrassment choked up into your throat, the vulnerability burned like a hot knife throughout your chest. You can feel your face flush, and he admires the rare sight of you losing your typical composureâ your mind submitting to the pleasure only he could provide. And it boosts his ego immensely.
You look the most like prey when youâre like this. On your back, exposed to himâ trapped within his clutches, no one and nowhere else to turn to but him. He liked it this way. The way you looked at him with heavy lidded eyes that tried to fight against himâ but couldnât find the strength to tear away. It stirred a great temptation to ruin you beyond belief, till pretty tears streamed down your face and till his name fell out like a desperate prayer from your sweet lips that trembled so easily.
The idea dangled itself in front of him like a wounded rabbit trying to burrow in the snow from a starved wolf, and he was hungry. But Hannibal was a patient man, he did not rush thingsâ he only adjusted them accordingly, so that they could fall into the right place at the right time.
âD-Donât. Please.â You whisper under your breath, your wrists tied above your head with his own tie. You spoke as if you knew exactly what he was thinking of.
âDonât do what?â He prompts gently, his eyes savoring the sight of you beneath him.
âYouâre looking at me like youâre gonna eat me alive.â You answer. Your voice is shaky but someone would have to be a fool to not notice the way you sounded like you needed him to breathe.
He smiles, and itâs a rare, genuine smile. The kind that reaches his eyesâ itâs warm and fond. Itâs scary. âOh my dear,â He leans close to your lips, pressing a small and soft kiss, itâs startling. âI think youâll let me.â He doesnât pose it as something to be questioned. Itâs a simple fact. His fingers run up your sides, sinking back down to grip the flesh of your thighs, making sure they stay apart. âAnd that scares you more than me.â
synopsis: Will is a crazy sleeper, but not in the way people think. Sure he was plagued by the occasional nightmare and sweat through his clothes, but something that was more bothersome than that was his cuddliness. Not even four hours after laying in bed, Will's limbs would hold you prisoner. You found it asphyxiating, Hannibal found it amusing.
It wasnât that you didnât love sharing a bed with your husbands. You did. Dearly, deeply, and with the kind of devotion that would make poets jealous and therapists concerned. But Will Graham in his sleep was a menace.
It started innocently enough. A leg draped over yours, a sleepy sigh, a murmur into the dark. Harmless. Sweet, even. Youâd smile, shift a little, let him have that closeness, but then the transformation began.
By midnight, Will was an octopus.
A clingy, heavy, overly affectionate octopus with too many limbs and zero awareness of personal space. Hannibal, of course, would sleep perfectly stillâdignified even in unconsciousnessâwhile Willâs arm was across your chest, his leg hooked over your hip, and his head nestled in your neck like he was trying to merge with your DNA.
The first few times, you endured it. After all, this was Will. The man you loved. The man who would burn the world for you if he thought you needed warmth. But by the fourth night of waking up half-suffocated, you realized something had to give.
So began your midnight migrations.
Sometimes to the couch. Sometimes to the guest room. Sometimes to the futon at the end of the bed, just so you could breathe. Hannibal never commented. He would simply glance at the empty side of the bed in the morning, raise a brow, and then at breakfast, ask mildly:
âDid our resident cephalopod chase you away again?â
Youâd grunt into your coffee. âYou try surviving a night with his death grip.â
Will, bleary-eyed and unrepentant, would only squint at you, hair sticking up like a disgruntled cat. âI donât do that.â
âOh, you absolutely do,â Hannibal would say. âYou nearly dislocated my shoulder last Tuesday.â
Will glared half-heartedly at his toast. âYou two exaggerate.â
But was it really exaggerating when that night, under the guise that Hannibal found a solution, you were yet again hogged like a koala on a eucalyptus tree. And Hannibal, that traitor, simply laid away on the other side of Will, and looked at you with amusement.
When you tried to move, Will groaned and clutched tighter. âDonât go.â
You sighed, resigned, and caught Hannibalâs smirk over Willâs head. âYou find this funny?â
âExcessively. I find his attachment rather endearing.â
âThen you deal with it.â
âI intend to.â And before you could respond, Hannibal wrapped an arm around both of you, trapping you in his own elegant brand of possessiveness.
Now you were truly doomed.
By morning, all three of you were a tangle of limbs, hair, and warmth. You couldnât tell whose leg belonged to whom, and honestly, you didnât care anymore. The sunlight spilled across the sheets, Will snored softly against your throat, and Hannibalâs hand rested lazily over your heart.
You thought, maybe, just maybe, this was worth the occasional suffocation.
Still, when Will stirred, blinking groggily and smiling that crooked, sleepy smile, the first words out of your mouth were: âYouâre getting your own bed.â
Hannibal chuckled softly behind you. âA futile threat. You love him too much.â
âThatâs the problem.â And yet, that night, when Will reached out for you again in his sleep, you didnât move away.
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authors note: So, while scrolling through Pinterest because that's where I get all of my icons, banners, etc. I found this image of Hannibal staring right at Will who's eating a burger. I totally see this happening, and the idea of being caught eating junk food by the foodie himself was too good to pass up. Enjoy!
synopsis: Hannibal's cooking was out of this world, that man could make anything taste good (even humans, shshsh.) But every once in a while, you and Will craved the greasy mess that was fast food, more specifically McDonalds.
The night air was cool and sharp, carrying the faint scent of rain and pine as you and Will snuck out the back door, quiet enough not to wake the beast, or so you guys hoped. You exchanged a conspiratorial grin with Will, who looked far too smug for a man in his mid-thirties sneaking out for fast food like a teenager.
âHeâs going to notice.â you whispered, tugging your coat tighter.
âHe always notices,â Will muttered. âBut maybe heâll think we went for a walk.â
You snorted softly. âAt eleven p.m.? In the rain? Without inviting him?â
Willâs grin turned lopsided. âHe married us. He shouldâve known what he was signing up for.â
The drive was filled with quiet laughter and the comforting hum of the heater. The world outside was muted. Just you, Will, and the occasional hiss of tires over wet pavement. When the golden arches appeared in the distance, Willâs entire demeanor shifted into boyish excitement.
The two of you ordered enough food to make the teenager at the counter blink twice. Burgers. Chicken nuggets. Fries dripping in salt and grease. Milkshakes so thick they barely fit through the straws. You carried the tray to a corner booth, plastic seats squeaking beneath you. The smell of fried oil and cheap ketchup was, in its own way, heaven.
Will unwrapped his burger like it was a sacred relic. âYou know,â he said between bites, âHannibal would call this âculinary self-sabotage.ââ
âHeâd call it a crime,â you said with mock solemnity, dipping a fry into your milkshake. âA heinous one.â
Will snorted. âHe probably feels it in his soul right now.â
You laughed, the sound mingling with the low hum of pop music from the speakers. For a rare moment, everything felt simple. No elaborate wine pairings, no bone china, no Latin phrases before dinner. You were halfway through your fries when Will froze mid-chew. His eyes went wide.
âDonât look now, but I think your prediction just came true.â
You turned your head ever so slightly and nearly choked on a fry. Because, outside in the dim glow of the streetlight, stood Hannibal. One hand was tucked in his pocket, the other holding an umbrella. His gaze was fixed on the two of you like a hawk observing misbehaving fledglings.
Will set his burger down slowly, as though sudden movement might provoke the predator outside. âDo you think,â he said, voice trembling with fear, âif we just pretend not to see him, heâll go away?â
âWill, heâs Hannibal.â
âWell, then, weâre dead.â
It was then that Hannibal moved. You could see the faintest curl of disappointment at the corner of his mouth, the sort that made your stomach twist with guilt and laughter all at once. The bell above the door chimed as he entered, his presence immediately too large for the fast food chain.
The teenage cashier behind the counter froze, but Hannibal paid them no mind. He approached your table like a judge to a confession booth. His gaze moved from Willâs half-eaten cheeseburger to your empty nugget box, then up to meet your eyes.
âYou left the house without saying goodbye. I was concerned.â
Will cleared his throat. âWe were, uh, getting some air.â
âIn a McDonaldâs?â Hannibal sought, his tone so politely neutral it could have been mistaken for sincerity.
You swallowed. âWe missed the smell ofâŚpreservatives?â
A long silence. Then, unexpectedly, a sigh escaped him. Hannibal reached down, plucked a single fry from your tray, and studied it like an alien artifact before eating it. âCold oil, sodium, and preservatives. I suppose there are worse vices.â
âSo, weâre not in trouble?â
Hannibalâs mouth twitched, the barest ghost of a smile. âI wouldnât say that.â
Later, when you were both shepherded back into the car, your precious Happy Meals confiscated like contraband, you and Will couldnât help but laugh. Hannibal drove in silence, the faint scent of truffle oil clinging to him. From the backseat, you whispered to Will:
âNext time, we go to Taco Bell.â
âThere will not be a next time.â
Will shot you a grin. âHe says that now, but you saw the way he finished that fry. I mean, come on. He examined it like he was conducting an autopsy, and then what? He ate it. Thatâs not disgust. Thatâs curiosity. You were curious, werenât you, Hannibal?â
His gaze flicked towards you two before returning to the road. âI assure you, curiosity is not the same as indulgence.â
âRight,â Will said dryly. âYou only indulged in it for scientific purposes.â
You leaned forward from the backseat. âYou did seem rather contemplative. Maybe you're developing a taste for the common manâs cuisine.â
That earned you a low hum, a noncommittal sound that mightâve been amusement, or mightâve been Hannibal calculating exactly how to make you both repent by breakfast.
âI would hardly call that cuisine. It's simply a fascinating exploration of how humanity manages to strip food of both nutrition and dignity.â
âSo, what youâre saying is, you didnât hate it.â
âI am saying,â Hannibal replied evenly, âthat it would pair nicely with cyanide. Tell me, was it worth it? Sneaking out into the night like adolescents for fast food?â
âAbsolutely.â
You nodded, smiling despite the weight of his tone. âEvery greasy, glorious bite.â
When you arrived home, Hannibal was the picture of grace. Helping you both out of the car, holding the door open, but as you kicked off your shoes and exchanged a guilty glance with Will, you heard the faintest sound from the kitchen.
You peeked around the corner and there was Hannibal standing at the stove, a small pot of oil heating beside him. âSince you enjoy fast food so much, I thought I might improve the recipe.â
And thatâs how, the next morning, you both found yourselves sitting at the table in front of a pristine plate of hand-cut, golden fries drizzled with some kind of herbed aioli and sprinkled with shaved truffle. They smelled divine, looked sinful, and were clearly meant as both punishment and temptation.
Will took one bite, blinked, and sighed. âHeâs weaponized fries.â
You nodded gravely. âWe can never go back to McDonaldâs.â
Across the table, Hannibal smiled faintly, sipping his espresso. âPrecisely.â
Some of Rylandâs middle school students overheard him address the person on the other end of a phone call as âbabyâ and they immediately screamed, âEwwww!â Ryland is still trying to make them understand that one day, they will love someone so much that they will call them cute names. In response, the kids countered, âBaby isnât cute, Mr Grace. Bae isâ leaving Ryland questioning everything he has ever known.
One day, you go to the school because Ryland forgot something, and you have the time to drop it off. Even though you are both acting completely casual, the kids see you together and immediately put two and two together. That you are Mr. Graceâs âbabyâ. Once you leave and Ryland goes back into being the science teacher, the class wastes no time. They instantly start teasing him, with one student asking, âMr Grace, how did you bag such a baddie?â Ryland is left completely stunned. Before he can even say that their comment is entirely inappropriate, another kid exclaims, âMr Grace is in loveeeeee!â which causes the whole class to join in on the teasing.
In that moment, he wishes the ground would just open up and swallow him whole. Yet, despite it all, he still loves this chaotic bunch of kids who make his life so difficult sometimes, but also because they are entirely right. He is deeply in love with you.
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