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queers-gambit · 8 months

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Curiosity Killed The Cat

prompt: after rescuing you from kidnappers, you overhear your boyfriend-turned-savior complain about how clingy you've become.

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 5.1k+

note: author wants things out of her drafts! also don't take this fic too seriously, it's not much at all - just me writing for the fuck of it until i'm ready to focus on my bigger projects.

warnings: modern AU, Mafia AU, obvious cursing, small hurt and comfort, brief depiction of physical violence and self-destruction in the form of: loss of appetite, lack of sleep, other symptoms of depression. NOT edited! author is ashamed because she knows she can give you something better but oh well.

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Your feet planted, jarring you to a halt the moment you heard your name in a conversation you were not apart of.

You heard the hammering of your heart, echoing beats of your blood pumping with harrowing desperation. Hands turned cold and clammy, sweat breaking out on your brow and then freezing, feeling as if your throat had swollen to a new restriction and you were anchored in you in place.

Rooted.

But for now, all you could identify was the paralyzing anxiety that anchored you to your spot and made your heartbeat thunder in your ears. You stood outside the lounge, unable to comprehend relevant thought; still listening to low, docile tones continue their conversation, but you couldn't hear real words.

You were stunned. Panicked, confused, hurt - so very hurt. That seemed to register, too; you were really, really hurt.

This was perhaps why curiosity killed the cat.

You reprimanded yourself for listening in - transporting back to childhood during all the times your parents would scold you for eavesdropping. You knew it was wrong, you knew this was a private conversation meant to be shared between trusting confidants, but you couldn't help it - you heard your name and stopped. It was natural, right? To feel curious regarding a conversation seemingly about you that you, yourself, was not apart of?

Curiosity, indeed.

Blinking rapidly, you remembered the only other time you felt such mounting, pressurized fear, and while it might be dramatic, the only other time you could remember this level of anxiety was from about two months ago...

"Yes, baby, I got the bacon."

"And the jalapeños?"

"Uh-huh, the biggest they had."

"Cream cheese?"

"Do you know who you're talking to?" You laughed into the phone. "I'm a professional housewife by now, you can relax. I got all you needed for your fancy little dinner experiment."

Bucky laughed down the phone, "Oh, please, like I didn't see you salivating when we watched the segment on Top Chef."

"Hush," you laughed, too. "I'm leaving the store now," you told him, pushing out of the heavy glass doors, "and should be home in, like, 10 minutes?"

"Lemme pick you up."

"I have legs to walk with, so, no thank you."

He sighed, "Well, I'll open the wine to let it breathe. Red's still good?"

"Let's do a white tonight, please."

"Good deal," he mused softly. "Hey, I was thinking earlier - "

"Hang on," you pleaded.

"What's wrong?"

"No, nothing. There's just a van slowing down, I don't want to get hit," you chuckled some, looking up and down the street before crossing. "Sorry, so, what were you thinking?"

"We haven't been to Paris in months."

You smirked, "I'm sure our plants in the apartment are dead by now."

Bucky laughed, "Oh, I am, too. But, look, how 'bout it, Peach? You, me, all the croissants we can consume this weekend. I'll take Monday and Tuesday off, we can leave tomorrow night."

"Oh, that sounds nice," you moaned. "Paris in the spring? Baby, that's so dreamy!"

"So, is that a yes?"

"It's a hell yes," you grinned. "Do you know the weather?"

"Supposed to be nice and sunny, not too warm or cold. Figured this would be ideal," he chuckled. "But does the weather matter if we're in bed the whole time?"

"No, we're not wasting our time!" You laughed. "We're gonna go do shit, okay? Stereotypical tourist-couple shit."

"I'll bring the camera."

"And I was hoping we could have dinner at that little place we love?"

"I wouldn't take you anywhere else," he mused.

"I think it's - FUCK!" Bucky froze when he heard the screeching of tires; a van coming up to a skidding halt, flurry of voices all yelling but he heard yours clearly. "No, no, no, hey, hey, what the hell's happening? Hey! What's this - hey, hey! Don't touch me! Ow, shit! No! Hey! Fuck's sake - oh, my God! Ow! Hey!"

"Baby!? Peach! Hey! The fuck's going on!?"

There was a thudding over the phone, and Bucky listened to more struggling - more fidgeting and fighting - and then the slamming of a car door. Still calling your name, Bucky heard a scrape over the line before a different voice answered your phone, "James Barnes. On behalf of HYDRA, you're overdue on your payment and we warned you there would be consequences. Deliver the full amount of 17 million - "

"It's 15," he growled.

"Two million more for the inconvenience of stalking your woman."

"If you even so much as touch her, I swear to God - "

"17 million at midnight, at the pier, or every minute you're late, she'll receive the brunt end of our frustration."

"Don't hurt her - "

"Midnight, Mr. Barnes, at the pier - you know where. Don't be late, she looks like she won't last long."

The line went dead after he heard your screech of pain, confusion, and fear. The moment the line cut, he dropped his phone and slowly lowered himself to sit on the kitchen floor, shock coloring his system. It wasn't that he didn't have the money, quite the opposite - but he and his men had a plan in motion to take out HYDRA, their org's competition, and this was totally against all they anticipated. After a minute to sit in his own worry, Bucky jumped to his feet, grabbed his phone, keys, wallet, and two handguns; holstering them both before shrugging his suit jacket on.

He made every phone call he could, gathering the men he trusted most to (one of) his warehouse(s).

For hours, you were strung up by your wrists in a joint-pulling position while the Brooklyn Mafia formulated a plan of attack. It was the most pain you've ever known, but then the abuse started and you were blinded by this new pain. You had bruises most places, cuts that wept blood; scars that would never heal, wounds that wouldn't ever close. You were delirious, miserable, confused, just dazed and confused; praying to a God who didn't listen.

"Oh, look at that," your captor mocked, holding a thick-bladed hunting knife in hand, "it's one minute til midnight, and I don't see your loverboy anywhere."

You sniffled, unable to respond.

He stared out the lone window, tisking and narrating, "Nope, I see not a soul - and with how protective he is over you, you'd think he'd want to ensure your safety. Not leave it to chance, huh?"

You whimpered as the clock struck midnight, your heart hammering in heavy-hung worry. You had tears in your eyes, heart nearly beating out of your chest, feeling incredibly nauseous. The desire to scream never lessened, just fearing what was to come; the men in the room making you fear for the state of your life, their knuckles cracking. You only begged, "Please. Don't."

The main captor laughed, "You can do better than that! C'mon, give me the satisfaction of tellin' ol' James you begged for mercy - but it wasn't enough to sway me. I'll lie, for sure, and say it happened but it will be so much sweeter if you actually do it."

"Please," you shook your head, avoiding eye contact. "Just don't do this, please."

"Oh, honey," he mocked, "it's not our fault he's late. Lads! Have at her, but leave her face for now - she's still real pretty."

You listened as he gave commands in Russian, understanding after the years at Bucky's side; whimpering when the first blow landed to your gut and knocked the wind out of you. The minutes drug by and you felt your resolve crumbling, heart still hammering to a never-before-felt speed that made it feel as if it were jumping out of your very body at every single pulse point. You struggled in your restraints, but it was futile by how tight you were bound; unable to protect yourself.

At 12:03 am, the doors blew open in a resounding blast; concrete crumbling and sprinkling the floor. You cried out as the smoke choked you, coughing through the haze; only barely able to make out certain figures to know Bucky had brought his best men. However, despite the sting to your eyes from the swirling dust and smoke, you saw a lone man stalk through the blasted wall, through the fray, and straight up to you.

"Bu-Bucky!" You choked in relief as he reached to untie your feet first. You dangled for only a moment as his metal prosthetic ripped off whatever held your wrists to the torture contraption. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, Bucky, holy shit, baby, please, please, please," you rambled as he freed you and instantly caught you on his broad shoulders.

"I got you, Peach, I'm here, I've got you," he promised in your ear, hoisting your legs around his waist so they latched and then wrapping his arms around you securely. "Don't let go and don't look up, okay? Hear me, Peach?"

You nodded into his neck, only able to cry.

Bucky jolted and jerked slightly as he moved through the fight again, but not a minute later, you were stepping outside into the sobering, brisk spring air. This was the moment you understood how dangerous and fleeting life with Bucky could be, making a promise to yourself that if he says take the car, you'll take the fucking car.

And now, here you were, outside the high-rise apartment's lounge (which was just a converted bedroom), listening to your boyfriend complain about you some 2 months after the whole fiasco. HYDRA had been all but wiped out, and in the weeks since, Bucky's men had gone on smaller missions to eradicate the HYDRA members they heard rumor of being local. Yet you didn't feel safe, yet.

You didn't feel safe if you weren't around Bucky.

Everything made you jump: the beep of the done-dryer, that spritz of the automatic fragrance mister in the bathroom, the "duh-dunnn" of a loaded-up Netflix. Keys jingling, car horns, the barking of the dog in the apartment a floor below you... Everything.

Being around Bucky was just like holding a safety blanket. He would always protect you, and for about a week after your rescue, he laid in bed and around the home with you; being lazy; time off work to simply hold you and assure you were safe. Safe in his arms. Safe in his embrace, his presence.

So now... To hear this... You were devastated.

You didn't mean to eavesdrop, it just sort of happened. It was still earlier in the morning, but Bucky hadn't been in bed beside you and based on the feel of the sheets, his body hadn't been there in a while. So, you made some coffee and then ventured around the home in search of your lover; coming upon the lounge and hearing voices from within.

You knew it was common for Steve Rogers and / or Sam Wilson to stay late or visit early, so, you weren't shocked by that, but did falter in announcing yourself when you heard Sam ask how you were doing since the kidnapping. He used your name specifically, making Bucky sigh, and for your curiosity to peak.

"She's different, man."

"How so?" Sam wondered.

"She doesn't like being without me now," he chuckled without humor. "I'm serious, she won't go to the gym until I do, waits to have meals together, won't leave the house if I'm out, and," he scoffed to himself, "you can forget going to the grocery store or anything - she's even stopped going to work - "

"You told her to stop working, like, two years ago when y'all first moved-in together," Sam deadpanned.

"I know," Bucky shrugged, "but it feels tenfold now that she's so reclusive."

"It's normal," Steve sighed gently.

"Yeah? Is it normal that I can't even go take a shit without promising her I'll be right back?" Bucky snapped in exasperation. "It's that bad, she's that fucking clingy, man. I go in the kitchen to make dinner, she's in there 30 seconds later to 'help' me. I take a shower, she finds a reason to linger in the bedroom, but that was better than before, when she wouldn't even shower by herself. It's just a lot, she's everywhere I look. I'm starting to find new reasons not to come home, man, she's always fucking here - and when I walk in the door, she's on me. I need to fucking breathe, but I can't tell her to stop, she'll get her feelings hurt and then I'm the bad guy."

"Man," Steve laughed, "you can't be the bad guy if you go to her in a calm and collected manner, but it's only been two months. She's still recovering."

"Exactly why if I say anything, no matter how calm and collected, I'm the bad guy. I get she's hurting and tryna recover, but Goddamn, does she have to be in every room I'm in? Do everything with me? How do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off? Let me breathe?"

Sam laughed, "You don't! You just said it - she's traumatized! Cut the girl some slack, she's got a lot to fuckin' deal with!"

"I'm not negating from that fact," Bucky argued, "I'm just trying to say, the way she's clinging onto me like she can't function without me is just grating at my nerves. I just need to breathe and recharge, but I can't tell her that - fuck's sake."

"Buck," Steve smirked, "you're worried Peach isn't gonna listen, but that's her literal superpower. Just communicate, she can't read your mind, but you need to remember how traumatic all of that was for her to experience - she's scarred from that kidnapping, man. So, sure, you need to recharge, but she needs the support."

"Is it wrong to ask for a day here and there to do that? To recharge?" Bucky asked quietly.

"If you communicate, it's perfectly reasonable to ask for," Sam assured softly. "And whatever you do, don't tell her you think she's clingy. Chicks hate that, that word is, just, like, taboo or something. Real heavy, negative connotations."

"But she is," Bucky growled quietly, "'s like she's afraid to let go 'cause I'll disappear or something."

"Oh, noooo," Sam mocked, "I'm Bucky and my girlfriend loves me too much and trusts me too much and actually feels safe and dependent on me too much - ohhh noooo!"

There was a thump, Sam's cried, "Ow!", and Bucky telling him to shut up. You slowly backed away from the door, trying to settle your breathing as you made your escape down the hall. When back in the kitchen, you whimpered and let the first tears fall... The first of many you shed in the hour it took you to prepare breakfast for everyone; doing your best to eat as you cooked so you didn't have to linger around the men. You took Bucky's words to heart, and maybe you were too sensitive, maybe you should venture outside again.

So, when the lads came out, you set the table without making eye contact with any of them. "Here," you directed, setting the pancakes down, "I made breakfast, come eat, it's still hot."

"Wow," Sam smiled brightly, "thanks, Peach!"

You hummed, still avoiding their eyes as you just set the abundance of food to the table. "You... Cooked without me?" Bucky asked you with skepticism.

"Mhm," you hummed, setting the coffee pot down to a hot pad, "and I'm going out shopping with Nat, so, eat up, lads, I'll do the dishes when I get home. Love you, boys, bye," you waved them off, snatching your keys and then moving to the door to stuff your feet into your sneakers.

"Woah, woah, woah," Bucky left the table, approaching you urgently, "hey, what do you mean? You're goin' out?"

"Yep, figured I've stayed in too long, might as well get out and remember life doesn't stop just 'cause I'm sad."

"Peach - "

"I'll see you when I get home, Buck, okay?" You mumbled, slinging your purse on your shoulder.

"Well, here, here, hey, wait, hang on," he pulled his wallet out, handing you over a wad of big bills. "Spend it all, okay? Have fun, call or text if you need me, yeah?"

"Sure."

Bucky leaned in to kiss you but you just opened the door, ready to leave. He frowned, watching you, barely managing to call a quick, "Love you!"

You didn't return the sentiment, feeling hallow and all too silly to return the affection. In your purse was your laptop, headphones, chargers, and whatever else, so, instead of meeting your friend, Natasha - being just a ruse to avoid Bucky - you started small and just went to the local café. You used to frequent it back in the day, but times were changed, and yet, they were all the happier to serve you the same as before. Getting cozy in the corner, you set up camp and ordered your favorite coffee basically every other hour - letting the day waste away as you caught up on work emails.

Might've wasted time on Instagram and Facebook and Pinterest. Got shopping done on Amazon. Browsed through Target's online selection. Checked out the sale items at Kate Spade. Perused Fenty Lingerie because you could.

Before you knew it, a message was coming in over your MacBook from Bucky, asking where you were - why had you turned your location off?

You packed up and with a to-go cup, made the short trek back home. When you got back, Bucky was pacing in the living room; staring at his phone and typing, then deleting, retyping, groaning, glancing up, typing again, then doing a double take. "Where've you been, Peach? Huh!?" Bucky demanded. "You're late!"

"Out with Nat," you eased.

He huffed through his nose, nodding slowly, "You have a nice time?"

"It was okay," you answered. "I'm gonna go to bed after I shower."

His brows furrowed, "I have a meeting tonight."

"I know."

"O...kay?" He let you go, wanting to ask why you didn't ask him to join like you had so often in the past few weeks.

And it didn't stop there, in fact, it got worse. When Bucky got home from his meeting, he was actually shocked to see you nestled in the bed; teetering on the edge of the shared space while snuggling a weighted body pillow.

When he tried to give you a snuggle, you stirred to life and pushed him back, muttering, "Too hot."

The following morning, he was relatively surprised to see you up and about before him; barely getting a word in before you were slipping out the door to go on a morning jog. He was confused by how all of a sudden, where you were once everywhere he looked, now, you were disappeared and distant and gone. You worked out alone, cooked alone - but always left him a plate, but long gone were the cute little sticky notes you left for him. You once haunted the apartment by never wanting to leave, and now, ghosted in and out of it on a daily basis.

You never bothered to go far from home. You liked hanging at the coffee shop and luckily, your job let you work from home most days, and the rare time you were due back in the office, it was only about a 20 minute walk. You got better at lying, couldn't even remember the last time you and Bucky had sex, and even now, the last time you had a meal together. You didn't text him about your day; where you once might've told him about an adorable dog you saw on the street, now, you only ever texted him if he asked a direct question.

Food lost appeal, your appetite vanished.

Sleep evaded you, plaguing you with nightmares when you did rest.

Interest dulled, passions were snuffed, and only fearful, confused anger remained. It showed in the way weight seemed to shift around your body, thinning; the lack of sleep creating dark rings and bags under your bloodshot eyes.

After two weeks of this, Bucky grew irritated and short with everyone around him. It reflected in his work, the way he spoke to everyone; even Steve and Sam getting the brunt end of his anger. Without you to assure him, Bucky was off his rocker; losing his cool; his patience stretched far too thin. So much so, the two mates approached an outside associate, Natasha Romanoff, after a particularly snappy meeting to plead for her to talk to Bucky.

"James," Nat greeted as she strode into his office without knocking.

"I know you're my oldest friend, but you don't have that privilege yet," he mused, never looking up.

"What?"

"Not knocking. What is it, Nat?"

"Just came to check on you, you know, like friends do."

"Hm," he chuckled without humor, "and what did Peach say to you?"

"About...?"

"Me."

"Nothing, I haven't gotten ahold of her for weeks."

Bucky paused, slowly lifting his head in confusion; brows furrowed and mouth set in a firm, straight line. "What?" He grit.

"Huh?" Nat wondered.

"She's been telling me that she's hanging out with you for the past two weeks," he revealed.

"Nope, not since the incident with HYDRA."

Bucky's (right) flesh hand crushed the pen in his grip, taking a long breath. "All right," he sighed, "so, why come today?"

"What's really going on, Buck?" She worried softly. "Is it really whatever's going on with Peach? You're this pissed off? What'd she even do?"

"She just..." He cut himself off with a long sigh. "It's nothing."

"Bucky," Nat gave a pointed look.

"She's just avoiding me," he muttered. "It's like she's barely home, almost like a ghost."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes, and no," Bucky snipped, rolling his neck out. "I'm just worried about her now, she's never not communicated before."

"Something's bothering her," Nat shrugged. "She probably needs you right now, Buck."

"I can't do it all," he whispered. "I can't be who she wants and run this organization at the same time."

"She doesn't need that, she just needs you to be her partner," Natasha spoke softly. "She needs to feel loved and supported, and surely, she maybe felt weird about whatever you were projecting. Instead of taking it out on your men," she smirked, "why don't you just talk to her? 'Cause I hear you're bein' a more-than-usual asshole lately. You need to ease up or get laid, 'cause you're taking it out on good, loyal men, and that's entirely unfair."

"They can take it."

"Sure, but they shouldn't have to," Nat rolled her eyes. "Look, since you won't answer me, I'm assuming the sour mood is in regard to whatever relationship issues you have right now?"

"Sure," he tossed the pen away, opened a skinny drawer to his right and select an identical one.

"Bucky," she growled.

He sighed, "She's lying to me, Nat. Saying she's with you when she's not... Is this an affair? She's gone all the time now."

"No way," Nat laughed. "Baby girl doesn't have the energy to entertain anyone - let alone two men. You're just the exception."

"Why lie, then?"

"Maybe she didn't want you questioning her..."

"No shit."

"Well, did you get into a fight?"

"No."

"Any reason she doesn't want to be home?"

He shook his head with a sigh, "Not that I know of."

"You had to do something."

"Honest, I haven't. She was being all clingy, but then one day, a switch flipped."

Nat frowned, "You think... Your girlfriend is being clingy... Because she was kidnapped and beaten up... Because of your fucking job... And is probably scared...out of...her mind...? I get that correct?"

Bucky paused for a long moment, muttering, "Oh, my God."

"Yeah, you asshole. Think of it that way! She's afraid!" Natasha snapped. "And probably picked up on your energy, so, she made herself scarce."

"I didn't mean - "

"I don't care, go home, apologize to that sweet angel - she doesn't deserve this."

Bucky paused, "What is 'this' exactly?"

"James. Focus on the present - your woman. Go make this right. We all know you're this big, bad dude - but it's okay to be a little sensitive towards the woman who loves you without condition!"

Bucky relented, figuring the redheaded Russian mobster was right.

The entire drive home, Bucky considered the ways you had changed in the few, short weeks since he vented to Sam and Steve about your clinginess. You didn't take meals with him, didn't cook, work-out, or do anything you used to do together. Sex? Forget it. Dates? Nope. Cuddling? No, you're always 'too hot'. And when he thought about it, he remembers seeing the wads of cash he'd leave for you stuffed in his sock drawer - surely trying to make him think it was just another emergency fund he had hidden. You never spent his money, feeling humiliated by his choice of words.

Clingy...

You didn't text or call him when he was gone, you hadn't even so much as kissed him in what felt like ages... Well, more like you hadn't initiated any kisses...

His heart weighed in his chest as he realized he hadn't even so much as hugged you in days. You were rarely in the apartment together, and when you were, you were just silent and busy with chores. It was as if you operated on the exact opposite schedule as he did, went to new extents to avoid him, and his heart clenched in his chest.

When he got home, you were caught cooking in the kitchen - being obvious that you weren't expecting him. The door slammed and his baritone voice snapped, "Peach!"

You gulped, holding the sauce-covered wooden spoon to your chest. When he rounded around the corner, he found you and slowed down, sighing in relief. "What's wrong?" You worried in a timid tone.

He panted lightly, relaying, "Needed to find you."

"I'm here."

"I know," he relented, charging up to you and engulfing you in a tight, heavy hug. "I needed to talk to you, Peach," he whispered.

"What's wrong?"

"You. You're what's wrong."

"What the fuck does that - "

"No, no," he pulled back to stare down at you fondly, "I don't mean it like that, just that... You're struggling. I can see that. But you're not alone, I'm here with you, and I got a little caught up in my head when I realized someone was so very dependent on me - it fucking scared me. But then... Then you just shut yourself off and hid away from me, and oh, my God, it's so much worse, baby. Don't do that," he breathed, "okay? Don't ever shut me out - don't stop loving me, don't stop talking to me, don't give up on us. I can't read your mind, you can't read mine, it's not an excuse - but we understand better when we trust each other enough to communicate what's required. I'm so sorry I got caught up in myself, I didn't know what you needed - but I'm here now, I'm here - I'm not leaving you."

You collapsed into his chest, taking a shuddering breath.

"Don't ever stop talking to me, Peach," Bucky whispered, kissing the top of your head; keeping you close. "I'm so sorry, baby, if I - "

"If?" You snapped, pulling back to glare at him through your tears. "I heard you, Bucky. I heard you talking to Sam and Steve, and about how clingy I am."

"I was wrong," he insisted. "I was overwhelmed and tired and just stretched thin, the easiest thing to do is attack those closest to me, and that's you. It's not right, it's the worst I could do to you after all you've been through, and I'm so sorry. I was wrong, you're not the person to take this out on - and I'm so sorry, Peach."

You sighed, "I don't mean to be... I don't mean to cling - "

"Nah," he chuckled, caressing your cheek, "you cling as much as you want. Cling as tight as you want, baby, don't let me go. I'm sorry for what I said and the way it made you feel, it was wrong - so fucking wrong of me, and I see that. When you pulled away from me, I just... I couldn't think. It felt so wrong, and I knew it was my fault." He took your face in both palms, promising, "I'm so sorry, Peach."

You shrugged meekly, "It's okay."

"It's not."

"No, but apologizing is a step in the right direction."

He nodded, "What else can I do?"

"Nothing - "

"Peach."

You paused to think, smiling shyly, "Movie night?"

"Whatever my pretty girl wants," he nodded.

"Hmm... Get a bath with me?"

"All right... Sure, okay..."

"And face masks."

He sighed, "Okay."

"And mani-pedis."

"Baby."

"You said you were making it up to me, right?"

He smirked, "That's right... All right, yeah, sure, fine, we can..." He sighed again, "We can do all that, Peach, whatever you want."

"I just want you," you told him softly. "I didn't mean to be so clingy. I was just afraid... I felt afraid everyday, just so very unsure in this life. You're the only thing that makes sense to me, Buck, and when I heard you, I just... I guess I realized how dependent I'd been and wanted to give you space. Last thing I want is to smother you, to drive you away from me."

"Not ever gonna happen," he promised softly. "I just didn't handle it like I should've. I'm sorry, Peach, but I'm here now - for whatever you need. Want me to take a few days off, just be together? I'll arrange it. Want to get away for a bit? We can go."

"I just need you," you whispered. "Only you and I should be okay - I can be okay if I have you, but feeling like I lost you? Even a fraction? Buck... James, it was such a harrowing feeling, I wasn't sure what to do to move forward. So, I think I just panicked, shut down; thought if I could just get back to normal, you'd love me again..."

"I never stopped loving you," he swore, "I just had a bad lapse in my own judgement. Nothing against you, baby. Nothing."

You nodded again, letting him tuck you into his chest; perfectly snug under his chin as he coiled his arms around you. He let out a long sigh, his guilt swelling to new heights, but for that present moment, everything seemed okay.

Felt okay.

Appeared okay.

And you'd both do whatever it took to remain as okay as you possibly could.

requesting rules and masterlist

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Clingy Baby collection masterlist

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speedprofessor · 1 year

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Anyway the Kang (2021) comic?

Good.

#I'm a sucker for time bullshit #and it really is funny how my portrayal of eo and kang in that comic are like. SO similar but also have clear diverging points #i.e. kang fully embraces being the conqueror by the end of it #whereas eobard looks at time and all its branches and forks and chooses kindness at the end #well. kindness in his terms. he's still a shit but. semi-reformed #which is like the whole theme of the flash fam I feel #but I digress #anyway I hardly ever fucking write but if I were in my prime. Kang would probably be my marvel villain muse #but those days are behind me lmfao #I lurk. I get the burst of ICness for a day or two every 3 months. I go back to lurking.#the wheel turns

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aligantia · 1 year

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I won’t lie, the temptation to add andrea and michonne from twd comics is SO BIG but i’m trying to keep this blog tight for the time being

#「 ooc 」 these words that i write are for someone like me. to know you're not alone.#meanwhile i'll be here loving tsc until the day i die.#my tsc / marvel / spn muses can be pried from my cold dead hands

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tojjist · 1 month

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𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐘 ↳ r. sukuna

in which: the king of curses left you the moment you announce your pregnancy to him. but after nearly losing you... he might be having a change of heart contains: very slight objectification of reader, reader is a half-curse, mentions of injury and near-death experience, reader is pregnant, slight mention of pregnancy sex, sukuna is really ooc tbh A/N: yall really wanted soft sukuna lmao. i js wanted to write something more in my own style instead of the tumblr style. It's all over the place really, also obv trueform! sukuna. w.c : 1.6k

“Sukuna-sama?” Your voice comes out a breathy whisper, barely audible.

“Do– ugh,” The pink-haired curse sighs. “Don’t call me that. And don’t make me repeat myself.”

You haven’t known Sukuna to be tender. Actually, scratch that. You used to genuinely believe he mistook the adjective for an affront. He probably still does, despite the sheer softness of his actions. His mind is a marvel far beyond your, or anyone else's, comprehension. And if Sukuna hasn’t always been complicated, his sudden switch of behavior recently has rendered unriddling the complex being that he is even harder.

“What do I call you then?” There’s confusion in your tone; confusion fused with unadulterated innocence. His eyebrows crease further. He loved how naive and ingénue you are. Such a simple, sheepish thing. Easy to lead one, easy to use, easy to hurt. But as of late, he’d come to hate it.

He hates that he hates it. He shouldn’t care.

“I don’t fucking know,” he snaps back. It’s enough to bring you silence, the somber tone he uses coming with a sense of finality.

Rough callouses are surprisingly gentle against your flesh—callouses that slap, bruise, grope, but never caress. Despite that, he pulls your underwear up your thighs with utter care. If you didn’t know any better, you might even dare call his actions delicate.

“Does it hurt?” He reminisces. Curious digits stroke your lower abdomen and across the swell of your belly, where an ugly scar sits. It decorates your skin with a long, uneven line of dried blood cells.

“It’s not too bad,” You assure, daring to test your luck by bringing your own hand to his hair. It causes the king of curses to pause. His ember eyes continue to stare at your scar, unable to swat your hand away for some reason. The wooden floor beneath him feels too cold. Or he feels too hot. He’s unsure.

In the dimness of the room, there is no light but the flickering glow emitted from the fire, ensconced within a cage of brick—a fireplace, by name. Yet, the warmth that enfolds you does not excrete solely from the flames. It originates from within, a pulsating heat that comes with the beat of your heart as a large palm finds your shoulder, urging you forward with an urgency that seems to echo through the very fibers of your being.

“What about this one?”His intense glare persists, averting your demure gaze. Never before have you witnessed him in such a state, making you wonder whether this demeanor is a consequence of recent events.

“It’s fine, I promise,” Your whispered words cause his gaze to harden even further, his thumb tracing over another, deeper cut nestled in the valley between your breasts. This one could have been fatal. The realization sends a shiver down his spine, unsettling him to his core. Sukuna, the ancient and ruthless curse, has borne witness to countless horrors in his long existence, inflicted unspeakable cruelty upon countless souls, but none have shaken him to his core quite like seeing you teetering on the brink of death. The memory stirs within him an unfamiliar sense of disquiet, a realization that his desires may have consequences far more profound than he ever anticipated.

The brawny curse grunts in response, opting to continue examining the scar. He’s careful to not stretch it as your human flesh would hurt.

Sukuna’s agenda never included leaving a child within you. It never even crossed his mind. Such muses were not to be entertained, especially not with you.

You. Yeah, you who doesn't try to kill humans simply for the pleasure it brings. You who takes life so lightly, as if you have several souls to spare. You who accepts every word Sukuna says as an indisputable fact, every order executed before he has a chance to reconsider.

You, who has shared your bed with the strongest curse more times than he cares to count, always intrigued him—an enigmatic subject for his manipulations. You, who confided in him the startling revelation that your half-cursed body now nurtures a growing fetus.

At first, Sukuna swore he'd never visit you again, adamant in his belief that he wanted no involvement in your pregnancy, leaving you to navigate the situation alone. Despite his capability to end your life without hesitation, he chose to spare you. Sukuna granted you a reprieve under the condition that he never crosses paths with you or whatever child you carry. He told himself time and time again that you would be a rather boring kill, not worth the effort. But it wasn't about the difficulty of ending your life—it was an excuse. He'd never admit that he doesn't want your blood staining his hands

Sukuna swears he’s not soft, that he doesn’t care for you at all.But the notion of being the one who brings you to your end does not enthrall him in the least.

He doesn’t care for the inferior likes of you, he reminds himself. That’s absurd. It’s laughable. It’s offensive, even. He doesn’t ‘care’, It’s simply curiosity that keeps him around. Curious of what kind of child the one you carry would come out to be. To see if they’d be worthy of being called his kin or not.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is dulcet, a melody that cuts his train of thought smoothly. Unlike anything he’s ever heard before. There’s a pleading tone, a need so urgent it's almost painful. He finds pleasure in that. Your perpetual longing for him, your unwavering loyalty even after his defeat by sorcerers the first time around—you kept him close like a devoted guardian to a fallen hero, even when you knew is anything but a hero. It's a power unlike any other—staying but not out of fear, it's a choice. A strong belief.

Balancing on his knees between her parted legs, he reaches out, his fingers finding purchase on the edge of the bed. His grip tightens instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of the sheet as he steadies himself. With a controlled effort, he pushes upward, leveraging the bed for support as he rises to his feet

“Why do you ask questions you know the answer to?” He muses, his towering frame looking down at you. The flickering flames of the fire, their orange hues swirling and weaving a macabre tapestry around his countenance, lend him an aura of terror that would instill fear in any who behold him. Yet, unlike others, you find his presence strangely comforting. Despite the aura of terror he exudes, you've grown accustomed to it, finding solace in his formidable presence now more than ever before.

Your only reaction is to chew on the inside of your cheek, careful to not bite the fiber too hard. There’s an ambivalent air to him, remaining motionless as he towers over you. It seems as if he’s looking for something. Anything. He wants a reason to stay, but he can’t seem to find one satisfying enough.

He owes you nothing. But when you look at him like that… He’s never been one to falter at your pleading face, but perhaps he’s changing little by little. He staunchly refuses to acknowledge this change still, for him to do so would be an admission of vulnerability, a humiliation he cannot bear, even to himself. How he yearns for the willpower to end you, to push you away so you never obstruct his way like this again.

The worst part of it all is his acute awareness of why he feels so strongly now. He knows that it’s all him, and not at all you. He can pinpoint the exact moment he regret leaving your side. The memory is seared into his very core.

He wishes he could forget, to erase the haunting image of you, wounded and bleeding, from his mind.

It was when he came back a few days after his departure, for reasons he can’t recall, only to be greeted by the sight of a malevolent curse looming over you, hungry and poised to make you its next meal. He shouldn’t have intervened. It's the natural order—a relentless cycle where only the strongest survive, preying upon the weaker. He knows he's no exception. Nor are you.

But seeing you sprawled out on the floor, barely intact, with his child inside of you.

He gulps at the memory, feeling an overwhelming urge to touch you once more, to make sure you’re not some figment of his imagination. To keep you from harm. You’re so stupid, so goddamn naive. He doesn’t know what to make of you. Other than a fucking headache.

“What is it? What do you want, brat?” He hopes to catch some semblance of his normal attitude. “Get it over with.”

“Please stay,” You plead, fingers gently gripping the open kimono he had thrown on once finished with you. “Please, Sukuna-sama.”

He sighs. You’re so obstinate.

Perhaps it's his lack of understanding that breeds hesitation within him, or perhaps it's his inherently fierce nature. A thing like you deserves to be treated with the utmost delicacy, cherished and nurtured. Sukuna, with his staunch commitment solely to his ideals, can never be the one assuming such a role for you.

“You’re doing things to me, you know?” Sukuna gets down, kneeling between your parted legs again, placing a warm palm in either side of your hips and seizing you within.

Maybe… staying with you tonight wasn’t such a ludicrous notion. He’s the king of curses; he has all the time in the world to fret the trivial details.

#arabella writes #jjk #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jjk fluff #sukuna fluff #ryomen sukuna fluff #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukun x reader smut #ryomen sukuna smut #dividers by benkeibear

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verinarin · 3 months

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In your embrace, my eternal haven unfurls

fluff | Dr. Ratio x Fem! Reader | bathing with Veritas, Veritas taking care of reader who’s on her period, very domestic fluff

Authors note | you guys should definitely commission me to write fics so I could e6 him/srs dm me, also Franz Kafka…

You can’t sleep all night long, tossing and turning underneath the sheets, but you feel grateful for your attentive husband, even though he’s an asshole at work, he’s surprisingly patient whilst taking care of you and your unpredictable mood swings

Finally, after he embraced your body you were able to fall asleep with his warm hands wrapping comfortably around your stomach, acting like a natural heat pack, his face nuzzled closely on your neck, kissing the skin softly as he murmured his musings about you

Slowly the sun rises, you notice the sudden vacancy beside you. Your husband always wakes up right at 6 in the morning to workout, so he left you wrapped around the duvet, acting like a cheap imitation of his warmth

It’s not long before he’s back with a cup of ginger tea in his hand, “Are you up ?,” he softly asks as you feel his weight beside you. “Physically yes, mentally I just want to decompose,” you reply weakly

He simply sighs before putting the cup down on the drawer next to the bed, “I made you some tea, you should wake up and drink it,” his hand brush your hair in an attempt to coax you to wake up, “It’s ginger tea, it’ll help you relieve the pain and it also has anti-inflammatory properties,”

With a groan you finally manage to drag your body to sit up straight, he reaches forward to the cup and slowly blows it for you. Once he deems the temperature is to your liking he slowly places the rim to your lips and tilts it back slowly letting the orange liquid fill your mouth

“Is it good ?, I added a little bit of sugar,” he asks as he sets the cup down, “It’s very comforting,” you reply turning your head towards him, you lean forward and press a delicate kiss on his lips as a sign of your appreciation

“Now we have work to do, but I asked Aventurine to let us arrive a little bit late at the office,” he says as he stands up and kneels before you on the ground, “So for the next three hours I’ll be taking care of my wife,”

And with that, he carries you to the bathroom, “H-hey what are you doing ?,” your face flush red from his sudden affection, he’s not usually this romantic. He does not reply however, he simply chuckles before resting you on the corner of the bathtub, he then turn on the warm water and fills the bath with petals of rose and lavender, “It’s been a while since we soak together,”

“I’m on my period Veritas,” you huff, feeling disgusted by the idea of soaking with him, “Does that change anything ?,” he shrugs as he walks back towards the bedroom to bring back your cup of tea, “Just keep drinking this, you’ll do more good drinking than stating the obvious,” he huffs as he place the warm cup on your hand

You quietly sip on your tea as he prepares the bath, the calming aroma of lavender mixed with roses emanates from the water. Without any warning your husband takes off his shirt, revealing his sculpted back towards you, in a swift move he discards his shorts, leaving him bare and your face red

“You’ve been blessed by this sight countless of times, why are your cheeks more pigmented than before huh ?,” he chuckles as he crouches before you, your face warm and red from the sight of him, “I mean can’t I marvel at the sight of my husband,”

“I guess you could,” he smirks before setting your cup of tea elsewhere and starts to slowly undress you from your nightgown, “I-i can do it by myself,” you huff which he replies with a small chuckle

“Of course, you can, but that doesn’t mean you should,” he slowly drags your panties down to your leg, prepping kisses across your thighs, softly marking the skin with his lips until your feet, “Don’t get too close, I’m dirty,”

“You’re not dirty, not in the slightest ! but if you think you are I’m afraid that I don’t care about these ignorant and foolish opinion about yourself,” he mumbles as he leans forward and kisses your bare stomach, then his lips travel towards your sternum and end at your lips, consuming the spicy taste of ginger on your soft lips

“Such a romantic fool now are you ?, not like the first time we met,” you chuckle against his lips, you can feel a smile forming against your lips as he recalls how annoying he was to you, “Well perhaps I like to leave rude comments here and there so you would always think of me,”

“Well congrats, it worked I’m married to said asshole,” you laugh, making him smile in return as he sees that breathtaking radiance you exude. Not before long he swiftly carries you into the warm bath, he holds you close as he descends into the warm bath, the water is halfway filled so it’ll prevent it from flooding out of the tub.

He gently rests you on his muscular thigh, his face resting on your shoulder as he holds your waist, the tension on his muscles slowly alleviated as he’s embracing the warmth of the pristine azure and your bare skin, bathing by himself clears his mind, but bathing with you cleanse his soul and revitalise his whole being,

“In your embrace, my eternal haven unfurls,” he softly whispers beside your ear. He’s been yours for three years now but he never cease to admire you, his lips pressed against your head, inhaling your scent as his hands gently massage your sides, “Feels good ?,” he whispers against your neck as his trained fingers massage the points on your lower stomach to alleviate your cramps

You muster a relaxed sigh as you rest your head on his shoulder, his face now rest on your own shoulder enjoying the view underneath the pristine water, how delicate and soft your body looks against his own, at this point he knew he would be late to work, but he didn’t care at all, he has been yearning for a time well spent on his wife

“I long for you; I who usually longs without longing, as though I am unconscious and absorbed in neutrality and apathy, really, utterly long for every bit of you,”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #dr ratio #dr ratio x reader #dr ratio fluff #dr. ratio #dr. ratio x reader #dr. ratio fluff

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rowan-post · 6 months

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RPC self-care

We all get worn down by life and often we turn to RP for rejuvenation. But more than once I've seen people on here that find themselves burnt out on the RP community itself. With nearly 20 years of role playing under my belt, I thought I'd share some of my favourite self-care tricks.

Block people. You don't have to explain yourself and 'weird vibes' is a legitimate reason. You deserve to feel safe and unbothered in your hobby space, and RP is based on consent. Just like with any recreational activity, you can withdraw your consent at any time and no is a complete sentence.

Turn off anon. This prevents anonymous harassment and gives you great insight into who to block or report if you get non-anonymous harassment.

Drop threads. I know RP etiquette suggests you need to tell your RP partner when and why, and sure, if they ask politely you can give it a go - just know that a pre-written variant of 'not feeling it' is good enough. In my humble opinion, I think dropping boring or vexing threads is everyone's prerogative and doesn't require explanation. Again, no is a complete sentence.

Talk it out. If you like the thread but things took a turn you didn't like, it's time to bring the RP into the workshop. Something like 'Hey I really like our RP so far but I'm losing my spark, can we talk about course correcting where the plot is going?'

Make clear rules and revise them frequently. I'd also advise against spending said rules excusing or explaining why you don't like or want a certain thing - I cannot stress enough how your preferences are not up for debate.

Get comfy chasing. A lot of RP is about inviting others to play over and over and over. Rejection is a part of it. See if you can't find some element of self-care in it - taking rejection well is a great skill to practice in such a low stake environment.

Notice and celebrate the good stuff, instead of digging holes about the bad. Tell your co-players how great they are. Marvel at all the hard work you put into your muses and graphics. Admire your own blog.

Stop. Take a break. Check in with yourself. Do you actually need to face something in IRL? Do you need to rest? A snickers? A walk? Don't bother with posts á la 'offline for the day' - leave your options open to reduce guilt or shame if you want to poke your head back in.

Happy writing. 🌿

#rpc #rp resources #rp community #rp #roleplay #self-care #mental health #faerypost // love letter

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taintedone · 2 years

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TAG DUMP

#/ NO WOLVES LIVE HERE / ( ooc )#/ BORN FROM TRAGEDY / ( introspection )#/ THERE'S A BEAST AND I LET IT RUN / ( wolf form )#/ WHAT A WICKED GAME YOU PLAY / ( desires )#/ I WRITE SINS NOT TRAGEDIES / ( prompts )#/ ITS A SIN / ( open starter )#/ BEHIND EVERY REFLECTION THERE RESIDES A MONSTER / ( countenance )#/ ALWAYS HAS TO HAVE THE LAST WORD / ( musings )#/ CONFESSIONS OF A HYBRID / ( in character )#/ I HATE WHAT I'VE BECOME / ( older )#/ I'VE GOT A WAR IN MY MIND / ( mass effect )#/ DEVILS IN THE DETAILS / ( supernatural )#/ NO FRIEND OF MINE / ( dc comics )#/ LETS MAKE A DEAL / ( marvel 616 )#/ TIRED OF FEELING LIKE I'M FUCKING CRAZY / ( teenager )#/ DARKNESS MET YOU THE DAY YOU WERE BORN / ( mother- monique )#/ RUN BOY RUN / ( childhood )#/ THEY CALL HIM THE BLACK WOLF / ( historical )#/ THESE WOUNDS WILL NOT HEAL / ( older visage )#/ THERE'S JUST TO MUCH THAT TIME CANNOT ERASE / ( vampire diaries )#/ SIGNED IN BLOOD / ( psa )#/ ALL OUT OF BAD OMENS / ( queue )#/ I will get more stuff done tomorrow /

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ozzgin · 5 months

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Do you only write Hannibal lecter or do you also write for NBC Hannibal?

Yandere! Hannibal x Reader: The Grand Meal

Gather around for a short story in the spirit of Thanksgiving. You have been invited by Hannibal Lecter to a celebratory dinner, although unexpectedly barren of other guests. He will be entertaining you this evening, carefully describing each dish as he battles his own inner turmoil. (For extra immersion, I suggest listening to Bach's 'Sheep May Safely Graze')

Warning: Cannibalism and detailed gore. I'd advise against reading if you're squeamish.

[Horror Masterlist]

He politely aids you in removing your coat, folds it over his forearm, and steps aside, expectantly. You glance at him, somewhat confused.

"Your bag, if I may."

"Oh, I...I was planning to bring it with me. I have my phone in it and all the essentials." you stutter, unsure.

Uh huh. Your etiquette seems to be lacking in certain areas. Nothing that cannot be chiseled.

"You won't be needing it, I assure you." he extends his hand out, waiting.

You hesitantly place the dark leather Pochette into his fingers. Hannibal has always been rather particular when it comes to decorum. You wouldn't want to upset him, especially given his generous invite to his Thanksgiving celebration. He'd heard your complaint of being alone during the holidays and he encouraged you to join him instead.

As you hurry behind him down the spacious hallway, you quietly marvel at the expensive, tasteful paintings sporadically adorning the walls.

"I suspected they might be to your liking." He briefly peeks back at you with a faint smile on his lips.

The heavy wooden doors creak open and your nostrils are quickly overwhelmed by the tempting smell of intricate dishes. You narrow your eyes, taking in the flavors. Once you finally look ahead, you notice that the table, although neatly decorated, consists only of two seats that have been prepared for dining. Two opposing seats, causing the whole setup to seem of ridiculous length.

"Pardon my intrusion, but is anyone else attending?" You cannot contain your curiosity.

"Oh, no. Not really." Hannibal pulls your chair outwards before departing to his own designated place. "It's you and me. Does that bother you?"

"I suppose it's cozier this way." You brush it aside with a chuckle. Better than being alone, you tell yourself.

He nods in agreement before settling down. He takes a moment to examine the table, confirming that everything is indeed in its proper place. A final, satisfied incline of his head.

"Allow me to introduce today's dishes. I don't want to keep you waiting for too long." He says as he remembers your earlier little gesture of delight. "It's a little bit of a scattered theme, if I am to be honest with you. I've drawn my inspiration from varied cuisines."

"I can see. How exciting!" You swiftly scan over the diverse plates, enthusiastic and hungry.

"The main course is over there. Balsamic-glazed oven baked ribs. I recommend a drizzle of cranberry sauce to go with it."

As he points to the dish, he can almost hear the dry crack of the bone. Abruptly, he's been taken back to the previous night, to his humble slaughter room - the meat needs to be fresh after all. Shears cut through the ribs with little resistance. The blades go around the thoracic cavity, contouring the ribcage. Once a proper opening has been made, he firmly grasps each side of the ribcage and nonchalantly lifts the bone flap, resting it over the face.

Wait. He quickly digs through the skin and fat that had been shoved aside with the carcass, searching for the face of the victim. It's you. How delectable and surprising that you've wandered into such a recollection. Well, not quite a surprise that you've invaded his memories; from the very moment he met you he's been plagued by this indecent idea: How would you look on the dissecting table?

His musings are interrupted by the sizzle of the sparkling wine he's currently pouring in your glass. He finds himself back at the dining table, together with his favorite guest. You graciously thank him, and as he gazes over your features, he can't help but continue this game of imagination he's just spontaneously devised. Whoever had been carefully served for this occasion will be temporarily replaced during the theatrical retelling by you. And what a fine actor you'll be, even though you're not aware of it.

Alright, one must start from the beginning. He traces the edge of the autopsy table and inspects the drain just below your feet. He wouldn't want an incident. Would you be mortified if you'd learn your secretions and discharges leaked and clotted against the sieve? Don't worry, you'll be spared of such scenarios. He'd never willingly embarrass you like that. He softly presses the scalpel against your bare skin, going under each breast and stopping at the pubic bone. Now to trim the thick layers of fat sticking to the dermis. You're not making much of a mess, but then again it's a dream within his idle mind. A mischievous grin takes over his expression once he witnesses his clean work. The segments of skin detach smoothly, revealing your glistening, bloated organs.

He already went over the ribs. That part has been covered. What comes next? His eyes rest on the most obvious: your intestines. Which reminds him...

"This one is a Middle Eastern dish. Stuffed intestines. You gently cut the membrane, like this." He demonstrates on a separate plate. "Don't worry about seeing some additional blood. Naturally there are many capillaries irrigating the walls, so you might open them up in the process. It quickly seeps into the mixture and adds a bit of a stagnant flavor to it, but it's merely noticeable."

You swallow dryly.

Back to the original matters. He searches for his scissors and cuts along the attachment tissue smoothly. Once the bowels have been freed, he fondles them into his hands, cupping them into place, and hurries to the nearby counter. The entrails collapse and spread onto the marble surface, like mischievous tentacles. He languidly eyes them. Do organs resemble their owner? Absurd question, really. Do they reflect one's health - that much is indubitable. Yet he can't help feeling that if presented with an endless row of viscera, he could, without hesitation, point and state which ones are yours. It's a mysterious confidence whose source he cannot pinpoint. You've always captivated him. Just when he thinks he's had you like an open book, you slip and slither between his fingers. Fitting.

What is it about you that preoccupies his mind to such degree? He turns back to the table and scans the remaining options. Your intelligence? The tool drawer opens and his fingers linger over the saw and skull chisel. Perhaps. But there's more to it, really. His analytical, rational self craves for more than what it can grasp. And what it lacks, well...

He pinches the visceral fascia and lifts the translucent membrane, with the same delicacy of unveiling a young bride, and reveals your heart, cold and still. There it is, the answer to everything. A transect to the vena cava near the diaphragm and the organ has been separated from the rest of the body. An angel with clipped wings. Holding it like this, he can almost discern the faintest throb, the fibrous muscle pressing into his skin.

"And this?"

He purses his lips, taken aback by his own rudeness. Has he been zoning out in plain sight?

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"The dish, I mean."

He follows the direction of your stretched out index. Ah.

"Heart stuffed with mushroom duxelle. Old English classic with a twist."

"You sound like a professional chef", you respond as you laugh. "Is there anything you can't do?"

Is there? He considers it. Right before his revelation was discontinued by your inquiry - absolutely not your fault, the ill manners were his - he was wondering if he possesses the capacity to love you. He definitely prefers you over all of the people he's encountered in his life, and your behavior and way of thinking never ceases to make him curious. Yet love is a conclusion he cannot asses with certainty.

He had hoped a vivisectionist approach would offer him concrete data, palpable reasoning, but his journey only reinforced that some concepts must be tested outside of pure introspection. Or, as one would describe it colloquially, he has to take the bull by its horns.

"By the way, what meat is this?" You have arranged yourself a platter with a little bit of everything, and just finished chewing a hearty bite. "Ox or something? It's very tender."

If Hannibal is to embark on his expedition of human feelings, he needs to reflect on his choices carefully. Or does he? Hmm. His methodical tactics are what caused this impasse in the first place.

One can afford to give in, every now and then. How will you react to his self indulgence? He rests his head on the back of his intertwined hands and stares at you with a determined look.

"Human."

#hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #yandere hannibal lecter #yandere #yandere x reader #tw cannibalism #tw body horror #horror x reader #slasher x reader

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ddejavvu · 1 year

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okay okay I'm so obsessed with this idea of grumpy gruff/hotch who's secretly the most romantic bf ever so what about hotch who's sick but powers through it at work until you show up to drop off lunch and suddenly he's the biggest baby ever??

Adore your writing, thank you for being an angel!

The team doesn't even know he's sick until you show up with a care kit. Derek's brow furrows as he spots cold medicine in your hand, flagging you down before you can rush to Aaron's office.

"Hey, Missus Hotchner!" He calls, still a tease even when confused.

"Hm?" You nod in greeting, frozen on the steps.

"What's the cough syrup for," He motions to the bottle, "You and Hotch gonna party?"

"There's sprite in the kitchen," Emily snorts.

"No," You laugh incredulously, "Aaron's sick, I'm here to bring him soup and his medicine."

With that, you're off. You take Derek's confused silence as your opportunity to leave, rushing up the stairs and shutting the door behind you. Even if they can't hear you, they watch as Hotch sets down his pen at the sight of you, and how his shoulders droop with exhaustion.

"Hi, honey." You croon, gripping his cheeks and leaning over his desk to kiss his heated forehead, "Oh, my poor baby. You ready for soup?"

"Yes please," He rasps, and if his voice is a little more pitiful than it was during the BAU's earlier meeting, you'll never know.

"Take some medicine," You hand over the bottle, "10 mL, Aaron. No skimping."

He rolls his eyes, "I only did that once."

"Yeah," You scoff, "Last night! You're not to be trusted anymore."

"There," He pours the recommended dose into the small plastic cup, showcasing his precision, "Is that good enough for you, doctor?"

"Yes," You grin, refusing to acknowledge his snark, "Drink it all, Aaron."

As an adult accustomed to a drink here and there, his face should not screw up the way it does at the taste of the cough syrup. The team sees it through the windows lining Hotch's office, and there's assorted chuckles and gasps when you guide his mouth open again, holding a bottle of water to his lips and tipping it between his lips.

"Look at that," Derek marvels, "She's babying him."

"And he's acting the part," JJ's eyebrows raise when he shuts his eyes, leaning into your palm so that you kiss his forehead once more, "Oh my god, look, she's feeding him!"

Sure enough, you crack open a container of soup and hold the spoon up to Aaron's lips for him. He doesn't even try to do it himself, keeping his eyes droopy as you spoon more and more down his throat.

They only stop looking because you nearly catch them, but it's hard to return to normal like their stoic boss isn't melting in his girlfriend's hands a few feet away.

It's later, after you've left, that they really notice the shift. Aaron's mobile again, putzing around the kitchen to make himself a third cup of coffee for the day. Reid needs a refill, too, and while he's busy stirring in his overzealous portion of sugar, he strikes up conversation with Hotch.

"You're not contagious, are you?"

Hotch side-eyes him from the counter, shaking his head slightly, "No, you'll be fine. It's just a small cold."

"You looked miserable," Reid muses, keeping his eyes on his spoon, "From the way Y/N reacted when she kissed your forehead, I assume you have, or had, a fever, and it'll only get worse if you don't rest. If I were you I'd take the day off, and make sure the fever went down before coming back."

"Thank you for the advice, Reid." Aaron's hand tightens around his coffee mug, and he doesn't seem all that grateful for it despite what he says, "I'll keep that in mind."

He strides back to his office, door shut a bit too harshly for anyone's liking.

"Sore subject," Emily snickers as Reid rejoins the group, "You should have seen the way he flushed red when you mentioned Y/N."

"He's probably texting her now," Derek elbows Reid, pointing to his office where Hotch is bent over his phone, "Whaddya think it says, pretty boy?"

"Oh! Oh, uh," Emily answers instead, steadying her voice for her famed Hotch Impression, "Honeybunches," And the team bursts into giggles, "Reid said I should rest, will you pwease come pick me up?"

"Pwease," JJ snorts, "And- and bring my blankie for the car ride home."

Thirty minutes later, you stride back into the bullpen, and when you usher Aaron out of his office and home for the day, there's a blanket draped over his shoulders.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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captainpulisic · 7 months

Text

darling, you’re the one I want! - m. mount

this is for my best friend in honor of her birthday (who else would get a invisible string/ timeless alluded fic?). m, thank you for being my other half, and for being the first to always read and support everything I write. we'll get mushy later, together. love, d gif credits to owner, wc 3.2 k

it’s like a scene out of a fairytale.

no, scratch that. this was better than any fairytale you had ever read as a child. all the dreamy prince charmings that you had fantasised would come and whisk you away to a castle, were nothing compared to mason. all the countless tales of romances and happily ever afters, had never prepared you for the way your heart would stutter when being in masons proximity.

it had been a beautiful day, clear skies and a cool breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees that surrounded you. tucked away from prying eyes, mason had settled this picture perfect picnic at the park not too far from your flat.

we both only get so many days off, he had squeezed your hand as he guided you through the park. we should spend it together, doing something just for us.

you couldn’t help but watch in awe as he laid out a blanket for the both of you to sit down on, carefully placing the picnic basket on the ground. he had gone all out. it was all very delicate, him being so attentive as he took out plates and utensils. then came the variety of fruits, snacks and other food for both of you to indulge in. it was all so detailed, so thoughtfully planned out.

“I broke a few wine glasses when I tried shoving them into the basket,” his cheeks tinted as he spoke. with a bashful smile and an awkward laugh, he pulled out two paper cups. “so we’re going to be using these.”

“how romantic,” you over exaggeratedly sighed, putting a hand over your heart.

“oh, you haven’t seen romance yet.” mason reverts his attention back to the basket, searching for who knows what. after a few seconds of digging through it, he pulls out a few paper straws. “a straw for the lady.”

you can’t help but snort, “i’m swooning!”

as you begin to pile an assortment of food on both your plates, mason tasks himself with filling both cups with a good amount of wine. basking in the sunlight and rejoicing in the lack of clouds, you couldn’t help but marvel at how lovely the day was.

no work, no school, no distractions. just you and mason. there was nothing that could top how at peace you felt in that exact moment.

unbeknownst to you, mason was the complete opposite. he kept hoping you wouldn’t see through his cool facade and ruin the big day he had planned. he was antsy, jittery. no matter how much wine he consumed, his nerves wouldn’t settle down. his fingers kept ghosting over the small, velvet box in his front pocket. gods, he hoped that wasn’t a dead giveaway to you.

after watching the hours waste away, you’d both found yourselves with an empty bottle of wine and full hearts and stomachs. sitting down side by side, you both had your legs stretched out, pushing past the border of the blanket. absentmindedly, you kept bumping your foot against his.

“I love this place so much,” you mused with content sigh. your hand reached out to brush the grass on your side. stealing a quick glance towards mason, your cheeks warm up when you see how focused his gaze is on you. “back when I first moved here, I used to spend hours in this park. I would walk around, lay on the grass, or just sit on a bench and wait.”

you feel silly telling him this. it was all just girlhood dreams of fairytales and prince charmings.

“wait for what?” his hand brushes yours, ever so lightly. it’s comforting and encouraging for you to continue.

“love, I guess.” it feels even sillier saying it outloud. shaking your head and letting out a self-deprecating laugh, you wave him off. oh well, if there’s one person you’d confide your childish fantasies to, it’d be mason. there’s no one else you’d trust more. you shrug, “I don’t know, I just found the idea so romantic that I'd meet the love of my life here. that, maybe, when I'd least expect it, I would bump into someone and just know that they were my soulmate. that all the waiting was worth it because they’d been out there, looking for me. and it’d be so romantic, how we were both out in the world, unaware of each other's existence, but deep down we knew we’d find each other.”

looking back at mason, you see how still he’s gotten, how quiet he’s become.

“I was on my way to you,” he says slowly, softly. you hadn’t noticed the moment he had intertwined your hands in his, yet there he was giving you reassuring squeezes. lifting it up, he leaves a gentle kiss on the back of your hand. “I was looking for you.”

“you found me.” they’re shy smiles, the ones you’re giving to each other. few words said with heavy meaning behind them, it’s become sickly sweet. one last tap to his foot with your own, “and it took you long enough.”

he leans in, this kiss directed to the corner of your mouth. mumbling into your skin, “my silly girl.”

instead of replying, you give his hand one last squeeze before letting go and lying back down on the blanket. you let your eyes close as you sigh once more, “I really do love it here.”

it becomes quiet for a second. then you hear mason rustling next to you, yet you don’t bother to open your eyes. you’re too content with your position and situation. mason clears his throat but then gets quiet again. he does this two more times. my sweet boy, you’re about to blindly reach for his hand and coax him to lay down with you, when he finally speaks up.

“I know you love this place,” he takes another deep breath. you instantly hear the nervousness in his voice, “er, that’s actually why I brought you here, today.”

curiosity gets the best of you, making you peek one eye open.

big mistake. the sight that’s in front of you makes your heart do somersaults and backflips.

there mason is, your beautiful boy, down on one knee with a small box in his hand. you barely notice the box, though, too caught up in the way he’s looking at you. immediately, you’re sitting up, becoming eye level with him.

“from the very first date,” he begins. you want to make a quip about how much his hands are fidgeting, yet refrain when you realize yours are no better. he’s speaking slowly, adding emphasis to every word. “I called my mum and told her I'd found the girl I was going to marry. hell, the next time I saw the lads, I told them you were the future missus.”

you’re awestruck, “oh, mase.”

“from the beginning, I told everyone I was going to marry you one day.” his unoccupied hand reaches for yours, once again. he’s squeezing it as if his life depended on it and you reciprocate the action. “’m sorry it took me a couple years to actually keep true to my word. I just- I just wanted to become the best man I could be. I wanted to make sure I was someone who deserved to call you his wife.”

you pause for a moment, trying to process what was happening. you dig your nails into the palms of your hand, trying to stop yourself from shaking even more. the tears won’t stop from falling down your cheeks. when the fuck did I start crying? half of you wants to laugh and the other half wants to start weeping. and the many paper cups of wine you had are definitely not helping. any other day, you'd curse yourself for being so silly, but the sight of mason down on one knee has you caring about nothing but him. and the glossy eyed stare he’s giving you isn’t helping.

“you said you’d wait for your soulmate because you knew they were out there. and they were. I was.” giving him a watery smile, you nod for him to continue. every word he says tugs at your heartstrings. he’s gone onto rambling but you don’t mind because it’s all so perfect. “but the truth is, I had never really believed in soulmates. I thought it was all a load of rubbish. but meeting you and getting the chance to love you, I know I was a proper idiot. of course soulmates exist and I know you’re mine. I know we were meant to find each other. and if I was too unlucky to never have found you, I know I'd spend my whole life being miserable and wondering where you were. all this time, waiting for each other, I'd gladly wait all over again if it meant I got you in the end.”

all you can repeat through your tears, “oh mason.”

“y/n, my y/n.” he opens up the small velvet box, unveiling the prettiest ring you’d ever seen. it was perfect, and quite suitable to your taste. he knew you so well, it made you want to weep even more. looking back up at mason, you saw all the emotions he was going through. hopeful eyes looking into your lovestruck ones, “will you, please, marry me?”

both you and mason know your answer. there’s no doubt about it. nonetheless, you manage to cry out a “yes,” and an “of course, I’ll marry you.”

of course you would, there was no question about it.

yet, masons face fills up with a mixture of relief and joy. helping the both of you off the ground, he wraps his arms around you and lifts you up. spinning you around, his lips capture yours as repeatedly mumbles into your mouth thank you thank you thank you.

there’s tears and laughter and kisses and just pure happiness as you embrace each other.

pulling away, mason gets the ring out of the box, ready to finally place it on your finger. after months of looking at hundreds of rings that varied in style and cut, you were finally going to wear it and become his fiancee.

fiancee.

yes, he could get used to calling you that. well, up until he’s able to call you his wife. then he’ll never be able to stop calling you that.

what the fuck, mason frowns to himself. as he had started to slide the ring onto your finger, it became stuck. right up to the knuckle, it wouldn’t budge a millimeter.

“uhm,” he tries to laugh it off. attempting to successfully slide it on again, you can see him internally freaking out as it won’t move. “this shouldn’t be happening.”

one more try. one more failure.

beginning to profusely swear, “I can’t believe I got the wrong ring size.”

“mason, it’s oka-”

he pouts, “’m such a bloody idiot!”

“no, you’re not.”

“I am,” he deadpans.

“mason, no.”

“I can’t believe I fucked this up,” he’s stressed, running his fingers through the ends of his hair. you hate seeing him so frustrated, hate seeing how quick he is to beat himself up. the curse words are flowing like lava from his mouth. “I had one fucking job and I didn’t even do it right.”

“baby, it’s okay.” you can’t help but laugh at the situation. you’re still over the moon, with tear filled eyes over the proposal. and here he is, berating himself for such a simple mistake. trying to ease him, “it’s not your fault, i’m sure this happens all the time.”

“no, y/n. you don’t understand.” he’s frustrated, holding the too small ring between his fingers. there is nothing but disdain and disappointment in his gaze. all he can do is shake his head, “I did my research, it’s supposed to be a perfect fit.”

your arms still around him, you lean up to nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck. you know nothing can ruin how happy you are. damned be the ring, mason loved you and he wanted to marry you. who gives a fuck about anything else?

he’s rambling again, “I did everything I could. I took so many of your rings and gave them to the jeweler so he’d know your exact size. I really did plan this out.”

it should be impossible how quick your head turns to look at him, “you took my rings?”

“yeah,” he trails off, still fidgeting with the ring, too distraught to notice your questioning look.

“I told you I thought my sister kept stealing my stuff every time she came to visit and you said she probably was.”

“yeah,” now he’s looking at you like you’re the crazy one. with a puzzled expression, “and?”

“mason!” you lightly shove his shoulder, in jest. you want to be upset, but how can you be? the more bizarre this becomes, the more endearing you find it. he’d gone through so much trouble to make this as sweet as possible, it was too much for your heart.

“what?” he throws his hands up, in defense. “I did what I had to!”

you tease, “well that clearly worked out well for you.”

“y/n!” his pout gets deeper by the second, as he kicks at a tuft of grass. “don’t torture me.”

“hey,” reaching up to grasp his chin, you force him to look down at you. it's a reflex for his hands to land on your waist, instinctively pulling you closer to him. giving him a small smile, “this doesn’t matter to me. I love you and I want to marry you and be with you forever. I don’t need a ring to prove these things.”

all mason can do is sigh softly, his hands giving your waist a squeeze. meeting your eye, he feels idiotic and embarrassed all over again. looking away, “you deserve to be wearing the ring.”

“and I will wear it, eventually!” you tilt his chin, again, forcing his eyes back on you. hoping to cheer him up, “it’s okay, we can go get it resized.”

there’s a struggle, you can see, going on in his head. processing and taking all your words into consideration, you think you’ve talked him through his sorrows.

you should’ve knocked on wood. you should’ve crossed your fingers and bit your tongue. because all too soon, he’s huffing and pouting, again.

“yeah, but that’s going to take a while!” he bites his lip, and those big brown eyes give you the most dejected look known to man. “in the meantime, how are people going to know you’re my fiance? I finally put a ring on it and no one’s going to know.”

you’d laugh if you didn’t know how proper upset he was about this.

mason continues, “my mum and dad! and your mum and dad! and our friends! they all said they wanted pictures of you wearing the ring. what ring am I going to send a picture of, hm?”

your thumb had begun to leave gentle strokes on his cheek. looking over his worried face, you know you’re going to love this boy forever. after a moment of watching him go through the five stages of grief, your own face lights up. “I have an idea.”

mason pauses the existential crisis he'd been going through, slightly confused, as you kneel down to the remnants of your picnic. he watches you sort through leftover pieces of cookies and discarded orange peels, in search of something. rummaging through the knocked over paper cups, you let out a triumphant aha as you lift up two scraps of straw wrappers. his eyes never leave your hands as you, still kneeling, begin to twist them into circles- like some sort of origami project. in seconds, you're standing back up, holding two paper rings up to him, smiling hopefully, “we can use these? and now we both get a ring.”

and this is when mason knows he, truly, will love you forever. taking one of the rings from you, he kneels down one more time. as if on cue, the tears have started for both of you, again.

holding the paper ring you had made, up to you, “will you marry me?”

you laugh, gently, nodding as he slides the ring onto your finger. it’s all tears and love, “of course, I love you so much.”

he begins to kiss your hand, on the spot just above where the ring is. he leaves a trail of a few more, up and around your wrist. his lips brush over the palm of your hand, all while his eyes never leave where the ring lays. even when you softly move your hand from his grasp, he’s in awe.

“hmmm,” you let out a sigh as you stretch out your hand. mason sees the discontent look on your face, as you inspect the ring. oh no, what could he have fucked up this time? looking back at him, you put on your best poker face. pretending to yawn, “I usually prefer silver but I guess this’ll have to do.”

instead of answering you, mason pulls you down to the grass so you’re at his level, again. you’re both laughing messes, as he cups your face and brings his lips just above yours. “you like watching me suffer, pretty girl.”

“a tad bit,” is all you manage to get out before he captures your mouth in a deep kiss. it’s full of want and love and happiness. before, it could get any further, you lightly shove him away, before grabbing his hand.

with the both of you kneeling, you seize the other paper ring you had made and place it on his finger. mirroring his actions, you leave a kiss on his hand. and once more, shy kisses turn into deeper ones until you both remember that can wait for later tonight. then out come the phones and you have a little too much fun, taking pictures of the homemade rings. it’s a bit funny as you both pose for a selfie, with both paper rings being shown off. it becomes even funnier when the responses sent back from family and friends are a mixture of congratulations and confusion.

wow, you really cheaped out didn’t you, mate? ben replies in the groupchat. you have to kiss mason a few more times to stop him from texting ben to fuck off.

on the walk back to your flat, you can’t stop marveling at the rings on both your finger. it’s caused you to almost bump into a few lampposts. lucky for you, mason is always there to guide you to safety.

stopped at a crosswalk, mason turns to you. “when we tell everyone this story, can we change a few details to make it more romantic and less fucked up?”

“what are you on about?” lightly tapping his chest, “it was the most romantic proposal, ever.”

he pouts, bumping your shoulder with his, “don’t tease.”

getting on your tiptoes, placing your hands on his shoulders, you lean in for another kiss. with a serious nod, “it was more romantic than any fairytale could ever dream of being.”

feedback is always appreciated, please and thank you. once again, happy birthday to my best friend, forever looking at the moon and thinking of you.

#mason mount fic #mason mount x you #mason mount x reader #mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fluff

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