#I see these ridiculous essays and i’m like friend maybe it’s time to just not watch this cartoon | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alittlebitgoofy · 2 years

Text

we were friends, now i want more (1/3) - (spice/luxx)

heheheheh i didn't mean for this to turn into a multipart thing but i wanted to post what i had and i won't leave y'all hanging on such a cliffhanger. so much gay shit about to drop i felt like giving these gals the build up for the penny to finally drop :)) many thanks to @fuckyeah-dragrace and @puppywritesthings for dealing with my tired ass writing and making sure it makes sense, and dealing with my constnat questions about the american college system (ily puppy thx bestie) ao3 link

Luxx huffed impatiently on her laptop as if that would solve the block that was this assignment. Fucking essays. Whoever decided this was important for a music class was an absolute ass.

Marcia glanced at them wearily. Luxx wasn’t one to half ass anything, always insisting it had to be perfect, the issue came with the self criticism. Even in the short time they’d shared a dorm together, she’d figured out that they were never happy with anything they did. There was always something to improve which was great until you had assignments due that you were never happy with.

The laptop slamming shut made them jump, watching as Luxx growled into her hands.

“This is fucking ridiculous.”

“Maybe you should take a break?”

“Maybe. Or I could just finish this and be done with it. If my brain would work.”

They let out an exasperated sigh, picking up the laptop and throwing it into their bag.

“Maybe if I go to the library I’ll get this done.”

“This late? Marcia glanced at the time. Who in their right mind went to the library at 11pm on a Thursday?

“Fuck it, no one else is going to be there and it’s 24 hours for a reason.”

“You do you I guess.” Arguing with her roommate was a lost cause. Marcia just shrugged, shooting Spice a text to inform her of Luxx’s actions. If anyone could talk sense into them it was her.

Luxx swore they would get this done, ignoring that it was due the next morning. They didn’t want to take the hit and admit something was beyond them.

Thankfully the library was as empty as expected, only a few people typing at laptops looking as tired as they felt. The change in scenery helped a small bit, progress happening slowly but surely to this piece of torture their professor called coursework.

Hours seemed to pass in the blink of an eye yet agonisingly slowly. She stared down the word count like it was trying to murder her. 500 words left. That was all she needed.

Just as the focus began to stray, Luxx’s phone buzzed. The brief flash of irritation faded to a small smile as they noticed it was Spice.

Spice: u ok? marcia said u went to the libry to do an essay

Spice: libray

Spice: library? hot girls can’t spell

Luxx: you got there in the end, I’m fine just want to die over this shitty essay

Spice: due tomorrow?

Luxx: yeah, it’s evil

Spice: how long did u have to do it?

Luxx: two weeks

Spice: evil

Luxx couldn’t help but smile at her phone. At least someone got it. Spice's lack of spelling ability provided enough amusement rto finish this damn thing.

By the time they were done, there was nobody else left in the library. Luxx glanced at the clock, cringing as it read 4am. Did it really take five hours to finish this thing? How could a stupid essay have taken her this long. At least it was done.

Not like she needed to be up for an 8am class. That wasn’t a thing. Not at all.

The world seemed to want her exhausted, running off barely any sleep and wanting to commit a crime if anyone looked at her the wrong way. Luxx wanted nothing more than to curl up and sleep for the weekend as they came out of class though knowing Marcia was with Jax in their dorm she chanced not having pda shoved down her throat and texted Spice to see if she was free.

Of course she got a text back in an instant, trusting that girl to always be on her phone.

Spice: sug is in class for a few hours, come hang out with me 🥺

Luxx: as long as no one is making out in your dorm im there

Even Spice was starting to grate on them a bit. Her relentless energy was usually fun but right now, all Luxx wanted was quiet. She grunted as Spice attempted to initiate conversation. They instantly regretted it as the black haired girl pouted, though her body didn’t seem to hold any tension or malice.

“Alright, I know what you need.”

Before they could question what that even meant and what the hell Spice was planning, she pulled them into her arms, leaning Luxx’s head on her shoulder as her hands became preoccupied stroking and being run through their head.

“If anyone else tried this I'd kill them.” She grumbled, though Spice just giggled in response.

“I know.” Spice chirped cheerfully, her relentless optimism making Luxx crack a small smile.

Thankfully Spice knew what to do. Now that she questioned it, Spice’s flipping on a dime was strange to say the least. How the hell did someone who got stressed out trying to figure out how much 3 items cost in a supermarket have so much emotional intelligence? It would be off putting if she wasn’t so warm, physically and emotionally. Seriously. Why did Spice’s cuddles always leave Luxx so relaxed? At last, their body gave in to fatigue, melting into Spice as she moved one arm to fall over Luxx’s back, circling small trails with her thumb.

It didn’t take long for Spice to notice the lack of movement in her friend. Truth be told, she’d noticed how tired Luxx looked the second their eyes met. She played dumb, knowing Luxx would end up letting her cuddle them to her heart's content and that was the easiest way to get her to rest.

—

Spice turned around as she felt a tug on her hand, Luxx looked down at the floor, as if making eye contact would make them combust.

“You think you could stay a little longer?” Her voice was quiet, tone not quite faltering but damn near close. Spice could feel the defeat in her, admitting to needing someone when she insisted she was fine alone. All the confidence and pride in the world meant nothing in that moment. Luxx finally glanced up, linking their eyes in a painful silence.

“You don’t have to. Fuck. Forget I said anything. It doesn’t matter.”

Spice didn’t speak, only moved back to Luxx’s bed and pulled them into a tight embrace. Luxx could only sit there speechless before letting themself fully relax into Spice. She was always the one to be affectionate and usually they just let her because it was fine. Not enjoyable, but fine. Right now though? She needed this. She needed Spice.

“Don’t try and deny it. You’re allowed to need someone. Let me take care of you this time.”

Something was different about Spice. Her usual thoughtless positivity was replaced by something a lot smarter. It wasn’t the first time Luxx had seen this shift, though it was the first time it was directed towards her.

She just did as Spice asked, knowing that she wouldn’t do anything wrong. Luxx let out a breath, leaning back into Spice as she pulled them down further into her arms. Somehow, only now did they notice how strong she could be. She always seemed so gentle and soft, someone Luxx wanted nothing more than to protect from anything and everything bad in the world.

Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the emotional vulnerability. But something felt different. There was an unspoken lack of boundaries, Spice content for whatever Luxx chose to do, letting her take control of the situation with a warm smile when she burrowed against her.

Luxx’s hands idly ran up and down Spice’s arms, that stayed wrapped around her waist. Soft hums accompanied the action, the black haired girl melting at the contact, squeezing them ever so tighter.

Something started to bubble up, threatening to break out of Luxx at any point. She hesitated, eyes darting down when Spice cocked her head to the side, analysing the sudden shift in their expression.

So many things she was trying to repress threatened to spill out. Her chest tightened, heart beginning to thud when things started to make sense and all of her awareness was placed squarely in the current situation.

“You’re so perfect.”

Luxx felt their body convulse as Spice spoke, stroking their hair away from their eyes as it fell in their face.

“You don’t have to be. I know you always want to be, but you are without even trying.” She continued, smiling softly as Luxx raised an eyebrow at her.

“You have everything anyone would ever need. You’re smart, pretty, you don’t let people step over you. Don’t think you have to work yourself to the brink just to be good enough. You are just by being you.” Spice’s tone was so genuine, dripping with so much affection when her eyes never left Luxx that they wondered if she’d been possessed. They wondered if this side of her was fleeting, if she’d be back to the girl who couldn’t sit for more than five minutes without mentioning dolls or getting sidetracked by the first interesting thing someone mentioned.

Spice’s presence was enough to put her at ease, Luxx just let out an agreeing hum into her chest, not quite trusting herself to speak. A warmth washed over her, replaying the sheer factual way Spice complimented her, like it was an everyday thing to comment positively on every aspect of someone’s being.

Sure, people called her pretty. People tried to flirt and lather Luxx with compliments they would shake off or just plain agree with. But the way Spice said it? Something deep within them melted when those sweet words came from her.

Time passed, soft whispers were exchanged between the two occasionally. Luxx’s brain was swimming, half asleep and wishing she could project her thoughts into Spice’s head without having to say a word.

“I love you.”

Before realisation could hit, Luxx had fallen asleep, leaving Spice reeling and ready to lose her mind over three little words. That’s a problem for another day though, Luxx finally resting was more important and sleeping with them in her arms was something she just wanted to enjoy for as long as possible.

#rpdr fanfiction #spice #luxx noir london #spluxx #s15 #rpdr #college au

13 notes · View notes

bugbyte · 10 months

Text

1062 Days

I had a pretty terrible doctor’s appointment yesterday and have been kind of cycling through a million feelings about it like some kind of unhinged unicycle. (No, I cannot ride a unicycle.) Anyway, if you missed yesterday’s panic posting, the pain people kind of went “oh well” and shoved me off to the MMJ people, which is fine, except costly and not covered by insurance and I am broke. I did receive a Ko-Fi donation that should theoretically cover a chunk of whatever the appointment costs and the amount of relief I am feeling right now is enormous, so thank you, anon donor. One way or another I’m going to figure this out, which is far more hope than I had when I started today. I woke up, wide awake, at 6 am this morning, having a panic attack because I felt like I’d just been condemned to a life of never being able to do or experience anything ever again, but now I feel like there’s a chance.

We’ve been driving back and forth to a city about an hour away to deal with all of this stuff because there seem to be a lot more specialists there (it’s through a university hospital, which has been a really good experience primarily, except for the pain people? wtf) and an hour isn’t that bad in the scheme of things. Anyway, it gives me way too much time to think, and after yesterday I started counting days since all of this started going downhill for me (thank you Siri for doing the math) and yesterday it was 1061 days. Today it’s 1062. I’m just flabbergasted that it’s been that many days and I’m just supposed to go home and make dinner and pretend everything is fine. This is how my brain works: I want to put data to things, I want to turn that into a visualization because I feel like no one ever understands the words coming out of my mouth. I’m thinking about making some kind of animated visualization of how much time that is, how much loss it is over time, because that’s how I process I guess. Or maybe some kind of video essay about it. I don’t think people who aren’t directly experiencing (or living with/caring for/close friends with) chronic pain really understand what a grieving process it is. I feel like I have no sense of time anymore, because all the days are pain.

Anyway.

Doing a read more here for some slightly unpleasant-er medical stuff, so please check the tags if you think it may bother you to read.

This week is a gauntlet of multiple things because it’s just how it fell. If you are lucky enough (and I hope you are) that you aren’t dealing with medical stuff on a regular basis, you might not know how overtaxed everyone is now and how ridiculously hard it is to get an appointment anywhere, for anything. A while ago we made a rule around here to not schedule back to back appointment days because it’s really physically demanding for me, but when you have no choice but to schedule things months out…sometimes you don’t get a choice, and it’s awful. I’m paying for it today after two days of this, in stress and physical testing and sitting in a car for long stretches. Anyway, that sucks.

But at least today was a much more positive experience than yesterday, in a number of ways. Somehow in this entire year of tests and visits and drugs and whatever, this is somehow the very first time I’m actually seeing a neurologist, which was pretty interesting and revealing. In this whole time no one has noticed how flimsy my ankles are, and somehow I never think to talk about it because I just basically walk on eggshells all the time trying not to injure myself by…walking. But today it got noticed, and maybe that’s something I can press someone to do something about. Before my health turned into a flaming car wreck I used to run marathons and I do not know how I did this. I feel like I got away with something I shouldn’t have.

So one of the most interesting bits of today, which relates to some past stuff I’ve written about and haven’t talked about more because it’s all kinda in flux still, is even more genetic testing. The first one was a whole panel looking for connective tissue disorders (spoiler alert: they found something weird, it’s just not what anyone expected, and I get to talk to somebody and find out more next year lol) and now we’re checking out a different but more specific gene for a type of muscular dystrophy, which might also explain some of the issues I have. Essentially: I’m a huge mess and my body is crumbling and it would probably be prudent to start weeding out which problems are caused by which weirdness. Exciting! I got to talk it out with a genetic counselor (again) and a student, which was cool, because I like being able to contribute some of my weird physiology to their knowledge so hopefully they can help somebody else like me in the future. I got to opt-in to putting my genes up for (anonymized) research, which I was also pretty excited about because I’ve got the weird in me and hopefully it can help somebody. I like chatting with folks like this, I am enthusiastic about research and improving treatments and it’s nice to feel like I’m contributing something from this whole mess. Genetics as a whole is really interesting to me, I’ve been reading a ton on it since my first outing getting tested and there’s so much possibility for improving peoples’ lives if we just knew a little bit more. In another life, where I’m not squeamish about blood and am good at math, I like to think I’d have gotten into genetics. I have feelings about it.

The cool part of this is they were able to do the testing right on the spot this time. I still have to wait a while on results, but I didn’t have to go through any approvals or waiting for test kits or anything. No, instead I just got stabbed several times for blood. I used to be petrified of needles and I still feel pretty bleh about it but I guess that’s the equivalent of exposure therapy or something. The poor nurse today was not a good needler but she was really nice and tried really hard so I can’t be upset about it. I did get stuck in the dang hand, though, which is my absolute least favorite place to get stabbed. Ugh. Weirdly, my opposite hand is also aching like ME TOO and I’m like NO, NOT “YOU TOO” but here we are. At the beginning of the year I started keeping a needle count for myself because somehow it helps mentally to know how many times I’ve done this, and so as of today it’s 22 for the year but it’s probably going to be more before 2024. Getting over it has made me start thinking about getting a tattoo someday, though. I know it’s a different process and sensation probably, but it was always the stabby bit that put me off in the past. I want to get my cat’s paw prints done on my leg, in the spot where he used to put his feet when he sat with me while I was having a bad pain day. One day I’ll get there.

Anyway, I feel like I learned a lot today and got to sign off on contributing a little of myself to science, which is a good feeling. And it was really nice to deal with people who were actually compassionate as well as excited about their work. Makes up a little bit for the bad day I had yesterday.

Gauntlet week continues. Hope you’re all well out there. Working on being a little more well in here, too.

#blog #healthposting #genetic testing #tw needles #needles #tw blood #blood #hypermobility #medical #ehlers danlos syndrome #muscular dystrophy

3 notes · View notes

break-me-open · 1 year

Text

Thoughts about The Owl House’s run

I truly enjoyed the third (and final) season of The Owl House, and I’m so grateful for the work that was put into the series. It’s hard, though, not to feel a bit sad about the what could have been.

I don’t need every questioned answered in a series, personally, but there’s so much more that could have been explored, that I wanted to see. To know that there was more that was likely intended to be told about this world, but if we ever do get it, it almost certainly won’t be in television form...

It feels especially unfair and ridiculous when I think about how it wasn’t given a full chance. I know I’m just a random adult who watches some kids’ shows, so yeah, okay, maybe I’m not the target audience. But the kids I’ve worked with this school year? They are prime target audience for Disney Channel. And working with them has made me realize how important word of mouth can be for children’s media.

At the start of this school year-- so, after the first two seasons had aired, before season three started-- there were for sure three kids in my class (of twenty-one) who where into The Owl House. These were the only ones I initially ever heard talking about it. (They also talked to me about it directly sometimes after one time when they were talking about it near me and I interjected to correct Raine’s pronouns without really thinking about it. They lost their shit, they were so excited.) A lot of kids seemed to not have heard of the show.

By this point in the school year, I know there are at least nine students in my class who have watched the whole show. They talk about it regularly. Everyone in the class knows what it is.

And that kind of word-of-mouth fanbase building takes time! Especially-- and sorry to bring up COVID, but-- when kids have spent so much of that time out of the physical classroom, resulting in less casual discussion with kids they’re not already friends with. You build your appreciation of a show over time, then you talk about it and share it more and more, then more people check it out, and the show ends up with more fans. But you have to give it that time!

And The Owl House didn’t get that. There’s definitely some “we know why” stuff going on behind the decision, but it also seems like they just made a poor decision based on not really understanding how kids’ shows become popular. When I was a kid, it was Avatar: The Last Airbender that I thought about this with. That show’s run wasn’t cut short, but there was a mess in its marketing, products, overall treatment from the network. And now, years later, it continues to make the network-- I assume-- so much money.

Maybe that means ten years from now, there will still be new Owl House stuff coming out in some form or another. I don’t know. I hope so! I hope the girl in my class who loses her mind whenever she sees Hunter gets to experience him as part of pop culture throughout her life. I hope the girl who described her crush as, “I’m Amity, she’s Luz” gets to recall that description to other people who remember the show clearly years from now. I hope the boy who was reading a Wikipedia article about Puritans to figure out Belos gets to work that connection into a future essay.

But whether it reaches that point or not... at least they got to have those experiences now. At least we all got this show.

#toh #the owl house #the owl house meta #owl house #the owl house season 3 #oops i got kinda emotional #loving a show as children also love it #while you're interacting with those children #is kinda wild #toh thoughts

16 notes · View notes

asm5129 · 1 year

Text

RWBY V9 E6 thoughts and analysis

Jaune, my poor boy

here he is having had to just kill a friend

Then he has the WORST luck and stumbles onto this weird-ass tree

(Love the clock tree’s design btw)

And then he picks the “time lime” (as a friend called it) and it sends him back decades, we don’t even know how much

And since he fell last, no one knows he fell at all

Meaning he has to wait even longer

In better news, love that Jaune sees Crescent Rose and immediately goes to save it when he’s falling

He knows how important it is to Ruby

(Or was. We’ll get there.)

We now have explicit time shenaniganery in the Ever After, and I doubt it’s our last

Poor Jaune though my god

What must he have gone through

GROUP HUG AWWWW

Weiss “if I knew he’d be this hot I’d have stuck it out” Schnee

“What good is saving anybody if Salem just destroys the world anyway”

I love how RWBY does this. This is a line that, on the surface, makes perfect sense. But it’s not the logic that’s flawed—it’s the mindset behind it.

Every moment of life is valuable. Every single one. (Link at the end to an amazing video essay on this using the lens of Life Is Strange).

Think about it. Otherwise, the fact that we’re not immortal would make our lives instantly meaningless, and that’s just not true.

On top of that, you could save the world, but if everyone (or nearly everyone) in the world is dead, that’s not really rational either

Like Yang says, the idea that saving individual lives doesn’t actually matter in the grand scheme of things is the path that led Ironwood to become a villain.

VILLAGE? Jaune has a village?! Who might we meet there? I’m intrigued

Jaune….why are you giving me Ironwood vibes? 😳

CC genuinely seems to be glad to see Jaune

The tree is what causes ascension!? What a twist

CC, you say that can’t happen to them, but you were also awfully worried that team RWBY wouldn’t be who themselves anymore after visiting Herb

Clearly you thought SOMETHING could happen

But…you were also worried something could happen….and actively tried to prevent it….So what’s going on here?

Ah, so THATS who the boy in the back of Alyx’s photo in the intro is

“You never asked, silly”

Thing is, I think CC is being sincere. I don’t think they were hiding it, they genuinely just don’t answer questions that aren’t asked. It’s just not part of the social contract from their perspective

A Punderstorm?

Also just realized

Jaune must have been actively fighting against the Ever Afters attempts to resolve his issues the entire time

Probably because of his trust issues which have only gotten worse over time it seems

Also first impressions of the Ever After being what they were for him probably didn’t help

But wow yeah

He must have been actively resisting healing from his pain for a ridiculously long time

Poor Jaune

Ah poor Weiss, she and the Ever After do NOT get along

“Something bigger to work out” eh?

“How do we take the next step” BEES

What do the symbols on these signs mean? Boy and paw?

SUMMER IN RUBYS REFLECTION

Oh my, it’s literally visualized in front of them but Ruby does not even notice her own trauma (Summer) yet ruminates on the trauma of others and her inability to fix things for them (Weiss and Atlas)

I do not trust Jaune’s story here, at least not completely. I don’t think he’s lying, but it’s very much filtered through a biased lens of trauma and trust issues

“She wasn’t just a little petulant. She was selfish, and cruel.” She also looks about thirteen

“Like the whole world was make-believe and the rules didn’t apply to her” MAYBE SHE THOUGHT IT WAS MAKE BELIEVE 🤯

We don’t know how she got to the Ever After, but it’s quite possible she genuinely didn’t think of it as “real”, which meant she didn’t have to feel bad about any of her actions

Just like how Alice in Disney’s adaptation (the animated one) didn’t really have to contend with her collateral damage since it was all a dream

What changed at the Herbalist, Alyx? What did Herb say to you?

“The more I tried to get the story back on track the more she distrusted me”

Honestly? That one I think is a little valid. You were trying to force a child’s life to fit a narrative you believed it was supposed to fit. If, say, she found out something along those lines, yeah of course she wouldn’t trust you Jaune.

Honestly, the more interesting thing for me is that she apparently lost all trust in Lewis as well.

“I couldn’t even be the make-believe hero”

Poor Jaune. For all the growth he had, there was still that part of him that saw himself as ultimately just “the lovable idiot stuck in the tree while his friends risk their lives” and he hates himself for that

For not being the hero he thought he should be.

Wait…Holy shit

In the Ever After, he was kinda stuck in a tree

Though not in it’s branches this time, he was stuck in its grasp nonetheless

“The Rusted Knight drank the poison in her stead” this is such a strange line

That’s gotta be intentional. Why does he refer to himself in third person as “the rusted knight”? What does he mean “in her stead”?!

It does obviously seem that the poison wasn’t lethal. So that’s another intriguing thing about Alyx. Jaune states that she said she “wasn’t going to let anyone stop her from leaving. She’d do whatever it takes”

And yet, she seemingly made sure not to kill him

“The cats role in the ever after…I figured it out later, when the cat came back for me once Alyx left” Okay so, I’ll admit there’s at least a chance it was lethal and the Cat saved Jaune somehow

But I think it’s more likely it wasn’t lethal, because the flashback had Jaune basically just falling unconscious to the best of what we can see. Of course, that doesn’t mean the Cat didn’t help him recover a bit….who can say, all I’m saying is it’s interesting the cat came back for Jaune.

Then again, maybe CC just genuinely didn’t understand there might be conflict between them now

Yeah so, lots of people have pointed this out, but this is where it becomes clear how biased Jaune is. The Cat took Alyx and Lewis to the tree, one of them got home—the assumption is it was Alyx since she supposedly wrote the book (many have pointed out it’s quite possible Lewis is the one who made it back, which is why Alyx is presented much more sympathetically in the story) and this is where all of Jaune’s issues finished the story for him.

He began to believe that the Cat was never helping anyone, that they were only ever manipulating them in order to feed the tree and keep the cycle going, and this is a clear indication of how his trust issues are affecting his ability to see things clearly

BZZZZZZZZZZZ ITS BEEEEEEEEES TIIIIIME BABYYYYYY

“I’ll feel a lot better when we’re together on that platform”

Just LOVE that Blake has been taking the lead this whole volume

She is ready to love and be loved

She knows who she is, she knows what she wants

And she’s done letting the memory of Adam or the threat of Salem or anything else stand in her way

“You’ve got a really good brain”

“You have cat ears!”

Yang flirting with Blake in volume 1 when they first met CONFIRMED

Also confirmed is that Yang’s inability to flirt with Blake is tied directly to her struggle with vulnerability

She’s scared to say what she means when it matters

THE MUSIC

YANG’S ADORABLE LITTLE “Shall we dance” ANIMATION

THE TEARS IN HER EYES

“I think you’re an extraordinary person. You’re always the first to lighten a situation. You act bravely when you’re afraid. You do what you say.

Try to keep up!”

“I like that you’ve never been intimidated by me….even when you didn’t like me very much.”

“I was a little weary of people in general…”

“But you never gave up on them, even when they hurt you. You never give up. You know what matters to you.”

This whole exchange is so beautiful

And I love that despite Yang’s comedy often acting as a defense mechanism and Blake’s unwillingness to give up on people causing her to stay with Adam, both are presented as something worth loving because that’s not all they are

Yang makes Blake smile. Sometimes it’s a defense mechanism, sometimes it’s not, but Blake loves that Yang makes her smile

And Blake’s refusal to give up on people was taken advantage of by Adam, but it in and of itself is hardly a bad instinct—and Yang saw that firsthand when Blake dedicated herself to making sure her team (and Yang especially) knew she was never going to run away from them again

And of course, that’s only the tiniest piece of why they love each other.

“You do what you say”

After all Adam’s manipulation, gaslighting and abuse, to have someone who says what she means and actually acts like it must be incredible

“You know what you want”

Yang’s always been a bit adrift, defining herself by her relationship to others. In v1 she mainly saw herself as Ruby’s older sister and parental figure; and she also defined herself by being abandoned by Raven and wanting to find her. It’s not that she never had wants of her own, but she her wants often depended on how she viewed herself in relation to others.

Blake took no shit, she was passionate, she took a stand when it was something she believed in—and maybe even inspired Yang to do the same in volume 8?

“Let’s make this quicker. Any big truths we haven’t dropped on each other yet?”

As soon as Yang says that, she knows the truth she has to say and the storm reacts and

THE COLORS

THE PURPLE AND YELLOW

ITS SO PRETTY

Everything in this scene is SO PRETTY

“It’s like…a cliff. And if I do it I’m just going to….fall.”

“I think we’re already falling…”

RWBY has played around a LOT with the idea of “falling”

Cinder Fall/the fall maiden and falling into the abyss after her fight with Raven

The fall of beacon

The intro to volume 3

Ironwood’s fall into villainy

Falling into the ever after

So much more

Hell, initiation literally launched them into the air and they had to learn how to develop a landing strategy as they fell!!! Fuck this show is so well-written

But here, Blake takes the idea of “falling”—presented as something dangerous by Yang—and reframes it into something explicitly positive for the first time

The big deep breath Yang takes…Blake is literally telling her she already knows, but poor Yang is still afraid she might not be loved back

But Blake doesn’t even let her finish before making sure she knows it’s real

I learned that apparently Lillies are the official lesbian flower so that’s just a wonderful detail

I love that this kiss isn’t rough and passionate like they’ve been waiting to get their hands on each other

It’s gentle and calm

Tender, and compassionate

And while it’s not verbalized, you can actually see them checking for the others consent!!!!

So CC definitely has been explicitly hiding SOME stuff

Like that they didn’t know Alyx wrote a book about her adventure

When CC implies Jaune isn’t particularly stable, his reflection becomes his younger self. Intriguing.

CC wanted to go to remnant? But Alyx didn’t take them. Intriguing. Also “through the door to remnant”?

And yeah, ultimately, team RWBY did not care about CC. They were using them. Despite everything they did for our heroes, they only saw CC as a guide and an annoyance to endure so they could get home

Blake’s leg is doing the thing and it’s adorable

“Feels like I’ve been waiting forever for that” WE ALL HAVE JAUNE THOUGH NOT AS LONG AS YOU BUT SEMANTICS IT WAS SO WORTH IT

Crescent Rose. Jaune found it.

And Ruby is straight-up disassociating poor girl

When she crafted Crescent Rose, she crafted Ruby Rose as well. And she doesn’t want to be Ruby Rose, so she rejects Ruby Rose’s weapon.

And tomorrow, my guess is we’ll get a return to the Blacksmith, and maybe some Summer/Salem info too.

That video essay I mentioned on why every moment of life matters (the thumbnail is a bit clickbaity, promise the video is exceptional)

youtube

And a fantastic breakdown of the Bumbleby Confession scene:

#rwby #rwby analysis #rwby positivity #rwby has great writing #rwby thoughts #rwby spoilers

7 notes · View notes

anderstrevelyan · 2 years

Note

No pressure ask: share a detail about Garrett/Anders that you don't feel like you get to talk about enough. (It could be a fluffy headcanon, a fleeting moment, their favorite/least favorite thing about each other, anything goes!)

Ahh thanks for the ask, @mxanigel! I think I want to talk about the importance of names in their relationship, since I think about it a lot and play with it in writing but I feel like I've never fully articulated it?

(This is going to be a bit of an essay with WRITING EXAMPLES, including unpublished ones, apologies/buckle in, I guess)

Anders of course doesn't use his given name, but for Garrett he clings to his—since he was taken to the Circle so young, he doesn't remember a time before, or anything about his family, so for him "Amell" is an anchor, a clue, something that ties him to where he came from and the belonging he longs for. "Garrett," too, as something chosen for him that connects him to his family line (which is why I picked Garrett for him, actually! Since out-of-universe it's a name everyone associates with the Hawkes/Amells for obvious reasons).

This intensifies after the Blight, when he starts to feel buried under the weight of being seen as just the "Hero of Ferelden." He's lonely, he's sad, he's really, really wants someone to see him as Garrett. This is from his first pov chapter in Awakening:

She’s beautiful, he notices, droplets in her lashes and a flush in her cheeks as she steals glances up at him, and maybe he would have tried to flirt back if it were still a few months ago. With his friends gone and his bed unmistakably empty, not even a dog to warm his feet, he’d had no trouble finding companions willing to spend an evening absolutely anywhere else, but—

“I’m sorry, I must sound ridiculous,” Mhairi’s saying with a quick laugh. “It’s just, you’re such a hero.”

He can barely restrain the pinch in his face at the word anymore, that title affixed so strongly it’s all anyone sees. The last man had even forgotten his name, saying with a sheepish grin as he pulled on his trousers, Well, nice to meet you, Hero. He can’t remember the last time someone looked into his eyes and saw him, saw Garrett. Eventually he settled for empty sheets and the company of demons whispering to him each night in the Fade; at least they don’t care about the story—they only want him for his power, and that’s something he’s had a lifetime of practice being reduced to.

At first, that person isn't Anders. Anders calls him Amell, referring to him that way throughout his pov chapters for quite a while, and that's reflective of distance between them.

(At the same time, he calls himself Garrett throughout his own pov chapters; Jowan calls him Garrett; Irving clearly thinks of him as Garrett, too, referring to him as Amell in a formal classroom setting but casually calling him just Garrett when he's speaking to Anders. When Alistair, who Garrett has a strained, complicated relationship with post-Blight, appears at the start of Awakening, there's a line that makes it clear he used to call him Garrett but now refers to him as Amell.)

But as they grow closer, Garrett works up the nerve to ask him to switch. He's not great at expressing his feelings, so he doesn't articulate why, so it's subtle enough that Anders probably doesn't register this moment as a big deal to him. But that he immediately accepts it and starts calling him Garrett from here on out—that means everything to Garrett. (Also I can't wait to spend more time working on these later chapters, so I can stop flipping back and forth on how he's referred to in-narrative based on whose pov I'm in, but anyway!):

As soon as he’s out of earshot, Garrett sighs. “I hate it when he calls me that.”

Anders, perched languidly on the uncomfortable bench beside him, looks up from his book. “You mean you’re not lapping up the luxuries of leadership, Amell? I always had you pegged as future First Enchanter.”

“Maker, I never would have said yes to that. I hate politics.” And he really does, he realizes, staring at the work still ahead, suddenly very grateful for the company of the mage by his side.

“Says the arl!”

“The very reluctant arl.” He pauses, hesitates, glances over at him. “You can call me Garrett, you know.”

“Okay. Garrett, then.” Anders sets the book down and rests his chin in his hands. “I’m bored, Garrett.”

To Anders, on the other hand, his own name becomes all about choice. Distancing himself from pain in his past—escaping from it. Once they're in a relationship, Garrett doesn't really understand that, since to him his name is who he is, so he's a little worried when he realizes he doesn't know Anders' "real" name.

“Oh, I remember it. I just haven’t said it out loud since…well, you know.”

“Would you ever tell anyone?”

“You mean you.”

“I mean me. I’m just curious. I feel like I know everything else about you.”

“I don’t think so.” He’d normally leave it there, but at the expression that ghosts across Garrett’s face, he finds himself rushing to put it into words. “It started as a way to hold on to something. Something they couldn’t take. If that was still how I felt, I’d…I’d let you hold that, too.” The way Garrett looks at him, eyes a little wide, brings a burn to his cheeks, and he looks away. “But I’m not him anymore.”

“I understand.” And Garrett brings his gaze back, laying a hand on his arm.

He leans in to his touch, but pivots away with his words. Tries to, at least. “Maybe I’ll even get to keep this one. That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

Which brings me to why much further in the future—after Garrett's grown from mourning the family life that was stolen from him to focusing on creating one for himself—it's everything to me when Garrett asks Anders if he wants to be an Amell, too.

That anchor that's always meant the very picture of family to him, an essential part of himself: he's finally getting to share it. And the fact that it's with Anders, who's never retained a name for tradition's sake, that he's choosing to make it his own—makes it all the more meaningful.

#garrett amell #anders #dragon age fanfiction #my writing #on writing #this is a very self-indulgent post I AM LIVING #I never know how obvious this kind of stuff feels in the writing itself so it's fun to lay it all out

15 notes · View notes

cursed-elo-images · 10 months

Text

On Melvyn Gale

So I'm just going to write an emotional essay on Melvyn Gale about how interesting he is to me as a person.

Melvyn Gale is just one of those people that... interest me, you know? He's mysterious, he's unique, he's lovely—he's not an ordinary guy.

There is not that much info about him, but I’m going to do my best with the details of him that are out there.

The reason I find him so interesting is how his personality and behavior are detailed, in Bev's book as that's the main source. Like he's portrayed as a very talkative and hyper-friendly individual. Talkative to a lot of people, especially his significant others! Although unfortunately Bev and I think Jeff found him to be a little too talkative in an excessive manner. While understandable and I don’t think that’s necessarily bad or rude in any way, it makes me feel a little sorry for Melvyn in a way whenever they tell him that they think he talks too much—not that I’m trying to be patronizing—it’s just that I understand what it’s like to be so talkative…

…and “different”…

And how people will make fun of that…

Okay, in his case, I believe Jeff and Bev were only just joking around as they were close friends. That is obviously different than what happened with me.

As a child, I was admittedly very socially awkward, and yes, you could say that I was not one to automatically understand a lot of social cues. One of them being taking turns in conversations, and subjects of conversations. I talked to people A LOT about my interests, and a lot of people indeed found me annoying. I also learned that as an early teen that a lot of those people were not actually trying to be my friends but were also teasing me behind my back, which really struck a nerve with me.

Since then, though, I have gotten better at being more socially healthy and I have improved my social skills despite not really knowing how to socialize still, I think. Sometimes I do tend to become too talkative but now that I am an adult I can try to keep it under control. Moreso now I have trouble thinking on what to say and if I sound rude or polite. I do think that I may should have had prevented myself from being too talkative as a kid as it was a bit destructive at times. Still, it does not excuse bullying someone for being hyperverbal and believe me, the ridiculing I received still stings today a little bit.

And, yeah, besides the social issues, I also tend to have highly specific interests that I interact with in a very, very deep and fixated way. By now you probably would guess I am probably neurodivergent, specifically on the autism spectrum, and… you might be right. I have never been diagnosed though since a lot of times that happens with undiagnosed autistic people. It’s especially because I am a woman as well, which is also a common issue with us going undetected. It’s getting better each decade, which I am thankful for. But it still bugs me how uncertain I am, yet at the same time I am certain if that makes sense. I do plan on getting reviewed again by a therapist soon to see why I am the way I am. Regardless, I do not view this as a bad thing and now I understand myself more after researching this topic.

But this essay isn’t about me, is it? No—so let’s move on.

I cannot speak for Melvyn. While I can relate to him, I also don’t know why he was this talkative as well. I cannot assume anything as I do not want to jump to conclusions, say things that are untruths, poorly theorize things, lean into stereotypes, intrude in his business as that’s not appropriate for obvious reasons, etc. It’s a maybe-this-or-maybe-that situation. I know nothing, so I’m going to act like I know nothing.

What I will do is explain what all of this means to me. In context to Melvyn as once again I don’t want this post to be about me lol.

As I thought about all of this: I almost cried. Its just—okay, the fact that not only did I become a fan of ELO’s music but also the weird and wonderful members made me learn that it’s okay to be yourself, because one shouldn’t put so much energy in trying to be like someone else. And that there might be others to relate to. And… I love the members, and I also learned what real love (in the general sense I mean, as a concept, not romantically haha) is like. I feel free, I feel I can appreciate them without judgement and I enjoy them dearly. I accept them for who they are, like Melvyn for example, because I kind of know what it’s like to be talkative like him.

I feel represented in a way.

Being in the fandom made me understand life so much better, for reasons I mentioned previously. I just hope he wasn’t ridiculed in a mean-spirited way, and I really do wish him the best. I’m glad to be an ELO fan.

I don’t find him annoying. Like, not at all. Not even a little bit. I don’t think I even can to be honest. Again, it’s not only because I’m fond of him, but also because he’s just so relatable to me. I enjoy listening to him speak in interviews and what not. Oh and he’s funny too. The whole exchange with him and Sharon Arden about cork heels just entertains me.

Overall, I’m so glad to be a fan of this band, and I’m glad that I’m a fan of their lovely, polite, and socially awkward cello guy. I feel a bit happier now knowing they exist…

Melvyn Gale is awesome.

#electric light orchestra #melvyn gale

1 note · View note

wosofanstuff · 1 year

Note

That sounds awful. Makes me really happy that my cat only sits in front of the door or meows at us when she wants to go outside. She’s also probably to small to knock a plant over so that’s not a problem. 😅

Why would your friend join you? Are they in Aussie land as well or would they come there? And can they just do that?

Today I’m washing the rest of my clothes and packing my stuff, getting my hair cut, visiting my grandma and mentally preparing myself for the at least four hour train trip in the afternoon and the nine hour trip tomorrow and try to go to bed early.

Might also try to get my essay done🙃

🩻

Yeah it is, like … I can’t deal with them anymore. But they are also treated poorly 🫠

It’s a complicated situation which would maybe get her here in like a volunteering position. It might just be us being delusional but like there is a small possibility… so maybe but otherwise I’ll be happy to see her in 11ish month and hug her (like no words needed)

Gosh you’re making me feel bad here with your productivity. Like I was at work from 8 am till 4 pm and only worked for like 3-4 ish hours the rest of the time I had breaks or chatted with other people 🙈

Hope you have a good day, also the fact that I drive after work everyday to some store because I need something is ridiculous 🤍🫶🏼

#anon 🩻

0 notes

garlicandfish · 2 years

Text

wondering why i cannot focus when I

just remembered that time i was talking to my stepmum in the last few weeks of working on my bachelor’s thesis in the Summer of 2021. She was like “oh yeah and after, you’re gonna relax”. And I had to be like “oh no, after, I will register for the master and look for a new side job”. So she was like damn, you need a break. I said “yea sure, but in the first semester break, I can relax!”

That first semester break of my masters, I had Covid, then finished my essay just in time for the deadline, and worked my side Job 40 Hours a week to save money. Oh yeah, on the side, I was already talking to other universities about other master’s programmes, because I was really disappointed in the one I was taking.

During that last summer semester, I applied for three masters. One of those applications was in Switzerland and they took a 100€ appliicaion fee. (They all offered me a place, by the way.) Then I took a long hard think about maybe starting another bachelor, started looking into Sociology, before admitting to myself I was gonna regret not attempting to go for Psychology.

That was June, I had just gotten back from my first music festival, my heart had just been broken, it would be broken again just a few weeks later. I was working 20 hours a week in that side job. And still in that master, I was doing 2 Modules, and lowkey ashamed of not doing more. Oh yeah, on that festival, I caught CoVid for the second time.

I used July to apply for psychology. I got my heart broken. I celebrated my (reasonably likely) move out of the city. Somewhere in-between, I had completed a B1-Level French Course and taken an oral exam.

In August, I fell in love again. I was at a 5-year-graduation-anniversary. My former classmates wished me luck in getting into psychology. The day after, I got the letter of acceptance. I still believe that those wishes of luck from the people I went though my formative years with helped. Thank you! So then I had to look for a room in the town I was accepted to, which turned out to be a nightmare, as it’s a student town with a limited housing marked. I got myself a room. All the while, I fought myself through the lists of documents they needed for my immatriculation. Oh yeah, and I had the most wonderful time with my lover whenever we could meet. I quit my side job, absolutely second-guessing myself while doing so.

I was sick with the flu before moving, which didn’t stop me from packing. Then moved in September. I was stressed about leaving my friends and getting my heart broken again. I was afraid that I was going to be lonely in the new town.

Uni began. I met punks in a youth center, befriended the most prickly of them. I fought through research article after research article and lecture after lecture. I tried to participate in the politics like my punks. I tried to pick up a sport. I managed to eat. Weekends hadn’t been a thing for years in my life, but my work week extended by hours. I was still anxious about not finding friends by the time christmas break came around. Then I went to see my old friends and realized I had changed to an absolute nerd and couldn’t identify with their life at all anymore. When I got back to my new home, I had a unlucky hookup because my friends had made me feel behind for not regularly going out and getting laid. What the heck.

The new year was rang in at a uni friend’s place. I went to party with one of the punks at a club after, which I only got into because I had met the DJ in a convenience store before. What a night. I finally felt like I had made the new city my own. The morning after the party I got news that one of the people at the friend’s gathering had Covid. My first year of the week was spent at home, waiting out wether I’d show symptoms.

January in its entire was spent studying at home, and texting people over dating apps. Ridiculously, I never felt healthy, but I went on several dates and had another unlucky hookup (with a person I’m still considering to see again). That was what I thought about in between lectures and studying. Exam phase was breathing down my neck, the 60 hour week went up to a 80 hour week, and I had my study plan at the ready. I had had a sore throat since the middle of January. It wouldn’t go away before the exams, because I wouldn’t take a break from the hussle which I needed to pass. So, couldn’t let that stop me.

February brought on less health and more exams, which led me to skip two exams and move them to the retaking phase in March. Knowing I effectively was throwing my two weeks of free time away to do a thing for my body felt very grown up. I didn’t get healthy though, and after the two exams I skipped, there were two more, which I took with two days of studying for each. Passed both with good B grades. I was still dating on the side, when I wasn’t actively bedridden ill. At that point, I didn’t know what not having a sore throat was like anymore.

March. I knew my health was going to catch up with me as soon as exams were done with, so I laid down in bed and waited. Really did feel ill for a few days, then woke up on my birthday to nausea so bad I had to threw up. Spent my birthday waiting for a doctor to see me, which took 5 hours, at the end of which I was sent home. The next day I got a diagnosis and medication, and the health advise to not study for a week and relax. Yea thanks. With the two retake exams and an essay hanging over my head, I knew that was going to be impossible. That same week I also saw a dentist routinely and found out that apparently I my stress-induced habit of treating myself with sweet drinks had ruined my teeth. The week after, I got back on track to write that essay. Got it done in a week like I was planning. The end of that week, I broke off with the person I was dating, because I couldn’t be available for him the way he needed. That Sunday, I had a positive CoVid Test. Third round.

This week, I am studying for the retake exams. I am perched up in my room with CoVid, studying as best as I can. Had to take a break from my morning yoga because my body feels disappointed enough to just have to move out of bed.

For some reason, I’m finding it hard to concentrate?

#this is about the girl who has the seven life-altering crisis in her life #she doesn't know how to stop and got herself into a situation where she cannot #shoutout to my therapist for being there #every week I surprise her with another crisis #the point of this #btw #in case it wasn't clear #is that I need a fucking break

1 note · View note

lollytea · 2 years

Text

Nobody asked but here’s my brainrotted thoughts on the Huntlow nicknames idea. Basically I’m a big fan of one half.

I love Hunter calling Willow ‘Captain’ so very much. This is a girl who has spent years being bullied, ridiculed, isolated, abandoned and made to feel like she was completely worthless. They called her ‘Half A Witch’ and were cruel enough to tack her name right at the end of it. Imagine how much that must hurt. To have your name, your identity permanently tethered to a nickname that mocks your whole existence.

Now, I don’t believe Willow dislikes being called by her name alone, but I feel like with how deeply she has internalized the ‘Half a Witch’ part and how the thought of it can still cause her to relapse into self loathing, she might spend the rest of her life associating them with each other. Even if it’s been years and the wound has healed up, it will never truly leave her.

But then there’s this boy and he calls her ‘Captain.’ An acknowledgement of what he sees her as. A strong and capable leader. Someone he is willing to follow, to take orders from. He respects her, he trusts her judgement and even if he’s angry or frustrated with her, she never stops being Captain. There’s a sense of comfort in that for Willow, a reminder that no matter how much her confidence slips, he is always going to see her in that light, as who she so desperately wants to be. And if he truly believes that’s the kind of person she is, then maybe she can too.

And then on the flip side of that, we have Hunter, who seems to put a lot of emotional significance on his name. To the entirety of the Boiling Isles, he is solely the Golden Guard and is only referred to by name by Belos, Hunter’s sole family and the only person he loves unconditionally and believes loves him in return. But then Hunting Palismen happened and Hunter finds a kindred spirit in Luz. And then he betrays her and Luz says. “You’re not my friend. You’re just the Golden Guard.”

And he looks completely gutted by this and says with emphasis “My name is Hunter.” Because it’s Luz and he has come to care about her. He wants her to know him, to see him as more than his title. (Which is very interesting when you consider the pride he takes in being the Golden Guard. So maybe deep deep down there’s an unconscious desire to break away from that persona alone.) The name ‘Hunter’ ties into an identity that is far more personal to him than the Golden Guard, an identity that barely anyone knows.

It’s not yet known if ‘Caleb’ is actually gonna be a thing Willow calls him. But I love thinking about her last line to him In Any Sport in a Storm. “There’s only 52 weeks until Caleb’s next day off.” There’s a sense of detachment in the use of ‘Caleb’ like she’s saying “I really don’t know you at all.” But the rest of her statement is so clearly telling him “But I’m here if you’d like to show me.”

In conclusion I would like Willow to call Hunter by name and I would like Hunter to keep calling Willow his Captain. That is my essay, thank you for your time.

#Huntlow #willow park #toh hunter

201 notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it. you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though. After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all? Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared). He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did. Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered. The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed. You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder. You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him. You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him. Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around. You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention. If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers. With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk. Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter. “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded. By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous. Idiotic. A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you. “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged. “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing? “Thank you. I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense. But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?” His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious. “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him. He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression. His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore. “I’m here, aren’t I? Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that? I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me. It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm. “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium. Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course. And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck. “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar. “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time. You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there. Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen. And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds. You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit. All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything. The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex. As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd. Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway. It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted. “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were. But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck. “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear. “Can you do that for me? Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped. “I can take it! Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head. “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on? Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers. You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you. Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly. You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point. "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly. He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air. He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive. The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed. He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss. Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him. Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing. His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately. "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.” It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet. But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear. You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly. "Oh, you like that idea, hm? You want to be full of my come? Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast. You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated. As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade. Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks. No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair. It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks. If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry. I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed. He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye. “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss. And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again. He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss. Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss? But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class? Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it? And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios. You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him. And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now. The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class. As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options. There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself. Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable. Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned. "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk. Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck. He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was. “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed. “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice. You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly. “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed. “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly. "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours. And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel. “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed. "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again. "A man can only take so much. I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked. "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist. Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod. It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag. “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened. Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded. “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.” He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips. “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs. “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair. He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit. Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up. He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way. I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed. "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear. "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me. Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

#baron zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo smut

2K notes · View notes

tnystrk-exe · 4 years

Text

Estocolmo

Hannibal x Reader

Masterpost

Warnings: Smut 18+ thigh riding, fingering, oral, daddy kink, plot to make up for my first attempt at writing smut.

Word count: 6.8k

Chapter One

“Fucking hell.” You sighed as you looked at the still tall stack of essays that needed grading. “I’m never getting through this.”

Your stomach grumbled, signaling it was time for a break. Stretching, the quiet was interrupted by the sound of your bone’s protest from sitting in one position for hours. It was nights like these you had regretted your choices. Sure you had known Professor Jacob loved to torture his students with too much work, but when you took the job as his assistant you assumed that he’d shoulder some of the weight. A ridiculous thought now that you’ve experienced working with him. Why should he even think of grading an assignment when he had a perfect little lackey doing it for him? That was a non question. He had been strict about the work not leaving his office, which meant you had accidentally fallen asleep in his office more than often than you would have liked. The pile of work never seemed to diminish.

Walking out the office, you thought briefly of the joy you would feel when you’d never have to see it again. These long corridors would be a thing of the past in just a few, short months. Then you’d probably go to the city and struggle for a while but at least you would be free from here. As much as you prided yourself for getting through the first round of college, the walls of the building gave you more of an annoyed feeling than anything.

Pushing open the door to the teachers lounge, you made a beeline for the fridge. The leftover pizza already seemed like a feast until you noticed it was nowhere to be seen. “Hannibal,” you whined to the empty room as you closed the fridge.

“Yes, darling?”

You startled, immediately turning around to face him, a mischievous smile was plastered on his lips. Usually your missing dinner meant to head over to his office. It wasn’t typical, but the two of you had managed a comfortable friendship between the shared late nights. Though, you suspected he’d stay longer than necessary to accompany you in the empty building. “Would you mind telling me where my dinner went, handsome?” You asked, raising a brow at him.

“Old pizza can hardly be considered dinner. Come,” he motioned to sit next to him at the table, “I’ve got a better meal prepared for you nonetheless.”

“Or maybe you just need to learn to appreciate the simple things,” you quipped as you took your seat.

“And you, the finer.”

You gave him an obvious look over, “I’d say I appreciate you plenty enough.”

Being so forward wasn’t usually in your cards. However Hannibal had always been a gentleman and it had been fun to tease at him a bit. He never complained, often just acknowledging what you said with a raised brow or chuckle. Still there was always some truth in jokes and you’d be lying to say that he was anything less than tempting. Especially in the dark grey suit and dried blood red shirt of his. ‘No’ wouldn’t come to mind if he ever offered.

“Naughty, Miss LN,” he chided you, “What shall we do with you?”

“What do you want to do with me?”

“Eat your dinner,” he said, humor in his voice as he shook his head.

You choked back a comment about him just wanting to see your mouth stuffed, deciding it was too much of a push. Instead you just opened the lunchbox he placed in front of you. Hannibal watched you expectantly as you took a bite of the meat.

Closing your eyes, you savored the bite. It had been a while since you had something home cooked. “Han... I’m going to miss you most. I don’t know what I’m gonna do without you. Delicious, as always.”

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine.” He went back to work on his own stack of papers as you ate. “Though, I’m not sure I’m ready to allow you to live off street food once we part.”

“Guess we’re gonna have to find me another man that insists on throwing away my perfectly good food to serve me home cooked meals.”

Hannibal left some remarks on a paper before pushing it to the side. “You could always come learn a few things. Maybe I’ll rest better knowing you know how to make yourself a couple of decent meals. Any guesses for the meat?”

It was a strange guessing game, but you indulged him, he was just eccentric. “Oh, definitely human,” you teased, making sure to pick up some spinach and artichoke in the next bite, “Probably had a boring name like David.”

“Close. It was Richard,” he corrected.

“Beef, it was the Rolex of all farm animals hand picked by you and I’m very grateful you shared some with me,” you smiled at him, “So how are things going with Baltimore?”

“I’ve found a beautiful home. The office, however, seems to be harder to find.”

“I’m sure you’ll find the perfect one.” Your phone started ringing. Grabbing it from your pocket, you looked at the screen. Mom. “They’re making this unnecessarily difficult,” you sighed to yourself.

Hannibal looked at you with peaked interest as you shut off your phone and pushed it away. “Is something troubling you?”

“My parents aren’t taking too kindly to the no contact rule. It’s the tenth call today.”

“You’ve cut them off?”

“I thought about what you had said,” you shrugged, “I’m tired of always having to get them out of troubles and be their ATM when I don’t have enough for myself. It’s just too much on me right now. Between school assignments, Jacob’s work pile, and my other part time, it’s all just suffocating. They keep trying to use my grandfather’s death as a leverage to make me feel bad about not talking to them now, but they just want some money. I don’t want to feel guilty about this but I can’t help it.”

“Don’t,” he placed his hand over yours, “You deserve to feel taken care of and appreciated. They aren’t providing you with that now. Especially now when they use the death of the person who raised you as leverage,” he shook his head, making a disgusted sound, “It’s for your own well-being that you take some time to breathe and be young. They provide too much stress…” Hannibal fell silent. “I’ve suggested this before but i-“

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I’m not taking your money. We’re friends. Money complicates things. Muddies the waters.”

“Friends help each other,” he reminded you, “I’ve already told you I wouldn’t want any payment.”

“But I’d still feel like I owe you.” You shook your head, “It wouldn’t feel right to me. I’m fine. I promise. Though, if you’re so willing to help me with something, I wouldn’t say no to those cooking lessons. They could be fun.”

He spared you a smile, “It would be my pleasure to teach you what I know.”

“And I’d never deny your pleasure,” your mouth spoke before you could think about it, “Sorry.”

“I don’t deny myself pleasure either,” he said, amused. “You’re fine. Now, how about we meet on Sunday? I’ll have time to figure out a full meal and gather all of the ingredients.”

“Great!” You ignored the heat that still lingered on your face, “I- um, do you need me to bring anything?”

“Nothing at all, I’ll make sure to take care of everything. All you need to do, sweet girl, is bring yourself and an appetite.”

You stifled a pleased smile at the term of affection. “I’ll make sure to do that,” sparing a glance to the clock, you frowned, “I should probably get back to work on those essays.”

“Why don’t we work on them together?” He suggested. “My colleague is notorious for drowning you in his work. I can help you sort through it all and you can have a restful Saturday without Micheal’s added stress.”

“I really can’t ask that of you. You already have enough work as it is.”

“We’ll work together. First your work, then mine. What happened to never denying my pleasure?”

Your eyes widened, but you laughed all the same. Maybe a while more in his company wouldn’t be so bad. “Fine. Hold me to my words, but it’s only going to cause you a headache. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. These new kids are… something else.”

“They’re nothing,” he stood, grabbing his papers in one hand, “Meet me in my office. We can be more comfortable there and I may have stowed away a bottle of wine.”

“What would I do without you Doctor Lecter?”

“You have arrived at your destination,” the robotic voice informed you as you parked.

You took in the mansion of a home. It was too big for someone that lived alone. The thought made you shiver. Homes should be filled with life, not empty space. Then again, he was a fan of dinner parties, extravagant ones at that, so you supposed there was life in those walls on occasion. The home itself reminded you of the houses in old movies. Ones where the lightning would strike at just the right moment as a warning to stay away. But this was real life and there was no lightning, just a sun setting on a near perfect day.

Without a warning telling you to keep away, you grabbed the gift bag and stepped out of your car. He had said to bring nothing, but you couldn’t resist a simple gift. The ties in the bag had taken out a decent chunk from your pocket, but he deserved them. Between agreeing to give you cooking lessons and helping you out with grading every so often, the simple pieces of fabric meant nothing. Besides, it was a two way gift, he’d get more of the patterned ties he was fond of and you’d get to see him in the darker colors you liked on him, knowing he’d feel compelled to wear them to show you his gratitude.

Knocking on the door, you waited a couple of minutes before he emerged. “YN, just in time. Please, come in,” he stepped to the side, “I’ve looked forward to this all day.”

You smiled and stepped past him. “I have too. Entertained myself a bit today by finding you a gift.”

“Darling, you shouldn’t have.”

Nervousness bit at you slightly, a bit self conscious they’d be too cheap for his taste. Too late to back out of it, you handed over the bag. “You’ve always been so kind and I really appreciate everything. Let me do something for you.”

He set the bag on the nearby table, laying out the ties to get a better look at them. “They’re all lovely,” he ran a finger across the fabric of a maroon one, “Fond of me in darker colors, YN?”

“What can I say?” You shrugged, “We catch ourselves spending a lot of time together. Why not make you a decent piece of eye candy?”

“Inappropriate,” he chided you, before signaling you to follow after him.

“You just wear them so well, Doctor Lecter.”

Shrugging off his navy suit coat, he draped it over a chair, making quick work of rolling up his sleeves. “Ready to get your hands dirty, my little sous-chef?”

“What are we making?” You asked, looking at his kitchen wide eyed. It was definitely bigger than your measly studio apartment.

“Frisee aux lardons, duck with a pomegranate-citrus glaze. I took the liberty of preparing a blood orange sorbet for dessert.”

“I have a proposal.”

“Yes?”

“We don’t do any of that and just have dessert for dinner.”

“No,” he gave you an amused glance, “There’s more pleasure in waiting for things. Why don’t you start washing up the vegetables and I’ll start preparing the duck?”

You stuck your tongue out at his back but set to your work. “This is what I get for befriending a charming old guy.”

“Keep going the way you are and our next meal together will be langue d’Agneau en papillote.”

“That can’t be a threat if I don’t know what that means,” you quipped, setting aside an endive.

“It means, darling,” he pointed his knife at you, “The fondness I feel for you is an inconvenience. Nonetheless, it’s welcomed.”

You smiled at him brightly, as you brought the washed vegetables over to him. “I’m fond of you too, but you gotta stop flirting and teach me how we’re gonna cook Daffy here.”

He motioned for you to grab a cutting board and a knife of your own. The two of you worked in quiet harmony, occasionally he’d tell you exactly why he was doing something a certain way or just give you simple instructions and let you have a hands on feel of exactly how to prepare something. It was nice to see him in his element. Hannibal seemed much more content in his kitchen than any where you had seen him at the college. Eventually he set his work to the side and washed his hands.

“You’re cutting them too thick. Thinner is better for this dish.” He stepped behind you, “Do you mind?”

“Go ahead.” You attempted to move to the side, but Hannibal had already caged you in between himself and the counter. His cologne was different from the one you were accustomed to him wearing, but the subtle spice of it gave a more homey feeling to him.

Hannibal grabbed your hand that had yet to let go of the knife. He made sure to show you how to cut them the right thickness. “See? A little thing can unbalance everything.”

“Hm,” you hummed, catching yourself relaxed against the man, his frame strong against yours, “I don’t see much of a difference. Pretty sure this is just your variation of a putter.”

“You assume I have hidden motives,” He acknowledged, looking down at you, “And if there were any?”

Taking the bait, you pressed a kiss to the side of his jaw. “I wouldn’t be too upset.”

His head dipped into your shoulder, taking in a breath. “What happened to not wanting to bring on complications in our friendship?”

“We only have weeks left with each other,” you shrugged, “There wouldn’t be any complications. Not really.”

“We really should get back to making our dinner, darling,” he sighed, almost seeming reluctant to pull away, “What else did you did you do today?””

It took you a second to respond, still shaking off the embarrassment. You weren’t sure what had compelled you to do that. When you looked up at him you grimaced. Grabbing a napkin, you carefully wiped away the lingering lipstick. “The ties were the more interesting part of the day, I didn’t plan anything eventful. Honestly most of my day was taken with trying to recall the shop you mentioned that carried the ones you liked.”

He hummed in appreciation, “You also managed to pick out two I have had my eye on. I’ve got new suits coming in soon that will pair perfectly.”

You beamed at that, happy he did actually like what you had chosen. “Lucky guess. It was difficult remembering the ones I had seen you wear.”

Hannibal made to grab some ingredients and set them on the counter near the stove. “Have your parents tried calling you this weekend?”

You sighed, sure you didn’t have to tell him the truth but you wanted to, he had a compelling thing to him that made it easy to just speak. “I sent them money for rent. Which was honestly the dumbest thing I’ve done in a while.”

“It wasn’t idiotic,” he stated, setting to work on making the pomegranate sauce as you watched, “They’re you’re parents. It’s only natural you worry about them. Though, I do worry they’ll think of you as a person that doesn’t stick to her word.”

“I know, I really meant to, but the thought of them out on the street. It’s not my responsibility, but I’m just so used to being their adult.”

“It’s difficult to detransition. You worry for them as they should worry for you.” He checked over a pan he had been heating, “That’s perfect. If you could please..” Grabbing the plate with the duck you set them on the pan. “With duck it’s important to render off the fat. A low heat is necessary.”

You nodded, “Low and slow, got it... You know, I’m not sure they worry about me at all. I mean- I know they don’t. It should hurt, but it’s just a fact of life.”

“They didn’t give you an opportunity to be a child. When you were supposed to be in the most carefree moments of your life, they burdened you with the responsibilities of an adult.” He held out a spoon with some of the pomegranate sauce for you to taste. “Any pain the notion inflicted on you has been killed with time.”

“There are still moments though. Suppose that’s common enough, isn’t it Doc?” You leaned in, allowing him to feed you, “That tastes amazing. I really should have paid attention.”

“It’s simple, I’ll write it out for you later.” Casting the sauce aside, he set a pot of water to boil. “Very common. We aren’t too dissimilar when it comes to how quickly we had to grow up. Very different reasons, but the fall out isn’t much different. Our paths left us in places where we’re very much alone.”

“What happened?” You asked, realizing that he had known a great deal of your family and you had known nothing more past how his day had gone or his preference of coffee. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t.” Hannibal went to fill two glasses with wine. “I was very young when my parents died. My father had implemented in me that, if anything were to happen, I was to take care of my mother and sister. Which meant I had grown fiercely protective of Mischa when the time came. Soon I was acting more as her father than a brother.”

“Where’s Mischa now?” You asked, knowing at the very least she had to be in her late twenties.

His lips set into a frown, he took a quick drink. “Lost her sometime after. There was a lapse of judgement on my part and she suffered because of it. My days have often been shrouded by the thought that I could have done better by her. The ways I failed burdens me significantly.”

You rubbed his arm sympathetically. “I couldn’t even begin to imagine that pain.”

“It’s something I never wish to experience again. Losing someone you love so dearly, it changes a person.”

“I’m sure you tried your best. You’re a good man. I’m sorry you had to go through all of that when you were so young.”

“You think too highly of me,” he patted your hand on his arm, “Far better than I deserve. Still if my childhood had taught me anything, it’s to value those I hold dear. Such as yourself.”

“I’m glad we found each other. Even if it is for a short while.” You watched as he stepped back into the rhythm of cooking. Maybe you weren’t any help to him but watching him work was comforting.

He raised a brow, “Just because the amount of time we physically see each other will diminish, doesn’t mean we need to completely break apart. I’d like to have you at my dinner table later in life.”

“I’d like it if we kept in touch,” you replied, looking at a small box on the counter. The small black beads glimmered in the light, calling at you to take a peek. A neat row of recipe cards in his impeccable penmanship, numbered as high as 120 but there could have been more. “That’s sweet,” you mused, looking at the back of a card, noticing a couple had business cards on them, “You keep track of your friends’ favorites like this?”

“Friends, acquaintances, business partners. It’s difficult remembering everyone’s preferences. When I have dinner parties I like to make sure there’s a bit of something for everyone.”

“Hm, well I’m sorry I don’t have a card for you to have.”

When everything was said and done, you helped Hannibal set up the plates to have dinner. The conversation became light as you laughed along to the better memories of Mischa. From his smile it was easy to see he adored the usually shy girl. You never pressed on to find out how she died, simply choosing to bask in his soft smiles and laughter instead of entertaining curiosity. It was easy to see he rarely talked about her and you were grateful that he found that much comfort in you.

Some time later he was sitting at his harpsichord, playing a self composed melody as you browsed his shelves. There was an almost familiar calm in the air, like this was a usual happening and it would simply just happen again. A naturally reoccurring moment. You found comfort in his presence too.

You looked up from the shelves when you heard his sigh. “I can’t seem to master this melody,” he stated, “The ending never sounds right.” The annoyed demeanor contradicted his lax look. At least lax for him. His vest and suit jacket had been discarded a while ago leaving him with a popped button, loosened tie, and rolled up sleeves. “I may just leave this one in the air.”

“Sounds perfect to me,” you said, walking over to him, “Though we can be our own worst critics. I know I’m mine.”

“It sounds… forced. Almost as if it’s reluctant to work with me.”

“Forced things just need time.” You placed your hand on his shoulders, digging in your thumbs to relieve the tension you felt. A soft groan as he let his head lull back to rest against your stomach. “Time is all you need sometimes. I thought you would have learned that already, old man.”

He opened his eyes, raising a brow at you. “Always with that mouth.”

You smiled down on him fondly, something- probably the wine in your system -thought about pressing a kiss to his forehead right then. “What can I say? It has a mind of its own.”

“I do prefer when it’s otherwise occupied,” he stated, closing his eyes again.

Your fingers dug a little deeper at that, caught off guard. “And yet.”

Hannibal played a couple soft notes, seemingly testing the waters for his next attempt at getting it to sound right. “And yet.” The first melody seemed almost innocent, but was followed by a second seemingly stalking after it. “Would you mind putting on a record? It seemed I’ve grown bored with music of my own.”

“Sure thing, Han.” Giving his shoulders one final squeeze you pulled away from him. At the record table you browsed through his selection. Hannibal was still composing as you decided to go with a record that looked more worn than the others, figuring something well loved would help him out of his frustrated state. Setting it on the platter, you gave it a brief once over with the anti static brush, knowing he’d probably be attentive to that type of thing, and dropped the needle. The music filled the air as you took in the melody. “Very you.”

He let out a soft chuckle, abandoning the harpsichord, in favor walking over to you. “Very me, indeed.” Hannibal took the record sleeve out of your hand, setting it down on the table. The music’s build up reached. “Would you give me the honor?” His hand was stretched out toward you.

You gave him a sheepish smile, “Afraid I’m going to have to disappoint. I’m not much of a dancer.”

“I’ve been told I’m a wonderful teacher,” he pressed, a charming smile on his lips, “We all start somewhere. Let me be yours.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you as you took in his look of boyish excitement. “You’re not allowed to complain when I step on your toes.” You placed your hand in his.

He gave a gentle squeeze to your hand. “If you’re too terrible, I’ll show you the way I taught Mischa. You can stand on my toes as I try to help you commit the movements into muscle memory.”

“Handsome and a comedian.”

“I try my best.” Hannibal gave you a gentle spin as he pulled you closer. A kiss was pressed to your hand before he placed it on his shoulder. “Now, just follow after me,” he instructed, placing his hand on your hip.

The moment could have made you fall for the man as you danced with him throughout the room. Toothy smiles and teasing winks were sent your way the couple of times you stepped on his toe. Soon enough, you figured out the pace and learned how to follow through with his unspoken plans. Still, ever the novice, you managed to place your foot in a way that sent you both stumbling to the floor.

Hannibal held you close to his chest, ensuring you didn’t get hurt in the fall. “Oh my sweet girl,” he laughed, “we are going to need more practice.”

You hid your face against his neck, ignoring the fact that he could feel how hot your face was getting. “You want more of that?”

“You were doing perfect, YN,” he stroked your hair sympathetically, “One misstep isn’t something to be embarrassed about.”

Taking a deep breath, you shifted off of the older man, opting to sit beside him on the floor. Hannibal followed suit, leaning back on his elbows. “I really am going to miss seeing you regularly,” you admitted, reaching out your hand to push back the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes.

“We spend much of our time together,” he acknowledged as he looked at you curiously. “In the kitchen-“

Your eyes widened slightly, “We don’t need to talk about that i-it’s fine. No hard feelings.”

“Romantically or physically?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you see me as a romantic or physical conquest?”

“I, um,” you opted to look at your fumbling hands, “I’m honestly not sure about romance… especially considering… everything and my experience when it comes to romance. Never really thought past- I’m talking too much.”

Hannibal’s hand tilted your chin up, forcing you to look him in the eye. “Oh? What happened to the confident girl in the kitchen? Don’t go shy on me now.”

“I was high on your cologne, you can hardly blame me,” you rambled, “It pairs with mine nicely I think.”

His thumb stroked absentmindedly at your jaw. “Such a sweet little thing you are… Now, tell me, YN, what couldn’t you think past?”

“You,” you offered lamely, “Mostly nights when I needed to relax. You’d cross my mind. I’d wonder how you felt. How’d you do things. Maybe you’d like to leave bruises only you’d ever know about…”

“There’s something special in knowing what others don’t,” Hannibal acknowledged, “I do enjoy my lovers wearing my marks, hidden from others view and only acknowledged by myself. As it should be, I’m certain you agree.”

You swallowed thickly at the implication of being marked as his solely. The idea of having normal conversations with him at the college with evidence of him knowing you well burned against your skin. Maybe you’d see if you could convince him into one particular fantasy Friday night had conjured.

He rested his thumb against your bottom lip, bringing you back to him. “I’ve had thoughts of my own… I wonder… Have you ever wrapped a hand around your own neck?” Hannibal smirked at the way your lips parted in surprise as he felt the heat rise to your face, caught in a way you hadn’t expected. “Sweet girl, were you desperate for me?”

You went to lick your bottom lip out of habit, instead finding the pad of his thumb. “Yes, sir.”

“Darling,” he sighed out softly, almost disappointed, “we could have sorted you out this entire time, if you’d only ask politely. There would have been no need for you to imagine, creative as you might have been. You always put everyone’s needs before yours, but where does that leave you?” Hannibal his thumb pressed against your lips lightly, humming in satisfaction when you let him in, already so compliant. “All you have to do is ask. What would you have me do tonight?” A soft pop sounded in the room as he pulled his thumb back, smearing your spit onto your lips and chin.

“Just tonight?” The words rolled out of your mouth thoughtlessly.

A soft laugh. “Maybe more, if you behave.”

Hannibal threaded his hand into your hair, pulling your head back slightly. Leaning closer he took a deep breath, taking you in, before leaving a simple kiss against your neck. His warm breath fanned across your face as he kept you in anticipation. Finally he graced you with a feather light kiss, so quick you weren’t sure you even noticed. You didn’t have time to feel ashamed of the whine that had escaped when he started to move away. Following after him, you caught him in an urgent kiss, threading your own hands in his hair to make sure he’d stay close. Hannibal bit at your bottom lip, his tongue sliding in the second you gasped. You ignored the sting and slight coppery taste.

Sure you had had your fair share of ventures. It was only natural to crave the attention for the night or a couple hours. However, Hannibal didn’t feel like any of your past partners. His kiss was unrelenting and passionate. Quickly he learned exactly how to kiss you to ensure you’d moan into his mouth. You weren’t sure how long had been spent like this. Lips on lips. Someone’s wandering hand trailing down the other’s body. The growing need. Every movement slowly became bolder. Hannibal took the time to pull you onto his thigh, closing the distance between you even more. He kissed along your neck until he found a spot that made you buck against him.

“Please,” you sighed out, not really knowing exactly what you wanted, but having faith that he’d give you just what you needed.

Hannibal leaned his forehead against yours, “Are you sure about this, darling?”

It wasn’t time for contemplation though, everything was already set into motion. He had just asked out of politeness. His hands moved to your hips, he dragged you against himself in a way that clouded your mind. “You’re very convincing,” you said with a shuddered breath. Leaning your head against his shoulder, you matched his rhythm. At the moment everything in the world was him and you couldn’t find it in you to mind.

“You came to me,” he pointed out. His hand tugged at your shirt and you allowed him to pull it off. Fingers raised goose bumps along your skin as he followed the fabric of your bra to unclasp the material.

“Could you blame me?” You kissed the side of his jaw for the second time this night. The lipstick mark left behind wasn’t as embarrassing when you were half undressed on his lap. A blush blossomed in your chest as you watched his darken eyes take you in.

Hannibal kissed along your chest. His hand made its way into your pants, drawing slow circles on your clit. Your soft moan and jut of your hips urged him for more. Before you could ask, he thrusted two fingers inside of you, the pace changing every so often as he took in your reactions. You leaned your head against his shoulder as you grinded against his hand. Soft whimpers were muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

“Come on sweet girl,” he used his free hand to pull you off of his shoulder by the hair, “you shouldn’t be hiding. Look at me when I’m touching you. Don’t you want to be my good toy?”

You nodded meekly, unable to make a smart comment when you saw a smirk settle on his lips as a too loud moan took its place.

“That’s it, no one can hear you,” he teased as he worked at the spot harder, his thumb rubbed at your clit. “You seem very close, what if I…”

As he went to move his hand, you grabbed his wrist to stop him. “No, no, no. Please, I’ll be good for you.”

He chuckled, but didn’t say a word as he brought his pace back up. Instead he chose to revel in your soft sounds and the way you had to focus to keep your eyes on him. Finally, he decided keeping you on the edge was enough and allowed you to cum on his fingers.

“Clean up your mess,” he said as he thrusted his cum coated fingers into your mouth, “There you go, good girl.”

You watched him as you sucked his fingers clean. Bringing a hand down you palmed cock through his pants, fully intending on returning the favor. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“I’m afraid that status isn’t going to change anytime soon.” Hannibal kissed your pouted lip. “Don’t worry, I fully intend on taking care of you. Come, let’s make you more comfortable.”

As he stood, Hannibal offered you his hand to help you up. You followed him through the home to his bedroom, a place you didn’t think you’d end up but were more than pleased to see. Still you weren’t exactly taking in the sights when you were pulled into a rougher kiss as he led you toward his bed. A not too gentle push to your chest landed you on top of it. Leaning back on your elbows, you watched as Hannibal took his time undressing you fully.

“You don’t play fair,” you complained, shifting yourself higher on the bed, away from him, “I like a pretty view too you know.”

He smiled, looking down at you fondly, “Very well, but only as a reward for earlier. I know you struggled.”

You smiled at that, shaking your head, “Come here won’t you?”

There wasn’t any time wasted when he settled on top of you, you didn’t have his patience. Your hands worked on his tie and buttons as his lips and teeth trailed across your chest. A subtle grind against your pussy had your thighs squeeze his waist. Pushing his shirt off, you felt down his chest, still surprised by how muscular he seemed to be underneath it all. You wondered if he’d stop you as you reached for his belt.

“That’s enough. I don’t think you’ve earned it just yet.”

An annoyed huff was all you could manage.

“All in its time, darling.” A surprisingly gentle kiss was dropped on your cheek. “Can you manage waiting a while longer for me?”

You resisted the urge to nuzzle against him, unused to such soft displays from past partners. “Yes, sir...”

“Always such a sweet, polite thing.”

Hannibal kissed and bit his way down your body, ensuring there would be evidence of him the next time you saw yourself in the mirror. He allowed you to thread your fingers in his hair, giving him a soft push down when he took too long marking you in one spot. It wasn’t much longer until Hannibal was level with your thighs, he pushed them further apart. A moment passed without anything before you remembered his rule. Willing yourself up you looked down at him, catching a wink before you were rewarded with a broad lick. Hannibal sucked your clit, pressing your hips down when you grinded against him.

A helpless noise was the most you could do.

He bit your thigh, his fingers immediately making their way back inside of you, targeting the spot he had quickly learned turned you to putty.

“You really are beautiful like this,” Hannibal acknowledged, “Completely at my mercy. Desperate for anything I’m willing to give you.”

There wasn’t any time to think up something to say as Hannibal’s mouth replaced his fingers, silencing any words that weren’t his breathy attempts of his name and pleas. Teeth grazed against your clit and a soft moan of his own was enough to pull you closer.

“Please, daddy,” you begged, too far gone to be embarrassed by your slip, “I’m close…”

Hannibal was merciful, helping you finish as quickly as you had asked. Maybe at another time he would have teased and made you hold on longer but there was only so much patience he had. Especially when there was such an eager lover begging him. You watched him, dazed, as he came back up, his hand gripping at your jaw.

“Open.”

Doing as he wanted, you opened your mouth, instantly receiving a mix of the still lingering wine he had drank at dinner and you. He watched as you swallowed.

He let out an almost dreamy sigh. “So pliant.”

Hannibal kissed you, finally allowing you to get your way as you pushed off the last clothes. You pumped him in your hand, working up the courage as you shook off the daze he had left you in. He was definitely the most talented partner you had had.

“We don’t have to go any further,” Hannibal reassured you, kissing the side of your mouth, “I’m perfectly sedated watching you.”

You shook your head immediately, not wanting him to think you were hesitant. “I want to, college guys aren’t so giving, just needed some time to clear my head.” As if to prove your point you gave him a squeeze, that made him thrust into your hand on instinct. “I just feel bad you’re doing all the work.”

“I prefer it,” he groaned quietly, as you thumbed at the slit. Hannibal rolled so that you could be on top of him, “But if you insist…”

A soft laugh. “That was hardly the fight I was expecting,” you muttered teasingly, kissing his jaw.

“My patience is running thin.”

At that you straddled him, your hand lining him up with you. His hands held you steady as you sunk onto him. The both of you moaned softly when he was fully inside. Hannibal slowly grinded you against himself as you adjusted to his size. Hands against his chest, you started riding him in earnest.

“That’s my good girl,” he praised you, his fingernails digging harder into your hips.

“Yours,” you whimpered, too enthralled in the feel of him to pay any attention to the weight of what you were saying. His groans underneath you encouraged you more than anything. “All yours.”

Hannibal sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist to keep you firm against him. His soft kiss was a contrast to how roughly he was working himself into you. You couldn’t find it in you to care that he had taken control again. Instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, letting him do as he pleased, just enjoying the way his hands and lips would travel across your body. Teasing, pinching, biting everywhere he could reach. Your chest alone would be covered in marks left behind by Hannibal. That would be a problem for the future you to deal with at the moment you were too preoccupied with begging him for more. He’d slow his thrust whenever he felt you close to the end, chuckling lowly at the whining sounds you had made.

“Give daddy one more sweet girl. I know you can.”

You moaned loudly, giving Hannibal exactly what he wanted. When he wanted. Drained, you fell limp against his shoulder. Every small sound you made broadcast directly to him as he used you for all your worth. His arms tightened around you when you tried to pull away from the over stimulation.

“Daddy’s close,” he promised, his accent thicker than usual, “I’ve taken such good care of my girl. Be good for me.”

Nodding, you dug your nails into his shoulders. You could be good. He had been so good to you after all. Still your vision blurred and it had taken a while longer for him to finally go still inside of you.

Hannibal kissed the side of your head, before pulling you to lay down against him. His thumb wiped away the stray tear that had managed to fall. “You did so well for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

You sighed sleepily, curling into his side more comfortably, “I’m alright. Just want you.”

“We’ll take care of you later,” he promised, seeing how tired you were, “You should rest, darling. I’ll be right here.” His hand rested on your hip, thumbing at forming bruise gently. Between the soft touch and his quiet humming, it didn’t take long for you to find sleep.

NextChapter

#hannibal lecter #Hannibal Lecter x reader #reader insert #smut #hannibal #Hannibal nbc #Hannibal x reader

1K notes · View notes