Summary : When a wounded Frank Castle finds his way to your apartment, seeking for help. You have no choice to help him. (Warning! mentions of blood and wounds)
A/N : Not edited!
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At 10 something PM, Frank found himself unlocking (your name)'s windows, poorly. With his bloodied thumbs staining the white chunky pain of the lock, he stumbles to open it, and when he did, he crawls in, and, staggering towards the couch, leaving a trail of blood behind him, and all over the beige carpet.
Around this hour, (your name) would still be on the way home. So the silence accompanied him for awhile, shutting his eyes as his breathing slow down and he held his wounds, putting pressure.
As soon as the sound of a click was heard, you were surprised to see that he was on your sofa, bleeding out. You immediately dropped your bags at the side of the door and shut it, clumsily trying to lock it as you panic, and hurriedly ran towards him.
You've never seen so much blood in your life. It was making you quite nauseous, and the smell of iron and copper was so strong that you had to scrunch up your nose with the sharp odor, "Frank." you shake him gently, and watch his chest still slowly breathing.
The gruffy man was in and out of his consciousness, and when he opened his eyes again he saw you, and even though it took thirty minutes for you to arrive home, for him it felt like a few second.
He groaned as a response, and that all you needed to comfort yourself that he was still alive.
You ran towards your bathroom, shakily opening all the shelves to find a first aid kit. You didn't know how to use it, you only knew the basics, but sewing stitches like Frank's? You only see those done in movies.
Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you then placed the kit on the floor, the zipper echoing as you shove everything aside, looking for a cotton, or alcohol wipes.
"Antiseptic" he ordered with a deep rumble from his chest, you continued scavenging for the antiseptic and poured some on the cotton before gently lifting the him of his shirt, as he takes off his tactical gear above it.
He continued groaning in pain which pressured you, because it felt like you were running out of time.
His breathing changed, it was inconsistent and scuff, as if he was trying to hold his breath as you clean up the scars, you can feel him holding back, holding back twitching and grunting in pain.
With little dabs and the sound of the fluorescent lights buzzing in your cheap apartment. He calmed down, and his breathing went to it's regular pace, but his eyes were closed, and he was in and out of consciousness once more.
He had a large slash on his chest, then tiny scratches all over, from his shoulders, biceps and so forth. With tiny glass shards here and there, and you had to use tweezers to gently pluck it out. What made you nervous is stitching all this up, you didn't know how to stitch and you've been dreading the moment you stopped cleaning his wounds.
Luckily, it took half an hour or so to sterilize his wounds and clean the mess every time it bleeds. Your hands were drench and it smells like hand sanitizer and hospital rooms; you can feel your fingerprints wrinkle as you wipe the damp hands on the side of your pants.
You looked at him, and although he was in pain, he looked so peaceful when sleeping, the most peaceful you've ever seen him in. He wasn't in pain, his face wasn't scrunched up, and his brow wasn't furrowed and frustrated. His jaw was relaxed, and his shoulders were slumped.
For once, you didn't want to wake him up, but if you did, then he'd wake up still in agony. And as if he heard your call, he woke up once again, seeing you shakily grab the needle and thread, and you can hear the leather crinkle underneath him as he leans over, grabbing your soft hands against his calloused and scarred palms.
He helped you set up the needle, and then gently guides your shaky hands to his big slash on his chest. He gruffed as a response, there wasn't a word shared between you two, besides, you were too nervous to mess this up and put him in more pain than to small talk.
You could feel his grip soften and ease when your hands were on top of the start of the scar.
Even without looking up, you sensed he bit down his inner cheek once he gestured your hand to put the needle through his skin; his hold on your hands tightened as well.
You've never felt it before. Hands that have gone through it all, rough, calloused, and held heavy weights. You can feel the mixture of scars, keloids, and the damp dried blood that came from his own.
You've never felt hands bigger than yours, after all, he was a bigger guy, big shoulders, chest and biceps.
Your train of thought was interrupted when he let go of your hand, and the warmth he shared with you was suddenly gone, and you were stitching by muscle memory, by the way he guided your hands, it felt like a routine now.
When you accidentally hit a painful part, he'd grunt and squirm slightly, "Easy." you'd hear him comment before he relaxes further back on the leather couch.
And as much as he wants to give a snarky comment, he was too in pain to think of everything right now.
"Don't stop."
He would let out another rumble whenever you slow down, "Sorry, I'm not really a registered nurse." you chuckle trying to lighten it up, "You picked the wrong person to go home to."
"Yeah? Then stop talking, and just keep goin'"
You knew this is how he spoke to everyone, including you, it was his own way of showing appreciation, and anyone would known that if you're close with the punisher.
"You always comin' home late?" he closed his eyes as he tries to get comfortable, now that you got hang of the stitching.
"Overtime."
"Job's not worth killin' you."
"I could say the same towards you."
He scoffed, "It's not a job."
You didn't push it, to him this wasn't a job, being the punisher. Eitherway, he's past the point of no return, he's so deep in this act of his, there is no way convincing out of it.
Afterwards, it was silence again, between you too, and from time to time, his hands found it on top of yours again, gently directing it when you're going in the wrong direction, or when it hurts; or even when you're about to move on to the next thing to stitch.
god, you love this man. You love him so much, but there was no you and him. You were only friends, or at least that what you assume he sees it.
Frank Castle wasn't dumb though, he sees the way you stare; the way you spoke to him softly compared to other people. The way your demeanor relaxes, and your face softens. He doesn't take advantage of that either, he let's you be, he doesn't give mixed signals or anything.
But there's got to be a reason why he came here, why he came to your house specifically, perhaps there was, but everytime you try to convince yourself there was something, you'd just remember how he'd look at Karen, Karen Page.
The way he holds her, and the longing gaze, and you sometimes prayed that he'd do that to you, maybe one day. But you two are adults, there's no need to make it dramatic, so you just kept your distance and let him be.
"I'm done." You look back at him, and this time he was awake, but he was relaxed now, his jaw was still clenched but his brows weren't furrowed and his thin lips were just a straight line.
"Appreciate it." he gave a nod, before he then takes his shirt from the side and wore it again, and grabbed his tactical gear before standing up, stumbling.
His stubbornness won't take any 'Hey you should rest' so you let him go and you watch him struggling to open the door knob,
"I didn't choose you because of the stitching." he looked to the side, before opening the door, emitting a loud creak, and he disappears into the darkness.
summary: You gifted Hannibal Lecter a Wine Log (Oneshot)
A/N : This is based on that one time I bought a Wine log book and realized I didn't have wine to drink so now I had to think on who to give it to but then I realized nobody that I know of likes drinking wine that they need a wine log book
request : Click here to request me what you want to see me write!
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"Went the bookstore yesterday, and look what I found." you walked in the living room before sitting on the arm chair, leaning on to him, as he looks up at you.
His doe-eyes then found its way to the weight that was on his lap as you placed a hefty wrapped present on his inner thigh. "What's this?" with a velvet intonation to his voice as he placed the novel he was currently reading to the side and lifting his glasses up to his blonde-gray hair.
"A gift." you lean in further, "Come on, open it."
"How unexpectedly thoughtful of you." He looked at you once again before fixating his gaze back on the golden-wrapped present. It didn't have a note or ribbon, it felt last minute. However, the wrapping was meticulously packaged with careful and thoughtful hands.
And just as it was carefully packed, he carefully unwrapped it on the lines where it was taped, cautious in not to rip it violently.
It was a book, a beautifully designed book as broad as a novel, with golden embroidery and wine red leather cover. It was a hard-cover wine book, and as his large fingers flipped the corner of the pages open, he stopped at the middle as to notice the same templates of each page.
It was a wine log book, with minimal and simple template on where to place the name of the wine, and notes regarding the taste, location, the date, the brand.
"You noticed." the corner of his thin lips curve upwards as the crinkle of his eyes followed as he turns to you with little sharp strands on his hair just above his eyebrows,
"So for the next time we go around Europe, you can track all the wine."
"I'm touched, my dear." he gingerly tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear. He then closes the book gently before stacking it on the novel he was previously reading before standing up and kept his warm hands onto yours. Both of your rings glimmering against the fluorescent.
"I believe this occasion calls for the first wine." he let out a low hum of amusement
You retaliated with a soft hum of your own before getting up, and letting your maxi skirt swing behind you as you walk closer to Hannibal, "We have plenty, which one do you want?" she then starts guiding him to his kitchen, "Mm. Choose what please you my dear." He then tenderly lifts the strands of hair and bangs from your forehead, and pulls it backwards as he plants a affectionate kiss on your forehead.
He really appreciates your little gifts like this.
1, "Pour my feelings on the Microphone." ꧂
Summary: Headcannons of a poly couple who lives in Cuba with their new happy life (gender neutral reader)
Genre: Fluff/Cute/Wholesome
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2, "I'd spend the hours counting all the flowers" ꧂
Summary: What a morning routine between the throuple looks like
Genre: Fluff/Cute/Wholesome
Hannibal Lecter x Reader x Will Graham
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Summary : What a morning routine between the throuple looks like, based on this original headcanon
Warning : None,
A/N: Hi y'all, just look at my previous post to see what happened to me haha, anyways I recommend listening to this while reading, https://open.spotify.com/track/2QsYvAsiySw9Ax6bkOeJLK?si=5b0ed888e9024db1
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Somewhere in Cuba— there— resides a throuple in their mansion, it's cedar floors were scented with a Citrus smell of oranges and herbs of tea leaves. Every morning, the floor is polished into a darker shade as Hannibal wakes up to mop the floors before everyone wakes up.
The routine between the three was simple. Around quarter to five AM in the morning Hannibal is walking around the first floor with a mop, cleaning, while the little boils of water and steam peek from the kitchen. Under the blue hues from the window was a kettle and three mugs prepped, and a box of tea leaves and coffee, ready to be used.
Will and (your name) would still be huddled in the large king-sized bed with the curtains slightly opened, that made the dimly lit room look slightly blue as well. The messy cushions, and pillows with thick blankets covered them comfortably and completely; deep asleep they would be, as there wasn't a single twist or turn or shuffles of the fabric, just still and frozen in time under the piles of fabrics.
Around six, a sizzle would be heard from downstairs, as well as some french or Spanish Jazz played on a old phonograph that is settled on some table in the living room that connected to the kitchen through a big doorless entrance with a wooden frame.
It would echo it's tunes, and crackling to where Hannibal stood in the kitchen as he cooks in two separate pans, one for his and Will, and another for (nickname).
They didn't want her to know.
The past, and their dark secret, so they had their own meat, they had their own separate meals. As much as possible the two don't want her to figure out their secret, fearing for her safety and fearing for her reaction, in return they have to separate their meals like this. It was always the pan on the left that had the food for (nickname). Sometimes it would be different, sometimes Hannibal would make pasta while the pan for him and Will is some type of "steak."
Will is the next to get up. He's been sleeping better compared to before, less nightmares, less episodes of waking up at ungodly hours, although now he wakes up earlier than he originally intends to, however he tries to be comfortable with it.
Hannibal is meticulous in routines, as a Psychologist, he knows the importance of how it helps, so as much as possible he tries to encourage Will to somewhat get a routine to help his mental health from time to time. Graham considers this ever since he started waking up earlier than expected. So he now gets up to shower, and change into clothes before kissing (your name)'s forehead and heading downstairs to meet with Hannibal.
"How was your sleep?" Hannibal would slightly turn his head as soon as he sees Will's curls from his periphery, Will would reply in a deep croaking voice from his dry throat, "It's good." he could feel his puffy lids from how he blinked and how it felt heavy every time he did so.
The brunette then walks towards the refrigerator to grab himself iced water, "It's a bit hot today." he murmured, and Hannibal let out a low chuckle, "It's only going to get warmer," before he turns off the stove and grabs the plates nearby to prep their breakfast, "You've got work?" Will watches him from the refrigerator with the glass between his fingers, it was starting to perspire as it starts forming beads from the heat of the room from the steam, as well as the general Cuba summer heat.
Hannibal worked at a smaller clinic nearby, he leaned on more to his medical expertise rather than his psychological ones. He became just a general practitioner, a charming one at most as a lot enjoy his presence and he was generally a nice person to talk to as a patient.
"Unfortunately I do." Hannibal replies as he looks at Will with a quick smile.
When Hannibal smiles —no matter how small it is— his eyes accompany it as well, it would squint upwards with it, and the sides of his eyes would crinkle, something that Will and (nickname) secretly adored from him.
Will nods in response before finishing his water in one sip and walking near Hannibal towards the sink to place the empty glass on the metal basin. Hannibal just glances at Will, his eyes carefully scanning the way he moved; scanning every curve from his fingers to his arms, to his adam's apple and the way his nose curves, his lips pursed.
As soon as Will pulls back from washing his cup, Hannibal left towards the dining table, but his gaze still lingers with Will.
Graham tries to help, whether it was setting up the plates, or making their tea's and coffees, he tries to help as much as he can with Hannibal, so that he can find his own routine. Will also takes this time to feed his dogs, change their water and let the doors open for the dogs to run freely at the yard. These hours the two men were usually quiet, with only gazes and so forth talking in the air. Other than that the french or spanish jazz that echoed silently was the only thing that spoke between them, and the creak of the chair.
It was still too early to speak to much, Hannibal knows that with the Will was battling his eyes open, so he leaves him his own space, let's him do his own thing, and perhaps around this time (your name) wakes up to find herself the last one once again to get up. Around this time there are already birds chirping outside their bedroom window, and the sun was rising slowly, warming the blue skies into a pinkish purple.
She would ope the curtains wide, tying it— opening windows to get proper ventilation of the room, and then she would take a shower in bathroom of their bedroom, before changing into summer clothes as she could feel the heat as well of the air.
When she takes her time going downstairs she'll be greeted with the two men drinking, Will with his coffee, matching his dark brunette curls that the sun's ray's begin to touch from the window nearby the spot of the dining table he sat on. Then with Hannibal, his tea, red and herbal with a little teaspoon at the side. The two were always reading, sometimes it would be Hannibal with the newspaper, and Will with some poetry book, but today it was Will with the newspaper written in Spanish, while Hannibal was reading a novel with darkened pages, and a wrinkled paperfront that he bought from the market, it was also in Spanish.
As soon as she gets down she is greeted by the smell of a seafood type of breakfast, some tuna pasta, and toasted bread with some sort of meat the girl can't identify but it was covered by some breading and fried, along with a sauce.
"Good Morning." Hannibal would be the first one to notice and get up as he gently pecks a kiss on her forehead, and with his larger hands finding her back as he gently guides her to the dining table. Will would turn his head and fold the newspaper down as soon as he spots her, and as soon as she sits beside him Will wraps his arms around her should to pull her closer for him to plant his own kiss on her before rubbing her shoulders as some sort of comfort, "Good morning" he'd whisper with a quick smile before he pulls back his hands and heads towards the utensils, "Let's eat." Hannibal would smile at the two accross him.
"We ran out of orange juice," Will brought up before taking a bite of his meal, "We can always go to the market tomorrow, what do you say, (your name)?" Hannibal looks up at her, "Yeah of course, I need to get some few things as well."
(your name) is a well-known local artist in the area, she is paid handsomely with her paintings, which is why their mansion is scattered with different paintings and forms of art, some of her own work, and some bought from others. The throuple was chic— buying a handful of handcrafted items, bags, and even candles, all scattered around their home like if it were a museum.
"I need this oil paint" she adds before taking some more of the pasta, "There is a small paint shop that opened by the market, would you like for us to check it out?" Hannibal questioned, "Yes, please." she smiled, "And I think we could use more flowers around the house, and a bunch of plants." She added before standing up mid-way to take the tablet from the couch, it was Hannibal's tablet, and they all had their accounts in it, as she opens up pinterest and she showcases as board to the two men, it was a living room decorated with plants, "I wanted to do something like this in the living room, it seems dull." she had a excited shine in her eyes as she zooms in and showing it to the two. Hannibal intently looks at it looking at the detail, while Will would take quick peeks at it for everytime he bit his meal, "Yeah, it's better." Will would comment, "Really?" she turns her head to the brunette
"We could use some green." Hannibal interjects, "I know a shop that could have hanging plants." he added, "Oh that would be amazing." she then closes it and places it to the side of the table before sitting down and continuing to eat.
It was silent for a bit, only the utensils clinking wit the glass plates, and occasional sounds of a light thud coming from the cups and glasses. (your name) finds herself leaning comfortably on the wooden chair as she had one leg tucked under her thigh as her shawl covers her front torso, hanging low below the chair as she looks at the window behind Hannibal, "What's your favorite flower?" she asked without looking at the two, but the two men knew that it was directed towards them,
Will looks at Hannibal first as if signalling him to go first, and Hannibal's eyes slowly turned towards the woman, "Gladiolus." he started, and it made the other two shift their head towards Hannibal, waiting for him to elaborate, he shifted his position and adjusted his chair before talking in a soft tune, "It was said that Roman gladiators wore flowers around their necks for protection during their battles, which is why they're called gladiolus. But symbolically, they mean a variety of things, mainly strength and faithfulness."
"That's beautiful." (your name) smiled throughout Hannibal trying to explain, "Didn't know you researched flowers." Will joined along, which got a low chuckle from the latter man, "There was this book about herbology that speaks about flowers and different plants used in medicine throughout the years. I've read it, and that's where I first read about Gladiolus."
The woman then turns towards Will, "Well." she waited for his response, and he paused for a minute thinking about it, "Well, I'm not really into flowers unlike Lecter. But," he pauses again, "Something simple like daisies I guess." he looked unsure but it was the only thing he could think of and the woman let out her own huff of chuckle when she realized that he thought of the first one from his head, "Ah, Daises. They symbolizes innocence, purity, beginnings." Hannibal responded, and there again the light crinkle from the corner of his eyes as he smiles a little,
"Why'd you ask?" Will looks back at the woman, she then continues gently hanging her legs as she forms her words, "Well," she continues, "Since I want plants around the house, I want to see your favorites around, little essences and pieces of both of you around the house when you're working and I'm alone."
"You already have that around." Will finds his hands again gently rubbing the woman's hands on the table, as she flips it upwards so she can hold his hand as she speaks, "Well, yeah but it'll just remind me in a way like, 'Oh it's Will's favorite flowers' and all." she could feel the brunette's calloused hands on hers as they gently interwined with each other, not tight but loose, and a distance where they can feel each other's warmth.
"I think it's an intimate idea. But you should put your own favorite as well." The corner of Hannibal's lips curled slightly, "Alright, deal," she quietly agrees back as she sees Hannibal preparing to get up, "Going to work already?" she looks up at him, "Yes, I unfortunately have a fully booked schedule today." Hannibal then takes the towel from his shoulders to wipe his hands before hanging it on the kitchen stove and going towards the two to give them both a kiss on the top of their head before he heads towards the main room of the staircase to finish up wearing his suit,
The two were left in the kitchen and (your name) finds herself scooting closer towards the brunette to lean on his shoulders for him to lean his head back, "You have work?" she asks feeling his fingers trail on her shoulders up and down slowly, "Just a halfday." he grins, despite her not seeing it.
Will still continued being a professor despite everything that went through he had a passion for it, so now he was teaching it at one of the top universities at the area. It was summer though, meaning to say his schedule wasn't as tight as it is on regular academic days, only a few summer classes from here to there, quick courses for older people who want to get a quick certificate or anything of sorts. This summer Will is also taking a part time volunteering job in animal rescue, specifically for strays, and his specialty was more on dogs, Hannibal and (your name) encouraged him to do so, mainly because they wanted to help Will's episodes, and insomnia as well as his depression and other sorts, because at least with this side hobby of his he can keep himself busy, and tired for him to sleep easily.
"And the rescue center?" She follows up, slightly looking up at him, "If I have time, I'll come by." he then kisses her forehead gently before moving back slightly to signal her that he was going to get up, and she gave way to him, making him go upstairs while she gathers the plates and start washing them.
It was just another morning for the Lecter and Graham household.
Hi yall unfortunately the authors note curse has reached me im just taking a break but will write again soon
Unfortunately a friend of my passed, and afterwards my phone broke, and at the same time uni like damn. Everyday i slept at 4am bc of final examinations and projects and i woke up at 7am, i stopped pissing LOL bc of tje fatigue and workload, and i was shaking and literally hallucinating at 3am trying to print my projects, and passed out while on the way to uni yesterday so UHH GIVE ME A FEW WEEKS OR SO TO RECOVER AUGAHSHA BTW dw im alright! Just telling it bc the sequence of these events sound so bizarre
ONN A GOOD NOTE!
I saw the notifs and comments thank you guys for your support it's what motivates me to honestly write:DD
Summary: Headcannons of a poly couple who lives in Cuba with their new happy life (gender neutral reader)
Warning : mentions of cannibalism, but overall just cute and romance
Author's Note: Let me know which headcannon I should genuinely make a whole scene in because I can't decide.. Maybe all? 😙 But yeah, I like poly relationships if it isn't obvious ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ )
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ᯓ➤ Hannibal and Will have a big Cuban house somewhat isolate from the tourist spots and the rest. When you married the two you moved in their home.
ᯓ➤ Afternoon bonding is your signature as a throuple. Basically, Will would be reading poetry while he lays on the couch, while Hannibal plays the piano diagonal from him, while you would be on the comfortable rug below will crocheting/sewing/knitting or drawing depending on your mood.
ᯓ➤ You three would spend hours doing this daily. Will would read a random line he likes before he goes silent, and Hannibal would comment on it, while you sometimes tag aling when you are in the mood
ᯓ➤ Hannibal would correct Will a lot when he's reading foreign poetry while you listen to the two.
ᯓ➤ "Je t'aime pour tous les temps— oh jr nahy pass ve-?" Will would loose track as he squint his eyes and furrowed her brow as he moves the book closer to his face. His curls sprawled on the red velvet couch, "où je n'ai pas vécu" Hannibal would correct with his delicate fingers still pressing on the keys of his piano with a soft tune before he repeats, "Je t'aime pour tous les temps où je n'ai pas vécu." And you would look up to him, to ask the meaning and he'd always have a smile as he translates it for you, appreciating you find curiosity in his likings, "Its by french, Poet, Paul Éluard." He would add additional facts.
ᯓ➤ They're very patient with you. Yes, you all argue occasionally, but if that's the case, Hannibal would be the mediator and try to calm Will down from doing anything impulsive and they would both give you space
ᯓ➤ Your home is very citrus-y smell. It always smells like fruits, and herbal that lingers around the home. Your guys' home isn't modern looking, in fact it's a vintage type so there weren't air conditioner’s or any of that sort, just open windows.
ᯓ➤ Hannibal likes cooking healthy balanced meal for you. He and Will have a separate hidden area of the pantry where they still keep on with their cannibalistic diets, but never have they forced to feed that to you without your knowledge, nor do they plan in saying so as they don't want to scare you away.
ᯓ➤ It's Will you cuddle the most in the house. You two would always be wrapped in each other's arms as you fall asleep practically anywhere. The couch, the chair where you are on the side of his lap, the little sitting area of the window
ᯓ➤ Hannibal teaches you and Will a little bit of spanish as he sometimes uses it to talk to locals when going to the market.
ᯓ➤ You are super spoiled by the two honestly. Most of the times they do it for you without asking. Hannibal would just come in and give you tea at the library thar you three own in your humble abode, or Will buying home gifts for you from his work.
ᯓ➤ Evenings, Hannibal would start playing soft music while you guys dine and drink champagne or whiskey or whatever alcohol you are all feeling. Later on all of you will be taking turns in slow dancing, having a chance with both men to be close up to them, smelling their cologne and natural scent while your palm is with his. You would also cheer for the two as they take their turn to dance.
ᯓ➤ It's no secret that your relationship is poly in the local town, and most know you three as being the 'rich queer couple.' Most were used to it because of how charismatic your husbands were, so most didn't mind. But you all have a reputation for being incredibly wealthy.
ᯓ➤ They don't mind if you're having problems with looking for work and get a low paying job or go freelancing because they'll be the ones supporting you. What matters to them is that you're happy and not stressed in your work
ᯓ➤ The living room is where you all mostly stay no matter what time of the day. It's the most spacious and relaxing area with the big windows open wide for the breeze to come in and cool them.
ᯓ➤ The house is rather artsy. Your husbans like buying cool art from local artists or even abroad. So expect seeing new paintings on your walls or a new decor that is a sculpture. Living in here felt so magical because you'd wake up to the sound of Hannibal playing the piano or sketching, while Will would be reading. So, in general you are all just artsy in what you do
ᯓ➤ All of your love languages are a combination of physical touch and quality time. You don't even have to talk most of the time, but being in the same room as them, or doing something together like cooking in the kitchen in silence while listening to Jazz is enough to make you all appreciate and bond with each other more.
ᯓ➤ Lingering touches like Hannibal holding he side of your hip or shoulder while you two are watching something is what you three would normally do. You'd randomly lean your head to Will or
ᯓ➤ Hannibal likes accompanying you in your bathtub times. Whenever you just relax in your bathtub for an hour or so with wine and faint music playing, Hannibal would sometimes knock on the door because he would have something important or serious to say. He would sit at a stool beside the tub while massaging your hands as you two talk till you eventually switch topics, and you guys spend more time than intended.
ᯓ➤ Will likes it when you massage his scalp as he goes to sleep
ᯓ➤ Your bedroom is the largest room in the house since it is for three people. But it's cozy, and your bed would be a bit bigger than a king-sized, filled with pillows and silks and blankets.
ᯓ➤ When it's summer or the temperatures are boiling hot, you three would often go swimming at the pool in the back of your home. It's mostly you and Will in the pool, while Hannibal prefers to bring snacks from time to time or read.
ᯓ➤ You three favor candles. Every room and section of the house would have a candle holder with candles. Sometimes you all prefer calmer and weaker lighting rather than the chandelier you have hanging in the living room, which is too bright.
ᯓ➤ You go to the market with Hannibal when it comes to groceries because you two would have more knowledge on food. Everything you two purchase is fresh.
ᯓ➤ Will still has his dogs scattered in the living room, and in afternoon naps, you'd spot him sleeping on a pillow pile on the rug with his dogs cuddled up with him.
ᯓ➤ They like spoiling you, whether you're out with both or one of them. If they see you looking at an item for a bit too long or holding a mug or necklace, they will purchase it. Will would be insistent that he will purchase it for you, despite you feeling shy about it, while Hannibal would convince you why it would be good to have that around, so you wouldn't feel guilty or feel shy about an item you want being purchased by him.
1, "That is where you'll be when you are dead" ꧂
Summary: After being attacked by goblins from his latest investigation, his guardian angel needs to keep him alive.
Genre: Angsty/Fluff
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2, "Kissing I hope they caught us" ꧂
Summary: John doesn't believe in tarot readers like you. But there really was something with you that made him so intrigued and want more.
Genre: Slightly suggestive/NSFW, Intimate
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3, "Anything is what she is, Anywhere is where she's from"꧂
Summary: Imagines of you and John Constantine's relationship during your young adult lives in your band era.
Genre: Slightly suggestive/Fluff/cute
For once in my life, I didn't care that I was scared.
Human! Connor Rk800 x Reader (Call me by your name AU)
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Summary: A one-shot scene of Human! Connor Anderson is invited to the summer italian home of the reader to work for her father as an assistant professor. They both share a room but are divided by a wall and a door to where the reader introduces herself and gets to show Connor the town a bit more, but finds herself getting attracted to him
(Human AU, Call me by Your name AU)
Credits: ellellebe (x) edited the photo in the middle hehe
Warning: Implied/Slighty NSFW, smoking
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Connor looked up from his bed to see the door open to (your name) standing with shorts and a cami top. It was a hot summer in a somewhat hot country.
With a short cigarette between her fingers as she walked into the room, fully offering her hand for him to shake, "(Your name)" she introduced herself bluntly. Connor took a few seconds to process before he stood up and shook back her hand,
"Connor." He introduced rather dryly as well,
"Our rooms used to be combined. But then dad told me that it was better off divided into two, so now we're divided by a wall and a door." She looks behind her at the door she came from. "But if you need anything, I'll be here." She rambles as she points at the door.
Connor paused for a moment, trying to carefully understand her rambling, which was just randomly mentioned.
Connor was an assistant professor of Cognitive Behavioral Science, and annually, Mr. (last name) mentors his assistant professors from the university he worked at by bringing him to these summer trips at their summer house in Italy. He insists alsonits a peaceful place to study for some of hid assistant professors who are taking masterals.
"Right." He looked at the door behind her before looking back at her, "You smoke?" She changed the topic as Connor turned to look at the pack of cigarettes he had peeked from his sidebag, "Occasionally." He then looks back at her,
"Whats your brand?"
"It's Malboro. I don't have any sophisticated brands I use." He chuckles dryly before he sits back down on his bed to grab a cigarette,
"Well, you're in luck because it's the only one they famously sell here." She leaned on the wooden drawer across his bed as she took another drag, "The nearest stores here sell Marlboro only. The rest? Just local smoke brands that I'm too scared to try."
"You're already smoking. Why not explore it?" He replies rather quickly before he lit up his own stick, but he took a quicker drag compared to her.
"I like what I'm used to." She watches him as he then lit his own cigarette before she then leans from her spot to extend her free arm to push his door shut,
"Everyone likes staying in their comfort zones," Connor replies with calculation and based on his studies and knowledge, before putting his lighter back in his pocket,
"Don't smoke around my mom, by the way. She hates the smell. And besides.. I didn't take you as a smoker?" She chuckles lightly as she puffs off the smoke at a different direction.
Connor just looked up at her from her place as he sat on the edge of his bed, "How so?" He questions,
She thought about it for a while, "You're baby-faced."
"I prefer, 'youthfully-preserved.' Besides, appearances are now que's whether a person smokes or not?" he chuckled, trying to return the playful favor, and she laughed in response, rocking her legs side to side subtly, "So you've got humor."
He let out another humorless laugh, "I guess."
She looked at the way he dressed at the moment they both paused, smoking in peace and drinking in his appearance. He had a jacket—the ones with collars—it was layered on top of his black turtle neck, which made her question what he expected in this climate, since it's summer.
"I can show you around," she impulsively spoke, but a genuine offer from her part
He raised his brow at the sudden breaking of the silence that the two were enjoying as he then exhales the smoke in a different direction from her, "Sure. Lead the way."
She smiled that he didn't refuse, and she threw her cigarette in his metal trash bin he had in the room, which he had done the same before, quietly clapping his hands out of dust and following her in going downstairs,
"Do you read?" she randomly asked as she watched Connor's face contort to an amused one with his lips parting slightly and his brow raised again, "Yeah. Shakespeare, Edgar Allen Poe." he names a few, "So that classics?" she tries to copy his pace of walking so that they can talk properly.
Connor puts his hands in his pockets as he looks at her eyes, with his jaw clenching before parting his lips to confess, "Yes, the classics. I'm a slow reader."
"Then maybe you'll enjoy talking to people here. Dad says that's the best teacher. Talking to the locals here as they recite you poetry and summarize classics, you'll learn something more than what you learned in school" she looks at him with squinted eyes as she tries avoiding the direction of the sun that was facing them, creating shadows that followed them closely as they followed the path towards the main plaza.
It was busy and filled with tourists and locals, and it really looked like a plaza as it was circular with buildings around and a fountain in the center.
Connor was quiet for the most part, taking in everything around him with his hands still in his pocket and his posture straight, that's until there was a flicker of a lighter and in the corner of his eye he could sense that (your name) lit another cigarette, but he didn't pay attention to it.
Connor was the observing type more than being observed. He preferred to stay in the dark and backstage or even the audience rather than being in the spotlight performing, which is why he appreciated just looking around, and he appreciated the trip where he could just listen.
"What was your degree again?" she broke the silence, which made Connor look at the woman beside him, "Cognitive Behavioral Science."
And she bit her inner cheek as she nodded, agreeing, and started moving her head away from him as she tried to form a conversation starter again, "Alright. Here's a random question: Were you diagnosed with anything?"
He stopped for a moment and turned to her with his head slightly tilting, "That's.. definitely a random question."
"It fits, doesn't it? I mean, you don't want me to ask about your favorite colors, would you? That would be boring, and besides, isn't this like in the same category as cognitive whatever?"
"Cognitive Behavioral Science," he corrected, and then he thought about her question for a bit, hesitant in answering it, something a bit personal, but (your name) didn't seem to be bothered or taking any of this seriously. She was talking about it so casually, which made him more comfortable, "To answer your question, yes, I was diagnosed at a young age, ADHD and aspergers, but it is now in the spectrum of autism," he explains,
The (hair color) woman just stared back at him and took another drag, "But in the end, aren't we all diagnosed with something? What do you think, based on your field of study?" she challenges him.
He had another humorless chuckle, "I believe so."
"But this is not really an appropriate conversation for a summer afternoon," he interjects as the two began walking slowly again in the busy streets of the plaza.
The cigarette between her fingers emitted smoke that ran with the occasional breeze that visited them. She eventually passed it to Connor, who looked at the stick for a few minutes before accepting her offer and taking a quick drag as well.
"So, what is an appropriate conversation for a summer afternoon? What happened last summer? How was your relationships? Hookup and your life stories?"
"No." his mind imagines her in her relationships and all, and as well as her last summers before he dismisses it and passed the stick back to her,
"Did you?" he questioned,
"Did I what?"
"The relationships, and hookups, and all." He quietly questioned, trying to replicate the same casual way that she delivers her questions, but it just seemed awkward to him, although he wouldn't like that her conversations and topics are intriguing, that it really wasn't just basic talks about weather or colors.
"Oh, so you are curious." (your name) smiled as if she won a guessing game, "Okay, but if I tell you, you tell me your answer too."
"Deal." he replied almost immediately.
She then thought about what she said for a moment, humming in thought,
"Surprisingly, would you believe me that I didn't really have that many relationships, nor did hookups."
He pauses for a moment, he was trying to imagine and assume things again, putting puzzles in his head, "My professional answer, no, I don't believe you with all things considered."
She looked offended as she took a drag but then let out another laugh, "No, really, I am. But whatever makes you sleep at night, I guess." before pausing for a moment before looking at him, her eyes piercing his side profile, "Well, what about you?"
He faintly smirks before a realization hits his face, which ends up in him thinking that it's honestly a sad answer, "I haven't had a relationship, nor was I able to experience hookups or any sort of romantic relationships like that."
"Bullshit." (your name) kept her gaze on him as they continued walking, before she stopped because of her disbelief,
"What makes you certain I'm lying?" he moved a bit closer to her with his voice a bit lower, and he was returning her stare at him, with their shoulders barely touching as they slowed down in walking to stop.
She fully faced him, "Fine, never mind, guess I won't get that out of you."
He let out a humorless chuckle before she offered her cigarette again to him, to which he took it with their fingers brushing lightly, and his eyes focused on the cigarette as he put it between his parted lips.
(your name) could only just look at him, and with the conversation still lingering in the air, but soon enough, slowly fading. He never even smoked this much a day; he only does it occasionally, as he did promise.
Connor held her gaze as his eyes locked into hers, as he took a drag of the smoke. His stare was unreadable, with his Adam's apple bobbing faintly as he exhaled the smoke, followed by a gulp, which she was able to observe, and yet she continued looking at his hazel eyes.
Not a single word was muttered by the two; they were close together, both just locking each other's look as if they were scared to blink or look away.
She watched as his lips parted open slightly again as he moved his hands out of the way to return the cigarette by offering it back to her, which was enough to stop her trance as she seemed to notice they were looking at each other for a long time as she whips her head to the side,
"So, where do you wanna go?" she coughed,
Connor's voice was a little husky in his response, "Anywhere."
"You're the one showing me around," he said with a casual tone now as he gently moved the cigarette in her view for her to take it from his hands again, both touching each other faintly.
"We could go beyond. But then we'd be rushing," she points at a distance from where they stood,
"Rushing?" he paused, looking at her
"Like. If I gave you the whole tour now, there's nothing left to explore. Then your stay would be boring." she then puts both of her hands in the pockets of her denim shorts, "Your call" she whispers as she subtly sways her body back and forth as she waits for his response.
"We can save it then," he hoarsely replies as (your name) nods and takes a turn as he following her side by side as they approach the fountain in the middle.
She sat on one of the steps of the fountain as she let the wind carry strands of her hair once more, as she listened to the water tapping on itself.
Connor was just observing his surroundings as he then sat near her before looking around him, looking out of place, and not because of his attire, but maybe because he was a foreigner altogether.
"So. Where are you from?" she tried breaking the silence,
"Illinois" his face once again unreadable, "And you?"
"We're from Detroit."
He lets out a small scoff, it was a gruffy tone, "City girl."
"Isn't Illinois a city too?" she snorts,
The two didn't face each other but face at the view in front of them, watching the world go by as theirs seem to be contained in a bubble where it's just the two of them.
"I'm at the suburban parts," he corrected, his hazel eyes once again finding it's way the pierce at her side profile as he watches her little movements, scanning every inch of her face.
"Must be peaceful." she returns his looks as she slowly turns to him, but he was growing accustomed to the way she's been glancing at him, not breaking any eye contact.
He was more quiet, and his voice was husky once again, "It is."
His tousled strand of hair fell on his forehead as he gulped gently, once again, his Adam's apple bobbed subtly, both of his arms leaning on his thigh and knees, while his fingers held each other. He was spreading his legs partly as they stood still on the steps below him.
Again, it was silent between them, just looking at each other, "You're looking again," he cuts her off in her trance,
"Yeah," she swallowed, but she didn't look away, "I know."
For once, she saw him falter when he watched her pupils eye down his lips. His tensed shoulders calmed, and his eyes softened up, and as if he was a different person, because for the first time, (your name) could read his expression, and could feel his vulnerability.
"You're more fun than the past ones that dad brings," she leaned forward as she hugged herself, tucking her crossed arms on her thighs,
He looked amused with the way both of his brows were raised, "Thanks."
"We should go back." she spoke more softly now, her (eye color) eyes are projecting a sense of vulnerability as she relaxes her shoulder, she seemed too comfortable for someone who insists on going back.
Partly, she didn't want to go back, she wondered why can't the two of them couldn't just sit here till the next day, and she was fine with the idea of them not uttering a word, and maybe the continuous eye-fucking was great entertainment, at least enough for her.
The walk home was a blur, not because she didn't want to remember it, but because (your name) thought it was rather bittersweet, because she knew that she would eventually feel this feeling with him, and it would bring her great sorrow and grief. The end-of-the-day feeling where the two are going home from the day, without talking much.
There's no lie in how easily attached she got to Connor, but what was it about him? The fact that he was shy, yet seemed so bold? But not too bold either that it is pretentious. Or perhaps the way he talks from knowledge and academia, where he sounds professional instead with modern-day slang terminologies.
She wondered these thoughts the whole time as her family ate dinner with Connor, who talked when spoken to, meanwhile she didn't utter a word at all.
She would occasionally glance at him from where she sat diagonally. She would watch the way he opened his lips to speak, and a soft melody of the tone of his voice rang through the room as her relatives watched him. He would return the glance back at her, returning the same length of stare, which was enough to make her smirk at him before she went back to eating her food.
(your name) didn't even listen to what was being talked about, nor the smell of the food, because the only thing she could think of was how his hands would feel against hers if she held them. She wondered if it was warmer, if it was rough and calloused, or felt like expensive velvet fabrics?
She couldn't even remember how she snuck into her dad's wine basement, sneaking in a whiskey as she tiptoes back into her room.
There in a drawer across from her bed, she stares at the unopened alcohol as she was lazily slouched on her bed, with her neck slanted on her elevated pillows, while both hands were in her stomach and one leg was over the other as she rocks her toes, thinking.
Should she invite him or not?
She scoffs and sniffles as she then lazily picks herself up and walks quickly towards the drawer, picking up the stolen whiskey and then going to the door besides the furniture.
With one ear leaning on the thin wooden door, she tries to listen for noises. Looking for any noise from Connor, a cough, a sniffle, or even a yawn, yet he was so quiet as if he wasn't even there in the first place.
She frowns before opening the door slightly, peaking herself in without knocking, "Hey," she called
Connor had his jacket off, the one he had worn earlier. Now he was just wearing his black turtleneck. He turned his head as he heard her voice and stopped midway from folding and unpacking his clothes, "Come in."
"Look what I got," she waved the whiskey bottle on the height of her head as she had a mischievous smile.
"Where'd you get that?" he lets out a dry chuckle as he gently places down his folded clothing and walks towards her to take it from her hands— tips of their fingers slightly hovering over each other with a light static being produced.
"I got it from my dad," she follows his hazel eyes as they scan the text in the bottle, he was reading it,
"You're stealing whiskey's now from your dad?"
"Do you wanna drink or not?"
"Absolutely not." He then moves the bottle away from her hands as she attempted to get it back,
"Hey, give it back—" she attempts to reach it, but he is taller than her, so he raised it higher as she tried to tiptoe and reach the bottle.
The two took a few steps as Connor had a smirk as he gently put his free hand out to create distance between them but (your name) kept pursuing it, and constantly pushing herself forward to him, while trying to put his free hand down, and her other hand trying to reach up, and they kept arguing but with smiles in their faces till Connor hit the wall and (your name) wasn't aware on how close they were now, from chest to chest, and with the tips of her breast slightly hovering over his chest from every time she hops a little as he still tries to change the direction and raise the bottle higher just for her to not get it,
"Just a sip, okay?" she laughs in disbelief as her (eye color) eyes look from the bottle to his own, and her smile slowly fades as she was once again in a trance.
He was laughing too, and the smile stained his face before it also faded slowly as the two noticed the little to no distance.
Again, in silence, they were tracing each curve of each other's faces, until she locked on his lips,
"Don't tempt me," he spoke in a husky voice, but barely a whisper
Shen gently leaned in to tilt her head slightly as she kissed him, feeling the bottle he raised high be lowered to her shoulders as he had a free hand, crawling softly under her hair at the back of her head as he returned the soft kiss. Her own hands finding their way to the top of his shoulders, as she had to tiptoe to reach him, as he angled her head upwards slightly, feeling the spark between them growing, both of their breaths mixing with the cigarette that stained their mouths, along with the herbal smell of the soup they had for dinner.
He smelled like cinnamon, smoke, and cologne that smells like fresh rain, and she smelled like smoke with her perfume that smelled like champange.
His hands found it's way to her waist, and with the bottle he lazily put on the ground before holding her in place as he let out a muffled noise as they kissed.
He pushes himself gently off the wall, as she follows his lead, still not breaking from their makeout session, as she could feel his fingers tuck a hair strand behind her ear, only to be interrupted by (your name)'s dad calling Connor from afar, which he reluctantly breaks from and looks at her, catching his breath as she did too but her huffs were softer while his was a bit louder, his eyes hooded as he holds her close,
He let out a humorless chuckle as he gently lets go of her, "Dad is calling," she whispered, and in a low, gruff he spoke, "Yeah, I know." he then runs his hand through his disheveled hair before looking at her once last time and reluctantly walking out the room, leaving her in her thoughts as she stood there frozen as if time was, she let's out a huff before grabbing the whiskey bottle and shaking her head in disbelief with a smile as she walks back to her room.
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A/N: I thought the concept of a human Connor and a call me by your name AU is kinda cute. If y'all can't tell already that I am so obsessed with cmbyn so much TvT, I'm in the process of reading it and I like the writing style, it's so intimate so I wanna replicate that, anywayss this isnt proof read yet huhu
Summary : After a bad day, Steve Roger comes to the rescue to comfort you
Warning : Drinking, and smoking
a/n : Hello, so I wrote this drunk (help-), which made me think about this whole concept, so I apologize if I wrote things that seem like random blabbering or grammatical errors, I'll edit it like when I have time.
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"You didn't knock," she was on the floor with empty beer cans scattered and crushed on the carpet. Her legs were over the bed as her back was on the floor, and an ashtray was beside her, where she tapped the debris of her cigarette.
There were four fillers of the cigarettes buried in some of the piles of debris. Her fifth cigarette is located between her fingers, newly lit, and her beady (eye color) eyes looking back at the blue ones that welcomed itself in her apartment, "Figured you were here." Steve closed the door behind him quietly,
"Where else would I be." she quietly spoke," she looked at him, his brown jacket covering his tight grey shirt, and his navy blue sweat pants, all were stained with little darker droplets of colors from the rain outside,
"Why were you looking for me anyway?" she finally sat upright. She let in a soft groan as she pushed herself up and put her legs off the bed to tangle them with one another, sitting in a butterfly position as she faces him.
"I was gonna ask a favor, but it seems like I came in at a weird time." his face seemed to relax as he looked back at her, she then raises her brow, "How is it a bad time?"
He didn't answer that as he just gave that look that she knew. That she knew that he knew, definitely that he was right,
that she wasn't feeling right.
"(your name)" he spoke softly, and she immediately turned her head away, not wanting to hear the seminar, "I'm not gonna listen to what you'll say."
"You weren't answering your phone" he cut her off,
"That's sorta the point," she retorted, "It's on do-not-disturb."
"You're drunk and you're high."
"What's your point here? I told you I'm not open to any seminars."
He was calm and patient when it came to her, so his tone was low as he communicated. So was his body language as he seemed more open and his usual tensed shoulders relaxes,
"I just don't want you to be alone."
"Do you think you showing up fixes that?"
He raised his brow, his concern growing as he licked his lips and slowly took a few more steps near her sitting figure, as he then squats gently the take the cigarette between her fingers, and put it out on the glass ashtray she has been using.
"Stop that." She also lowered her tone as her face seemed to tire out in arguing,
"There's enough smoke here already." his blue eyes traced on the cigarette flame closing off, before letting it go to the pile of other ashes, and his eyes come back to hers, and he didn't utter a word.
One of his hands slowly trails up to her arms till it finds its way to its fallen spaghetti strap of (your name)'s cami top. Calloused fingers pinched the strap to pull it back over to the shoulder as his eyes seemed focused on fixing on her outfit, and her eyes remained piercing at his.
"You can go now." she whispered coldly, smelling his cologne with the mix of rain on grass,
He shook his head subtly as he continued looking at her, daring for her to speak till she finally let out a small huff between her agape, dehydrated lips, "I just had a bad day. And I get it that it shouldn't really affect you and all, but—"
"You're allowed to feel that you know." He cuts her off before she can go further, "You don't need to explain it," he continues as both of his palms now rested on the side of her shoulders, gently squeezing them for comfort as he was now leveling her sitting figure, still towering over her.
"Yeah, but it's more than that. To you, it may seem just like an ordinary bad day for me, but to me, it makes me feel like a terrible person, it feels like I wasn't doing good enough, you know?" she scoffs softly as she looks away, pushing one of his large hands off from her shoulder,
"It doesn't. You are good enough," he replied, almost too quickly,
"Wow, how bleak," she retorts,
"But it's true. Just because you're saying it to yourself repeatedly and harsher doesn't make what you say true." his response was enough to evoke another silence between both of them, letting the pitter-patters of the rain hitting her roof and windows make a tapping noise.
He could smell the cigarette from her as if it were her perfume, and she could smell the alcohol staining her lips, and yet he never said anything to shame her for it, or force her to get help.
Meanwhile, the girl was thinking about what he said, and she clenched her jaw at the thought of it, "You're starting to actually sound like you're age, a 50-year-old man." was all she was able to mutter, which let out a chuckle from his side and caused him to move backwards to give her more space.
He finally sat on the ground as he let out a tiny grunt before angling his legs upwards and wrapped both of his arms around both of his legs, lazily hugging it as he looks at her side profile that continues to avoid his gaze,
"Force of habit," he chuckles one last time as a response, and she finally smiles and looks back at him,
"To me. I think you're talented no matter what day you have. Whether a bad day or good, I don't think it changes how I see you," he gives out another one of his polite smiles.
"That's cliche." She calls out as she then finally looks back at him, and she gently mirrors his sitting position on the carpet,
He stayed in silence, letting another chuckle again, "Well, take it as something different when it comes from me."
The two stayed silent once again, taking in the messy surroundings and the state she seemed to be in before he walked into her apartment. The scattered cans have been crushed, and then his eyes trailed to her lighter with a bunch of cheap tiny stickers covering it, he gently picks it up,
"I'm sorry." she started off which caught the captain off guard as he flicked his head back to her, and he was about to ask why but when he saw her opening her mouth to prepare for what she was gonna say next, he waited.
"For taking your time and making you worry." she finally continued,
He let out a smile, "Don't be."
"It's human," he continues as he hands back the lighter to her, as she then looks at it and takes it from his hands to open and close it, flickering the light as if she were hypnotized, "Thanks,"
And for the remaining time, they both sat there in silence. Steve wasn't the type to tolerate her, nor force her to go get help, or he was the type to seem like he understood everything about her already. He was the type to sit in silence with her, sit and accompany her in that sadness, and sometimes something so simple like that was enough.
Summary : In the rural part of Spain, your Professor, Thomas Wayne, invites you and another student of his— Clark Kent— For a summer spent in his summer home, for an educational journey. There, you meet his son Bruce Wayne. (inspired by Call Me by Your Name)
Warning: none but this is a first person told story from the reader's perspective
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It was 1985. 4th year of college. I'm majoring in Anthropology. One of my great professors is Thomas Wayne. A former Doctor, who decided to spend his retirement years just teaching about culture and language. He said it was a hobby, learning.
He was an avid reader when he was a kid, and other than medicine, he really enjoyed learning about culture. He travelled a lot, and he said in Anthropology, or any studies of the humanities, it's better to study it through experiencing it. Witnessing it before you.
The road was long, and the bus that picked me and Clark up was almost empty. He was sitting in the same row as me but in the other aisle of the seats, and we were both looking at the window. At least I was, because I could feel him cycle between looking out at the window before looking back at the tiny pocket book that almost fitted his hands perfectly. Pride and Prejudice, a classic. He likes those books.
Around our 2nd year was when I first saw him in similar classes as mine. He sat 2 seats in front of me, always near the board where the professors would be writing something.
I barely knew the guy, but I knew he liked asking questions, and that— without a shadow of a doubt—he loved culture. He treats it like he were wrapping a piece of warm bread with a brown bag; looking at it, appreciating the curve, the crumbs, and taking in the smell before his gentle giant touch carefully folds it with the brown paper bag in a way that it's neat. He'd be in his own bubble, taking his time, even when people have left, he would be there.
But he was a genius. He knew things, he read things that I haven't. His interests were niche for a farm boy. Mr. Wayne liked him because Clark didn't back down when he questioned things or corrected him.
In my case, I don't understand why Mr. Wayne liked me. I was quiet, particularly average; worse is that I was lazy.
"You're surviving, not living, Mrs. (Your lastname)" he would pass by my table on one afternoon as I was taking a special exam since I missed it because of a nasty flu I caught. I looked up at him. I stopped writing,
"Aren't we all, Mr. Wayne?" I replied, thinking I was snarky. He let out a low chuckle before crossing his arms and pacing back to his table across mine, "Yes, but the latter is important. You're a talented student, (Your name). I've read your papers, research, and your works, and it's really good, but it just needs a bit more push." He leaned his back against the desk.
"I'm not passionate about learning that much anymore, Mr. Wayne. I just wanna graduate." I pursed my lips inwards before giving a quick nod and looking back at my paper, "Do you like it?" He questions,
"The what?"
"This Major." He was looking through me, like if he was psychoanalyzing my movements.
I hummed and thought about it, "At first. I thought it was an interesting idea, I loved writing, I love human culture and society. And Behavior."
"Now, if only you put that same motivation in your writing,"
"I'm not trying to go big, Mr. Wayne."
"No." He stopped for a moment, "But what's important is that you graduate without regretting that you chose the wrong major because you fell out of love."
I thought about what he said at night. Staring at the faint pattern of my ceiling, before going to his office the next day to ask him how to fix it, like a patient waiting for a Doctor for a diagnosis.
He looked at me and let out a small smirk, which led me here.
The sun was hitting the grass so that it was greener than the leaves from the cities and campus back around Central City. Slouched on the cushions as I had my Sony Walkman MDR-3 cassette resting on my lap, and the music accompanying my ennui.
Whenever my music would stop, I'd wait for a few seconds to take in the sounds around me. The mumbled crumple of the wheels upon gravel, the flip of a paper I can hear from the opposite from me, or the shuffling of leather from Clark's bag when he shifts positions.
Walking off the bus was uneventful as I waited for Clark to go out first before me to avoid any awkward conversation, or so that I wouldn't feel his gaze behind my back. As I followed a few steps behind him, I realized how taller he was, and he had curls at the back of his head,
It always looked like he had just gotten out of the shower. His posture was somewhat slouched, but it never hid the fact that his shoulders were broad.
"Mr. Kent." Wayne walked out from the long garden pathway of his vacation manor. He had his low chuckle as he makes his way to shake his hands with Clark.
The vacation house had cream walls, narrow windows, and had brick pattern unevenly by style. It was about three stories high, but from what I can see from the outside, it seems like it had high ceilings.
"Mrs. (Your Last name)" Clark stands by as Thomas goes towards me with a bright smile, surprised, "Glad you can come." He let out his hand for a singular shake with him, and I nodded in response. "Thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Wayne,"
He chuckled again as if it was nothing as he gestured both of us to come in, "Our home is yours, so feel free to explore while you settle. You can claim the rooms on the second floor." He instructs as he walks ahead of us.
A bunch of his workers— that I am assuming— were occupied with a bunch of boxes decorating the place. And Thomas seemed to notice that Clark and I were looking at the busy people from left to right,
"Apologies for being unprepared. We just bought this last year. We haven't used it until today."
I see Clark smile, his charismatic chuckle, "It's no problem Mr. Wayne. We're not that picky."
We're. You use that word usually when you two are together, or have some sort of relationship, and he used the word 'We're'. I barely even talk to this guy, and he sees me as a peer. I can see why, either way, we have 2 months together .
"We'll be fine," I added, fingers brushing below the strap of my duffle bag as I walked side by side beside the Kryptonian.
"Welcome, Dears," a new voice spoke, making me turn my head towards a woman with short strawberry blonde hair. She was sitting on the dining table before standing up to make her way towards me and Clark. She went for a cheek-to-cheek kiss for Clark, before going towards me and I returned the gesture.
"You two must be hungry." she held my shoulders with a bright smile, "I'm Martha Wayne. Thomas' wife. He told me you two were his remarkable students." she let out a chuckle
Remarkable is a heavy word. A label that I'm not necessarily sure I deserve, not because I feel like I am trying to be humble, or anything of sorts, it's just I have been barely passing his class, I was always skipping it because I didn't feel well.
"Pleasure is mine, Mrs. Wayne." Clark had a firm grip as he shook her hands, and I nodded my head, "Nice to meet you, Mrs. Wayne." I spoke lowly, not sure how to compete with Clark's smile.
"Well, you two should drop off your things first before. Any room is available in the second floor for you two. Except for the one that my son will claim, you can just ask him." Thomas went besides his wife to put his hand around her shoulder
Clark thanked them politely before he looked at me and gave a whisper, "Let's go," as we both walked up together on the large stairs.
The house was intimidating. It was large, with even larger windows, European Spanish-looking windows. Then the hallways were big, with even bigger rooms as they were open for us to see.
"Ladies first." Clark insisted, and I thought about it as we slowly explored the rooms, peaking our heads in to see if it was our taste as if we're shopping in a mall,
"I'll take wherever is beside yours." I quietly mutter as we continue walking towards the next room, "I'd prefer to stick with someone I'm familiar with."
Clark's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, and I caught it before he nodded and then walked ahead to check the rooms, and I followed.
"Uh, Will you be okay staying here?" he awkwardly points low at the room besides the one he stood in front of the door. He gave a polite smile,
"Yeah." I agreed. All rooms look the same except the formats of where the closet and beds were located were different.
"Whatever you want." I added, I could sense it too that he didn't seem to understand or find proper words towards me by the way his lips slightly parted.
"I'm alright if you're alright with it."
"I am." I then walked towards the open room beside his. It was empty with one tall room and a metal bed with a mattress, and then an antique closet beside the door.
Then, a desk across the end of my bed, which is where I threw my bag before opening it to look at the mess.
I thought for a moment. Me and Clark will here be for awhile so It's best to just befriend him so things wouldn't feel tense or distant.
I thought about a plan before I zipped my bag back, too lazy to unpack for now. And as I turned to my opened door I swear I saw a figure looking at me that walked away; followed by footsteps going down the stairs and when I was able to peak I was only able to see the faint shadow.
My attention snaps as I hear noises coming from Clark's room and put the pieces together. The guy who just passed by must be Wayne's son.
"Hey, Boy Scout." Both of my hands rest on the door frame. He looked up at me, surprised, before shuffling to get up from the floor in fixing something that fell, "Hey."
"Wanna explore?" I invited him, and I could definitely tell he was surprised now. He cleared his throat before crossing his arms around his chest, "Yeah, uh sure, when do you wanna–"
"After we eat." I then went around him and sat on his bed as I watch him, and he seemed to notice that I was just watching so he went back to the floor fixing something he broke from his bag.
I looked at his night table and looked at a pile of pocket books, "You're a lover boy aren't you?" I take one, 'Little Women.'
Of course, he read these. He read things romance, and anything sweet and easy going.
He lets out a huff, followed by a chuckle, "Aren't we all?"
"Aren't we all what?" I lay down my upper body on his neat mattress as my legs were being pulled by gravity on the end of the bed, flipping pages of the book, finding words I want.
"Loverboys and girls. It's what humans are born to do." He softly spoke and turned to me from the floor,
I looked at him for a second, our eyes meeting before I looked back at the book, "Did Mr. Wayne teach you that one? Sounds corny."
He laughed and didn't respond before grabbing all his remaining things from the floor towards his desk that was now at the left of his bed, which his bed was all the way at a corner of the room.
"What's your taste?" I ask before watching his physique move from the back. Not gonna lie it was a nice view.
"Uh, I'm open to anything." He turns around and then leans his lower back on the desk, and both of his palms hold the edge of it to hold him in place.
"But you know the classics?" I continue pushing, looking at him this time, "Not all. Im sorta an imposter." He lets out another low chuckle.
He laughs a lot, he smiles a lot, and it's in a way that he really means it. And not because he was being forced to.
"Biggest misconception is that you have to read all classics. Read whatever you want, Kent." And with that, I got up, preparing to leave, not knowing what to say, but before I could leave he questioned, "You like music?"
"What an obvious answer." I looked back at him, "Yeah." I still agreed
He nodded with a smile, "I'm assuming you're a Madonna girl?" He points towards me,
I laughed, "Do you think all girl's just like Madonna or something?"
He then retorted, "Hey, Madonna is good I like Madonna."
He likes Madonna.
"On Good days, it's The Beatles." I replied to him, and he pursed his lips inwards, nodding his head slowly as his gaze went somewhere else, "The Beatles are good."
"Of course it is. It's a classic." I thought for a bit, a little more intrigued now to know more, "What about you? Except for Madonna of course."
He laughed before gently slamming his hands on his thighs, "Well, uh." he looked to his left, as I could see he was trying to think, a little swirl of his hair waving in front of him in his subtle turns.
"Misfits, and uh maybe on good days, Ramones." His blue eyes looked back at me, copying my tone. Nice, so he does have humor.
"Punk Rock, huh?" I nodded, not really surprised. I mean, he does seem like the guy open to anything. He had different types of friends at our university. So talk about diversity because he is friends with all types of cliques, talk about a international representative.
"It's.. Something I can't explain, but I like how it sounds. And a bunch of indie and underground rock." he leaned forward now.
I looked at how his hands fiddled and rubbed at each other, slowly, as his arms were flattened along his knee towards his thigh. His glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, and his lips looked like he had kissed a pink rose; and now it stained him, it stained his knuckles lightly, all the way to the tip of his ears, with the light color.
He could be a model if he wanted to, and yet he didn't. "Gotta go." I waved as I fully went out of the door, and he gave a smile, "Bye."
—
Lunch wasn't interesting. Other than the fact, Professor Wayne was insisting we visit the beach nearby, but his wife insisted to try on the pool first, especially to cool us down on this warm day. She even insisted that their son should tag along.
Which leads us here.
Kent had swimshort and his dorky glasses on as he had half of his legs on the water as he was reading.
A perspiring glass of icey orange juice was beside his hands that was fisted upon the tiley floor of the surrounding ground on the pool,
"You don't wanna get in?" I question, I was already floating at the middle at the pool, watching him oddly. Who the hell reads near the damn pool?
He looks at me, "I'll finish my drink first."
Yes. The drink that Mrs. Wayne handed to us 30 minutes ago; I looked at mine by tilting my head to see it still under the stone gazebo behind Clark, melting as well, but still full.
"Finish mine as well. I don't think my stomach can Handle Oranges." I commented lowly, and Clark looked at me amused, and this time he brought down his book on his lap, "Your stomach can't handle orange?"
"Its the scent that ticks me off. Makes me vomit." I replied before floating gently away from my original spot and looking at the distance.
We were at a high place, and I wouldn't call it a hill, but it's nearing to the height of that. So, basically I can dee the houses below.
Like little spots, they're at a decent distance from each other, as if this countryside was a ladybug.
Before I could continue my sightseeing I was interrupted by subtle steps of foot walking.
I turned around to see a man coming from the back entrance of the rural home. A guy our age with jet black hair that is neatly combed and tied. His chest was clean shaven— compared to Kent— and he had swimming trunks as well, and a towel over his shoulders.
He had a expression that was unreadable, and at that moment I couldn't tell if he were annoyed or something.
"You must be Bruce, Wayne." Clark lifted both of his legs from the water and place his book too the side of the pool. He had a charming smile as he let out a hand for Bruce to pass by him,
He went to the gazebo behind Clark to rest his towel across from ours before he walked towards the pool, "If you're not gonna swim, at least read inside." Bruce spoke at a gruff voice, referring to his book at the near edge of the pool.
Clark sheepishly smiled before grabbing his book and putting it at the table of the gazebo, then following Bruce in the waters.
I didn't honestly know how to approach him. He was unreadable, unlike Clark, who is just a generally talkative guy, so I stayed a distance from the two and let Clark do the talking as I watched from afar.
"I'm Clark Kent. And thats (Your Name) (Last Name)." He gestured his head towards me and I gave a nod, "Hi."
"You're the best students my father talked about?" Bruce raised his brow as he eyes Clark before slowly turning his head to scan me.
Afterward, he didn't seem to add on anything.
He was our age definitely, probably a university student, "Whats your course?" I questioned,
"Neuro." He replied, and I raised my brow. Huh, so the same as his dad.
"Continuing the legacy, I see?" Clark awkwardly joked as he chuckled,
Bruce didn't respond and then started doing laps as if he were an olympic swimming. I took this as a signal to move to the side to watch with Clark.
What a showoff.
‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - ♫ - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵
A/N : Hellu, I had this in my drafts for WEEKS and college just decided it was more important than my free time so i didn't get to finish it until now. Anyways watch this take another few weeks to be given a part 2
Anything is what she is, Anywhere is where she's from
Rockstar! John Constantine x Rockstar! Reader
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Summary: Imagines of you and John Constantine's relationship during your young adult lives in your band era.
Warning: (Not edited yet lol), but implied hookups, smoking and all
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❯❯❯❯ You and Constantine met around your early 20s when you two were still in a band. Your bands were two underground and indie bands, so you would always meet each other at some small gigs and all at some underground pubs and stuff.
❯❯❯❯ Your friends became friends with his, and then that's how you met. You two shared a cigarette, and both your friend groups would usually do bar/club hopping at night
❯❯❯❯ You were closer to his best friend, Chas Chandler, but because John and Chas were inseparable, you three would always hang out, usually during parties for punk/music/rockstars and all.
❯❯❯❯ You three would vandalize, smoke in empty train carts, and drink at a park at 2 AM in the morning
❯❯❯❯ Then from there, you eventually started hanging out with just Constantine when you found out he was practicing magic and some occult stuff. You decided to tag along with him a lot, and he was a cocky, arrogant dude, so he gets an ego boost when you watch him do magic.
❯❯❯❯ You two were well-known for breaking a lot of rules and pissing a lot of people off. You guys are always running around, running away from cops, people, and all, and you two are such unhealthy enablers to your bad/self-destructive habits, and even Chas was so concerned with you two you two had to be scolded
❯❯❯❯ You and John Constantine would always sleep at Chas' house, both of you trying to fit on the bed, your foot over his chest, and his own legs about to fall, and your hand covering your eyes, you two are just in both opposite sides
❯❯❯❯ Hookup rumors? You two were quite well known in the punk rock community, and ever since you two have been close, people have been suspecting you are hookup buddies. But let's be real, that's so totally true, but you two would never admit or say anything to Chas, nor your bandmates, nor anyone, so nobody knows if you guys were just hookup buddies or what.
❯❯❯❯ You guys have deep talks on the back of your truck while you're talking. And by deep talks, it's usually your past experiences, lives, and beliefs, and what you guys plan to do after, and all. You two are just in your early 20's so it's normal to dream, and wonder.
❯❯❯❯ Sometimes, as well, John would come to your house and you two would just jam. Little to no talks, just smoking and jamming.
❯❯❯❯ You and John are big cheapskates. You guys leech off your friend's food sometimes or whatever. It became an inside joke in the group, nothing personal or serious.
❯❯❯❯ He wrote songs about you, or some songs were partly inspired by you. He was the lead singer and songwriter of his band, 'Mucous Membrane,' and some of his adventures with you are in some of his songs. Little memories like drinking at the back of the truck and all would be mentioned in a verse. Nothing too bold, but you'd also realize that some of their songs had a few inspirations of your adventures.
❯❯❯❯ Even though he was an arrogant guy, he was still nice and had a secret empathetic side. You witnessed him defend a guy being beaten up and robbed using his magic and with a little of his verbal attacks as he chases them away
❯❯❯❯ Labels? No you two don't have labels and you two have a complicated relationship with each other. You both like each other, and deep inside you both know that but you two don't acknowledge it or make a move, it's just not your thing.
❯❯❯❯ You guys hook up, and even though there are no feelings behind it, sometimes there was. But you two were too stubborn to put something in it.
❯❯❯❯ But you two would get caught cuddling in a pub while talking to each other that no one else knows. You two would hold hands or he would hold your waist when you guys are talking to your friends or other people
❯❯❯❯ You two would even hold hands sometimes when you guys are walking somewhere. Your friends found you guys odd for not putting a label but acting like you two are in relationship.
❯❯❯❯ Sharing a cigarette. You two would always share a pack and a cigarette. When he would take a drag, he would hand it to you automatically, and the same goes for you; you'd return it. In your guys' own little language, that was an indirect kiss of something genuine
❯❯❯❯ You guys love exploring abandoned buildings and places. You two love urban exploring, and John would be messing around with his magic with you, trying to scare you and all
❯❯❯❯ He never got you involved with the Newcastle incident. So you were saved from the trauma and grief.
❯❯❯❯ When you guys were older and eventually got out of that phase, you surprisingly became a well-dressed, modest woman, while John stayed the same because of Newcastle. When you two reunited, it was bittersweet, because you two accidentally ran to each other at a pub.
❯❯❯❯ For you, it's a girl's night, and for him, it's a usual night. He was surprised by how your style had changed. How you look more mature, your cheekbones more defined, and you have simpler makeup instead of bold. You were shocked to see he looked the same except with a scruffy beard, messy blonde hair, and his physique was more defined and bigger instead of it being skinny.
❯❯❯❯ You two would say 'Hi' and catch up, and the fact that he sees you all successful now will always leave him bitter because you moved on and he didn't. He respects you, and you two would talk all night about your memories with each other
❯❯❯❯ John doesn't want you to reconnect with him, not because he prefers to be alone like he always does, but because he doesn't want to feel like he's ruining your life. You're engaged now, and you're a lawyer; he doesn't want to be a reminder to you of your past, even though you don't mind. But to him, he doesn't want you to regress to what you guys used to be if you hang out with him more.
❯❯❯❯ No proper closure. He'd see you around still, but purposely avoid you; he wants you to forget him, because you also reminded him of that era in his life that he still connects with his incident with Newcastle.
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A/N: Just a simple, silly image, hope you guys like it
so i loved the John Constantine x tarot reader and I was wondering if you were maybe planning on making a part two😞 ?
Yeah totally! Originally it was supposed to be a series but It took awhile to get ideas for the upcoming parts. But I already have a draft for the 2nd part 🫡 If you hang around the john constantine tags or my blog you'll eventually see it soon hehe
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❝How can you sleep or live with yourself?❞
Summary: Headcanons of what Bruce would do if your vigilante identity is exposed
Warning: None
Author's Note : Wrote this while I was sleepy I'm so sorry for wrong grammar or spelling or weird errors.
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You are a celebrity, a famous singer, model, and actress, too. You were all around billboards and media, but what they didn't know is that you had a secret dual life.
Similar to Bruce Wayne, you were a vigilante at night in Metropolis, working alongside Clark.
But Lex Luthor did some digging. He looked at the things you bought and was able to get a whole list of them and put two in two together.. Because of this, it was enough for him to hire several spies and contact photographers and journalists to write articles about your exposed identity. He made a fake story about you being an unjustifiable killer, and that you aren't really a vigilante, and that you would threaten, rob, and kill. He would even submit fake photos of your supposed victims.
And within a few minutes, while you were walking by the public buildings of Metropolis, the advertisements and live projectors on the buildings were sharing photos of you, and you in your vigilante attire.
News channels go live on the hot topic, and people started crowding you in public. Even your bodyguards were surprised as you stood there, overwhelmed because your secret identity being exposed was your biggest fear, which is why you did everything to hide it. People insulted you, tried to hurt you, and some just wanted to get photos of you
─▸Bruce would send a limousine to pick you up all the way from Metropolis while you were trying to escape the public crowd, in an attempt to get answers from you.
─▸While you were in the limousine, he was already doing research and investigating how this could have possibly happened. He found out quick enough that it was Luthor who tipped the Journalists, and that he was able to track you down via spies and your purchases for your vigilante life.
─▸Bruce had Alfred already make your comfort snacks that he knows you like as you arrive on time. He doesn't ask what happened because he knew it
─▸He definitely gives you space at first. He lets you settle and collect yourself first. Then he tries to console you, telling you not to worry, he'll clear it up, even though you didn't ask for it.
─▸"Don't worry about it." He'll say, but of course, you wouldn't be convinced because you are a well-known celebrity, and this news won't easily go away. But you'll be surprised by what he can pull off.
─▸He turns off the television, or he would turn off radios that are talking about it, because he knows it stresses you out. So he would just watch the news about you in his Batcave once you are asleep, so that he can further investigate and track the media about this.
─▸"Stop that," he would say sternly, but softly when he found you doom-scrolling through articles and articles, and news of yourself.
─▸He wouldn't sleep in trying to pull some strings on how to calm this whole situation down since it's blowing up in several news outlets. He contacted several people and even falsified some evidence to submit to new websites to battle the information.
─▸Yes, he would be hooked on this situation, trying to clear things up and trying to play this carefully and with a well-thought-out plan that has 0 backfires.
─▸He'd definitely pay some of the bigger news outlets to write a paper saying that your whole vigilante thing was fake news and just a rumour.
─▸Even though he gives you space most of the time. He'll definitely check up on you once in a while, whether trying to subtly pass you or knock on your door or something. He doesn't want to push anything you don't want to reveal or say, so he'll wait till you open up about it, and he'll console you.
─▸If you needed a hug from being overwhelmed by everything, he would give you a hug without a second thought. You two would just be there in silence as he gently holds the back of your head.
─▸The hate comments and the harsh criticism of the fake news about you have damaged your self-esteem and mental health, and so he tries everything in his power to comfort you in little ways. Such as making your area comfortable by always giving you fresh, comfortable blankets and a balanced temperature. Or giving you snacks when he can sense you're stressing out again.
─▸He definitely hates Lex Luthor for going low in trying to ruin your image, so he'll remember this and keep this in mind and will make his move soon.
─▸He doesn't let you go out or be seen in public. If you need something, he'll get someone to buy it for you, but in his words: "It's not safe yet." and he doesn't want you to go out much, even if it's just chilling on the outdoor back of his manor, or go to the garden. He thinks it's still unsafe until everything dies down.
─▸He would definitely ask you to watch a movie with him downstairs in the living room or something similar to divert your thoughts onto something else. Maybe invite you to play pool with him, or he would show something he found that he forgot he bought and give it to you.
─▸Late-night talks were definitely a thing between you two during this time. It's the best he can do to console you and help you sleep without worrying. You two would talk until you fall asleep, and then he'd put a blanket or just fix your posture comfortably before leaving you.
─▸He hired a bunch of people to secure your own home while you aren't there. He didn't tell you, but basically, he just wanted to make sure that your house is maintained until you can come back.
─▸He successfully was able to silent the media as if it was just a trend. You don't know how he fully did it other than knowing he was probably paying some for silence. But he did it, and you didn't question it, but you thanked him a lot
─▸He would take extra precautions. Even though the news has died down, he will probably tell you to stay for another week just to check if everything is now safe. And coincidentally, another larger news about Lex Luthor being accused of scamming and having sketchy company practices came up a week later, which made everyone turn their attention to that issue instead. You both watched it on the news before you left that evening back to your home. Maybe Bruce had something to do with it.
─▸He recommends that you continue patrolling; to continue the act that you and your vigilante facade are two different people, no matter how scared you are now, and paranoid about your identity.
─▸He would call paparazzi to take photos of you two 'dating' in public or something while you two continue your vigilante life so that no one suspects a thing. During one of your important missions that was live on the news, he sends photos and content of you and him being on a date on the same night for the gossip portion of the news to talk about, so that people will really be convinced that you are two different people since you can't be in two places at once. It also benefits him anyways.
John Constantine x Tarot Reader! Reader
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❝Kissing, I hope they caught us, whether they like or not❞
Summary : John doesn't believe in tarot readers like you. But there really was something with you that made him so intrigued and want more.
Warning : NSFW MDNI, just implied hookup but no full scenes (sorry guys I don't know how to write those help), smoking
Author's note: Just wanna say that John's thoughts on tarot in this fanfic doesn't reflect my beliefs. I think tarot is pretty chill. If you believe in those things, there is no problem at all. dont let this fic discourage you hehe (ALSO not heavily edited yet)
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It all started with him being skeptical. It was a carnival, with the typical rides and roller coasters. Kids from local places chasing each other; lines long with accompanying chatter.
Booths were scattered around; some for food and some for overpriced trinkets; and your typical horror houses, and other tents with all sorts of stuff.
He just finished another case. Some demon mirror in the mirror house, where he was called to investigate.
He lets out a tut as he harshly pushes the tent curtain away before putting a cigarette between his lips, lighting it up before putting his hands in his pockets, and trying to find his way out of this crowded and suffocating place.
On his way out, he of course encounters your booth. In bold cursive letters, it says Tarot Reading.
He doesn't get why people believe these things. He was a big skeptic who never believed in these things, but after this rough day, he wanted to go piss someone off.
As soon as he entered the busy tent, there were two other women in there, with their names— also in the same cursive font— resting on their tables in their own corners.
Music was playing, something enchanting, the type for meditation, and something calming.
The place was beautifully decorated. Dim lighting with fake candles that lit up the place. It was clean, with fairy lights scattered, and tables covered in velvet cloth, and bean bags as chairs. It was cozy.
Your table was unoccupied, you were waiting, and you were writing something before you lifted your head and smiled at him, as the other two readers were occupied. Their voices are low, and he can slightly see them through a bunch of short dividers.
He lazily dusts his trench coat before sitting on the beanbag— clicking his tongue again as he sank and made him stand up slightly before sitting again. "Alright, love, give me your best." He started, he meant to taunt, because he was holding back a smug smile.
"Should I get Chinese takeout, or eat in a 5-star restaurant?" he questioned smugly, before crossing his hands, his cigarette bouncing.
He wasn't a believer in tarot; to him, it's a bunch of cards, and people assuming another person's situation.
You laughed, it was contagious, and maybe— there— he realized that there was definitely this type of energy that he sensed from you. The way you sat so gracefully upon the bean bag— both legs slightly leaning on the right; your posture straight, and your palm rested upon the other.
You already knew that he wasn't serious. "Well, we don't need the cards for that, I'd say 5-Star. Treat yourself." You spoke nicely,
He let out a tut again before letting a low chuckle and leaning his arm on your table, "I came here for the cards." he paused, "So what did they say?" he eyed the deck on the center of the table,
"Well, hit me with a better question." You chuckle, and there again was that laugh; it was genuine. You didn't force it, and you didn't seem bothered by him as well, which made him somewhat pissed instead of the other way around.
He hated that you challenged him, so he let out a scoff and then looked at your cards, "Alright," he swallowed before taking a drag and came up with a rather serious question,
"What's the future of my life." he said as a statement, not a question; he spoke huskily— accent thick.
You nodded and gave a warm, sincere smile before closing your eyes. He watched the way your lashes formed a shadow by the fairy lights that were above you two. He watched the way your hands held the cards; it was so careful, as if you were making a clay sculpture— calculated, holding it up as if it was about to fall apart anytime, so you were gentle.
You shuffled, slowly but surely, and he was entranced by the way your hands moved. Because, in general, the way you moved just seemed so entrancing.
After you shuffle the deck, you then gently place the deck on your left side before your fingers pick out cards.
The tower
The devil
The Judgement
The Hermit
You take a deep breath before putting on that smile again, and he notices it, so he flicks his eyes and looks at you through his lashes, as his head leans below, looking at the table.
"Your life seems to be in constant chaos. And it seems like this will continue forward in your future." You take a moment, looking at the cards,
"You don't seem to want to change that either; you like the isolation, so it stays that way, with no difference. But it seems like you will still be doing the right thing, making the right decisions. And you will carry that with you into the future." You finished there and looked up at him, watching his unreadable expression, and you two met your gazes,
"What do you think?" You gave a cheeky smile,
He lets out a scoff and then leans closer with a lower gruffy tone, "I'll tell you what, love. I think that you just sell what you want people to hear based on your assumptions."
He watches your face before leaning backwards to cross his arms again, "That's what I think,"
You then leaned your elbow on the table and leaned your cheek on your palm with a low hum, "Maybe. Or maybe I got lucky."
Oh, he liked that, he liked the fact that you weren't pissed at him. That you didn't give any hints or any masks that show any sort of irritation or frustration, frustrated him in a good way. He was feeding on it.
"Oh, is that what you bloody scammers call it now?" he tries pushing it further, wanting to see any hint of doubt or resentment.
You laugh, "Right. Don't worry, it's on the house. I don't charge skeptics."
He let out a low chuckle, "How generous of you, love. Careful, you might get bankrupt with that typa offer."
He just hated how you smiled, how you were so optimistic, how you never got defensive of your cards, or never raised your voice, it was in that consistent frequency. Why won't you defend yourself like he does against other readers he has met before?
"Alright, ask your cards if the world is gonna end." He had his arms crossed, and was still smoking.
"Sorry, Mr.." You waited for him to continue
"Constantine. John Constantine."
"Right. Sorry, Mr. Constantine, but even tarot has its own limits. It could never replace anything medical or anything similar of sorts to your question. It's just supposed to enlighten and give guidance on situations." You didn't ever show any hint of being annoyed; you just spoke with sincerity and honesty. When were you gonna defend yourself? Get mad at him? And why is he so heavily affected that you're not reacting?
And then that's where it started. The fact that he was intimidated by you, the fact that you were just genuinely kind, and that you just laughed, even though you were being taunted.
And the next thing you know, you two were in a motel near the carnival, on the same night. He felt those soft hands, and it really was like you were handling clay sculpture, it was so gentle, like if he was a glass ornament you were gently how you held him.
How it hovered his biceps, or how you two held hands. He never felt anything like it before.
His past hookups were different; with you, it was this complex battle, a battle of trying to find a different side of you, so he takes over, but then he loved the way you held him or was leading, so sometimes he'd let you lead and surrender.
In the dark, with the blankets half fallen from the bed, he could still see this type of glow that he liked in you. You were so gentle with him, so patient, so you.
He likes how you smell, or how you move, it's like you were some sort of royalty, because it was calculated, and it was graceful, but it wasn't in a forceful way, it was like you always knew.
You weren't looking for anything serious either; you just liked being spontaneous and exploring your choices, so you two didn't have a problem with this arrangement.
What you liked about him is that, despite his demeanor seeming like someone who is just a straightforward asshole, he had a side that was so patient and so gentle; a mood of surrender.
The night ends with you wearing his polo, and talking to him, as he has his hands behind his head, as he had his pillow slightly slanted upwards on the headboard, as he smokes, shirtless.
You were at the other end of the bed, smoking with him— which did surprise him— and you two were just talking, with your legs folded one out of the other.
He liked talking to you because you had a different perspective on things. Positive, something he didn't have, and even though he would comment something usually taunting or negative, he actually respects your beliefs.
His tone was lower as your topics changed from your beliefs, to experiences, and how you two went through those experiences. It was more of an insightful conversation. Not forcing each other with the beliefs, but more like education on his part that some people see the world differently from normal people. You're far from normal.
"Well, aren't you a hidden gem" He huskily spoke,
"Thanks. You too." You'd quietly whisper,
"Still don't believe in those bloody cards." He grunts, still attempting to get a reaction.
You laughed softly, "Is this what you think this is? A way to convince you?" Your free hand massages your calves,
"You're just a special customer." You played along after the long silence,
He chuckles, "You're gonna get bankrupt, love." he looks at how disheveled you look, but it works so well. How your hair was somewhat flipped over, or how his polo was falling off your shoulder.
"Don't worry, that's only for you, don't get jealous," you bantered—looking at him through your lashes as you continue to gently massage your calves as you are still sitting, crossed-legged, in front of him, whereas he was still tucked by the blanket.
He lets out a cocky smirk in response, "Yeah, I usually have that charm on people"
"How about you? Do you usually do this to people and things you are skeptical of?" you retort to the question,
And as usual, he already had a reply ready, "Not really my thing, love, no."
You take a drag before leaning in front of him, as if you were going for a hug, but in reality, you just left the cigarette on the ashtray on the bedside.
He, on the other hand, continued, "Why do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"Read those bloody pesky cards. Is that really your job?"
"I just needed some extra since I just moved in. So, I wanted to use my hobby." You then lifted your leg up and now leaned your cheek on your knee— still sitting on the latter end of the bed, opposite to where he was.
"You call that a hobby?" he scoffs. He now looks at the ceiling, "Gotta get out of this town, love, it'll eat you." He doesn't know why he said this, but you were too nice for such a place.
"Why?" You raised your brow
He didn't reply for a few seconds, letting the silence drown them, "It's just a figure of speech. This town is hell, not safe for someone like you."
He said this because he wanted to protect you. He saw the type of person you are, other than your other activities from tonight, and he was able to get a genuine conversation from you. And he respected you, and that was real.
He didn't want this place to ruin you, to ruin your hope, or your optimism.
You didn't respond; instead, you thought and nodded, "If you say so." You trusted him, you didn't know why, you just felt a connection with him, too. Even though it was just a hookup, it was the conversation afterwards, the genuine real-talk felt so raw.
Afterwards, he didn't speak anymore. Nor did you, and you two just stayed that night, enjoying the silence. It wasn't awkward, and it wasn't the type of silence you want to break; it was the type of silence that was peace, that was just respecting each other's space.
You two cuddled that night, but you were both wide awake as both of you thought that whole night, and until the sun was up.
And then, there you were, you again, at the same spot, in the same tent of the same carnival as he lifts up the curtain, an unlit cigarette between his lips as he makes his way to your table.
You greet him again, with that pure smile, but he still couldn't quite figure you out.
He'd do the same again, asking some sarcastic, unserious question just to make a conversation with you. And help you let the time pass before the carnival closes.
He'd have his hands in his pockets as he stood outside the motel door, waiting for you to meet him there.
And it happened all over again. Another hookup, it was so passionate, it was a soft battle between you two. He liked how you were just yourself, and you liked how difficult he was.
And then you spent the other half of the night, talking again, in the dark, and sometimes that's all you need. Someone real and honest to talk to. Before he'd tell you again to turn away from this town. To get away, and to save yourself, because he feared the day he wouldn't see you react that way.
He likes keeping you around, but he respected you enough to warn you to just go back home to your small town, or some other small town, but just not this place.
Other than the occult stuff that haunts every corner, the people and the environment weren't just healthy.
You would hum again and trust him, by agreeing, but you never tell him a plan.
"Don't say goodbye, by the way. I'm not into those things." Constantine let out a low gruff. He was leaning on the headboard again,
You snorted, "Really? Or you don't want to be emotional when I leave?" you bantered him,
You weren't lying; he wasn't good at goodbyes or any sentiments when it comes to these things, so, yes, but he won't say that to you.
"Don't flatter yourself, darling," he would reply with a low husky tone.
This would happen for a few more nights, till finally, when he opened the curtain to the tent again, you weren't there. There were only two tables left, not three.
He just scoffs as he looks at your empty area as if you never happened or existed.
Hands in his pockets, he nods his head subtly before turning and walking away from the carnival. Throwing his cigarette away to the pavement on the side as he hastily walks home. You finally listened to him, and part of it hurts, because even though you two were just bedmates— or whatever label you two had—You two had really nice conversations. Little sentiments, but just two people with two different beliefs, but you two respected your boundaries.
Someone he sees as hope, and someone positive, someone he respects. And now those raw late-night-after-hookup conversations were gone. Maybe he really wasn't after those hookups, and all the different ways you held him; the way you two would give each other turns to give each other what you want. Maybe it was what happened after, a rare shared complicated vulnerability. Or maybe it was a little bit of both.
He won't forget you. Not easily, because sometimes whenever he gets cases around that area again, he would come by to that tent. Taking a peek to see if you would be back there in your place, in the center of the room.
Summary : After your breakup with Matt Murdock, you talked once again on a rooftop while you were patrolling.
Warning : Angst, and for the girlies who are afraid to commit
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"(Your name)," he senses your footsteps behind him. There he was at the ledge of the rooftop, patrolling Hell's Kitchen, until he heard his former partner open the rooftop door ever so quietly. It's been months since he has seen her, since he has smelled her perfume, since he held your hand. He couldn't even remember how it felt, but he wants to.
"Murdock," You copied his tone. He missed that; he missed how you called his name. He was so tempted to hold you, to hug you again, but he kept his back turned to you because he was scared that if he faced you, he would lose control. He was blocking out your heartbeat, how it soothed him, and he feared that if he turned around to face you, he'd be acknowledging your scent, the way you move.
"Heard you had a new guy." He tried not to sound bothered; he tried to block out the sound, the way you shuffled your clothes behind him, and he blocked trying to psychoanalyze you as he just kept his senses focusing elsewhere.
"Am I not allowed to?" You spoke defensively. No, you were allowed, it's just he hated the fact that you had one. He hated how you guys didn't work out.
"Who is he?" He questions, rather dryly, trying not to care, masking it behind a serious and nonchalant tone.
"Parker," you said without regret, he hated that you didn't sound regret, that it didn't take you awhile to double think whether to reveal it or not,
"Spiderman?" He furrowed his brow further, still crouching near the ledge of the rooftop, clenching his fist that rested on his knee— this time, he listened to your heart, it was calm, he couldn't find any hint of nervousness, or doubt, even with your tone he desperately search for it, or the way you were breathing.
"Don't tell me you're jealous." you retort, raising your brow as you stood behind him in your vigilante uniform,
"University boy?" He asks again, "Close. He graduated last year; you're a bit outdated on that news." You dryly respond, and he let out a humorless chuckle
"Wasn't he a photography major?" He continued, "Biophysics." You corrected, again, no hesitation, you bit your cheek and furrowed your eyebrows, "Don't tell me you're trying to compete with that."
"I have two degrees in law, and my own law firm. I don't need to prove myself." Please forgive him, he didn't mean to be that harsh, he just didn't know what was appropriate to respond to that..
"Are you still mad?" You took a few steps back, he heard it, you were pacing in your place, and he finally stood up with a sigh, "Of course I am. You gave up on us." he didn't turn around immediately; instead, he clenched his jaw.
You bit your cheek as you slightly tilted your head to try to read his face from the side, back still against you. "You said we wouldn't work."
"I didn't say that. You know that." He finally turned, and he was walking towards you, and you stood still. "I said I wanted to settle with you."
Your shoulders tense as you avoid his gaze, "You're doing that again," he spoke bitterly. He could sense it; maybe it was the way you shuffled your clothes as you turned your head.
"I can't do that." You didn't know why; it's just the idea of marriage, and all was scary. Your whole life, you were surrounded by failed marriages and failed long-term relationships, so you were scared of something like marriage or engagement.
"So, to the spider, you suddenly can?" He clenched his jaw
"Because, it's not that serious, we're just dating. There's no label."
"That is still a label, (Your name)," He corrects, his voice more authoritative as he towers over you. You retorted, "Not a permanent one," quietly but sharply.
He scoffs, "Do you just like playing with people's feelings?"
"Is that what you seriously think this is all about? Just because I said no when you popped the question?" You spoke harshly, wanting to turn around and leave him here. You both were on patrol duty either way, so it wouldn't matter if you stepped away right now.
"It wasn't about the marriage." He spoke now quietly, "I just want you to give us a chance." He usually doesn't beg, but now his tone seeps a sense of vulnerability as he just tilts his head down to where he senses your figure is.
You quietly swallowed what felt like a heavy metal ball down your throat, your lips were slightly parted as he let out a heavy exhale— all he heard, and this time he psychoanalyzed every action you made, and from behind his mask he was— again— furrowing his brow.
He wanted to beg, and at any moment, it felt like he wanted to be on his knees and plead, but it wasn't him; it wasn't like him to be like that, but for you, he absolutely would, if you'd ask him, he would.
He just missed you so much that he can't handle losing you again. Even though you two had a short time in the relationship, it felt like you two had been together for so long. And he knows you felt that too.
But the toll on living a normal life and then being a vigilante at night was hard, and slowly but surely, you both don't even see each other in the same room, so you broke it off.
"(Your name)." He calls again, desperate for an answer, his voice partly cracks.
"Just give us a chance," he added, his breathing was heavy, and you can smell his cologne with how close you were.
Voices echoing at night on the rooftop, as if you two were the only people left in the world.
"We could've made it work," he adds, he didn't even know at this point if he was convincing you or himself, but he didn't care he just needed an answer, something to hold onto.
You were at a loss for words, on the other hand, and he already knew that, he already felt it and sensed it, "If you really love him, I won't stop you.." he felt a punch in his own gut when he said that, but that was how Murdock was.
No matter how much he wanted someone, if they don't want him back, he knows how to let go. But if there was still a chance, a small gap, he'd fight for that spot.
You felt a punch in the gut as well when he said that. It hurts because you genuinely did love him, it's just that you were scared about the fact that he wanted to settle, that he wanted a serious life with you but you two barely even see each other day to day.
You just didn't want to be hurt, and deep down, he knew that. And deep down, he figured that it was gonna be a problem, which is why he wanted to fix it.
You finally thought of what to say, "I love you still, Murdock. But I'm scared. I'm so scared that I'll get into this and then something happens between us, and I'm already deeply attached."
He tries to cool his nerves, and he spoke quietly yet sternly, "That's how relationships work, (Nickname)."
"Do you think I'm not scared?" He wanted to hold you, but he respected your space. He wanted to hug you, but he could feel how you were trying to keep a distance.
"I need to go." You then turned around. He wanted to grab your wrist and talk to you, but he could sense by your tone that you were tired, and you didn't know what to say. So again, he lets you go; he was alone once again with his feelings to process on his own, but he knew as well that you had your own feelings that you had to process after tonight. With that, he stepped back and jumped towards another building, patrolling for tonight.
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Author's note: Hi let me know if you guys want like a part two or something i just randomly thought of this angsty one-shot scene
