IโM ON SUMMER BREAK!!! ๐๐๐ i finally have time to write and i couldnโt be happier ๐บ
upcoming fics:
iโm your man - james vereker x f!reader (request)
untitled declan oโhara x f!reader + unexpected pregnancy trope (request)
chapter 5 of foxhunter - professor!declan oโhara x f!student!reader
iโll get these posted as soon as i can!! my requests are still open for multiple fandoms, see the list of characters i write for here!! if you donโt see someone you want, send me a message and iโll see what i can do! ๐ฉท๐๐ฉท
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Foxhunter | Professor!Declan O'Hara x Student!F!reader
Chapter 4 ~ "took a look at you through stained glass"
chapter summary: There was always a breaking point you reached in the semester when everything piled up too high and you didn't know where to begin dismantling it, but you didn't think the catalyst would come this early โ and from your personal life. Your professor, acquainted with familial pain himself, struggles to soothe another hyper-independent coper.
gif credit!!!
author's note: i'm sorry for taking a hiatus from this series! university started up again and i've been busier than i thought, also i wasn't sure where i wanted to take this fic. this chapter deals with dysfunctional families, so feel free to skip over it if it's a trigger for you โ i don't think it adds much to the overarching plot that i have planned, just some character development and something to post. i'm not very proud of this one tbh but it was therapeutic nonetheless. regardless, i hope you enjoy this chapter! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated ๐ฉท
chapter 4 warnings: 1,994 words | dysfunctional family dynamics/mommy issues (reader's), menstrual cycles, not much else!!
Like Declan asked, you make it to class on time the following Tuesday. This month your period has been a ravage on your body, so heโs lucky you came at all.ย
While you were cooped up in bed all weekend, Declan hadnโt texted you anything else โ thank god, or you seriously pondered blocking him for your own sanity.ย
This was a game you started, and youโll take full credit for that, but if it ever got too real youโre frightened of what youโd do, what Declan would do. It might be cruel, you or him or both of you might be leading the other one on, but for now itโs safe. Neither of you have done anything that canโt be excused otherwise, and itโll be better to keep it this way.ย Limited contact will only help maintain that restraint.ย
Staring down at Declan over the sea of students as he gives his lecture, it feels strange being the only other person in the room who knew exactly where he had been for the past few days. Declan was proud of his job at the BBC, but he didnโt boast about it; not yet, at least. When he gets promoted to host, youโre sure he wonโt let anyone know the end of it. But for now, as an editor who works behind the camera, only faculty know about his second job. The intimate knowledge feels like a fishing line tethered between the two of you, and a simple tug will let the other know that youโre thinking about them. At least thatโs the daydream your mind conjures up every time Declanโs eyes land on you during the lecture.ย
You wonder if he wears the same suits to the BBC that he does to teach. He doesnโt have to since he isnโt on camera, but heโs the kind of person that you envision wearing the same clothes all the time. Decades will pass and heโll still wear his knitted ties, his wool blazers. It makes the other day when you saw him disheveled, standing in the doorway to his hall in his underwear, all the more tantalizing.ย
At the end of class, he calls out the page numbers that students need to read for their homework. As everyone bends to scribble it down for later, Declan sends you a sly wink. It takes your breath away and on your next inhale it feels like you just ran a marathon.ย
The weak sound catches Laurenโs attention. From her seat beside yours, she asks quietly, โWhat is it?โ
โNothing,โ you answer. But your ill-hidden smirk gives you away. Lauren looks up at Declan, the usual culprit of your flushing, and she gasps softly when she sees his expression is a mirror of yours.ย
โYou slag,โ she teases fondly with a radiant smile.ย
โI donโt know what youโre talking about,โ you excuse yourself away as you pack your bag with haste to evade her interrogation.ย
You can already hear her litany of questions, but then your phone rings.ย
Lauren sees your expression fall and she pats your shoulder, โYouโve got this, kid. Whitney and Iโll be waiting for you at the cafe.โย
You see your friend off with a tight-lipped smile. Guilt still gnaws at the lining of your stomach because despite the emotional support you have from your friends, it wonโt make taking this call any less harrowing. You answer and hold the screen that reads โMomโ up to your ear.
Her tone is joyful like it always is, and it still wouldnโt hurt nearly as bad if her tone matched the bitterness behind her words.ย
โThe least you could do is answer your phone. I called you over the weekend.โ
โMom, Iโve been really busy. I was trying to catch up on sleep, I got my periodโโ
โIf your periods are that bad, you need to go to the doctor. I bet itโs a nightmare getting an appointment over there, though. Did you know that when they lived in Scotland, Aunt Anne took Chucky because he broke his armโโ
โAnd they were in the waiting room for hours, yes. That happens in the States, too.โ
She pauses to choose her next weapon. โIt wouldโve been so much easier if you had just done your pre-med here. Youโd be right down the street and I could do anything you needed.โ
โI think itโs time I get in some healthy exercises of independence, donโt you think?โ
โIโm still your momโ
โI know that.โ
โBut what do I know, right? Nobody listens to me anymore. Not you, or your father, orโโ
โWhat are you talking about? We listen all the time.โ
โYouโre not here anymore so you donโt know what itโs like.โ A self-pitying sigh before, โWell, go and have fun with your new friends. Pam Pembroke, you remember her, your fifth grade teacher? I ran into her at Target and she said that English majors have some of the worst job prospectsโโ
โI donโt care what she thinks. She hasnโt seen me in over ten years.โ
โBut I thought you liked her?โ
โMom, I have to go.โ
โOkay. But oh, waitโฆ can you call me back later when you have time? I wanted to post a collage on Facebook but it wonโt let meโฆโ
โCanโt Dad help you? I saw he just posted one with his work friends on a boat.โ
โUgh, thatโs a whole other story. Thatโs why Iโm askingย you. Heโs useless.โ
Fire licks down your arm, seers your wrist and you throw your phone across the room. You bury your face in your hands, talking loud enough for Declan to hear through your shaky fingers, โIโm sorry.โย Tears squeeze themselves out from behind your bottom lids and drop down your cheeks. You dab them away quickly.
You hear Declanโs shoes on the stairs, shuffling up slowly towards you. You place your hands on your hips and take a look around at the mess youโve made. Sniffling, you raise your hand to the wall that now has a phone-sized dent in it, โFuck, Iโll patch that. Iโm sorry.โ
Declan stops at your desk, about a foot away from you. You can feel the static in the air and you hate it.ย
โDonโt worry about that,โ he looks you up and down carefully. Softly, โWhatโs going on?โ
โNothing. Itโs just my mom. Sheโsโฆโ you take a deep breath. Wrong choice. More tears well in your eyes and you fight the way your mouth twitches downward into a frown.ย You're an ugly crier,ย she told you once. You canโt do this here, not in front of Declan. He hasnโt done anything to deserve the collateral from your dysfunctional family, who โ you remind yourself bitterly โ are overseas. You swipe your hand across the bottom of your nose, not caring about the clear streak your sadness leaves on your forearm. Youโll clean yourself up later when youโre alone; you need to get there now before this gets any worse.ย
โSheโs a lot sometimes,โ you sling your backpack on, quickly making your way over to pick up your phone from the other side of the room. With your teeth clenched, you flip it over โ screen is intact, thank god.ย
Declanโs tall frame that had silently followed your footsteps startles you. You twist around him, getting to the stairs that lead down to the hallway. โItโs fine,โ you excuse. โIโll be fine. Iโm sorry for that, that was rude of me to do.โ
Your professor catches your arm, gently. Youโre not sure who is more surprised, yourself or Declan, that you donโt pull away.ย
โIโve never seen you this upset,โ he says quietly, boring his big, brown, mournful eyes into yours. His hand falls to his side when heโs sure you wonโt scamper away.ย
โItโs nothing I havenโt had to deal with before.โ
โIโm sorry,โ he murmurs.ย
You shrug, โItโs okay. Itโs not your fault,โ you tell him.ย
โItโs not yours, either,โ he says. He gazes at your shoulder, at the lock of hair begging to be put back after being rustled out of place in your frenzy, but he thinks otherwise. Ever quieter, he nearly whispers, โI hope someone has told you that before.โย
You nod, โI didโpeople have. Doesnโt make it any easier sometimes, though.โย
Declan contemplates, โI wonโt hold you accountable for this weekโs assignment. Go home and rest.โ
Your heart pounds, pupils dilate, โNo. Please, no. I need work toโฆ disappear into.โ Speaking the words that youโve used to describe your thoughts only in your own mind out loud for the first time felt strange, but not unwelcome. Not in Declanโs presence. You up your persuasion, โYour class is easy. I can do it from my bed.โ
A sparkle crosses his gaze, โI learned that when you sent me the picture of my book in your lap,โ he teases.
The first break of laughter after being trodden by such grief was always funnier in itself than whatever inspired it. No more than ten minutes ago, you were bursting at the seams with rage. Now, deflated, youโre not sure how you ever got to that point.ย
โIf anything, Iโd like something extra to read,โ you sniffle, shifting your weight between your feet with uncertainty.
Declan stoops to meet your downturned eyes and only speaks when you look at him and mirror his smirk.
โIs that a request Iโm hearing?โ
You nod shyly. Declan tilts his head toward his desk, โCโmere.โย
There, he flips through thick pages of paper all stamped with the viscous ink and mechanical letters of a typewriter. Declan scans across them quickly, his lips moving silently as if cataloguing his thoughts to himself.ย
He pauses on one where the text takes up less than half the page. He reads it over, twice, before he takes it from the pile and hands it to you. โRead this,โ he says. โI think itโllโฆ be beneficial to you,โ he shrugs and his nose scrunches like heโs unsatisfied by the choice of his words but doesnโt know what else to say.ย
You put your bag on his desk and slide the typed poem carefully into the folder you keep for his class. โThank you,โ you chirrup before walking to the door.ย
With your hand on the doorknob, Declan calls, โIf you ever need anythingโฆโย
His shoulders soften when you turn to face him.ย
โIโm your friend.โย
He takes a steadying breath, โI know that processing pain can seem clearer when youโre alone.โ His hands tighten into fists in his pockets, โPlease donโt do that.โย
โI wonโt now that I have something to accompany me,โ you pat your bag fondly.
โ
Hours later, when the moon hangs like a lure in the night sky, Declan OโHara comes to a stop in his leisurely stroll to cure a wicked bout of insomnia and refills the tobacco in his pipe.ย
The moonlight bleaches your skin as your hand reaches out to slam the shutters closed and blot out the pungent smoke from some rambling freeloader down on the sidewalk.ย
Declan stares at the moon until green crescents photocopy themselves behind every blink. To calm himself while he untangles the mess in his heart, he whistles a tune that his grandfather taught him.ย
You impatiently pinch at the knots in your headphone wire and shove them into your ears to drown out the midnight crooner. Thankfully, their interruption seems to be descending away from your window. On your second time reading through the poem Declan gave you, the words trip and fall over the mountains of frustration in your mind. The linguistic hares topple the jagged peaks into a quiet heap of rubble that is fit enough for you to sleep on.ย
romantic dinner (derogatory). . .โงห๊ฐ๐ฑ๊ฑเผโง
pairing: Will x Hannibal x reader
genre: incorrect quotes โข groupchat messages
notes: always kind of wanted to do a few of these cheeky incorrect quotes / messages and hannigram x reader are kind of silly now that I thought about it... so enjoy ?
MINORS DNI!!
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โโโ ๊ฐ ๐ฌ ๊ฑ โโโ
Will:ย i feel like our life is missing something
You:ย romance?
Hannibal:ย Passion.
You:ย spontaneous sex?
Will:ย jesus christ no, i was talking about getting another dog
You:ย oh
Hannibal:ย That is significantly less exciting.
Will:ย thereโs just kind of an emptiness in the house lately
You:ย we have SEVEN dogs
Will:ย yeah but i think we could round it out to eight
You:ย honestly when you said โour life is missing somethingโ i thought this was going somewhere else...
Will:ย why does everyone assume that
Hannibal:ย Because usually when one of us says something ominous it precedes either sex or violence.
You:ย or both
Hannibal:ย What kind of dog were you envisioning.
Will:ย i donโt know yet
You:ย this means he already found one
Will:ย maybe
Hannibal:ย Show us the dog, Will.
Will:ย you cannot judge him.
You:ย we literally helped dispose of a body last week
โฆ โโโโ SHARED UNDERSTANDING
autistic!will graham x autistic!reader
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wc. 640
premise.
based on this ask!
softer request, well we all know mr. graham is autistic himself, what about autistic!reader? autist4autistโฆ i think their schedule would be calm, doing small tasks, comforting things (weighted blanket, low lights). could be cute !!
warnings.
none.
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One of the reasons your relationship works so effortlessly is because neither of you expects the other to perform normality.
There is no pressure to maintain constant conversation, no expectation of eye contact
Being together doesn't require either of you to mask! Which makes evenings spent together feel more like relaxing than a social task.
In your home the overhead lights are almost never used anymore, replaced by smaller warm lamps that cast a soft amber glow across the living room.
Thick blankets are draped over the couch, and if the weight of those heavy weighted blankets is not enough, the dogs are always willing to help out.
Will notices the little things that make you uncomfortable, and over time he starts making those adjustments automatically. He doesn't think of them as accommodations. He just wants home to feel as comfortable for you as it does for him.
Routine is something the two of you naturally settle into. The mornings almost always begin the same way, brushing your teeth, feeding the dogs, a pot of coffee you share, then Will heads out.
And your evenings also often share a similar routine, feeding the dogs, making dinner, washing dishes, sitting on the porch.
Some people would call it incredibly repetitive, but neither of you understands why that would be a bad thing. There is something deeply comforting about knowing what tomorrow will look like
Will loves talking about fishing.
He knows the names of hooks you've never heard of, the differences between fishing lines that all look identical to you, why one lure works better in cloudy water while another should only ever be used in the early morning.
He can explain fish behaviour for hours without realising how much time has passed
He has explained the exact same things to you dozens of times.
Probably hundreds even...
He'll stop halfway through explaining the difference between two hooks, frown slightly, and say, "I think I've already told you this."
And every single time, you smile and tell him to keep going anyway
Not because you've forgotten.
But because you genuinely love listening to him !
You love the way his face softens when he talks about something he understands so completely. You love hearing the excitement creep into his voice when he starts rambling without realising it.
There are afternoons where the two of you sit in the garage for hours with an open tackle box between you, listening to him explain knots, bait, rods, reels, fish migration, water temperatures, and stories from trips he's taken years ago.
You could probably recite half of those explanations yourself by now, but you'd still happily listen to them another hundred times if it meant seeing that little smile on his face.
In return, he gives the exact same attention to your own interests. Whatever captures your attention becomes something he learns alongside you.
He asks thoughtful questions, and encourages you to keep talking even if you suddenly worry you've been rambling for too long.
He understands what it feels like to have something inside your head that's simply too wonderful not to share, and he would never make you feel guilty for being excited.
You stim a lot, your hands are almost always doing something, whether it's fidgeting with a blanket, rubbing the seam of your sleeve, or absentmindedly rocking while you read.
Will rarely even notices anymore because his own habits aren't much different.
Recovery/Alone time is treated with the same importance as spending time together. If either of you has had a difficult day, there is never any guilt attached to wanting to be alone for a while.
You both understand that sometimes it's simply what your brain needs.
The thing you love most about Will isn't that he understands autism.
It's that he understandsย you, just like you understand him.
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