NIGHTCALL

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

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Hey Jade! Can I request anything with shy!reader and Steve please :) I really like your writing <3

steve being a loving dork at a BBQ CW reader hesitates to eat in front of people ♡ fem!shy!reader | 0.9k words

You're sitting on a fold out picnic bench in Steve's backyard. Robin sits next to you with a paper plate full of food. Your stomach rumbles and you look away from her and the BBQ foods she's working her way through, guilty. 

You're super hungry and everything looks good, but you can't make yourself go up to the buffet table. You'd rather die than go to the grill. Steve's parents are hosting and there's loads of people here you don't know, your age and otherwise. Too many people.

"Robin!" Nancy calls from the pool. "Come on!" 

Robin grins at her friend and clambers onto long legs, shucking her food behind you. You watch her go and then look at the wood between your spread knees. 

You feel out of place. 

Almost as soon as she's gone someone's sitting in her grave. You don't look up in case it's someone you don't know, and the back of a warm hand strokes your arm. 

"Hey," Steve says. "Everything okay?" 

You drag your eyes from the bench to his face. He's so pretty it burns, worse than the unrelenting summer sun above, and you can't look at him for long. 

"Yeah," you tell his collarbones. 

"Don't believe you even slightly." His hand strokes again, up the bare length of your arm to the tiny short sleeve of your thin t-shirt. "Listen," he murmurs, softer, soft enough that you meet his eyes. He smiles at you encouragingly. "Are you hungry?" 

"No," you say.

His eyebrows narrow almost imperceptibly, a tiny wrinkle between them that you want to smooth away. 

"Come up to the buffet with me anyway? I want corn on the cob. And a hot dog. And, like, a burger. Cheeseburger?" 

He pokes your thigh with both index fingers until you can't help but smile at him.  

You follow him up to the buffet and you're unsurprised when he shoves a paper plate into your hands. This is fine. This is what you wanted. Still, it feels weird. Awkward, even, to plate food up for yourself. How much are you allowed to take? Is it rude to take lots of one thing?

Steve watches your hesitation out of the corner of his eye. 

"You like these, right?" he asks, pointing to a glass dishware with a pair of tongs in his hand. 

"Yeah," you say weakly. 

Steve starts plating you up. He points to a plate, raises his eyebrows and waits for you to nod. He sees the light in your eyes when you come across your favourite dessert and picks up a new plate to give you a very generous serving, giggling boyishly when you protest. 

Back under the safety of the umbrella you nibble at things happily whilst Steve demolishes a cheeseburger. 

He chases his mouthful with a huge swig of coke. "Feel better?" he asks.

"Sorry," you say, and wince. 

Steve wipes his hand dry on one of the napkins between you and reaches over to squeeze your thigh, the other still dedicated to his coveted cheeseburger. His fingertips feel hotter than his palm. They knead the soft dough of your inner thigh kindly. 

"Eat your food, babe." 

You eat until you're full and wipe your face with your napkin. Steve has turned so his back is to the table, sipping his coke and watching over the kids in the pool with a distinct yet reluctant maternal gaze. 

"Do you wanna swim?" he asks, lolling his head to you lazily. It's more than charming. 

"You can't swim after you eat. It's an unspoken rule." 

"I'll keep an eye on you. I'm, like, a certified lifeguard, you know?" 

You glance at the pool. Everyone is having fun, but…

"I'm okay by here," you say. 

Steve holds his hand out palm up and wriggles his fingers until you take it. When you do he clasps it with the other hand and holds them to his stomach. 

"That's fine. Whatever you wanna do." 

"Steve… if you wanna go swim you don't have to stay with me. You shouldn't," you say softly. 

"I want to sit with you." He rubs a hand down your arm absentmindedly. "If you want me to do things with you-" his eyes dart to the buffet, "you only have to ask." 

You feel an embarrassed heat wash over you. 

"I actually really like doing things with you. That's, like, my favourite thing," he continues, tone lightening.

"Stop flirting with me," you deflect. 

His laugh is barking. Loud and rough, he smiles and looks down at your lap and then back to your face, chuckling. "Can't help it." 

Suddenly, his face goes strange. Concerned. You feel your hackles rise, especially when he pulls one of his hands away from yours, a clear trepidation lining his features. 

"What?" you ask worriedly. 

Steve brings his fingertips to his mouth and licks it quickly. "Tsssss," he says, pressing it to your shoulder. "Oh, baby, you're hot." 

His feigned concern is so genuinely believable that it takes you a good ten seconds to realise he's still flirting with you. You choke on air, flustered beyond words. 

His winning smile is so handsome you can't find it in yourself to be mad. 

"Cool down in the pool with me?" you ask him eventually, a poorly constrained smile playing across your lips. 

He beams and almost leaps across the bench to kiss your cheek. 

he is such a tease!

This just made my day omg it's so cute 💛🦐

Dog Days (TASM!Peter Parker x Reader)

Summary: You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned.

Words: 2.4k

A/N: Andrew Garfield!Spiderman; friends to lovers; heated make-out; cursing; minor injury; mutual pining; possible part 1 of 2? characters are in college & of age.

It was hot. That sticky kind of hot that clung to you and made you feel like tearing your skin off. That makes the sweat pool at the nape of your neck until it slides in a cold streak down the curve of your spine. The New York air was shimmering, alive with exhaust fumes and the output of overworked air conditioning units of every apartment on your block—except for yours. The dumbass thing had broken overnight and when you woke up at five a.m., damp and uncomfortable, you’d called your best friend knowing he’d make a quick fix of it.

But you’d gotten his voicemail, unsurprising given that he’d never been a morning person. Since you’d met him three years ago at freshman orientation, Peter Parker had perfectly offset you in every way. Where he could stay in bed until noon, you were decidedly not a night owl, often cosy in your pyjamas by ten p.m. Peter had a sharp wit and loved to tease, and though his wit brought out a sharp tongue you’d never known you had, you were infinitely shyer than he was. He was perpetually late to everything from the Christmas dinner you’d invited him to at your parents’ home to your final exam for Organic Chemistry—which he’d passed with flying colours—whereas you were punctual to a fault. And perhaps most significantly, you’d never known heartbreak in your life, never had the opportunity because you’d never given anyone your heart to begin with. Peter’s heart, you knew, had endured the worst kind of break. Though he only spoke of her sometimes, you knew his high school girlfriend had died tragically and each year you went with him to visit her resting place, holding his hand and running your thumb over his knuckles as gently as you could. The depths of that pain, written on his face and in his body language whenever he spoke of Gwen, made you steel yourself against love, afraid to give yourself to anyone in case you left them broken and alone.

There was a flaw in your plan to avoid love forever though, and that was Peter himself. As much as you’d tried to swallow them, shut them up in the deepest pits of your soul, bury them where they’d never see the light of day, your feelings for him had only grown in the last three years. At first it was a little thrill each time his eyes met yours, a tingle on your skin when his fingers grazed your own while you shared a carton of fries at a Yankees game. That had grown, exploded really, into a brilliant whirl of colours every time you heard his voice—a sort of love-induced synesthesia that turned Peter’s laughter yellow and his whispers soft purple and his calling your name the deepest, richest scarlet.

You’d fallen desperately in love with your best friend and you were resolutely not going to do anything about it, thank you very much.

“Y/N!” There was a knock at the door of your cramped apartment that drew you out of your crossword puzzle—stuck, as you were, on 18-Down. “It’s Peter!”

You’d barely heard the knock over the sound of Eminem in your headphones, but there was no mistaking Peter’s voice. You were at the door, earbuds abandoned on the coffee table, pulling it open before you remembered that you’d traded in your baggy David Bowie tee and jean shorts for a barely-there camisole and blue panties of the lightest cotton. You might have been ever so slightly perturbed about Peter seeing you in your underwear if he wasn’t sporting a large cut along his jawline; one that looked achingly fresh.

“Did you shave with a machete this morning?” You asked, stepping out of the doorway and making room for him to enter.

“A scythe, actually,” Peter deadpanned. If only you’d known he was being entirely serious—his neck having had a near miss with some villain’s techno-reproduction of a classic medieval weapon only hours ago. “It’s hot as hell in here, Y/N. Are you trying to get me naked?”

Your cheeks flushed and you made quick work of rolling your eyes as dramatically as possible, trying to distract Peter from the change of colour in your face. He was an expert at changing the subject, so much so that you’d long since given up trying to get him to talk about anything he didn’t want to, such as why he was chronically late or where he’d disappeared to that night you had tickets for the Rangers playoff game, or how he managed to find time to workout with his ridiculous school schedule and familial duties because god damn, his arms—you stopped yourself from letting that thought full form, knowing it would send you down a rabbit hole.

“Don’t think I’m not keeping a tally of every time you dodge my questions,” you muttered, moving to the refrigerator and opening it briefly to let some cool air out on your heated chest. The emptiness of the shelves reminded you that you really needed to get groceries because ramen noodles, eggs, and the rapidly decaying bananas on the counter would not keep you alive forever. “And didn’t you get my voicemail?”

“No,” Peter shrugged, “I saw you left me one but thought I’d just swing by.” A small smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, though you couldn’t for the life of you figure out what the joke was.

“Well, the AC is broken,” you informed him, straightened up and facing him where he stood in your living room, his tall and lean frame a familiar sight there alongside the stacks of textbooks and novels, the record player, and the pile of throw pillows you couldn’t stop collecting. For a long moment, Peter stared at you, his head tilted slightly to the side as if he was just now seeing you since coming in. You felt much more naked than you actually were under his stare and shifted your weight from one leg to the other, your hand coming to tug down at the hem of your camisole. Peter had seen you nearly nude before, but this felt—different. Maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was the unfamiliar expression that flashed across his eyes. Either way, it had you squeezing your legs together as subtly as possible. If Peter noticed, he didn’t let on.

“That explains the outfit,” he grinned, tone light, though you noticed the way his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard.

“It was hardly my first choice,” you shot back, “But anyways, now that you’re here do you think you could fix it?”

“This feels like the start of a por—”

“Don’t say it, Parker,” you cut him off with a warning glare, eyes wide. Peter only laughed, though stopped almost immediately, favouring his jaw. Already it looked like the gash was healing and you wondered where he’d gotten it from—it reminded you, oddly, of the ankle he’d “sprained” while showing you a skateboarding trick last summer. You would swear up and down, on every holy text that existed, that you’d seen his bone popping out of his skin. But the next day he’d been absolutely fine and you were certain that the limp he’d had for a week was half-faked.

“Y/N? Are you alive in there?” Peter’s amused voice drew you from your reverie and you nodded, running your fingers through your hair to get it out of your face.

“Alive and well,” you reported, “So you think you can fix it?”

***

As it turned out, Peter could fix the AC unit, but he’d need to pick up a part at the hardware store down the street. While he examined the ancient device mounted on your bedroom wall, you sat perched on your bed, silky pink blankets long since tossed to the floor, watching him with interest, noticing everything about the way his hands moved carefully over the shabby metal, the way his brow furrowed when he peeked inside the unit, and the way his eyes crinkled when he announced that it wouldn’t be an issue to repair.

For his part, Peter knew your eyes were on him—he wouldn’t go so far as to call it Spidey-sense, he just knew you and he’d had an inkling of the feelings you harboured for him for quite some time, though that part probably was Spidey-sense. It wasn’t that he didn’t feel the same way, because god knows he did, but he was terrified to let himself fall in love again; beyond hesitant to ever let anyone get hurt again because of him. But then there was the way you looked at him, your eyes sparkling with delight when he made a stupid joke. And the way you said his name, like it was a magic spell wrapping itself up inside him and making him forget everything other than your voice. Yes, he loved you—more deeply than he’d thought he’d ever love again—but he was afraid to be in love with you.

When he delivered the happy news that he’d be able to get cool air back into your apartment, he felt his heart swell at the look of relief on your face.

“You’re my hero, Pete,” you said earnestly, “Really and truly.”

You had no idea.

“Yeah,” he said lightly, “I’m the best.” He saw the pillow coming at him even before it fully left your hands and dodged it in a swift, graceful motion.

“That’s not very nice,” Peter grinned wolfishly at you and your heart fluttered, “Here I am helping you out like a dear old gentleman and you throw things at me.” With another two quick, almost instantaneous steps, he was at your bedside, his hands coming down to your ribcage, fingers curling in as he began to tickle you mercilessly. You couldn’t do much more than squeal, kicking gently to get him off of you, whining his name as you begged him to stop.

“Peter!” you cried out, “It’s too hot for this!” There were tears in your eyes, threatening to spill down your cheeks and your bottom lip was swollen from where you were biting it to try to keep control of your laughter. Looking down at you, Peter knew he was finished, absolutely doomed, to fall into the warm and beautiful void that was loving you.

His fingers paused their attack and you both seemed to take stock of the position you found yourself in; you, flat on your back in bed, hair a dishevelled mess haloed out over your head; him, legs spread so that they were straddling your hips, his arms on either side of your body, lean muscles holding him up.

“Pete—” you whispered, eyes fluttering down to where your bodies met, lashes wet with unshed tears.

He blinked once, twice, three times, a pregnant pause in the hot air before his brain supplied the two words he’d been wanting to hear, giving him permission to plunge forward. Fuck it.

“Y/N,” he licked his lips, “You—” his fingers moved from your ribs to the edge of your camisole, thumbing across its stitching, “You’re so beautiful.”

Your breath hitched in your throat and your eyes shot up to his, pupils dilated. Your lips twitched, uncertain. “Don’t do this,” you sighed, all the while your own hands moved as if of their own accord, coming to rub up and down his arms, caressing lightly over the rippling muscle.

“Do what?” he asked, hand pausing in its movement to slip under your shirt. He withdrew it immediately, hoping he’d not grossly misread the situation.

“Don’t start something with me that you won’t finish,” your voice was barely there, “I—” You couldn’t bring yourself to say it, couldn’t utter those little words out loud, but you knew Peter understood. You could tell from the way he settled down closer to you, his lips running feather-light kisses along your collarbone, the way he brushed the lightly calloused pad of his thumb over your eyes.

“Y/N, I feel like I was finished the moment I met you,” he said, “And now I’d really like to give you a proper kiss, if you don’t mind.”

“Hopefully you’re as good at kissing as you are at running that mouth, Par—”

The words couldn’t finish leaving your lips because Peter’s shut them right back into your mouth. He kissed you gently at first, then ran his tongue along your lips, asking entrance which you granted easily enough. Your kiss went on for what felt like years, each of you learning the other with care and attention. His hands explored your body freely, eliciting small moans of approval that led him along a path he was memorizing and then his lips were navigating that same path, kissing and nipping at your shoulders, your clavicle, your navel, between your breasts at the edge of your shirt.

You were on fire as your hands tangled into his soft brown hair, nails gently massaging into his scalp. You knew, from the vibrations on his lips, that he liked the sensation and filed that information away for a later date.

Once he’d kissed all the way down to your ankles, Peter flopped onto the mattress beside you, watching as your chest heaved with pleasure.

“It feels even hotter in here than before,” he smirked, “I should go grab that part, yeah?”

You swatted at him, laughter on your lips. “You’re the worst, Peter Parker.”

He caught your hand in mid-air, wrapping his fingers around yours and gently squeezing your palm—once, twice, three times. Three squeezes for three little words that neither of you were ready to say yet, but that you would willingly show each other.

“I’m serious,” Peter said, “I’ll grab the part and a pizza and we can hang out, even though I’m the worst.”

You rolled your eyes again, still trying to steady your heart rate. “Like I said, my hero. How can I ever repay you?” For good measure, you placed the back of your hand against your forehead, faking a swoon.

Peter only looked at you with fire in his eyes. “I can think of a few ways.”

He was out of the room before you could throw another pillow at him. Shame.

𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖆𝖇𝖗𝖊

Pairing: Hannibal X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: mentions of weapons and murder, implications of sexuality, that's about it ⚠️

AN: Hey panko shrimps, it's been a while! I hope to make this account more active going into 2024 so I hope this Hannibal fic is a good ease back into writing! 💛🦐

Your feet tapped against the hardwood floor in anticipation. It had been a long time coming to actually go along with your doctor's referral to see a psychiatrist and here you were, against your initial wishes. There wasn't much to you that you didn't already know as you considered yourself to be quite introspective most of the time; yet here you were with your anxieties hopefully concealed to your best ability, and the faux smile plastered on your face to hide whatever was left over. An unsettling feeling was still in your stomach which you hoped would eventually subside.

The waiting room itself was nothing short of grand. The marble flooring and intricately carved stone walls gave the impression of perfection but hindered the possibility for any sunlight that could have potentially set you at ease. It was a cold sort of old money interior, not that you had been directly expecting anything else of the sort, just silently hoping for a more inviting atmosphere. Dressed to match the occasion (and the environment, it seems), you were wearing a knee length black skirt and a white button down top. Black tights and matching flats with your hair neatly in place made the rest of the outfit cohesive. You weren't looking to stand out, especially not to whomever your new psychiatrist was.

But oh, how fast that would change.

A few more agonizing minutes went by before the large door to your right opened up revealing a tall man seemingly in his forties with unkempt hair and jackets piled one on top of the other. Black framed glasses adorned his angular and unshaven face; almost as if they were strategically placed there to cover the large under eye bags he had. Your initial response was one of surprise and then somewhat of a let down. If a man who was supposed to aide others through their difficulties looked as if he had a million and one of them himself, what work was there he could provide?

Setting your initial judgements aside, you reach your hand out to shake his. "Y/N. You must be Doctor Lecter?" You asked in a small voice, smaller than you intended. There goes your original plan of coming across as dominant and straightforward. Guess you'll have to use another tactic to try and withhold the fact you were terrified for this meeting.

"Oh, ah no." He said, offering his hand to shake yours and then immediately after doing so, wiped his hand on his jacket. A rude gesture that didn't go unnoticed. "I'm Will Graham."

Another anxious twinge ran through your whole nervous system. Were you in the wrong room? The wrong place? The wrong building, perhaps? That's infinitely more embarrassing than anything else you could've mustered about this gathering.

Stepping slightly aside and placing his hands into his pockets, another taller figure emerged from the doorway from beside this supposed Will Graham. This man, unlike the other, immediately had you floored. Slicked back greying hair with a chiseled face that of a Danish statue paired oh so wonderfully with a black tux, pink button down and an expensive tie was the only thing that filled your vision. His eyes were piercing with a hint of some unfamiliar darkness, however, that calming sunlight you had hoped for seemed a silly request now. It was almost as if those two things, this man's eyes and the sun, could not exist within the same place as though his expression would diminish the light emitting from the solar system. You'd never found yourself so infatuated so quickly and the thought scared you but drew you in with a perplexed curiosity that you hadn't experienced yet before.

"Y/N," he smiled, reaching his hands out to hold the both of yours in a formal greeting, "I must be the man you're looking for."

You almost said yes, yes you are right there and then. His hands were cold but steady, artist's hands. You briefly remember being told of Doctor Lecter's past occupation with working in the surgical room.

"Doctor Lecter?" You asked, as if you needed to confirm. You smiled at him, forgetting your worries and your determined voice came back to you and you silently thanked Will for being the person your meekness was originally directed towards.

"Ah yes, that would be me. Please forgive me for going slightly past overtime, I was just finishing up my appointment with Mr. Graham here."

Cordial and charming. What a dangerous mixture of the two adjectives.

"I'll be out now," Will said, looking down at his phone with a poignant expression, "Jack will be wondering my whereabouts anyways."

"Then you must go," the doctor said, never taking his eyes off of you once, "wouldn't want him to worry."

You watched as Will nodded and placed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat and made his way to the polished staircase leading to the exit. His disappearance almost didn't entirely register to you at all as you looked down and noticed your hands were still intertwined with the doctor's. As if he just noticed it as well, he offered up an awkward chuckle as he gently removed his hands from yours, not wiping them on his shirt as his counterpart had.

"Shall you come in?" He asked, placing the large of his back against the doorway with an invitation in the form of an outstretched hand towards the room he'd just come out of, making room for you to walk through.

"Oh uh yeah." You remembered your reasoning for being there in the first place as your senses came back to you. Let's get this over with.

• • • 💉 💉 💉 • • •

Inside, the office was massive, the marble flooring continuing into the carpeted room. A large desk loomed towards the front of the room with a decorative Turkish lamp placed atop along with various writing utensils and a laptop. A couple of chaise lounges took up residency by the furthest area of the study and were closest to the largest curtained windows you've ever seen in your life. A small table with large papers littering the top of it wasn't too far off from the designated seating arrangement and to top off the grandeur of the room itself, was a second half-story with walls lined with books.

It was as if you had stepped into some sort of museum with the way everything was spotless. Everything was clean and if it wasn't organized, it was a neat type of disorderly. What stood out to you the most was this small table of disorder with all the papers haphazardly sticking off the ends and so you went to investigate as the doctor stood a few feet behind you, watching your every move. With the slight sway of your hips and the way your hair fell, he would be amiss to not focus himself on you. It was not like him to feel this strongly, whatever this feeling was, about anyone upon first introduction yet here you were. A presence so familiar yet so foreign to him as he became mentally aroused by the thought of something that wasn't murder. Something that could captivate his interest and lure him in. Perhaps it was a good thing he'd gotten the patient referral.

Your outfit was inviting, yet not too revealing. It left him with an appetite for more yet an appreciation for the craft. The way you held yourself was one of someone who has been guarded her whole life, but has done the emotional work of opening up once more, although with caution. The slight dirt on your soles gave him enough information to know that you cared about your appearance, but not to the point where you were vain or someone who required a lot to make them happy. You were gorgeous, of course that was a given, but you came with the inner workings of a traumatic past- one that made you feel as though taking up space was a crime in itself. He was determined to rewire that thinking of yours, not just as a psychologist but as someone who could see the beauty in you.

Unbeknownst to his observation, you slid your hand carefully over the papers to see they had been drawn on in graphite. Beautiful images of anatomy danced over them in an alluring yet subtly worrisome way. The figures were beautiful, yes, but the compromised positions they were in and the sharp weapons that stuck out of their flesh had your heart skip a beat.

As if he could hear what was going through your mind, the doctor spoke up to alleviate any worries you might have. "The macabre. There is art in death and I hope to shed light on that through my drawings." He said, calm and sultry.

You heard his shoes against the floor as he made his way over to you. His cologne was sharp but not unpleasant as the scent filled your lungs, his arm just brushing yours as he looked down at his own works as if critiquing them in his mind although he was only really looking to see what your reaction would be. Would you flinch away from him after seeing these? Would you be drawn in, curious or would another wave of nervousness hit like what you had felt in the waiting room?

Instead, you look up at him, the two of you very close now. "They're lovely, I think your attention to detail is phenomenally done."

A wave of heat went down his spine. Why did it fill him with such satisfaction to hear a compliment of his work (which he knew was quite good) escape your lips? He dismissed it almost as quickly as it arose, however. He must keep things professional and he wasn't fond of the way his entire demeanor seems to have gone awry upon your arrival. It was so hard to be collected in your presence. How is that so?

Returning to his original formalities, he gestures for you to take a seat on one of the lounges, away from any implication of the monster he truly was on the inside, although his stoicism concealed it well.

You complied, respectfully making sure your skirt was correctly placed before sitting down on one of the velveteen sofas, trying your best to make yourself comfortable. Any forwardness you may have regained upon walking into the study has now left you alone, struggling to regain your composure. You tried your best to go down the list of everything making you anxious so as to tackle each problem in an efficient and healthy way, as you had been told to do from previous visits to therapists in the past.

1.) You're in a new setting.

This is something that a lot of people struggle with, you told yourself, trying to put yourself at ease and to not blame yourself too much. It'll become a familiar setting with the more meetings you have with the doctor.

2.) You're nervous about keeping up appearances.

Well, you had just met the guy and you haven't embarrassed yourself all too badly yet. You had mistaken his patient Will for him, but that was an honest assumption. You doubt he would've thought anything too much of it as it didn't seem entirely unusual.

3.) There is a very, very attractive man sitting across from you right now.

This was the one thing you weren't sure you could talk yourself down from. From the way he positioned his legs comfortably one over the other with his head rested against his palm in the armchair to the notebook he had in his lap, he was the literal definition of temptation. It was as if the devil himself were trying to get you to bite the apple and consume yourself with desire. This random invigorating feeling of lust springing up on you out of nowhere was so out of the ordinary for you. There was an undeniable tension between the two of you, yes, but this sudden satiation was seemingly preposterous.

You folded your hands in your lap and settled on looking at the floor rather than Doctor Lecter.

He cleared his throat and began to speak in that tone that drove you wild. "Would you perhaps like a drink?" He asked, innocently enough.

"Sure, as long as it wouldn't be an imposition." You say, finally mustering up the courage to look at him.

He smiled and arose from his chair to busy himself at the liquor cabinet you hadn't noticed upon first glance of the study. "Not at all, are you more of a wine or beer type of woman?"

He took off his blazer and laid it upon the backing of the chair closest to the large desk, revealing the pink button down from before. He opened the cabinet and poured himself a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon before turning to face you.

"I like wine, if you don't mind." You said, offering up another one of those faux faces of confidence. You felt yourself sit up straighter in your seat.

"I hope red is alright, I'm more of a red wine enthusiast myself. Pairs well with dishes." He states, before going to pour yours and offer you the glass, which you took tentatively.

"You're a chef?" You ask.

"Yes, it's a hobby of mine," He sits down in the chair again, placing the notebook in his lap once more before he asks, "Do you have any hobbies?"

He begins to write. The session has begun.

"I'm somewhat of an artist myself." You say, staring at the page as you see his hand create the unmistakable swirls of the cursive alphabet. Of course he writes in cursive.

"Mhm." He smiles to himself, reaching for another sip of the Cabernet. "Of what medium?"

"I prefer portrait work. With pencil, I mean." You notice a lipstick mark on the side of the glass you had just used, much to your dismay. You didn't want to make his dishes any dirtier than you already would be by drinking out of them. Lipstick could be difficult to remove.

He had also noticed this too, and had silently prayed for you not to remove it. Something in him told him he would be cherishing that glass after you had left it, reveling in the dark red makeup left behind by your lips. Even your stained imprint in his dishes had a divinity to it.

You set the glass down and continued the conversation. "I also enjoy reading, so you can imagine my surprise noticing your extensive library."

"You like my library? It took quite the time to build it, much less fill it with literature of my liking."

You allowed your eyes to move around the room and take in everything you may have missed on the second floor, seeing now the ladder that was placed against the side of the balcony. You would have a field day in here.

As if reading your mind again he adds, "You're welcome to it any time you'd like."

"I- thank you, that's very kind." You say, turning to face him once more. He seemed pleased you didn't immediately turn down the offer although he wasn't quite sure where the offer had come from himself.

"Not an issue at all." He states, looking directly into your eyes now. It's a gaze you don't feel as though you'll ever recover from. It's intense and cold but somehow so inviting in a way that's more peculiar than anything else. There's a darkness behind them, despite their bright blue nature. Everything around them fades to black and it's almost as if you're so deep into them that you've traveled to an alternate dimension entirely. You feel as though you're looking right through them, not into his soul, no. But to something much darker, much more insatiable.

Snapping back into reality, you notice how close the two of you have gotten to one another. He stands up, extending his arm out to you and then pulling you up with him, wine glasses and notebooks discarded along with the conversation you two never finished. Your eyes never left each other once as you were now face to face almost chest to chest, him towering over you.

"D-doctor I-"

He tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, looking down at you.

"Please, call me Hannibal."

THIS IS THE CUTEST THING I HAVE EVER READ IN MY LIFE.

Thank you for making this, you're such a beautiful writer and I love your work.

💛🦐

Scars

Cliff Booth x reader

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: talks of knives and injures that lead to the scars

Author’s Note: Hi love! Thank you for being so kind and I hope that you enjoy this one! I thought it was pretty cute but that might be just me considering I did in fact write this lol. Enjoy!

Requested: by anon, hello! i really love all of your cliff booth x reader imagines! can i request one where cliff and the reader are cuddling or something and the reader gets curious about how he got his scars and/or what injuries he has gotten over the years (and it is just really fluffy)? Tysm

Summary: the request

Genre: flufff

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

(not my gif)

Keep reading

May I request an imagine with Steve/Eddie where they visit girlfriend (reader) and see that shes using there shirt/jacket as a pillow case?🥺

this is the sweetest idea ever and i thought steve would find it so cute thank you for requesting! 1k fem reader :3

Steve hasn't seen you in four days and six hours when he knocks your door, incompatible schedules solely to blame. He's sick as a dog on your stoop waiting for you to answer, a bouquet of flowers hidden behind his back. 

You open the door and he watches with an aching chest as your lips turn up into a beaming smile. "Steve!" you say, almost tripping over the threshold in your rush to get arms around him. 

He chuckles and hugs you back with one arm holding the flowers away from you, the closeness of your body an instant relief. He takes in all your smells and softness, your shampoo and body lotion, the heady scent of perfume as he pushes his nose into the space behind your ear. 

You make a small breathless sound as he squeezes you and try to squeeze him tighter, an evil giggle bubbling out of you as your arms become a vice. 

"Ouch," he pretends, patting your back. "Alright, enough with the squeezing, popeye." 

"You started it," you say cheerily. 

He pulls you away from his neck. "Lemme look at you." 

You oblige, chin jutting up, eyes half lidded as you pose for him. He eats up the details of your pretty face hungrily, wondering if it's possible for someone to get more attractive in a hundred and two hours. It's definitely likely. 

"You're still pretty?" he asks. "I thought we agreed you were gonna stop." 

"I didn't agree to anything of the sort. What's behind your back?" you ask, practically glowing. 

He presents the flowers gladly, his arm aching from being all pretzeled up. You gasp loudly though he knew you'd felt them during your aggressive hugging. 

"These are for me?" you ask, taking them into your hands. 

"Nah, my other girlfriend." 

You glare at him for about two seconds and then you're smiling so hard he thinks your cheeks must ache with it, grabbing for his hand to pull him inside.

"I've missed your sarcasm," you say, and it's a discredit to Steve that he has no clue if you're being sincere or otherwise. 

You pull him straight to the kitchen and pull a vase down from atop one of the cabinets. 

"We're gonna be late for the movie," Steve says. 

"Sorry, I just have to get these in water. Actually, I'm rescinding my apology. It's your fault for buying flowers." 

"And I never will again," he threatens with little heat and even less honesty. 

"Uh-huh," you say, arranging the flowers nicely in the small glass vase. "Oh, I don't have my purse." 

"I'll get it." 

"Would you?" you ask, relieved, fully focused on the bouquet, moving flowers around to make them look best. 

He's fast up the stairs and into your bedroom, a familiar place that smells like all his best memories. Your sheets are rumpled and there are clothes everywhere, perfumes and deodorants and skincare strewn over your vanity. Steve doesn't know where to look, eyes panning over the room twice before he spots your discarded purse on the floor by the side of your bed. 

He bends down to grab it and his eyes zero in on your pillow. He reaches out, rubs his hand over material that he knows well. 

You've tucked your pillow inside one of his t-shirts. He feels glued in place, feet refusing to move as he takes it in, as he imagines your sleeping face pressed against it. 

He feels an incredible and heart aching rush of affection for you, and then an overwhelming swell of joy. He's loved. He's very, very loved. He thinks of your hair tie on his wrist even now, how his eyes dart to it over and over and over while he's working and how he refuses to take it off, even though each reminder of you is a melancholy stab to the chest when he can't see you. 

Your footsteps up the stairs. "Did you find it? I finished all the flowers. Thank you, Steve, really, they're so beautiful, I-" 

You're cut off by his arms around you again, your feet lifting off of the ground as he pulls you up and in, his arms under yours, his hands gripping your shoulders likely too tight. You cup his head with your forearms. 

"This is nice," you murmur, rubbing your cheek against his temple. He takes a handful of deep breaths.

When he sets you down he doesn't let you go – he chases you, your back bending as he tries to pull you impossibly closer. 

You're quiet for a little while, the two of you standing and hugging, breathing in the other. Then, "Steve? Is everything okay?" 

He pulls away, hands on either side of your throat to hold you still, knowing what he's gonna ask will have you averting your eyes. 

"You're using my shirt as a pillow case?" he asks. 

Like he'd assume your eyes widen and then close almost all the way. You turn your face from him. "Uh, maybe?" 

"Y/N," he says. 

"I know it was only a few days but I missed you so much, and it smelled like you, and I was supposed to take it off, I swear I was going to…" you ramble. 

Steve takes your warmed cheek into his hand. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip. There needs to be a word, he thinks, to describe this feeling. To want to give her anything she asks for. 

He drops his forehead gently into yours, his eyes closing, indulging in you. He doesn't need to see to know where your mouth is and after some racing thoughts about your general loveliness he pushes into it firmly with his own. You return his kiss, your gloss sticky lips parting eagerly as you bring your hand to his chest, your palm over his heart. 

He leans in hard for one desperate second, exhaling what feels like a year's worth of tension against your skin before pulling back. 

"I missed you," he says, head bobbing vehemently for emphasis.

"I missed you more," you say, hand roving up his collar, fingertips brushing lightly over his neck. 

"Not likely," Steve says, moving in for another quick kiss. 

"Were you sleeping with my clothes?" you ask him pointedly.

"Not your shirt," he says in a smug tone, joking, anything to make you laugh or embarrassed or both. 

There's something about the press of your lips when he teases you that drives him crazy. You burst into scandalised laughter like he'd hoped. Steve feels even more love sick than he had earlier.

It's Okay to Not be Okay

Billy Hargrove X Reader

You finally open up to your boyfriend about how you've been feeling and you're met with a side of him you didn't realize existed.

⚠️ Warnings: MENTIONS OF AN ED, slight angst, slight swearing? Affectionate Billy ⚠️

Sitting outside on the steps to your boyfriend's house, you felt a pit in your stomach as you contemplated what words to use next. In the grand scheme of things, you didn't think your eating habits would be something to worry about with the Upside Down existing, but your boyfriend had you sit down to explain to him what exactly was going on. You supposed that it wasn't fair to keep him out of the loop like this, but you just really didn't want him to worry. You were doing a good job at concealing it for the most part until you had fainted earlier that evening.

"Hey." Billy said, coming out from the house with a bottle of water in his hands. He gently set the drink by you and joined you on the stairs while you looked up at the night sky. It was pretty but you would've enjoyed it more if you weren't about to have the conversation you were going to.

"Hey." Was all you said, not turning to look at him for fear of what he might do or say. Billy had always been somewhat of a menace to others and had been known to be forceful when things didn't go his way. You were usually met with his softer side, or what you supposed would be softer actions. You wondered if that would hold through to tonight. He didn't seem angry when he placed his hand on your leg, gently rubbing the spot and chewing on his lip in concentration. He was at a loss for words.

When he finally figured out exactly how he wanted to go about the situation, he spoke up, "(Y/N), Are you okay? Please don't just say yes because you feel you have to."

Your eyes started to feel droopy with oncoming tears but you pushed them down. It wasn't all the time that you were emotional with him but when he treated you as though you were the whole world, it was hard for you not to be.

Your eyes met his and you noticed how stern but worried he looked. His expression wasn't one you were expecting, to say the least. It was a nice surprise however and you felt your bones become heavy as you let yourself sink into his arms.

"Billy." You said, in between sobs as you finally let go of the words you had been wanting to say for so long.

"(Y/N)."

"I'm having a hard time eating." You said, feeling the words slip off your tongue into reality. It never felt real or like a necessity to talk about until this very moment as your lover stared you in the eyes. You felt him stiffen as you let go into his chest and as one weight lifted, another one fell.

"I know." Was what he replied with, moving his arms to wrap around you and push your hair back behind your ears. This only made you sob harder into his chest. "I've known this whole time but I didn't want to treat you as though you weren't capable of handling yourself. I should've said something sooner."

Getting up from his chest, you tried to wipe the tears off your face in a haste to stop this emotion from taking over. Surprising you with his actions once more, he held your hands gently to stop you from wiping them.

"Don't." He said, rubbing small circles onto your skin. "Let them fall. It's okay."

Billy let you cry some more in his arms as he lit a cigarette. He took a drag and then handed it to you, allowing for you to calm yourself down with the drug. Thanking him silently, you move in closer to his touch and allow for his arms to consume you entirely like the depressive episode you were having. Of course Billy had known. The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. The nights you would go to bed without eating anything he made for the two of you and all of the times you would pass up dinner dates. The breakfasts you spent together where you would insist that a stick of gum was plenty enough to hold you over until lunch and then not meeting him in the cafeteria. He had known all along, but he didn't know how to help you when you didn't know how to help yourself. He wanted to save your ego.

You started to laugh a little bit as you handed the cigarette back up to Billy to which he placed between his fingers and let a small smile loose.

"I missed that noise, where had you been hiding it all this time?" He asked, gently poking you in the sides to try and get another laugh out.

"You were trying to boost my ego." You said, turning up to look at him. That was when you saw a small tear threatening to slip out of his eyes. He was too concentrated on the stars above as he took another drag and listened to what you had to say. You didn't want him to know that you had seen the tear, so you adverted your gaze back to its original position. Now you were the one who was saving his ego.

"No. I just didn't want you to think that I would treat you like you weren't the badass I know and love." He said, passing the cigarette back over to you.

"Would I still be that badass if I asked for a little help every now and then?" You asked, trying to state your insecurity to him in a way that would be a bit playful in fear that you were dropping too much on him. He smiled at you with those beautiful eyes that you fell in love with time and time again.

"Of course." He said with absolute certainty before leaning over and placing a hand on the side of your cheek.

The stars may have been beautiful tonight, but Billy was more beautiful.

For The Glory of Rome

MARCUS ACACIUS X READER

You're finishing your senior year at Orpheus University when your history class is chosen to give an evaluation on one of the professors. Why does he feel so familiar?

⚠️ Past lives AU! Reader is Geta and Caracalla's sister! Reader is also 22 years old, Pedro is older. ⚠️

The mountains were just visible through the window you were sitting next to; their peaks reaching toward the sky above, almost as if in embrace. They were beautiful at this wintry time of year, with the snow cascading down their formations and painting them white. Bare trees that flanked them transformed into branches of green where the cold hadn't hit just yet- your eyes traveling further down the scene. It was that transitory period of the merging seasons, where autumn became winter and left everyone with an odd illness due to the changing weather patterns. Both snow and leaves were tracked inside the bustling classrooms that were alive with the excited chatter amongst the students. Everyone was excited for the upcoming break that would mark the end of the semester. For you, it would mean the midway point of your senior year at Orpheus.

You'd gone to Orpheus all three years of your college career so far, immediately entranced by the large stone pillared building it was. It was so different from your usual pace in the rainy countryside, with its suburban feel and authentic restaurants. It wasn't immediately that you felt the urge to explore the grand halls of the place and to make it your home, but that feeling came soon enough. One glance at the psychology department and a sip of coffee from the bistro down the road were enough to convince whatever part of you left unsure this would be the place. Even with how far you had to uproot yourself and make such a move, you'd made the connections you'd needed and the friends you'd always wanted.

Lee had sat himself next to you this morning with a coffee cup in hand and his phone in the other. He was addicted to that screen- any video that would appear around his recent interest in Danish pop music would be enough to send him down a spiral of excitement. The coffee, however, was for you.

"Morning!" He said, way too chipper for an 8:00am class. He usually went to Starbucks way too close to the time you were meant to be seated with only a minute left to spare. How he didn't have crippling anxiety around his time management, you'd never know. But he did bring you a drink.

"Hey, Lee." You said, with as much energy as you could muster at the moment given how tired you were. "Thanks for the coffee."

Lee threw his bag onto the ground under the long tables in the lecture hall. His spot had been on the other side of the room for the majority of the class as he'd argued he couldn't focus if seated next to you for laughter purposes. However, today he plopped himself down into the one next to you with his notebook open to the most recent material from last week. His hair was a mess as he'd most likely not had the time to brush it but at least his pants matched his shirt today.

"Yeah, 'course."

You took a sip of the drink, wincing slightly at the heat on your tongue. He'd remembered you liked your coffee black.

This morning, you had your history course which was conveniently in the building furthest from your shared apartment. Deciding the added three minutes to your walk would mean a warmer outfit for the day, you wore a white button down with fleece tights under your skirt. You had to substitute your usual leather jacket in favor for a heavier coat but still opted to wear the full face of makeup you had on every day. Eyeliner was your saving grace and you swore you'd never be caught outside without it on. You weren't much of a "girly girl," but that beauty product was the one exception.

Your shoes were still a little damp from the snow and the water had melted into the bottom of your bookbag, to your dismay. Your notebook was mostly fine except for the bottom edge, where the pen ink had run together, ruining your script.

"Did you hear about the evaluation today?" Lee asked, with his arm outstretched, offering you one of the Starbucks napkins to dry your notebook.

You hummed in a quizzing tone, signalling you didn't hear about it as you got to work cleaning up the mess before class started. There wasn't much you could do about the few pages that had been destroyed, but thankfully it wasn't the topic you needed at the moment.

"Well," Lee went on assuming you wanted him to continue, "Professor Klotsbach had to officially go on maternity leave so they're giving us someone else for the duration of this year. Apparently they're having this new guy come in today and we get to decide whether we like him or not." Lee said, rustling through his own belongings. "The history majors are saying this is the fifth one this semester."

"Oh? that'll be interesting. I didn't realize she was out already." You stated, throwing the napkins into your coat pocket. At least that meant this class would be easy today and you wouldn't have to worry too much about the notes. You took another sip of your coffee and turned your attention back to the large window to stare at the mountains again. The sun was really starting to come up now, which would hopefully make the walk home warmer. The sunlight shone over the leaves and made its way into the classroom, turning the wood paneling into that comforting auburn color you loved. Even with the weather outside, the inside felt like summer.

You directed your attention back to Lee, who was now back on his phone. You decided you weren't too tired for a conversation.

"I wonder why they're so particular about a professor for a general education course?" You asked, inquiring Lee as though he'd know the ins and outs of how the administration worked. Orpheus was always a semi-prestigious university; you wondered if they did so many evaluations for all the subjects.

"No idea," he said, taking a sip of his own drink, "I guess they wanted insight from other majors as well."

"Ah." You said, thankful that it would at least be some form of deviance from your usual schedule. After this, you and Lee had plans with the rest of your roommates to go to the bistro down the road so you considered today an easy one. A listening lecture followed by a sweet treat was a great morning.

As you were thinking of your plans, the door on the right side of the room finally opened, meaning the professor had officially walked in and class was about to start. Lee put his phone in his pocket although he didn't turn it off, so you assumed he was listening to music. You scavenged in your case for a pencil that wasn't broken and directed your focus to the front of the room, where the evaluated professor would begin.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

This man had to have been about ten years older than you but he was gorgeous. The brown in his eyes and his hair shone under the sun with such elegance; he appeared to be a painting. His brown leather jacket placed stylishly over his buttoned shirt- save for the two at the top- and his dress pants neatly drawn with a belt. An expensive one at that. He looked less like a professor and more like the cover of a teenage romance novel. Even his facial hair was properly trimmed and accentuated the angular curves of his face, which widened into a heartthrobbing smile.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Marcus." He said, turning around and writing it onto the chalkboard with whatever chalk was left in the tray from the class before. He then wiped his hands against each other and stood in front of the desk, leaning against it in an effortless grace as he stared at the class. His eyes scanned the room before they fell on you. It was only for a moment before he looked elsewhere, but you were starstruck and your stomach flipped.

Lee snickered quietly at the face you were making which took you out of your trance. "Dilf season, huh?"

Your cheeks were flushed and your whole body felt hot. It was unlike you to immediately be so caught off-guard. You shook it aside and attributed it to intimidation. That had to be it, you were just nervous of a new professor and at this guy's confident yet inviting demeanor.

"Shut up, Lee." You said with a small smile, so he'd know not to take offense although you were serious. You didn't want to draw any attention to your heart beating wildly in your chest.

As he continued talking, however, the burning in your abdomen only got stronger. There was something to this man, some sense of familiarity that struck you defenseless, although you were unsure as to why. You were certain you'd never seen the man before in your life, yet there was an undeniable pull that rendered you speechless for the rest of the class. He was wonderful at explaining everything in full detail and perfect when it came to answering questions. One thing was for certain though, and that was there'd be no way you could focus on any topic if Mr. Marcus was the professor. Despite how well he performed his job, you just couldn't concentrate. So, when the papers came around at the end of the class for the evaluation, you checked the box stating your disinterest in Mr. Marcus as your professor. How would you be expected to learn in a place where he was the teacher if you were so flustered? All you wanted to do was go home and decompress.

You submitted your paper to the front of the room, Lee in tow. You placed it face down on the desk even though the evaluations were anonymous; you felt awful for the decision you made. How was it fair for him to do everything perfectly and to not be granted the occupation?

As you were about to turn towards the door, you locked eyes with Mr. Marcus. They were a golden honey brown, very similar to the warmth of the room you were in, and they had you entranced. He smiled at you and raised his eyebrows as invitation for conversation, which was when you realized you'd been standing there in front of him with open eyes for longer than you meant to.

"Miss (Y/N), did you enjoy the lecture?" He asked, calm and composed. He must've read your name off the seating arrangement sheet and pieced two and two together.

"Uh, yeah-yes. Yes, I did. I find Rome pretty fascinating." You said, trying to regain your own composure. You smiled back at him in a last effort to appear normal and then walked out of the room and into the large hall where Lee followed close behind.

Alone in the Lecture Hall once all the students had departed, Marcus let out a hitched breath. You must have noticed it too? There was something so off about you and he was immediately drawn to your presence the minute he'd entered the room. It was as if he'd bumped into you before, only this odd feeling of familiarity was far more intense than anything he'd encountered before.

He learned against the desk for support and reached for the evaluation papers. He remembered exactly which one you'd placed down as he counted the number of sheets placed on top. He was unsure as to why he needed this clarification so badly, as if the evaluation was going to be enough insight as to how you truly felt about him.

You'd written that he performed everything perfectly. Checked all the boxes showing the administrators that he'd done as he should. But, at the end of the form, you'd written you didn't want him to have the job.

He smiled to himself, just slightly. He must've been overreacting.

...

It was with disdain that his eyes followed yours, the vituperative look etched into his skin. He appeared no older, even with the worry lines becoming apparent as he frowned; kohl seemingly molded into the flesh of his face with its darkness around his eyes. His tunic adorned with goldened jewelry held his red cloak fastened at his shoulder, which swiftly moved side to side as he walked about the palace floor. With his domineering personality and flamboyant demeanor, one could argue he very much belonged here. But those who truly knew him, such as you, would argue the complete opposite. A child in the body of man, ruling over the Roman Empire with the ability to kill any one of the men who'd built the imperial palace with the flick of his wrist.

And to think, he was your brother.

Emperor Geta manically moved back and forth, his steps echoing in the greatness of the hall where the two of you stood. Your other misfortune of a sibling somewhere entranced by his monkey, you presumed. Even with neither of them being much too intelligent, Geta was definitely the force to be reckoned with. This flurry of anger he felt was often of your own doing and today was no different- although the situation was more dire than previous mishaps.

What was usual sibling banter had turned into something fierce, unforgiving. It seemed as though the two of you no longer stood on the same plane and no words could be spoken to alleviate the tenseness between you two.

"There's a traitor-" He began, voice laced with more anger than anything else now that the shock had subsided. "Someone is helping the Senate to conspire against us. A traitor within the castle?" Geta dramatically flung his fingers over his heart and buried it into the fabric of his dress, steadying himself from falling as if he were intoxicated.

"I've heard nothing of the sort, brother." You let out, hardly above a whisper. It felt wrong for the secret to spill past your lips after all this time of keeping it. Although this had been going on for nearly five months, to speak it aloud even partially breathed it into existence. You, who had no family other than Geta and Caracalla, were plotting the demise of both of them. Rome was a collective and you'd been appointed to preserve the democracy of the people- something your brothers had turned into tyranny under their rule. However, it seemed as though they'd just caught wind of the plot without knowing who was leading the rebellion. Of course, Geta would eventually figure it out but the best thing you could do would be to deny anything that would lead to you or Acacius. He would have his head by morn and yours by the next.

Geta focused his eyes toward the nearest column so as not to look at you, forcing himself to tongue over the idea as it repeated within his head. His ornate laurel wreath crown he wore glistened in the light from above, casting a radiant glow on the floor. He was beautiful, if undeservingly so.

"Geta." You started, still fighting the fear that was always prevalent when conversing with your brother, "You are the emperor. Who would dare conspire against you?" you asked, knowing you had to do damage control. It all felt too real and too sudden for anything to happen just yet, this was unplanned. There was still so much more to be done and now that Geta had heard, Caracalla would be next to be informed- potentially halting the senate from being able to make a proper move. Your brothers would behead them all and force you to watch.

There had to be an informant within the Senate, someone who sided with your brothers in hopes of some grand reward for ratting you out. If they told Geta of the uprising, there's no telling how long it would take until they knew you and Acacius were leading it.

Suddenly, it was as if the color returned to Geta's white painted face. The creases that had formed out of worry now resumed with a smile so horrid and vile that your stomach seemed to drop to your toes with dread. The redhead inched closer to you until he was standing directly before you, inches away from your faltering breath. Smug look upon his face with his hands placed behind his back, he whispered in your ear the one thing you never wanted to hear from him.

"Make sure to relay this message to the Senate. If I hear of any further plans or catch the name of anyone involved within the operation, I will make sure the streets of Rome run red with their excrements."

Your veins turned to ice. It was as if your body had become as still as the marble statues surrounding the two of you. The sunlight hitting your brother's hair was not a warm and comforting light, but the light of a thousand fires ready to destroy anything within its path. You could smell the antimony from his makeup, and it was churning your stomach the longer you stood next to him. And then, he pulled you into a forceful embrace.

"You're my brethren, (Y/N). But bloodshed triumphs over blood. My mercy doesn't spill out of my fingertips such as the weak do. I am to carry on the tree of my lineage and I will do so from the seed of my power. Don't let me ever hear my dear sister has fallen into the conspiracy of the people."

Then he left, and a piece of your soul died with the slam of the door behind him.

...

General Marcus Acacius, still clad in the paludamentum from the evening's dinner, gathered himself after a lengthy conversation with some of his troops. He was fortunate for the day's conquer, but he was entirely ready to return to his chambers to meet with his love; hoping she could soothe the grievances that emanated from his soul. A slight glance into the reflection of the gate showed a man worn down by war. Physically and spiritually he felt beaten and old. His face, which had appeared so bright when he'd first started his efforts, had now succumbed to the weight he felt inside. He was duller than the man he'd always been. A light had been extinguished and would never again be set aflame. His body felt as though it were an empty chamber, hollow with only the sounds of the maternal screaming he heard from war. Mothers calling home their only sons that would stay calling for the remainder of their lives. Praying for the boys who'd become soldiers, fallen under an empire that prided themselves on greatness.

The Romans were cruel murderers. And he did their bidding.

Trying his best to push his stressors aside, he stepped into the small garden flanking the back perimeter of the palace, knowing that was your usual place upon nightfall. The fountain seemed to hum as the water rushed down into the basin. The sounds of bugs chirping filled his ears. The calmness of the fire tamed within the confines of the torches made flickering shadows upon the stones beneath his feet.

And then, there was you. Turning to face him once he'd entered the palace and meeting his gaze. He'd sworn he never understood the meaning of goddess until he'd met you. From the first encounter at the palace, Acacius knew he was in love. Every statue and painting couldn't compare to the beauty that radiated off you, he knew. Your eyes were pools of mystery and your skin softer than the sheets lining the bed you shared, fragile under the callouses of his hands that were worn by the hilt of his sword. You were a delicacy. He thought you were more striking than the sun itself.

The word love would never be enough to describe the power that flowed through his veins upon the mere mention of your name or the gentleness of your kiss.

You were here in your usual palla, the purple dye of the fabric shimmering under the soft glow of the fire. Your face was hardened into a concerned expression and your lips were downturned. What was usually a gleeful expression when your fiancé returned home safely seemed to be just a little short of animosity.

Acacius immediately went to place his hands gently at your sides, pulling you in slightly with a quizzical look, assessing for any physical ailments. "What troubles you, my Lady?"

You wanted to cry, to scream, to let out all your frustrations through vile words such as your brothers did, but you felt so beaten down you couldn't even formulate the words. Acacius had done nothing wrong but be within your proximity. And now your lover would be subjected to the unforgiving wrath of Geta.

"My Lady?" He asked once more, softer this time. He had a rough day, you could tell, and his forehead lines became more apparent as his brows furrowed. His beard was trimmed but not shaven, so as not to flaunt off some of the scars he'd gathered below his nose. He had one on his cheek and one on the back of his hand that you would run your fingers over in an intimate embrace. He was beautiful, even with the years of war embroidered into his skin. He was your heart.

"It's Geta," you finally mustered, holding Acacius's hand to your cheek and letting a tear fall, "he's enlightened to our uprising."

It was the General's turn to express his worry. "How was he informed?" Hs asked, pulling you in for a stiff hug as he was still wearing his breastplate.

"Macrinus must have caught word after last night's gathering. W-we were so careful, I-"

"Shh." Acacius said, slowly rubbing circles into your back, "We'll be okay, we'll find a way." He said this almost so convincingly you wanted to believe it yourself. But you knew Geta would do his best to punish you in every way humanly possible. There would be no escaping.

"We can run away before they find out its us-"

"To where? We both have the faces of those known in Rome, we'll never even make it past the gate without our identities being revealed. And then what? Where will we go that has no promise of being conquered?" He asked, holding onto you as though your arms alone would ground him. "And (Y/N), you know my heart belongs to you and the people. I couldn't leave one in place of the other."

Any form of democracy was going to be dead if your brothers continued to be the ultimate monarchs the were. Their reign had caused nothing but horrors to the people .

"Geta may want my head when he finds out, but he'll never kill you," Acacius said, looking into your eyes, "He'd never kill our kin." At this, his hand dropped to your stomach, caressing the top of it gently.

"You will not die without me." You said, knowing what he would suggest in the hopes of keeping you safe. "I will not allow it."

"And then what? You die and there will be no hope. Not for the people or politics or our son. My work to free us from the grasp of Rome will be for nought."

Your tears started to cascade down your face as quickly as they came, taking your kohl along with it. This was unfair. All of it was unfair. You wanted nothing to do with your brothers or ruling or Rome or anything. All you'd hoped for was to live peacefully in a world without it- how foolish.

"I love you, Acacius. You know this." You said, burying your face into his shoulder. You took in the metallic scent of his breastplate, trying to ease yourself. You knew as a general that he would never leave Rome defenseless.

"As I love you," he said, moving you gently so you were facing each other, "You know what has to be done."

You composed yourself and met his eyes, trying to find solace in them. He felt more like family than the insufferable gingers you shared a bloodline with. And you knew you'd do anything to protect the family you made for yourself, even if that meant sacrificing the birth one.

"We have to kill them." You said. You found the words didn't trouble as much as you thought they might.

THIS IS SO CUTE 😭

Hi I'm not sure if you're taking requests if not then please completely ignore this

If you are I was wondering how you think Hannibal Lecter might propose to his female s/o?

No Warnings!

A/N;Hi guys, hope you're having a great day. Enjoy this short imagine. Love you all.

Hannibal planned this trip  a year ago and  he scheduled everything  according to it. His patients, his work with the FBI. He seemed extra prepared for this trip which made you question him. You knew his character, he was always ready for anything but this time was different.

Analyzing people rubbed off on you from him, you’ve been together for 3 years now and living together for 2 years and obviously some of his personality traits made their way to you. You weren’t sure whether  you had affected him the way he did but this last year he was more settled and sometimes carefree. Of course those occasions were pretty rare, but it was fun to see him opening another bottle of wine after being tipsy or cancelling his work just for a get away with you.

When he made the last phone call about his work he was free. ‘’We won’t be bothered anymore, my love.’’ He kissed your temple and together you left your shared home to catch the flight.

Weather in Italy, Portofino was something you needed. Baltimore was too cold for you. He rented a villa up the hills, overlooking the entire town, sea, forests, buildings. The view made you feel you belong to Portofino, maybe one day you’ll live here with him.

You were on the balcony, being in awe of the sight before you while Hannibal was being in awe of you, he hugged you from behind, kissed the tip of your ear. You giggled like a child, he loved that about you, admired your nurturing, yet, carefree spirit. He was aware that together you were in the perfect balance.

Hi hands went to your stomach, he imagined you carrying his child. Before you, he never imagined having someone in his life, of course he had some people that he saw time to time bur being in a committed relationship was something he never dared to dream. The sun was setting, he made you turned and looked at his deep maroon eyes.

He planned everything and it was time,

‘’My dearest, 3 years ago today was the first time that I saw you. You were drinking your coffee, just the way you like, and reading your book.’’

You smiled, you were reading ‘’A Philosophy of Walking’’ by Frédéric Gros, he made a comment about it, thus, you started talking about great philosophers for 2 maybe 3 hours.

‘’But we were so caught off guard by our instant chemistry that you left without bestowing me nothing but your elegant name. Thanks to my connections with the FBI, I found you.’’

You remembered the big bouquet of flowers on your work desk after a day, how scared you were…

Soon you’ve come to realize that Hannibal Lecter, even though he was the epitome of the modern gentlemen, deep down he was a hunter. He lived to chase and catch, you gave him a chase which was worth the ride.

‘’I never want to let you go, what we have is real.’’ He let go of your hands to get a ring from his pocket. You could feel the tears of happiness forming, ‘’Be mine. Forever.’’ You kissed his lips, ‘’Yes,’’ you whispered, ‘’forever.’’

Thank you for reading. :)

NCT

Johnny Seo:

The Sun: You felt a certain connection when it came to Johnny Seo that you didn't feel with anyone else. After a night at Mark's place, he decides to take you hiking. What chaos will ensue on your "nature hike?"

(Romance/Fluff/Chaos)

Headcannon #1: Cute things you and Johnny do!!! Just a little drabble because I love me some Johnny Suh ( ˘ ³˘)♥

(Romance/Fluff)

Yuta Nakamoto:

Fight Club: (Part One) Based off the 1999 film Fight Club; Yuta is trying his hardest to fit in amongst the guys within the club and slowly starts to realize what type of person Johnny is. He'd always fought for fun, but Yuta is beginning to think he'll have to fight for you.

Fight Club: (Part Two)

(Romance/NSFW/Angst)

Hendery:

Coffee?: Just a short imagine featuring a very loveable Hendery and a very loveable reader! Coffee definitely does start conversation!