#inspecting them under a microscope

[papayaorange814]

You tell them Max! 😌

[louis-de-pointe-du-dyke]

I need more dyhard content I can't stop thinking about them they've turned into a parasite rattling in my brain

[voidcat]

He is like an endearing little creature that puffs up and changes face when feeling threatened to me

[grief3rp1ll3d]

michael and jeremy desifgns woag..

the FREAKS

[mugzymiik]

my tpc headcanons bc why not :D

SOME CHARS I DONT HAVE TOO MANY FOR (IF I HAVE ANY FOR THEM AT ALL) :sob::sob::sob:

[last updated: January 24, 2025]

main chars:

caretakers:

Cube:

trans FtM

has a pretty good tolerance to the cold. all cubes do (in my headcanons anyway) but his is especially great

back when he and Lythorus started dating he tried to rest his head on top of Lythorus's as a way of affection and he proceeded to get stabbed by the spike

Iris:

has a really deep voice. but at the same time he somehow also sounds like a really tired teenager who works retail

Pentellow:

has a british accent

also knows a frightening amount of very unsettling fun facts

shes the tallest out of the non-monster caretakers (so herself, Iris and Cube). why? fuck you. fuck you is why /HEVJ/VSILLY

Pyrare:

he has pockets in his robe and its like a "time-out area" for Gold (but sometimes Gold chills in there anyways)

he named Barracuda and Gold after his pet fish. like, genuinely. with how big monsters are, barracudas could practically be goldfish and actually goldfish could be like guppies or something to them

has multiple medical degrees. yes, stacked on top of each other.

heroes:

Cyan:

likes to follow people around!!! and also doesnt like being left alone for long periods of time

he and Cyanide somehow get confused for each other a lot???? literally nobody knows how but it very much happens

Orange:

Tsavorite and him are each other's impulse control. ofc its mostly Orange whos keeping Tsavorite from walking straight into a landmine (/j ofc) but they keep each other out of trouble (most of the time at least)

if bored enough, he can and will find ways to fit into places that will have everyone wonder "HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET IN THERE- HOW DO WE GET HIM OUT???" and he somehow manages to squeeze out flawlessly every time. he has never gotten truly stuck

will drink straight mayo (<- stolen headcanon (hi Tea /SILLY))

im self projecting kind of when i say he got asthma

more of a "this is how i draw them" but his bandana ends kinda look like bunny ears

Tsavorite:

genderfluid and uses any pronouns. :3c he? yes! they? yes! she? yes! literally any neopronoun(s)? HELL YEAH!!!

constantly compares Orange to an actual orange (teasingly ofc)

very alert, but "backwards". like. he'll be able to notice a cool beetle from 5 feet away but wouldnt be able to tell you where Orange headed off to despite being right next to him just a few seconds ago

shows affection thru hugs and pokes. basically just. physical touch!!! but if he cant be physically affectionate they will just give random ass gifts :D

knows a lot abt physical weapons to the point where its honestly a littol unnerving because hOW DOES HE KNOW ABT ALL THIS-

can hold intense eye contact for extended periods of time without blinking (and has intimidated multiple people with it on complete accident)

HATES the snow. and all the other Heroes tease them (/aff) abt it ever since they all found out bc "we thought you loved EVERYTHING"

does NOT care for formalities. like. at all. like say if he met a "King Guy" he wouldnt say "King Guy" hed just say "Guy"

he has been caught eating weeds from the front lawn on multiple occasions

REALLY doesnt like mayo. its literally the ONLY thing they wont eat and if he even SEES it she straightup gags

Gold:

trans FtM

tall. tall fuck. everyones confused asf bc hes not physically related to Pyrare so he couldnt get those kinda """genes""" but hes still REALLY fuckin tall (when matured ofc)

VERY SNAKE-LIKE!!! he can hiss. he has fangs. and hes more sensitive to chilly weather and the cold than most other shapes

back when he was saying Literally Nothing he WOULD speak occasionally but in only one word sentences. those single words were unintentionally very vaguely threatening 9 times outta 10

↓

i know its literally not possible in any way BUT that fluff on his jacket? whenever he's angry/frightened/defensive/whatevertf, that fluff poofs up like a cobra's hood

his bandana used to be around his neck like Cyan's, but it was moved to his leg a little while after he was birthed because his leg got hurt. anyways yeah the bandana was the only thing that could potentially be used at the moment so it was moved to his leg by Pyrare as a makeshift bandage or smth. and afterwards he just kept it there, it was fucking w his sensory issues anyway </3 that leg is a little more fragile because of the past injury

allergic to tomatoes i am Not selfprojecting i swear /j

Cyanide:

has multiple songs pirated on herself. i do not take criticism/j

tall for an unmatured hero :3c

whenever she's trying to "hide something", she uses very detailed language,,for example, if she did something like sneaking out or smth she'd say "greetings" instead of just "hi" or "hello"

"lags" more whenever its hot out

being ANYWHERE around her at ANY point in time is a BIG fuckin risk because she can play Never Gonna Give You Up/Whistle/that stickbug gif on herself on command /SILLY

sometimes she gets so angry that she starts yelling and her filter kicks in BUT she is so angry that it gets kinda fucky and. instead of her yelling. funky town or smth like that will just start playing at full volume and in microwave quality

groups:

chipzel:

Purpex:

i dont have any for her as of rn D:

Marcle:

really likes chicken nuggets. its really random but she LOVES chicken nuggets

Squadril:

is CONSTANTLY called short by Purpex and Marcle + everybody in all the other groups (teasingly ofc)

bossfight:

Cintagon:

Round <3

is absolutely dating Circumsphere

bisexual and also polyamorous :D if he was given the choice between getting his dead wife back or staying with Circumsphere he would choose both with ZERO hesitation

Circumsphere:

i dont have any rn :[

danimal cannon:

Quintagon:

very strong for a pentagon (once when she n Hexagram were younger she hit him and he had a big ass bruise for a few days)

Hexagram:

has a very bad obsession with vikings, which is why his corrupt form has a "viking"-ish look

Polyhedron:

i got none rn :<

big giant circles:

Circumuscle:

doesnt swear very often so when he does its a shock to everyone/lhj

a big softie!!! only to those he deeply cares abt though

he has to be gentle whenever he hugs someone bc hes gonna break someones back someday if he isnt😭🙏

Rincle:

IS THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE OF CIRCUMUSCLE SWEARING-WISE if she is given a single chance to say Fuck she WILL absolutely take it with zero hesitation at all/lhj

Spheer:

they and Circumuscle have an "older brother + younger sibling" dynamic

has a british accent as well

Cirtunda:

i dont got any for her either D:

other:

Lythorus:

very distractible

aquatic flower (explained further in the world-wise "shape related" section)

has a VERY bad fear of insects

hes 6ft. and he and Cube have a running joke with this using his name as a measurement. something's exactly 12ft tall? its 2 Lythoruses tall actually/j/lhj

Heli:

nonbinary!!! and uses he/she/they pronouns :D

he and Ketches r like,,partners. take that in any way possible

has the ability to form a body beneath her, buuuut she prefers to fly

a sweetheart through and through. but when/if they do decide to get silly and start teasing people sometimes he accidentally takes it way too far

Ketches:

absolutely has a "pirate" accent r u kidding me/lhj

also has the ability to form a body like Heli

is an uncle figure to Gold

can honk. not like a duck i mean like a boat. "WOOAOAOAOAORRRR" <- that kinda honk

corrupts:

Dub:

he can purr. i dont take criticism sorry /lhj

he and Barracuda were gay as FUCK i will DIE on this hill istg

took guitar classes before he and Cuda went pinksauced

left a seat in the tower's "main room" just in memory of Barracuda. little does he actually know--/lhj

Barracuda:

is actually a ghost rn!! after Dub escaped from the seal he just roams around the tower and also occasionally chills next to Dub (even if Dub cant see him at all + has no idea he's even there)

Cubic:

bitch

he and Lycanthropy have BEEF for some godforesaken reason

Ajaceare:

idk rn D:

George:

his spikes are different from other flowers'; most flower's spikes are pretty sharp, but his never sharpened from childhood, and thus are a little "dull-ended"

Hexacrigon:

idk for her either rn

Cintagram:

manipulative as FUCK. the only person he hasnt ever lied to is Circumcannon

speaking of which. he and Circumcannon still kiss <3

Circumcannon:

no ideas,,again

Hexadic:

same as all the others😭

Lycanthropy:

the only thing keeping he and Cubic from fistfighting each other every time they see each other is that they both know that 1) Dub WILL somehow find out and WILL get their asses and 2) Cubic is strong enough to actually kill Lycanthropy if they fight too hard. and Cubic doesnt wanna fling himself into boiling hot water (not literally ofc) + Lycanthropy doesnt wanna die to THIS bitch's hand

a lot of the other corrupted flowers see him as a "general"/"commander" due to Lythorus being leader of the (uncorrupted at least) flowers

should NOT be trusted with any kind of powertools ever

he can go fuckin insane on the drums

Circubit:

pretty close friends with Macabre

would absolutely dj in his spare time

world-wise hcs:

shape related:

spheres are the speediest out of all the shapes

cubes have a natural resistance to the cold

some flowers have the ability to live entirely underwater, its kinda like a "subtype" for them; theyre often referred to as "aquatic flowers"

flowers have fangs :3c chompers even!!!

spheres are the most likely out of any other shape "species" to be able to grow hair

flowers are naturally tall as shit!!!

flowers' spikes arent as "sharp" when theyre young- they "sharpen up" quite a bit as they get older, though

adding onto the last one, aquatic flowers' spikes are a little more on the duller side

other/unrelated to anything else:

some shapes dont have a "combat ability"

all of the group members of a certain area have meetups sometimes, and occasionally ALL of the groups meet up as a whole (pretty rare considering the size of Paradise, but it still happens at times!)

all the heroes have an odd obsession with going in and out of windows instead of doors. there could be an open door right next to a window and any one of them would still open the window and go right out of it

after Dub is defeated, every year on the anniversary of that day the Heroes get in a circle and chant "its not over til its over" to each other for exactly an hour straight. the caretakers were VERY worried initially, and debated calling an exorcist or something- but theyve grown used to it after like the first 3 years. but it still scares the shit out of anybody else who's unfortunate enough to witness it

in terms of the Trees creating the Heroes, creating and birthing are two different things. initially, the Tree creates the Hero BUT they aren't immediately taken out of the Tree– instead, theyre in a kitten-like state for like a week and then they lose that state afterwards. and a week after that they are FINALLY taken out of the Tree by their caretaker

[unholiis]

@oblyvn send a secret ━━━ Arys lifts the goggles from his face, which’ve left an imprint on the ash and soot against his cheeks. Amber eyes look up from his project and he offers Shion a lopsided grin. “Well if it isn’t my favourite duo,” he stands, making his way to Shion, saluting the lizard on their shoulder, offering a finger for it to sniff and approve. “Ya think he’ll ever let me pet him?”

shion couldn't quite explain it but there was something riveting about watching arys work on his little projects, to see his face contorted in concentration, brows furrowed, droplets of sweat rolling across temple before dripping upon the iron. love for the craft. perhaps that was it. the genuine, passionate love for the craft and seeing it become real. it prompts them to draw closer, curious and ever so eager, heeled boots guiding them towards the mechanic: close but not too close as to not disturb him ━━━ ( nor be affected by the heat ).

however it seems their presence was noticed regardless and how can they not smile in return when they're greeted with such a dazzling grin ? even more when their darling companion is addressed as well. did arys realize that it only made shion become that much more softer around him whenever he did that ? truly dangerous. the agent pushes those thoughts down and instead focuses upon the way their little shikigami curiously looked up at arys, snout tentatively reaching forward before tongue briefly licked to taste the air and appraise the extended finger before it drew back [ ━━━ ] slithering underneath shion's collar. ❝ such a sweet talker you are. ❞ gloved hand is raised to daringly cup a warm cheek, thumb wiping away some of the soot. ❝ he will, give it time. ❞

the hand upon arys' cheek eventually playfully squeezes the soft flesh before he lets go. instead it ends up traveling upwards to rest upon dark locks, carefully tangling a lock around hidden metallic digit. ❝ perhaps he's waiting until i can pet you first. ❞ shion doesn't bother restraining the soft laughter that bubbles up, visible eye twinkling with mischief and a certain kind of delight that remained quite difficult to grasp. ❝ what do you say ? can i ? ❞

[cyclic-laughter]

Theyre plaguing my mind btw. thought i'd let you know

geek is owned by my buddy @skinny-box

[bigcryptiddies]

“Antis dni” “proship dni”

Arent you embarrassed

[malikselfindulgence]

Atticus having his body quite literally built back from the ground up by azure and him modeling himself after azure vs Feifei starting out as a blank canvas and no face only to have it later painted on by Nezha. Are you guys picking up what I’m throwing down

- @honeysgalaxy

Theseboth showcase my feelings on the matter THE CONTRAST BETWEEN THEM THE PARALLELS THE PARALLELS !!!! Nezha humanising Feifei by giving her a face Atticus straying further away from humanity w Azure contributing to it !!! Insane I'm blowing them UP

[skribbledarker]

Back on my bs with another Zosan brainworm…. post Skypiea feels

—

Sanji, after having his “I needed a light” moment and getting shocked head-on by Enel, gains big lichtenberg scars that never fade. They’re darker than his usual skin tone, spiraling down the back of his neck, the entire expanse of his back, then curling around his shoulders and hips.

he hates them. Sanji thinks they make him look diseased, or like Frankenstein, sort of.. He doesn’t think scars are bad or ugly, no. It’s just the way they look on him.

He goes to so many lengths to hide them from the rest of the crew; he takes showers after everyone else is asleep, and his short-sleeved shirts get pushed to the back of the closet.

Chopper’s the only one who’s seen them. well, until Zoro. Somewhere in between when they didn’t like each other and when they suddenly did, the swordsman catches Sanji late at night in the bathroom, shirtless and twisting around himself to look at his back in the mirror.

Somehow, they end up on the floor, Sanji sitting cross-legged on the tile, hunched over with red tipped ears as Zoro sits behind him, taking his time tracing the patterns over Sanji’s skin.

“Do they hurt?” Zoro asks, grazing a calloused thumb over the back of Sanji’s neck.

“Sometimes. they sting when it gets cold.”

Zoro doesn’t say anything for a long time. Sanji feels like a bug under a microscope, just sitting there, being inspected like this. He finds himself zoning out— he doesn’t want to be here right now. This is embarassing.

“I like them.”

“Huh?”

And then Zoro’s hands are smoothing over Sanji’s shoulders, warm and careful like he’s handling a blade. “What, you don’t? It looks badass.”

no, they really don’t. “No. It looks…stupid.” Ugly, is what Sanji wants to say, but he doesn’t. The word suddenly seems a little too crass for whatever’s going on right now.

“Do mine, then?” Zoro counters, and that’s different. Zoro wears his like a collection, each mark a record of battles he’s won and lost and a testament to the shit he’s survived. Sanji hasn’t ever been blemished like that, barring the faint lines on the bridge of his nose still barely visible after eleven years. The scars just look out of place on him. Like they aren’t supposed to be there.

“No, no.” Sanji shakes his head. “Yours are— are badass.”

Zoro pauses again. “They look like vines.”

“Oh, so i’m sprouting greenery like you, now?”

That gets an exasperated huff out of Zoro, and Sanji can feel breath fanning over the back of his neck. “Stop, ‘m serious.”

It’s frightening, kind of, being laid bare under the watchful eye of someone else like this. Sanji can’t even see Zoro (well, besides his hands), but it’s almost like he can— the weight of his gaze falls heavy on Sanji’s back.

“Of course you are.”

A chill slides up Sanji’s spine when Zoro’s hands slide down to his waist, thumbing at the spots where the scars encroach onto his stomach. “ ‘s Pretty.”

Sanji’s throat suddenly feels dry, because the admission of pretty feels less like a descriptor of the lightning bolts spiraling down his back and more about him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Never thought I’d hear you call something ‘pretty,’ you brute.”

“Maybe you needed to.”

Maybe you needed to. Fuck, Maybe Sanji did.

—

gughhhh this was supposed to be a little drabble but got out of hand so fucking quickly??1!1?1?

anyways i want to shoot both of them dead lololololol

i also love projecting my self-image issues onto Sanji…. my blorbo AHHH

[ladybyakuya]

are we still friends? + (togame jo, sugista kyotaro,choji tomiyama,kota sako)

cws. | gn!reader, headcanon + scenarios format, sorta character study, fluff, angst, comfort. | redirect to blog navigation.

syn. | How do they react to confession when the feelings are mutual?

notes. | omg! here's part two. read part one here. enjoy <3

☆ Togame Jo : "Did Choji put you up for this?" Togame enquires with a sharp tone, eyebrows ever so slightly growing close to each other that it goes away when you blink. The question hits you like a stone on your head. Why would he do that? unless . . . he already did that what's it got anything to do with him? Did Choji pull a prank like this before? and he might have liked them. . . and might not have. . .pushing the thoughts aside  you ask keeping your voice as even as possible,

"Would your answer be any different if that wasn't the case?" Of course, he has his wall high up. Not only that, the surface of the wall is full of sharp spikes so that no one can climb, not even you. It is no surprise that he would be so rude when a wave of affection washes over him. You force a smile upon your face and look down. The empty bottle of the cold drink containing a marble ball that was circling a while ago comes to a halt now. That's right. He should not have said that out loud. It is surprising in the first place when someone like you, so far away from his world is into him and it is even more surprising when you have the heart to confess. He did not mean to sound rude. . .It's just that . . .

"Sorry, I should not have asked that." He says trying his best he can to keep himself. He takes a quick glance at you through the corner of his eyes. Even for a split second, he saw your lips trembling. He curses himself keeping the bottle aside on the bench. "Well, no." His voice is so low, so meek that he has to clear his throat and straighten up before speaking. "No. Absolutely not. My answer would not change." was he scared? wait, he is . . . scared? He has never been the one to pray to God but now, at this moment with all his heart he asks the heavens not to let you cry. He does not wish to witness that since he does not know how to handle it. He has only been known to handle things with violence and dominance, not with talking and kindness. He takes off his glasses and stands up to face you who is still sitting on the bench head down as if gravity is growing stronger at each second. You feel a wind pass by before a cloth rests on your back, embracing your shoulders. You look up with eyes full of water up to the brim. "That's . . . that's my way of telling."

It takes a moment to sink into you what he actually meant and wear his jacket properly thinking how emotionally constipated he is. what is this? A competition? you let out a long hum.

"that's all you have to say?" Togame says impatiently. "I tell you that you like you and all you say is "hmm", huh? You grin from war to ear, and standing up you pinch his cheeks. He does not recoil like a spring-like you expected him to.

"Yeah. You said that now." Togame looks away unable to meet your water-full eyes anymore, warmth spreading over his cheeks, ears and even neck.

★ Sugishita Kyotaro

Sugishita's world is totally mapped out and it all revolves around Umemiya-san. But the moment you said you like him, his everlasting face of boredom did not do much except his eyebrows grew closer together. Is that the face of a surprised person? You ponder but it is meaningless because his eyes are onto you and all he is doing is to inspect you. If the wills and worlds had the potential he would put you under microscope. But even with so much effort all he does is to ask the most stupid question ever. “Do you? Do you really like me? You nod since your throat has become dry. He chins his face for a second and then turns towards you asking with a mellowed tone, “Is it the “i like you as a lover” or ...?” He does not get to finish his sentence while you cover your face and nod tremendously. almost five times in a row. His eyes spread wide. You are covering your face. You do not wish to see his reaction, nor prepared for the answer he is about to give. You feel a feather touch around your wrists as he whispers, “i do too. I like you too.” as he peels off your hand carefully. As someone who is known to be only talking with fists he certainly is not rigid and rough with you. He holds your hand as you look at him for a few seconds and then guides your palms over his cheeks. “y/n-san, Tell me again that you like me and I'll tell you again.” he says sinking in to your touch.

☆ Choji Tomiyama

"Huh?" It was all he could say when those magical words came out of your mouth. Within a blink of your eyes, he jumps so high that you feel if he really wanted, he could touch the sky. Then his cheeks puff a little before a devasted choice of words escapes his mouth,“It’s not fair. I wanted to say it at first,” When it registers in your head you think he might have misheard you so you try to say again but he quickly grabs your hand saying, “Why didn't you give me heads up? I wanted to tell you first that I like you. It's not fairrrreee.” if anything's is unfair is that how a leader seems to act in such a childlike manner but it's okay. This is why you fell for him. He stops whining and says in one breath, "So, then I'll be the one to take you on a date. " he is still holding your hand.

★ Kota Sako

For someone who's eyes are always glued on Hiragi, movements and talks trying to imitate Hiragi he certainly is more than aware of himself and his surroundings. You expect him to brush away your plea when you ask him to stay after the class or even just decline you by saying that he is busy or the worst: simply ignoring you even after hearing. But none of that happens. He waits for you after the class patiently, listens to all you have to say, and then says, "I'll think about it." while internally practically panicking so hard that his head starts to hurt by the time he reaches home. When you reach home, you get a text from an unknown number saying, "So, let's date then. -Sako."

[fangirl-in-general]

How would Rhys and Pierce react that reader who a friend of Ava is a witch?

OOOOO I love this idea!! Rhys and Pierce are not my number one characters so forgive me if I screw up their personalities a bit but here goes!!

Warnings: slight suggestive content, I am not a practicing witch so I intentionally left it a little vague when it came to actual practices, some language, slight violence in Pierce's oneshot, lmk if I missed anything!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rhys

It hadn't been more than a month since Ava called me screaming and crying over some 'demons' taking over her life.

"Please you have to get them out!! They're driving me crazy!!"

"Get them out?? I'm not an exorcist! I'm a witch!! And a new one at that! I can barely cast a hex much less dispel evil spirits! Girl, call a priest!!" Aca and I have always had each other's backs, ever since high school. I was always the one she would call when she needed something and considering how lonely we both were and how hard it became for her to rely on other people, I felt it was an honor. Though she did overdo it from time to time.

"Spirits? What no! There's actually five men in my house claiming to be demons!!" Wait what...

"IT'S DAEMOS HUMAN!!! CORRECT IT OR I WILL!!!" The unfamiliar voice on the other end of the phone made my heart sink to the floor and I immediately grabbed my keys and a can of wasp spray and raced out the door.

That was about two weeks ago, and I haven't left Ava alone since. They don't seem intent on taking advantage of her 'hospitality', but I wasn't going to take any chances. Especially not with how comfortable she had grown letting them wander about her house unsupervised. One of them went through her bra drawer like a lunatic for crying out loud!!! talking about 'sources of power' and what not.

Creeps...

Rhys, the only one who seemed relatively well adjusted, came and sat next to me at the kitchen counter. I kept my eyes glued to the cards in front of me.

The Tower Upright...

interesting

"Excuse me, I don't mean to intrude. What are those?"

A distracted smile makes its way to my face as I continue to shuffle the cards, another pops out. "Tarot cards. And you're not intruding as long as you don't take them from me like Asch did."

The Chariot reversed...

Rhys lets out a nervous chuckle and continues to inspect my actions. "Do they...do anything?"

I steal a glance; his brows are pressed together in concentration and his eyes pass between expectance and curiosity. "More or less. They're kind of like a guiding tool. We can use them to better understand ourselves and connect with the universe around us. They can be a useful way to prepare for coming events, or to better handle current ones. But most people don't believe in it so it's whatever I guess."

He gasps slightly. "Intriguing. So you use them to see the future and read minds?"

The snort that came out of me was far from intentional, but I honestly had no other idea how to react to that statement. "I mean, sure something like that."

"Can you read mine?"

I turned to him. "You want me to do a tarot reading for you?"

He nodded with more excitement than I had seen from any of them besides the pink one. I shrugged and began to reshuffle the cards. "Fine but just a basic one. I'm still a new witch and I don't wanna hear anything mean or judgy from someone who doesn't even-"

"You're a witch??"

For some reason I felt my blood run cold. I felt like a bug under a microscope, and I couldn't tell if the gaze he had fixed me with was simply observation, or calculation. Similar feelings with vastly different intentions. But both managed to send a shiver down my spine and a reluctant blush to my cheeks.

All I could muster was a nod before forcing myself back to shuffling.

"That's incredible!! Why did you not tell us before! Ava told us she was a powerful sorceress but TWO powerful magic users working together is surely a force to be reckoned with!! You must tell me what you know! I want to learn everything!"

His words forced a smile to my face, and I couldn't help the blush that accompanied it.

His praises continued. "I knew you had to be quite skilled to be so close to Princess Ava, but this explains it all! You were simply trying to hide your abilities so that we wouldn't expect your attack if something went wrong!! How incredibly intelligent!" He leaned forward, excitement practically bursting from him. "Please read this 'tarot' I simply must see your skills firsthand!"

I let a chuckle escape and went back to shuffling the deck. Two cards fell out.

"Death, and High Preist reversed..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Peirce

"You know what Leif!! One of these days you're gonna wish you kept your dirty little mouth shut for once!!"

Leif was (as usual) doing nothing but being the biggest menace he possibly could be. Stealing my phone, going through my things, screaming in my ear, shit talking, etc.

To say I had enough was an understatement. The only thing that kept me from wringing his neck was a large muscley arm wrapping around my torso and throwing me over his shoulder. "Hey! Wha- PEIRCE!!" My screaming didn't stop him from wordlessly lugging me to my room and tossing me onto the bed. Now I know what you're thinking 'omg that's so sexy this is totally about to get fun' well I thought the exact same thing the first three times this happened, and I'll admit the thought still crosses my mind the twelve times it's happened since then but NO! This is still a (mostly) family friendly blog after all (for now).

Anyway, I sit up with a groan and glare at Peirce who has made himself comfortable in the chair in the corner of the room. This happens so often that it's practically scripted at this point. Leif is an ass, I get frustrated, Peirce gets tired, carries me to my room, then babysits me so I won't go out and try to strangle the antagonistic fiend in the other room.

At this point I'm done. I'm so sick of Leif and his attitude and lack of consequences. Just because they think Ava is a powerful sorceress and they don't think I'm anything more than her confidant doesn't mean they get to push me around. Leif is gonna get what's coming to him.

I glance at Peirce who is sitting arms crossed, still watching me though his gaze is softer now. I jump off the bed and head to my desk. digging through the drawers I pull out some candles and begin flipping through the book of incantations I keep tucked under a floorboard. I used to store said book in my nightstand drawer but surprise surprise, the guys went rummaging through my things and I don't trust them not to mess with it.

I'm missing a key piece to the puzzle. "Hey Peirce?"

A hum can be heard from the corner.

"Could I talk you into stealing some of Leif's hair for me?" I turn and give him the sweetest least guilty smile I could muster. He rises slowly and stalks over to me looming as he stared into my eyes as if inspecting for a motive. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't realized how much larger than me he was, because I had defiantly noticed, and it was absolutely something I thought of frequently.

He let out quiet grunt and left the room. I was probably imagining the blush on his cheeks, but the image was going to stay in my head for a painfully long time.

"Peirce w- OW!!! YOU PRICK WHAT THE HELL!!!"

Leif's screaming was nothing new, but it almost made my heart swell to know that Peirce was willing to potentially start a confrontation just to get something I asked without any context at all. 'I should definitely kiss him for that'

He came back into the room holding a suspiciously large chunk of blond hair and handed it to me. I smiled at him, and he nodded before following me over to my desk.

"What are you doing?" His voice always caught me off guard. It was a beautiful, gentle, sound that filled my ears like a deep breath after drowning. I wish he would talk more but I didn't ever want to force him.

"I'm gonna hex him."

"Leif?"

I hum a confirmation and turn to the desk with the supplies. He continues his questioning. "On Daemos it takes a very skilled witch to perform such a task. Are you a skilled witch?"

I nod. The 'skilled' aspect was more or less true. My mentor was very skilled, and I'd been training under her for almost two years now, but I still had a long way to go, and she'd probably scold me big time for simply attempting this... but who said she had to know.

"So you are...magic?"

I turned to look at him. He stood next to the desk, eyes fixed on the task before me, and I couldn't help but smile as I responded. "Yea, something like that. Why?"

A flash of concern passed over his face, but it was quickly replaced with a soft smile that almost melted my heart to the floor.

"It's good to be powerful. I'm glad to know you can keep yourself safe while I can't." Pierce's words shot straight to my heart and tears instantly welled in my eyes.

"Thank you...Pierce." The blush that filled his cheeks at my words was enough to distract me from the fact that I had already lit the candles and was now burning the hair I held in my hands. "OW! SHIT!"

The hair fell from my hands right onto the carpet below us causing a mini panicked stomp dance to shake the room and probably the downstairs neighbor's entire apartment but that also probably the least obnoxious thing they've heard from up here so what can you do I guess.

Welp...there goes that hex...

Pierce begins to walk out the door. "I will bring you more." and despite the screams from the other room, the only expression I could muster was a flustered smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed!! Please feel free to send feed back, this whole blog is an attempt to work on my writing skills so I'm completely open to suggestions and constructive criticism!

Hope you all have the best day!

[defectivevillain]

through gritted teeth

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

summary:

The man says he’s your husband.  He’s polite, charming, intelligent. He seems a little pretentious, but he appears to know you rather well and the thinly-veiled devotion in his eyes dispels most of your remaining doubts.  It certainly helps that the man is rather well-dressed—and attractive, a traitorous voice in the back of your mind whispers.  Unfortunately, you have no idea who he is. 

word count: 3.8k | ao3 version

You wake up to fluorescent lighting burning into your eyes, pulling tears down your cheeks as you blink stars from your vision. Your entire body aches with exhaustion and you can feel a headache brewing already. Groaning, you try to push yourself up to a sitting position. There’s an IV attached to your arm and, upon closer inspection, you seem to be in some sort of hospital room. White walls line the space, and there’s nothing much of note in your immediate vicinity. You blink a few more times past your absurdly dry eyes and continue inspecting the room, until your eyes catch on the chair to the right side of your bed. 

There’s a man sitting at your bedside with his eyes closed. He stirs within a few moments, as if he can sense you staring at him. Relief is written all over his face as he leans forward and clasps your hand with a small smile on his face. You can’t stop yourself from instinctively flinching at the contact and he notices, removing his hand at once. 

“Do you remember who I am?” he asks. His words are carefully constructed, strung together with eloquence and remnants of what sounds like an accent from a European country. You blink at him once, twice. It takes a moment for you to process the question, and another to contemplate the answer. The man doesn’t look familiar. Indeed, he looks like a stranger. 

When you tell him as much, a sad smile works its way onto his face. It seems he expected your answer. He begins to explain the circumstances surrounding your visit here, which you are immensely grateful for. You know next to nothing as you sit in this hospital bed, and, try as you might, you can’t remember anything save for your name. 

Apparently, you’ve suffered a serious head injury that left you with a spontaneous case of amnesia. Fortunately, your memories will likely return to you in due time. Somehow, these two revelations aren’t the most shocking of statements from the stranger. What the man reveals next shakes you to your core: he’s your husband. 

Upon closer examination, you find that the man is charming, polite… He’s rather attractive, too, with fine-combed hair and sparkling brown eyes with flecks of amber. His face looks as if it was sculpted by Michelangelo himself—sweeping lines, sharp edges, soft curves. The man is intelligent and [perhaps as a result] a little pretentious. From his attire, you can only assume that he makes a lot of money and has rather particular tastes. You could see someone like this going to the opera regularly. 

But there’s something else about this man—something lurking beneath the surface. You can’t puzzle out what it is. There’s something sinister concealed in those reddish-brown eyes, an unspoken violence in the man’s careful poise. And you think you catch him intently scrutinizing you—as if you’re under a microscope.  

You soon learn that the man’s name is Hannibal Lecter. He’s a psychiatrist who used to be a surgeon. He’s in his 40s. He has refined tastes—and even goes to the opera on occasion, yes. He is fascinating, intriguing beyond measure. He discusses heavily philosophical topics with ease. He is slippery, only giving you the information he wants to give you. He has a very controlled image. The dishes he cooks you are extravagant and lavish, with ingredients you’ve never even heard of. (The meat in them is always some sort of organ, and it turns your stomach every time.)

In the wake of your injury, you’re unsure of almost everything. But you know one thing for certain: Hannibal is not your husband. And you’re convinced that he’s dangerous. You don’t trust him—can’t trust his carefully crafted words, his home-cooked meals, his polite smiles. It’s all a farce. 

It would be all too easy to ask your next visitor about this well-dressed, enigmatic man. Unfortunately, you don’t get any other visitors. In fact, your next visitor is Hannibal again… And again. And again. It gets to the point where your nurse gives up on having him sign in when he visits. At first, she had been rather strict in enforcing the rules; she seems to have caught onto something that you still haven’t grasped, because she now collects herself with an entirely different—almost heightened—awareness. 

You’re having increasingly conflicting feelings, especially when you consider the fact that Hannibal hasn’t actually exhibited any behavior that justifies your wariness and suspicion. If anything, he’s been the perfect supporter—the perfect husband—throughout your recovery. You want to believe your gut sense, want to believe the whispers in the back of your mind that tell you to exercise caution. But, at the same time, who’s to say they can be believed? You still have almost no recollection of who you are. Why are you questioning the only person who has bothered to show up for you throughout your recovery? 

Days pass in the blink of an eye; before you know it, Hannibal is walking in one morning with the declaration that you’ve been officially discharged from the hospital. Despite your misgivings, you head to the bathroom to change into some normal clothes before putting on the pair of shoes near the door. Your heart is racing as Hannibal’s gaze refuses to leave your form. Why can’t your mind rest? Why can’t your thoughts be silent, for once? Why are you so damn suspicious of every minute kindness? 

The walk out of the hospital and through the parking lot is painfully silent. You can’t resist sneaking glances at Hannibal, waiting for his mask to crack and fall. It never does. He catches you looking and sends you a smile, which discourages you from looking again. You let your eyes roam about the shiny cars in the parking lot as the warm afternoon sunlight greets your skin. You missed the fresh air. 

“Where are you taking me?” you finally ask, as you continue to follow behind the man.

“Home,” Hannibal remarks. He pointedly does not say your home or even our home. Your heart is racing in your chest. His back is turned, leaving you to imagine the expression on his face.  

It isn’t until you’re secured in the front seat and Hannibal’s driving out of the parking lot that you summon the courage to utter the question that has been plaguing your mind. “Are you really my husband?”

“Hm?” It’s clear he heard you; he’s giving you a chance to retract the remark. You know you should take it, but… you want to know what’s going on. You need to find an answer for the seemingly irrational fear drumming in your chest and rushing in your ears. 

“You say you’re my husband,” you repeat yourself, gaining a bit more confidence. “But I don’t think you are.” For an awful moment, there’s nothing but silence. The car zips along the road. You feel your hand trembling at your side—hopefully the only visible sign of your distress. You clench your shaking hand into a fist and try to remain calm. Panicking won’t do you any good. 

“Do you remember how we first met?” Hannibal asks instead. You stare at him in disbelief, surprised by how he completely ignores your accusation. There is an utter lack of emotion on his face. Seconds later, you remember his question and shake your head. “You’re an FBI agent,” Hannibal reveals. “I was called in to perform your psychiatric evaluation.”

Great. Just great. Out of all things, you had to be an FBI agent. The thought of forgetting your work—forgetting all the victims left to die in muddied puddles of crimson, forgetting all the killers with mocking smiles and cruelty written in the lines of their faces—is sincerely troubling.  

And Hannibal is a psychiatrist. That seems to fit—you can see him in a needlessly extravagant office, surrounded by books and expensive elegancies. You have to shake your head to get rid of the weirdly vivid imagery that your thoughts produce. “Are you… my psychiatrist, then?” you ask. 

“If you wish,” he replies with a mirthful smile. That answer doesn’t satisfy your curiosity—not in the slightest. 

“Were you my psychiatrist?” you press. You get the feeling that you need to be asking the right questions in order to get the answers you want. The man across from you is adept at picking apart people’s words, flipping them around and twisting their intended meaning. Your wording will be immensely important. 

“I was your psychiatrist, for a time,” Hannibal acquiesces. From that statement, you get the sense that he really was your psychiatrist, until something evidently happened. You ask him as much, but you seem to go too far, because he regards you with an amused glance. “You’re asking a lot of questions.”

“And you’re not giving me any answers,” you feel the need to respond. You have simultaneous suspicions that honesty is dangerous in front of Hannibal, and that he values honesty above sugar-coated words. Your eyebrows furrow. “You haven’t exactly been forthcoming with information.”

“Is that so?” Hannibal is providing more questions in lieu of answers. He’s definitely hiding something. Sensing that you won’t get anything more from him, you fall silent and settle for staring at him out of the corner of your eye. His gaze is locked on the road ahead.  Despite the time you’ve spent together, talking about your past, you still aren’t totally convinced that you’re married to Hannibal. Is there a way you could test him—test his knowledge of you? Surely there’s something you can ask him to determine if he truly knows you or not. 

It comes to you a moment later. “What’s my favorite color?” you ask, before you can think better of it. The man doesn’t react at first, instead staring straight ahead. Just before you can repeat the question, he answers. 

“I can’t imagine you have a favorite color,” Hannibal responds. “You once told me the very notion was foolish.”

Okay, he’s sort of correct there. But that was an easy question. You sort through the few memories you have, looking for something you can ask him. “What’s my middle name?” That’s an answer that you just barely know yourself—a memory came back to you a mere few minutes ago, of you and your childhood friend talking about middle names and nicknames and other unimportant things. 

Hannibal answers the question correctly again. The two of you must’ve been friends, at the very least. You continue to search your mind for something you can ask him. 

Five minutes and several questions later, you’re starting to doubt your own conviction. Hannibal answers every single question correctly, providing you with information you don’t remember but know deep-down to be true. It’s unnerving and disturbing to think that you could’ve forgotten this man so easily. He seems… utterly unforgettable, in every sense of the word. Furthermore, he’s your husband—perhaps you shouldn’t be doubting him so easily. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before you can quite contemplate your next words. Hannibal’s eyes are locked on the road, but you know he’s listening. “I don’t mean to doubt you, I just— I don’t know what to do. I don’t remember anything, obviously, and… I feel so lost,” you choke out, your throat burning. You bury your head in your hands for a selfish moment, hoping for some solace and clarity. 

“Don’t apologize, dear,” Hannibal says. You hate how the remark sends a shiver down your spine. Damn it, why can’t you just be comfortable? This man is practically a dream, so why are you trying to ruin it? Can’t you just accept that, sometimes, you deserve to have nice things?! Hannibal continues, unknowing of your internal dilemma. “You’re going through a lot right now. I’m just happy to be here with you.” 

You feel ashamed, knowing that you’ve been holding yourself back despite the fact that Hannibal has shown you nothing but compassion and affection. “I’m… happy you’re here, too,” you say. Guilt prickling in your chest, you impulsively reach out and clasp his free hand resting on the console. Somehow, this surprises your husband, because he stiffens for a second before reciprocating, gripping your hand reassuringly. 

“We will get through this,” he promises. You push aside your doubts and decide to believe him.

Maybe things really will be alright. Maybe, you’ll get your memories back sooner rather than later, and you’ll be able to look back on these moments—riddled with doubt, insecurity, wariness—and laugh. You take a deep breath and look out the window, watching the passing trees blur together. 

Your hand slips from Hannibal’s and you look at your nails, picking at your cuticles. Your hands are somewhat indicative of the life you led—the one you don’t remember living—with a few scars stretching down your wrist and climbing up your forearm. You look down at the healed wound and frown, trying to remember how you got the scar. 

Suddenly, you get a flicker of a memory. It’s faint and fast, but it’s a reminder of the past nonetheless. You squint ahead, trying to focus on keeping the flashback in your mind for long enough to dissect it. You remember… blood. A corpse, perhaps? Yes, a corpse. A woman’s corpse, hoisted and impaled on antlers. You remember… staring at that corpse for so long that you had to be physically led away from the scene, albeit with a gnawing feeling in your gut that something just wasn’t right. You remember… walking into an office, only to be met with Hannibal’s curious gaze. That must’ve been the first time you met the psychiatrist. You put a hand to your temple and try desperately to concentrate. 

“You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Hannibal says, effectively throwing your focus. You blink and chance a glance at him. He’s still looking at the road, yet you can’t shake the perplexing conviction that he’s been watching you. What’s more, you can’t shake the feeling that his interjection was purposeful—that he meant to throw you off and break your concentration. 

“I— just remembered something,” you choke out, feeling a bolt of pain slide down your scalp to the back of your neck. You bring a hand to the nape of your neck and press, hissing as your fingers glide over sore muscles. “Something important.”

“Congratulations,” Hannibal hums, immune to your internal panic. You don’t know exactly what this man did, but he must’ve done something. Your subconscious is convinced that he is incredibly dangerous, and you feel inclined to trust your gut. 

Another flashback arrives, apropos of nothing. You remember sitting across from Hannibal in a finely-decorated room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts. You remember averting your eyes as you speak, desperate to avoid the roaring flames racing up your skin with every additional moment of prolonged eye contact. You remember… a twisted grin on Hannibal’s face. You remember… the intensity to his gaze as he studied you when he thought you weren’t looking. 

Unsettled, you shake your head and try to refocus on the passing scenery again. To your surprise, you think you recognize where you are. Hannibal must be taking you home. You take a deep breath. You just have to survive this car ride—then you can figure things out from there. You have all the time in the world to muse on the nature of your injury and the nature of your “husband,” once you’re safely contained within four walls. Right now, though, you need to be wary. You need to have your wits about you, you need to watch for any sudden movements, you need to be ready—

“We’re here,” Hannibal announces, promptly throwing your thought process to a halt. You blink and look ahead, only to find a nondescript home with beige siding and a somewhat weathered front door. Vaguely, you remember pulling your car into this driveway, remember unpacking boxes from your trunk. Yes, this is your house. Hannibal is much quicker on the uptake, as he gets out of the car and walks around the vehicle. You don’t realize that he’s opening the passenger door for you until you feel him staring at you expectantly. You thank him and get to your feet, a sudden bout of dizziness sending you wobbling. Hannibal is there in a moment, steadying you with a hand on your forearm. You pretend not to notice his hand on the small of your back as you walk up the path to the front porch. When you’re finally situated in front of the entrance, you realize that you have no idea where your keys could be. 

“Left pocket of your jacket,” Hannibal murmurs, as if reading your mind. You nearly choke on a breath. 

“Thanks,” you respond a bit breathlessly. When you finally manage to unlock the front door and swing it open, you turn back to face him. “Well, thank you for the ride.”

“Of course,” Hannibal responds easily. There’s a regretful smile rising on his face. Everything around you fades to obscurity. “I’m afraid this is goodbye.” That remark sounds strangely ominous. Your heart is in your throat. 

“Thank you for keeping me company,” you feel the need to say, regardless of your suspicions about the man. He was the only one to visit you. You don’t want to think about how you would feel if you spent your entire hospital visit without a single familiar face. “...Bye.” Suddenly, there’s a hand on your cheek. Hannibal’s hand cradles your jaw, his thumb gently roving along your skin. He regards you for a moment, his eyes sparkling, before kissing you on the cheek and leaving. You watch him return to his car and drive away, apprehension and adrenaline coursing through you. Somehow, you get the feeling that you’ll never see Hannibal again. 

Your doorbell rings about an hour later. You look through your peephole, only to find a somewhat intimidating man with his hands shoved in his pockets. You have to focus on quelling the foolish spike of hope that had risen in your chest when the doorbell rang, and the subsequent disappointment at the unfamiliar figure you found. You take a second glance at the stranger, only to find that he looks somewhat familiar. This vague familiarity convinces you to crack your front door open slightly and ask him, “Who are you?”

The man pulls something out of his pocket. “Jack Crawford, FBI,” he answers, showing you his identification card. You stare at him for another moment. “Your boss,” Crawford supplies, when you can’t seem to get the words out. After a few seconds of awkward silence, you decide to invite him inside. 

Before long, the two of you are settled in your living room. The tension that first appeared when you opened your front door has yet to fade. You’re not sure why this man has yet to crop up in your memories—he has a rather powerful aura of authority, not to mention the fact that he’s apparently your superior. You decide not to beat yourself up about it. Your memories will come back in due time; until then, you’ll make do with what little you have.

Crawford—Jack, he tells you to call him—clasps his hands over his knees and levels you with an unreadable gaze. “I need to ask you something,” Jack says, rifling through his other pocket and pulling out a folded piece of paper. He unfolds it slowly, before revealing it to you. “Do you remember this man? Hannibal Lecter?” Jack explains, immune to your growing dread. You feel sick to your stomach as your eyes flit across the black-and-white photograph of the same man who watched over you vigilantly as you recovered, who claimed to be your husband and kissed you on the cheek mere moments ago. “He’s the Chesapeake Ripper—the serial killer who has been evading capture.” 

“I—” you stammer, bringing a hand to your temple. Your headache from earlier is returning and your head is spinning from this sudden disclosure. You almost don’t want to believe Jack, but you get the feeling that he’d have no reason to lie to you. If anything, lying would just make his job harder. You take a shuddering breath in, trying to come to terms with the fact that you just narrowly escaped a serial killer’s grasp. 

“It’s alright,” Jack tries to reassure you, evidently sensing that you’re growing a bit panicked. 

“No, I—” you’re choking on the words. Recent memories are mixing with old, creating a convoluted and murky timeline of events. It’s hard to sort through everything, to find the truths hidden amongst the lies. You’re not sure how long it takes for you to collect your composure and organize your thoughts into a relatively coherent statement. “I saw him. He… visited me in the hospital. He drove me home.” 

“What?” Jack asks, utter disbelief written all over his face. You don’t remember your boss very well, but you get the feeling he isn’t usually so expressive. The look on his face would be comical, in a different situation. “What did he say to you?” he implores.

“He said a lot of things… Nothing very important.” You try to recall what you can, but your memories are quickly slipping through your fingertips in granules of sparkling sand. You press a hand to your temple, your headache growing worse as you try to recall what happened. “I tried asking him questions about me, to throw him off, but he knew all the answers.” 

Somehow, Jack doesn’t seem surprised by the notion. “You two were… close, before,” your boss evidently settles for saying. There’s a certain suspicion in his voice, as if he suspects you may have been more than “close” with Hannibal. You’re feeling too discombobulated to rise to the bait or bother calling him out on the obvious verbal trap. 

“He said ‘goodbye,’” you continue, eyebrows furrowing. Somehow, you get the sense that Hannibal isn’t the type to utter goodbyes. Moreover, a goodbye ushers in a sense of finality, as if you will truly never see him again. You pinch the bridge of your nose, pretending that your exchange with him on your doorstep isn’t replaying in your mind. He kissed me on the cheek, you don’t say to Jack. He said he was my husband. He watched over me in the hospital when no one else did. And it may have been fake, all of it… But that gleam of affection in his eyes didn’t look manufactured—it looked genuine.  

Jack looks troubled and somewhat restless. “You’re lucky you made it out alive,” he states. You don’t think you can quite believe his words. For whatever reason, Hannibal Lecter—the Chesapeake Ripper—is interested in you. Whether sick fascination or cloying obsession, you have to face the facts:  luck had nothing to do with it. The Ripper kept you alive because, inexplicably, he wants you alive. 

And that unnerves you. 

hannibal taglist, cause i think y'all would be down with reading this since it's also hannibal: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69 @flow33didontsmoke @mrgatotortuga @house-of-1000-corpses-fan

[radawaycunt]

High Risk

PART TWO: SILVER TONGUED DEVIL

Also on AO3

Part One // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Nurse!Fem!Reader

WC: 3.1k words

Chapter Summary: In order to form a deeper connection with Hannibal, hoping to keep him complacent, Doctor Chilton allows you to have dinner with him…. Mostly unsupervised.

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, slight canon divergence (frederick is still head of baltimore state hospital), manipulation all around, some jealousy, corruption, smut, handjob, kinda audio voyeurism but not really?, also kinda exhibitionistic but not really??, some alcohol consumption, aaaand thats all i can think of rn but lmk if i missed anything!

————-

You waited outside of the double doors with a guard, patiently carrying Hannibal’s meal tray. He had a visitor, a mutual acquaintance of Doctor Chilton’s, and they were not to be disturbed.

You couldn’t understand why you had to be standing there, but you figured it was a power move on Doctor Chilton’s part. Reminding you of your place. 

Your eyes flicked up to the security camera in the corner, suspecting he was watching more than one of them at a time. More than half an hour had passed, the silence stretching on infinitely. The guard had briefly tried to engage you in small talk, but he had quickly realized it was pointless. You already knew what sort of questions he would ask if he felt like he had any leeway, and you were not in the mood for it.

Already there were rumors speculating the sort of favors Hannibal was asking of you. You’d felt the gazes on you, caught the murmurs behind your back. You couldn’t deny that the more animal part of you, the one that had no such regard for personal safety, hadn’t thought about him that way. 

A few times, he had slipped a folded piece of paper for you to find when you retrieved his meal trays. Always sketches of you, symbolic renditions meant to convey messages. His attention to detail was astounding. Almost… devoted, in a way. 

Every time you posed for him, you found yourself enjoying his focus more and more. The thrill of it all was narcotic, but you only hated that it had brought other people’s attention to you. 

The doors suddenly opened and a tall, well dressed woman stepped out. She was strikingly beautiful, with icy blue eyes and neatly styled dark hair. Her lips were painted ruby, which further accentuated her features in an elegant but almost severe way.

Doctor Alana Bloom was her name. You’d heard of her from both Doctor Chilton and Hannibal, but you hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting her in person until then.

“My, you’re a looker,” she said, inspecting you as if you were an insect under a microscope. “No wonder.”

You only smiled politely, internally seething. She could see right through you, smiling in return.

“He’ll charm the pants off you if you’re not careful.”

With that, she walked away, heels clicking down the hallway. The guard next to you let out a huff and you shot a glare in his direction.

He pushed off the wall and followed her, while you turned the other way and slipped into Hannibal’s cell room.

“Sorry, it might be a little cold,” you said as a greeting, making your way over to the slot. 

“You were waiting for me?” He asked.

“I was told to wait until you were done, yes.”

He noticed you were avoiding looking at him, though the displeasure itself wasn’t directed at him. He smiled a little to himself with satisfaction.

“Doctor Bloom is an old colleague of mine, but our history goes a little further than that,” he said. “A futile affair, that was.”

“No rekindling the flame then?” You asked before you could stop yourself. 

Of course that wasn’t what the visit was about, you knew as much. But you were still bristling from her words, and the smugness in them.

“No,” Hannibal said. “I’m afraid we are mutually uninterested, though we have some business left over.”

You hummed in thought, composing yourself. “I apologize for asking, it’s none of my business.”

“You may ask me whatever you want. I won’t mind telling you.”

You tilted your head to the side, where another camera was perched up in the corner. 

“We don’t have such liberties,” you said pointedly. “Though who knows? Maybe there’s an argument for our case.”

With that, a small, coquettish grin and a glance in his direction. Hannibal sat up straighter, licking his lips.  He glanced up at the camera, also well aware that Frederick was listening.

If anything, the two of you had been enjoying toying with him in any small way you could. It drove him crazy, but he mostly seethed in silence, knowing he was equally matched in this game.

“Perhaps dinner might be a good place to start,” he said.

“Oh yes, I would like that very much,” you said, exaggerating a wistful sigh. “But we shall see.”

————————————

“You know, you’re getting a little bold with all these requests,” Doctor Chilton said, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I know you have your methods of trying to get information out of him — or at least you think so,” you said, unbothered. “I mean, he has been much more forthcoming because of me, hasn’t he? I have my methods, too.”

He let out a sardonic chuckle. “Clearly. Others seem to think so, too, no?”

You didn’t give in to his goading, changing the subject instead. “Much luck with Doctor Bloom?”

“Some, actually,” he said, his sneer faltering. “But that shouldn’t really concern you. You’re still his favorite little doll to play with.”

And you mine, you thought to yourself, containing a grin.

“I’m aware,” you said instead, raising an eyebrow. “So it’s not too unreasonable to have dinner with him, especially with the glass still separating us.”

“Oh, but you’d be so much more useful if you were up close and personal. I could put you in one of the interrogation rooms and keep him handcuffed... But the problem is, he asked for total privacy. No cameras and no audio recordings,” he countered. “I cannot possibly do both. You know that’s not how it works.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, but you already knew what the obvious answer was.

“No cameras, then,” you said. “I would say that’s fair, no? You might not care for the video footage, anyway, not without sound.”

He narrowed his eyes but nodded in assent, knowing it was the best he would get. The ghost of a self-satisfied smile was on your lips, pleasure at getting what you wanted dancing in your eyes. 

As long as the rest of the team was getting the information they needed, by whatever means necessary, he supposed he couldn’t grouse too much. Regardless, that didn’t make him any less annoyed at being backed into a corner.

“You get an hour and a half tops,” he said with finality. “Work your magic. And wear something nice, why don’t you?”

————————————

The table had already been set for you when you arrived. A mediocre attempt at something romantic, with a few little tea lights and a half-dead flower in a plastic cup. You supposed the guards couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense, but it was also more mockery on Frederick’s part. 

But at that very moment, you couldn’t care less. In fact, you found yourself… excited for the night's events. 

It was nice not to wear your uniform for once, your nicest black dress in its place. It was nothing too special, but you only wore it on certain occasions, such as dates.

And while this may be the macabre version of a date, it was a date nonetheless.

You’d styled your hair differently, put on a little make up and even wore perfume, which you were rarely able to do. It was liberating in a way, as if granting you permission to step out of bounds a little more. You wouldn’t waste such an opportunity.

Your heels clicked softly on the linoleum floor as you slowly paced the room, anxiously waiting. You glanced down at your watch, and right as it hit eight o’clock, the door opened. Hannibal was led in by a guard, his hands cuffed in front of him. He smiled at the sight of you, his eyes roaming up and down to better appreciate you. 

Your heart immediately started racing, both from nerves and giddiness. You focused solely on him as he was led to the table, the situation becoming less surreal by the second. Despite the fact that he was in his usual jumpsuit, you could tell he had meticulously groomed himself as best as he could. 

Another guard came in to place two trays on the table, but the food wasn’t from the cafeteria. Apparently, Hannibal had been allowed to cook a two-course meal, dessert included. There was even some wine, but you had to settle for plastic cups instead of glasses. Not that either of you seemed to mind, too busy sizing each other up. 

It felt strange, not seeing him through a thick panel of glass, but it was even stranger to sit right across from him. You only had to reach out your arm and you’d be able to touch him… if it wasn’t forbidden, of course.

“I’m surprised Doctor Chilton did not join us for dinner,” he said as the guard cuffed him to the table.

“He’ll be here in spirit,” you said, briefly nodding at the two guards before they stepped out of the room. “But I think it’s better this way, don’t you agree?”

“Much better,” he agreed, pausing a moment until the door finally shut. “You look beautiful, by the way… And you smell good enough to eat. Just as I thought you would.”

You grinned at his dark sense of humor, suppressing a shudder as you crossed your legs and leaned back. “Well, flattery will get you anywhere.”

“And wine?”

He grabbed the already uncorked bottle of wine and raised his eyebrows. You nodded and he poured for both of you. 

“We shall see,” you said, taking the cup from him and holding his gaze.

“Well, a toast to our very gracious host,” he said, raising his cup. “For making all this happen.”

You tapped your cup against his with a soft cheers before taking a sip. He proceeded to give you a detailed explanation of what you would be eating, nearly putting you in a trance. His voice had a hypnotic quality to it, managing to soothe your nerves. Without really noticing, the two of you were leaning forward, the conversation taking on an almost intimate quality – even if the subject matter was anything but. 

Before he touched his food, he encouraged you to try first. He watched you eat, his amber eyes lingering on your lips as you licked them. You had never tasted anything so complex or refined, but knowing it was put together by him made it even more of a delicacy. You let out a pleasured hum, barely holding back from getting another bite.

“My compliments to the chef,” you said, taking another sip of wine instead. “It’s almost enough to convince me to eat anything you cook.”

He chuckled. “Oh, if we were not within these four walls, I would have made a whole feast just for you. I’m sure Frederick has told you of my dinner parties.”

“But then it’s likely we wouldn’t have met outside these walls,” you said, not wanting to talk about Doctor Chilton. “Unless, of course, you frequent this sort of place.”

“I am not unfamiliar, I will give you that,” he said. “But our meeting has been the only good thing about this whole situation, and for that, I am grateful.”

You put a hand on your chest, teasingly pretending to be touched. “How sweet, are you going to quote more Byron for me next?”

He laughed, finally digging into his food. Conversation flowed with surprising ease as you continued to eat. Perhaps it was partly due to the wine, but it also helped that you were eager to listen to his thoughts on things. You were well aware of his intelligence, and it was stimulating to finally talk to someone that had so many layers to uncover.

By the time you got to dessert, he was bold enough to spoon feed you the first bite, awaiting your reaction. The taste was just as amazing, but you were more interested in the gesture. The way he was gazing at you with ardor, kindling your insides – A hunger of a different kind. 

“Tell me something,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it weren’t for Frederick, would you have accepted an invitation to dine with me?”

“Depends, if you’d played your cards right, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it would’ve been possible.” You tilted your head to one side slightly. “But you’re much too valuable, are you not? They have to keep you happy.”

“You certainly have.” 

You let out a huff of amusement, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your hand. Briefly, you thought again of all the rumors circulating about the two of you. This time, though, it didn’t really seem to matter all that much anymore. They’ll keep talking anyway, so why not just do whatever the hell I want?

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Do you always manage to get what you want?” 

He shrugged as if he couldn’t help it, making you chuckle. “What’s your secret, hmm? How do you do it?”

“You aren’t able to come any closer, are you?”

“Of course not, Hannibal.” You pretended to scoff. “We’ve got to keep our hands to ourselves, too.”

There was a devilish grin on your face as you slowly got up from your seat. You slipped your shoes off and brought a finger to your lips to indicate silence. It was titillating, truth be told, to be straddling the fine line between reckless abandon and caution. Especially when you were clearly leaning more towards one side.

“Pity,” he said, watching your every move, smile mirroring your own. “I would have liked to whisper it in your ear.”

You slid onto the chair next to him and he turned his body to face you. You looked down at his jumpsuit, locating the zipper, before looking back into his eyes. He slightly dipped his chin in assent, and you reached a hand up to his chest.

“Tell me something else, then,” you said, dragging it down slowly so as not to make much noise. 

“Like what?” he asked, holding his breath as more and more of his body was revealed. 

His blood was quickly flowing south, the consequences of this becoming apparent as the zipper reached the end of the line. Your mouth fell open in both surprise and eagerness, exhaling a shuddery breath. He kept his hands off as you carefully eased his erection out of his underwear, fingertips brushing the velvety underside.  

“Anything at all,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you? I want to hear your ideas on love.”

You stood up and slid your panties down your legs without lifting your dress too much. You watched him swallow hard as you sat back down, letting the fabric fall on his lap.

“For the mess,” you whispered in his ear, your body pressed close to his. “And a little souvenir for you to keep after.”

He nodded, spine straightening as you planted a kiss just beneath his earlobe. You held his gaze as you spat in the palm of your hand and reached down to curl your fingers around his shaft. His hips immediately bucked into your grip, and you heard him suck in a breath.

“Love, hmm?” He cleared his throat. “You want to know what makes me tick?”

“Absolutely,” you purred, hand moving up and down slowly, wrist flicking slightly when you reached the tip. “Though I may already have a few ideas...”

As much as you wanted to tease him, elongating his pleasure, you didn’t have much time to spare. Your faces were close together, but you fought off the urge to kiss him. His breathing became more labored as your hand continued its rhythmic movements, the heady scent of you – and of your arousal – enveloping him.

He’d had his fantasies about you on many late nights, but your actual touch was another thing entirely, better than what he could have imagined. And knowing he was affecting you in the same way… the chain of his handcuff rattled against the table a little as he strained, trying his hardest not to touch you back. He would want you to be loud, anyway, and that was not an option there.

“W-well, I certainly like to be surprised,” he said haltingly. “And I admire boldness. But to love in itself is a bold a-action, wouldn’t you agree?

“I wouldn’t know much about that,” you said, slicking his pre-cum around the head of his cock with your thumb. “But I do know how to be a lover.”

The light graze of your teeth on his earlobe made his body jerk, his cock pulsing in your hand. You picked up the pace, his chest heaving as his hips almost involuntarily rocked to meet each stroke. Your lips moved to his jaw and down to his neck, and you listened to him babble about something else, trying to fill in the silence. 

Your attention was on his body’s reactions and you could tell he was dangerously close to the edge.  You silently warned him not to stop talking as his cock began to twitch, and you had only seconds before you quickly had to cover your hand with your discarded panties. He bit his bottom lip as he spilled all over the fabric, little noises of pleasure stuck in his throat, one hand gripping your arm. 

You smiled against his skin, lavishing his neck with some more attention as he faintly sighed your name. And when he was done riding out his high, you turned his face towards you and planted a small kiss on his lips as if to reward him. 

He was panting, still lost in the dizzying aftershocks of his orgasm, but you helped clean him up some and zipped his jumpsuit back up, your panties still hidden within. You glanced down at your watch, seeing you only had twenty minutes left. 

You slipped back to your side of the table as if nothing was amiss, but the devious glint in your eyes was undeniable. He was lost and he knew it, already wanting – no, needing – more. So much more. Luckily, it was as you had said; He’d always been good at getting what he wanted.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight, Hannibal,” you sighed contentedly, already aware you would be carrying this with you for the rest of the night. “You sure are good company.”

“As are you,” he said, his voice calmer, though something was lurking underneath. “Perhaps… we might arrange for it to happen soon.”

A thrill danced over your skin at the prospect of it. “Perhaps. Only if you’re on your best behavior.”

------

[livingsspecter]

𝐀 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭

pairing: Gregory Violet x reader

content: Violet decides to use you as a human canvas, applying his signature makeup on you! Fluff, a bit suggestive

word count: 449 words

a!n: this was written on a whim and not entirely proofread, might make some corrections later!

The tip of the makeup brush tickles the corner of my eye, and Violet grumbles for me to quit moving; but the giggles are inevitable. With a sigh, the brush lowers down to his lap and he lifts my chin to observe the unfinished work. He tilts his head, inspecting me like a tiny molecule under a microscope.

“I’m almost finished, stay still now.”

My laughter dies as I observe his curious expression closely, I already miss his parted lips before I even close my eyes again. I hope a smile—no matter how small—is adorning his beautiful dark lips. I daydream as far away as I can, tingling from Violet’s firm but delicate touch. A shiver runs up and down the bones of my spine when he touches my lower lip, and my eyes shoot open.

“Hm?”

He blinks back at me, holding up the open tube of glossy black substance, his hand holding the applicator hovering in front of my lip. The tip of the applicator stains it an opaque black, a mere dot; Violet huffs and squeezes my face.

“Ow!!! What’s that for?!?”

I feel like a captured pufferfish, my words come out muffled and my lips pucker up. Surprisingly, Violet chuckles softly and continues to hold my face with his long, insistent fingers.

“Well, I told you to stay still, but you kept moving.”

I roll my eyes and move closer to him, he backs away like a cat being greeted by an unsolicited visitor. But, I manage to grab his shoulder, moving closer and closer until our faces almost touch.

His eyes widen for a second, but he holds his ground, still holding my face even tighter for support. I dare to breathe on his skin, and I lean in, until our lips connect.

My own lips sloppily brush from his top lip to his bottom lip, like a paintbrush working on a canvas. Violet sits still, his muscles tense up, but he doesn’t push me away.

Then, a “thump” sound catches my attention, I turn to the side and notice that the tube of black lip gloss had fallen from Violet’s hand onto the mattress, leaving a soon-to-be stain on the sheets.

He frowns and lets go of my face and exclaims with irritation:

“That’s my favorite lip gloss… and my favorite sheets…”

I was about to apologize for the disaster, but I suddenly feel his hands squeezing my face again, even tighter. My eyes widen, and his narrow.

“How will you pay for them, hm?”

The suggestive tone in his voice would be hard to locate for anyone else, but I’m acquainted with it—a rare treat. A smirk blooms in my lips and I lean in, once again.

.・゜゜・　　・゜゜・．

[hwanchaesong]

┗🖋️ A once in a blue moon chance / Sculpts a rose and violet romance / In an ivory and rings trance / Comes a tragic wound by lance 📖

🎧: Taylor Swift - loml

wc: 1.3k

genre & warnings: angst, angst, angst 😭 itty bitty fluff if you use a microscope, character death (due to sickness), ghost!Sunoo, just pure angst for real, read at your own risk 😭

a/n: this is a part of The Tortured Poets Department series. if y'all want, you can read the other album inspired fics of other groups here.

You warm your hands on the freshly brewed cup of coffee that you ordered, lifting it up and taking a sip, not minding the burn on your tongue.

"This is delicious." you say, the man in front of you grinning in return, "We should've come here sooner, Sunoo."

"Right!? I told you this place is a banger." he proudly crosses his arms on his chest, a smirk on his bright face.

You sigh, finishing the drink and standing up from your seat, "Oh crap, it's time to go." you murmur, hastily walking away after cleaning up the table.

"Already?" Sunoo jumped up from his own seat, begrudgingly following you down the pavement.

"Slow down! Gosh, are you doing a marathon or something?" he rolls his eyes, finally catching up to you without breaking a sweat.

Naturally, he has longer legs than you, he was simply caught off guard by your sudden departure from the café.

"I really don't want to be late this time." you peered at your watch, clicking your tongue in dismay.

"You really should manage your time properly." Sunoo comments, looking at your annoyed face.

"Yeah," you muttered, turning around the corner and stopping in front of a flower shop, "I should really manage my time better."

You enter the establishment, greeting the florist and inspecting the fresh cuts of flowers.

"What should I get?" you put a hand under your chin, in a deep thought on what to buy for today's celebration.

Sunoo peeked from behind you, staring at the flowers as well, "Why not get sunflowers? Look! Aren't they especially pretty today?" he excitedly points at them and you nod your head.

"Sunflowers are a great choice." you smile, waving at the florist to tell him your pick.

The dimpled man walks over to you and begins to arrange the flowers into a bouquet, "What's the occasion for today, ma'am?" he asks, and you giggle a bit at his playful tone, making the man beside you pout in discontent.

You're not planning on flirting with that florist within his presence, right?

"A birthday, and these sunflowers are the perfect gift for him."

You smile lovingly at the flowers when the florist hands you the bouquet, and when you're about to pay for it, the male did not accept your money.

"Flowers on me for today, now go." he waves you off and you frown, thinking that if you did not pay, it'll be unfair for the worker.

"But-"

"No buts!" he puts his index finger on his lips, sending you a wink, "Consider that as a gift from me as well."

You beamed at the man, poking his dimples and proceeding to pinch the cheek of the florist that you have grown accustomed to after a few months of meeting him at the shop.

"Thank you so much, Jungwon!"

You bid him goodbye, exiting the store in a haste, missing the giddy and beaming expression of the boy, one that Sunoo noticed.

"Oh my god! He totally likes you!" he whispers aggressively, "Must you flirt with him too?!"

You bite your lower lip, shaking your head lightly, "No, no. Jungwon is a friend. Nothing more, nothing less."

Sunoo squinted his eyes at you, skeptical but he lets it go.. for now.

He continued following you throughout your journey somewhere, basking in the melodious silence and the beautiful weather.

You didn't say a word either, choosing to stay in the comforts of your own thoughts.

Skies so blue it reminded you of the sea. The sun illuminates the earth of its shine, casting a warm sensation to anyone who walks under it. The trees are also swaying with the winds, creating a silhouette of dancing leaves on the pavement while the breeze gently touches your skin.

Then your footsteps came to a halt in front of a rather gloomy place, a complete opposite of the outside world.

You took a deep breath, willing your hands not to shake and figuratively patting yourself on the back, urging yourself that you are a grown woman capable of handling your fears.

Sunoo's worried gaze is now fixated on you, "Y/N?" he calls your name, concern lacing his voice at your sorrowful mien.

"I can do it. Sunoo, watch me do it." you whisper, steels in your orbs and looking straight ahead as you begin trudging the dark road towards your final destination.

Sunoo nods in return, a proud smile on his face, "Go for it, Y/N. I'm rooting for you."

Finally, you have reached the goal.

Crouching on your knees and dropping the bouquet of sunflowers on the neatly trimmed bermuda grass near a sepulcher.

"Hello, Sunoo. I've come to visit you again. I'm sorry if I haven't been able to drop by for a while, college life has been keeping me busy." you laugh albeit without any trace of joy.

You then sit down, not minding if the dirt will stain your pants, hands going over the tomb, fingers tracing the name engraved across the marble.

"Here," you say, pulling out a small container in your bag, "I brought your favorite, mint choco ice cream. Bought it at the coffee shop that you have told me about before." you set it down beside the bouquet, and you couldn't help the small sob that you let out.

Immediately, the man who was beside you the whole time pulled you in a hug, one that your soul felt but physically cannot be perceived.

"Sunghoon said that he'll visit you later, he'll tag Riki along. They said that they will bring some coke and beer." you sniff, your arms wrapping themselves around you.

"They will?" Sunoo mumbles, his own tears forming in the corner of his lids, "What about the others?"

"Hee, Jay, and Jake will follow afterwards, after their finals. You know," you gulped, trying to compose yourself, "It's been another difficult year for us without you."

You can't hold it back anymore, your hands flying to your mouth so that you won't make any embarrassing sounds, continuing to ramble all your sentiments.

"We miss our sunshine, Sunoo. We miss your sassiness, your dolphin squealing, your smile. Sunoo I-I, I miss you so much."

Said man embraced you tighter when your cries got louder, murmuring words of affirmation that you will never ever hear again. Telling you how much he misses you too, but you will never know that.

"I still have these daydreams sometimes. Where you'll k-kiss me when I'm having a hard time. Where you'll give me random gifts because it reminded you of me. Oh gosh-" you wipe away your uncontrollable salty tears that are free falling from your eyes to your cheeks.

If there is one thing that Sunoo regrets the most, it'll be the fact that he wasn't strong enough to continue living. He wasn't brave enough back then to combat the illness that was eating away at his life force.

He succumbed to it when all of you were praying for him to recover.

He let himself sleep even when he promised you a life of eternal love with him.

Maybe that's why he still hasn't left your side, even if his transparent body is slowly disappearing. He has to see you be happy again. He has to watch over you until he knows that someone will be there for you until you're grey and old.

"I'm sorry for being sad Sunoo, god! Y/N, get a hold of yourself!" you snicker, slapping yourself lightly with both hands, plastering a trembling smile on your lips.

"No, Y/N, don't be. It should be me who's apologizing. I'm sorry for causing you so much pain." he says, pulling away from you and putting a hand on your shoulders, but it's no use, because a mere spectre of the past won't be able to send a message to the living, breathing present-day.

"I hope you're resting well there in heaven. Happiest birthday to you, my sunshine."

A longing gaze, yearning for intimacy, embroidered in a ring that was stashed away in his cabinet. One that would not see the day nor would it be placed on your finger.

For the heart is fickle and the brain is a mush of wilted petals, and maybe, in your next life, you will not lose the love of your life.

taglist:

@shakalakaboomboo @ramenoil @slutforjeno