Vampire TXT X Reader

sexy mustache men who name themselves after a fruit >>

Goddamn Namjoon 💍🦆

wow he’s so fine [cr. dwellingsouls]

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.

Mads Mikkelsen

Nigel:

All I Need: Nigel and you are somehow face-to-face in the streets of Bucharest. Will you rekindle a love that had been forgotten long ago?

(Romance/Slight angst)

Nigel Banyai X Will Graham:

DOGSDOGS: Will is called to Bucharest for an investigation following the aftereffects of Hannibal's death. Nigel wants to ensure his and Darko's safety and remain outside the eye of the FBI.

In Progress!

(Angst/Fluff/Horror)

Hannibal:

Link to Hannibal fics here

Duncan Vizla:

Tourniquet: Duncan goes on a killing spree to avenge you and your capture and he's fucking ruthless in doing so.

(Romance/Slight angst not really)

Dating Tyler Durden Would Include....

Requested by the very lovely @hyuugasmary

Part two!!

⚠️ Warnings: sexual innuendos, mentions of blood I think? ⚠️

So, you've found a way to get the most wanted man in the world to be your boyfriend. Him being wanted because of how gorgeous he is, but also wanted for the crimes he's committed. This should be fun.

Tyler has the largest infatuation with you. With the way your hair falls over your eyes or how your skin glows when you're out in the sun working in the garden- that type of stuff. He swears that your eyes were more gorgeous than any bar of soap he's blown something up with, even though he most likely wouldn't admit that to anyone but himself. Again, he knows where his priorities lie, but he's one to care more for the intimacy of language.

Many would say this is Tyler's "first life" meaning that he was not an old soul. This would make him overenthusiastic about everything and someone who contains a lot of excitement. This carried over to you, of course whom he finds to be the most exciting thing of all.

When Tyler walked downstairs from his room in the Paper Street house, all eyes fell on him to see what their leader would say. With his oddly printed shirts and wacky pairs of pants, he seemed almost out of place with how grimy and cluttered the rest of the house was. However, there was also a part of him that looked too perfect in this setting. The first time he walked downstairs and heard you yelling insults at his Space Monkeys, he felt his heart beat faster with the admiration he felt towards you.

Your boyfriend is very committed to his cause, as you probably know already. He's willing to do the most ridiculous acts just to show his contribution to the chaos and that's just what he decides to. So when he was in the bathroom ready to shave all the hair off his head, you joined him instead of being surprised he was going for the change. You helped him shave his head and then you asked him to shave yours. Tyler thought it was very badass of you to do that for him and Project Mayhem and he likes to remind you of how sexy it was on the daily.

If you rub Tyler the right way by doing everything in your power to love and care for him and to keep him happy throughout his sadistic tendencies, he might just appoint you to the leader of the Demolitions Committee. If this happens, Tyler trusts you more than anyone else- including himself.

He struggles with insomnia. As the stories go, he was raised in a mental institution and doesn't sleep for weeks on end. Only a part of this is true as you know your boyfriend can go a day or two without any shut-eye. Most of the time the only way he'll truly fall asleep is when he has you in his arms or by his side; listening to your breathing and feeling your fingertips graze the soft but calloused skin on his palms. He wants to know that you're safe at all times.

Tyler doesn't usually talk about his emotions when it comes to his insecurities. Insecurities that you might leave him after finding out about everything he's done or insecurities about not being good enough for you. Mind you, Tyler's confidence is very high but he wants to make sure that your relationship is a two-way street. You do so much for him and he wants to make sure you know he'll reciprocate that. You're usually able to pry these negative thoughts out of him once you're alone together up in his room or cleaning up after a fight in the basement of Lou's Tavern.

This can lead to some minor issues between the two of you if he plays off his insecurities. It can become small arguments but everything is usually fixed after make-up sex.

Sometimes, you have a habit of picking up each other's movements and catchphrases. You tend to find yourself leaning confidently against doorframes or with your hands up above your head, holding onto a part of the ceiling. You also picked up some of his phrases such as "The things you own end up owning you," or, "After a long enough timeline the survival rate for everyone drops to zero."

He picks up your favorite sayings and even starts to smile more since that's a very you thing. Being around someone who appreciates him and his psyche means the world to him and allows him to start showing more fondness for life.

It takes you a while to get used to your new place when living with Tyler, since the water wasn't always clean or the electricity didn't always work. You usually make the best of it but sometimes it's frustrating when your hair (or what's left of it) becomes really greasy. Tyler kinda picks on you for not adapting right away but hey, you did lose a lot of versatile solutions to modern living.

Tyler enjoys date nights. He won't do anything crazy, so don't expect extravagant restaurants or shiny new jewelry. Instead, be excited over a late night drive to look at the stars or listening to records you stole. You know how he has his whole "down with capitalism" rant so usually you two stick to something that doesn't require contributing to that.

Bonus!

Exchanging glances with Tyler while he's giving his speeches on total destruction and absolute chaos. He'll even wink at you in front of the other Space Monkeys.

Trying to fix some of the pipes in the basement with him. His shirt is off and he's sweating everywhere while he duct tapes the openings closed and oh god do I need to continue?

Tyler allows you to hang up the licenses you collect from people like Raymond K. Hessel. You like to put them in the door to your bedroom in a decorative way, all of their names and faces on display.

Going on flights with Tyler to set up new clubs. He's usually the one by the window seat and you're the one flipping through the manual, drawing flames and terrified faces on the diagrams with the paint markers you keep handy.

Wearing your boyfriend's infamous red sunglasses?!

If you're a non-smoker Tyler would do his best not to smoke in front of you due to your distaste for the drug. However, if you do smoke- expect sharing cigarettes. He'll light one and walk around the house with it dangling between his lips, only for you to take a long drag from it when he's least expectant of it.

A/N: I hope this is okay! Thank you for requesting<3

💛🦐

✧✧Wandering Eyes✧✧

MIN YOONGI X READER

A night at the frat house leaves you wanting more from the mysterious man who somehow has a way with words. From tequila shooters to shooting stars, Min Yoongi has all the knowledge... and the charm.

⚠️ Warnings: swearing, mentions of drugs and alcohol, sexual innuendos, basically anything that you would see at a college frat party ⚠️

The speakers were blaring that all too familiar but never comforting music that you'd grown so used to being in and out of frat parties. Knowing the guys came with its perks; occasional free alcohol and admittance to private parties. However, this Euphoria themed event was not sitting right with you. Sure, you had dressed up with your blue lace romper and glitter under the eyes to match, but you still felt solemn inside. Unfulfilled. Taking another shooter off the counter, you hurriedly downed the taste of tequila and prepared to lose yourself in the music that you didn't listen to.

Reaching the middle of the floor, you bump into someone who had been dancing with their friends. Tall, honey-skinned, and dark hair, his look was complete with his taste of fashion. The shirt he chose to leave whichever dorm he was staying in was very mesh and very see through. His chest has been glitterfied just as everything else at the party and his eyeliner perfectly shaped his almond eyes.

"Hey," he said, voice deep and concerned, "You okay?"

However, the music was still too loud to make out anything this man before you was saying. Everything was starting to become a blur you realized as the alcohol finally hit and made its way through your system, intoxicating your body and your mind. This wasn’t your first drink of the night, that was for sure as you were trying your hardest not to pay attention to the wandering thoughts in the back of your mind. Trauma from your past had started to resurface and it felt as though the night sky fell on your chest, collapsing your lungs between the Earth and infinity. It was all too much for you to handle, a song timed just perfectly in the shower to make you remember those nights spent alone in your room and the smell of your blankets bringing back the nostalgia of it all. Being a freshman was still new and the invigorating feeling of being on your own was something you had grown to love. However, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering back down the path to the way things used to be and the troubles you had. 

It wasn’t something that could fully be expressed which was the worst part. It was those little things that led to a 10:00pm breakdown, sure, but it would sound unimportant if phrased to someone as you dopped all your feelings. They would see it as nothing more than on overreaction on your part and would shame you for not being stronger in their heads even if they weren’t brave enough to say it out loud. So, the solution to everyone’s problem was for you to leave the uncomfortable dorm you resided in and do what you do best. Cope.

“I’m fine.” You slurred out, still aware of your surroundings although they had taken on a hazier feel. Your limbs started to feel heavy but you continued to lose yourself in the beat of what you assumed was The Spins by Mac Miller. Frat Boy Favorite. 

“Are you sure? You look a little tired.” The guy said, voice laced with concern. It was almost aggravating how eager he was to seem like your Prince Charming.

“I don’t want to sleep with you.” You said bluntly, as you moved away from him, taking another swig of a beer you don’t remember paying for at the bar table. You don’t even like beer. 

The lights started to change color and you assumed that meant Jungkook was messing with the remote again. A tall and somewhat lanky guy, he was one that you didn’t expect to join the frat as quickly as he did. He seemed more like the nerdy gamer type and that’s exactly what he was until he had worn a sweatshirt which read “Take Yo’ Panties Off” and the guys asked him to join the next day. His story of pledging was the funniest to you out of the rest of the guys and he was the newest recruit as well as one other whom you had yet to meet.

The other guys within the frat, Namjoon and Seokjin were the oldest. They were both seniors and had a very particular way of doing things. Namjoon was tough on the other guys as he wanted them to embrace traditional procedures and to respect one another. Seokjin was less traditional and more modern. He knew people didn’t join frats for the brotherhood, they joined to drink and he made sure that fun was always #1 priority of the guys. As one could see, they butted heads quite often but everyone had fun in the end. 

Jimin and Taehyung were Juniors. Jimin was the absolute fuckboy and he prided himself on that fact. Bright pink hair and studded jackets, he drove the girls (and the guys) absolutely wild, each one of their crushes on him somehow continuing to exist knowing they were only a one-night stand. He was seductive with his entrancing eyes and he could persuade any random person off the street into bed with him if he so desired. 

Taehyung wasn’t as crazy as his counterpart, but he was also on the fuckboy scale. Big puppy dog eyes and the sluttiest outfits a man could wear (and he wore them to class, they were not exclusive to parties) he also knew how to use his good looks to his advantage. He and Jimin would write lists for the week to see how many notches they could get under their belt and would compete against each other for the highest. It disgusted you, yes, but they were your friends. 

Hoseok was the happy drunk. The brother that was always at parties to drink and to have the best time imaginable. He was usually the one that worked the DJ and would play his favorite tunes as he stood atop one of the chairs in the corner of the room and pointed at the mob of dancing people below, trying to encourage them to sing along with him. Hobi was your favorite. Definitely. He also gave the best hugs. 

Sitting at the minibar, you toy around with your red solo cup, dragging your finger along the indentations and counting the individual dots. When you lost count, you would start from one again and would quietly scold yourself for not remembering if you were on twenty-eight or twenty-nine. You were thankful that the Euphoria party allowed for you to cry and it would be on theme and not an actual issue. The glitter tears were complimented by wandering eyes and not addressed as a problem to the people who approached you about it.

“I love your makeup.’” Great, another guy who can’t take the hint. The seat next to you filled with an average sized male in a blue button-up and platinum blonde hair. It was definitely dyed but it was a good look for him, you thought. His smile was gummy and sweet and had a summery vibe to it, like it was a smile only few people got to witness at a time and he was sharing it with you, a stranger who was unbeknownst to anything of his lifestyle. His eyes crinkled at the corners and you could see his attempt at guyliner and a little glitter; he was definitely not the experienced with makeup type. He held a Vodka Cranberry in his left hand and a phone in his right with black nails painted so perfectly you could see your reflection in them. Something about him struck you as the type of person who was actually quite interested in what it was you had to say, and not someone who was desperate to get laid this October evening. 

“Thanks, I’m glad I could show off my skills with the same makeup everyone else is wearing.” You said sarcastically, hoping he was the joking type so this upcoming conversation wouldn’t be too painful to have. 

“It definitely looks better on you than it does on me, I think.” He said, asking one of the guys for another beer. Namjoon was on bar duty tonight and he gave you a knowing glance as if to say, “I know this guy is your type, but if something happens let me know.” 

“Nonsense. I like it.” You said, sending Namjoon the “I’m okay” eyes. 

After a couple of moments, it seemed as though your compliment would be the end of the conversation. Blondie had his drink and the music started playing another upbeat tune from Hobi’s interesting collection of songs. The bass could be felt through the floorboards as you stood up to go to dance again. But, as you were about to head out, you were tapped on the shoulder by the boy from before who was now standing up and motioning towards the speakers. 

“My name is Yoongi, by the way. I would love to dance with you if that’s okay?” He phrased it as a question so as not to make you feel cornered into a decision you didn’t want to make. This one was definitely a keeper. 

“(Y/N). Try to keep up.” 

The lights then changed to red and the song’s pace quickened. The dance floor became rabid with Hobi’s choice of playlist and as the tempo became faster, the drinks were downed in the same manner. You were feeling really good now as you let the blackness swallow you whole and allow you to feel free. No worries. No assignments. No drama. Nothing. 

Nothing but you and Yoongi. 

It was almost astonishing how terrible he was at dancing. You weren’t too great yourself, but you were able to sway to some rhythm whereas Yoongi looked like a baby deer caught in the headlights. He gave it his all though and that’s what counted in your mind. Besides, it was kinda cute. 

Your eyes flitted to every area of the room, making sure you were aware of your surroundings in case this conversation went south. Jimin was body rolling next to the same guy who you’d talk to earlier and you figured it would be the better choice for him since you weren’t really interested in one-night stands. Hobi was still dancing and upon noticing your gaze starts to point at you and drunkenly mouth the lyrics to Midnight City by M83. He sent you a smile and crouched down to the table below him, reaching for the infamous Pickle Borg (a pickle jar filled with vodka). Jungkook was over by the beer pong table playing flipcup and trying not to let his bucket hat fall off while he took shot after shot with Seokjin. Namjoon was still at the bar watching over everything but side eyeing the drinks he wasn’t allowed to have being the bartender. Taehyung was probably in the smoke room. 

Just then, Jungkook walked over to the two of you in his drunken state with that stupidly overpriced pink sweatshirt with the panties saying. He had spilled beer all down the front of it and his shoes were sticky with the residue of whatever concoction he had out of the funnel the guys bring out for the newcomers. Seokjin was bringing out said funnel once more which conveniently was a traffic cone they stole off the side of the street. Grimacing, you wondered what the inside of it looked like considering the boys hardly ever cleaned the Frat House. 

Jungkook put his arm around Yoongi and laughed as he stumbled towards the wall, leaning on the platinum-haired boy for support. “You drinking from the funnel, man?” He asked.

“Jungkook,” you said, curious as to why he would offer since you both know the rules, “that’s exclusive to frat members?”

“It is,” Seokjin piped in with the funnel in hand and a bottle of Cracken stuffed in his back jeans pocket, “Yoongi is one of the new recruits.”

And then it hit you as to why he was so nice. Why he hadn’t tried to make a move on you when you were in front of Namjoon. He was friends with the guys. Or would be, anyways.

“Oh.” Was all you said before the funnel was placed above Yoongi’s head while he crouched down to his knees to make it easier for Seokjin to hold it. Jungkook was tasked with pouring since he was too drunk to hold anything and he took the Cracken out from his friend’s back pocket and unscrewed the top off, taking a swig himself before he poured it. He held the side of it with his pinky finger and balanced the glass on his arm as he drank the proper way before he took the rest of it and dumped in into the cone.

Yoongi’s mouth wrapped around the bottom part of the funnel as his adam’s apple bobbed up and down with every swig he took. Even while drinking he looked beautiful and you didn’t know if you thought that because you had a genuine interest in the guy or if it was because you hung out at the frat every night. He didn’t spill a drop as the funnel slowly emptied and before any time had passed, he was up in the air back on his feet with arms outstretched in victory, Jungkook hugging him at his side and laughing with him.

Yoongi stumbled a bit over to you as he leaned and whispered in your ear; alcohol coating his breath and making his words sound sickly sweet. 

“That skill of mine carries over to the bedroom, you know.”

Your knees felt weak as you took in the weight of his words. He winked before turning back to Jungkook who was offering him another shooter. You told yourself that the kind of forgetting you needed to do tonight would be fixed by the alcohol and nothing more; you would not allow yourself to sleep with any guy no matter how drunk you were. But he was really pretty. And he did insinuate romantic attraction first. 

You were eighteen. Who gives a shit anyways?

“Prove it.” You said as you watched him smile, grabbing his wrist and leading him up the dark stairs towards an unoccupied bedroom. 

Hey,

First of all, I absolutely adore your writing style and in general your stories (especially the Hannibal ones). Could you please write one, where Hannibal is overly possessive, because he thought his wife got too close to Chilton at one of his dinner parties? And to end it all of there is smut. (If you are comfortable with that).Thank you for considering

Close Call

Hannibal Lecter X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: Over possessiveness on Hannibal's part, slight angst, swearing, mentions of blood and wounds, sociopathic and manipulative tendencies, uhh first time writing smut so hopefully it's okay (it's fairly light) ⚠️

I also didn't read through this again and edit it, so I apologize for any grammatical or spelling errors!

Hannibal finds himself somewhat outraged at an overly confident Chilton getting too close to his wife. No matter, he'll just have to remind the two of you of what's his.

Dinner parties were nothing short of extravagant when it came to Hannibal Lecter's craft.

The wines were paired with the delicacies adorning the plates on the mahogany table; everything had its own respective place, down to the last spoon and fork on each intricately folded napkin. There was, of course, the smell wafting through the corridors of the Lecters' home, signifying the delicious meal being prepared in the kitchen and acting as bait to those mingling in the living room as they awaited the call to be seated. From your perspective, the table had to be crafted to perfection so that the party full of rich good-for-nothings had no complaints of the events of the night. Of course, you adored your husband's cooking, but less so you enjoyed the company he chose. Intelligence wasn't something that came from the accumulation of degrees and the bragging of doing so- in your opinion- but rather came from the passion associated with the understanding of others and their natural environments. In other words, conversations of nonsensical retellings of the rise to power and gathering of wealth that these particular guests had were of no interest to you. These people spoke of books on law and work projects as though they've forgotten entirely what it means to express humanity: experience.

But you were ever so careful to express your opinion on the subject of what it means to be human. Although you acknowledged your differing perspective, you didn't want to diminish the perspectives of those who might only know of the desires associated with "book smarts," and not what you referred to as "experience points." These two things could coexist, but it was often that a person leaned heavier towards either side. You still had more to learn about the balance of these, but alas, that is the human condition.

Hannibal loved you for this.

Being someone so intensely driven towards the path of psychology and law, it was refreshing being married to someone who expressed opposition to having that be the basis of every conversation. He loved a good conversation on written words and philosophers and mathematical expressions, but he loved even more to have someone in his life that kept him his understanding of biology and the preservation of his humanity. With his- er- hobby, as some would refer to it as- it became difficult to maintain this humanistic approach. These dinner parties served more as an obligatory social preservation to his image, so as not to be caught with his peculiar hobby.

And the culinary arts were his escape, anyways. A win-win except for the fact you'd be bored out of your mind talking to some of these people, he knew. Nevertheless, you had a polite smile etched onto your face wearing very presentable attire. You were a master at code-switching, it seemed, replacing your usually laid-back and outgoing personality with a more hoity-toity, reserved aura.

You had on a slightly more revealing outfit; a dress so navy it almost seemed black under any lighting that wasn't direct candlelight. This dress had been cut just above the knees with an off-shoulder neckline, exposing the very top of your chest and the beginning of your upper thighs. It was classily paired with silver earrings gifted to you by your husband, and a half up-do with your precariously crafted curls threatening to spill out of the fastened hairclip from behind. Hannibal had expressed just how lovely you'd looked as he helped you with your zipper earlier, placing a hemline of kisses to your collarbone.

He wasn't the only one who'd had this realization dawn on them during the night, however. A bright-eyed Dr. Chilton who'd received nothing short of a pity-invite, found himself drawing away from the conveniently placed appetizers to the lavish chairs facing the fireplace where you sat. He silently waited for your conversation to conclude before he decided to sweep in and take the woman's place on your right, finishing the glass of brandy in his hand before doing so.

"(Y/N)," He almost seemed exasperated, as if he were already slightly drunk, "A pleasure."

He reached out his hand to you in an attempt to get you to shake it as an overly friendly gesture, acknowledgement to his presence. You proceeded to smile at him instead, as you'd become familiar to his intentions.

"Hello, Dr. Chilton, how are you?"

His face flushed as he withdrew his hand from your space, opting to rest it against his leg as he sunk further into his chair, getting more comfortable. He was definitely drunk and if not drunk, then the far side of tipsy. You already didn't care for the guy much, so this chance encounter was a hinderance in your eyes before conversational topics even arose.

"You know, I never understood the drab curtains you chose for the interior of your living room, Mrs. Lecter. They block out all of the sunlight." He began, eyeing the bottle of scotch being poured out by another guest to the left of your chair. His eyes seemed to be glazed over as he spoke, however, the dimly lit fireplace seemed to cast some light back into them. His suit of choice was a corduroy one. The heavy material of the fabric already making him break out in a slight sweat.

Grimacing, you feign another smile as you fully acclimate yourself to the conversation at hand. You tell yourself to remember your polite flattery, but honestly with the way Dr. Chilton was, you knew he would take any sort of attention to his character the wrong way.

"Yes, that was the way we intended them to be, doctor. Have you ever been to our home during the daytime? It's not as drab as you may have perceived it to be."

Dr. Chilton had been coming onto you for quite some time now. Despite knowing you were wed and the many implications of your marriage you'd spoken about, he still managed to hold onto the hope that maybe one day something would spark between the two of you. It wouldn't. It hadn't. His blatantly disrespectful comments about yours and Hannibal's relationship were starting to burrow under your skin and take root in an uncomfortable fashion. Part of you felt bad for the man, another part wanted to sock him in the face.

Respectably, of course.

"Perhaps not. Maybe I spoke out of turn." He claimed, uneasily moving about in his chair despite his initial comfortability at the beginning of your dialogue. Maybe if you kept with the slight I-don't-like-you innuendos, then maybe he would be drunk enough to give it a rest and would return to his normal self come morrow.

"Maybe." You agree, taking a sip from your glass of Chardonnay. It was almost dinnertime. You could hold out until then, couldn't you?

"You know," Chilton began, staring deep into the fire and allowing a hushed sigh to escape your lips in anticipation of another redundant comment, "I used to set fires in Uni all the time. Its a miracle I graduated with any degree at all with the amount of trouble I used to get into as a boy."

Pause. Was there finally something worthwhile to discuss with this man?

"Really? And the occasion was...?" You asked, trying to direct the topic back to this small bombshell the Doctor had just dropped in your presence. Experience points were far more interesting to talk about than a poor understanding of the "48 Laws of Power," which was the last conversation you'd had.

He seemed to perk up in his chair realizing that you'd finally taken something that left his mouth with interest. "None, we were just playing with matches and grew bored. Only got caught because the wind carried the flames back to our dorm which almost set alight." He smiled and for a moment, you could see the memory replaying through those glossy eyes of his. You felt included, as if you'd been there yourself, watching the growing light of the flames dance around the edges of the matches you were playing with.

As if on cue, your husband's hand was gently but firmly placed on your shoulder from behind. You knew instantly it was him because of the wafting smell of his woodsy cologne and the wine he was drinking infiltrating your nose. His grip on you was polite but there was an edge to it, an unfamiliar one at that. Was something wrong?

Turning around, you see his darkened glare towards Chilton in the chair next to you. His matching dark navy suit making him look all the more professional and intimidating in this light; if you were Chilton you'd have run far far away from the glare Hannibal had. He seemed to pay no mind, however, eyes still focused on you until your husband broke the silence:

"Dinnertime."

It was at that moment that you noticed all the other guests had made their way to the kitchen and the three of you were the only ones in the living room. How long had you been talking to the doctor for? Hannibal's repressed anger suddenly made sense.

Walking to the kitchen, you were in awe at the sight before you. Hannibal had really put his all into tonight, and it showed. The plates were nothing short of art with the first course on display with accompanying sauces and garnish that turned them into something out of a museum painting. The entire get-up was something out of the Renaissance itself; everything in its perfect place. Hannibal stood at the head of the table, glass in hand as he prepared to make a toast to progress the night's dinner.

"I would like to thank you all for coming out tonight."

A collection of smiles and exchanged glances ensued, everyone pleased with their invite.

"Amongst this crowd are the most intellectual and inspiring people I've had the pleasure of getting to become familiar with. You're all of high accomplishments and achievements and I would like to thank each of you, individually, with a meal that encapsulates such dedication shown by you all."

Your husband then smiled at you and raised his glass.

"I would also like to thank my lovely wife, with whom I share this simple but joyous life with."

There was a hint of something there, something alongside the adoration he expressed for you on the daily. There was a twinge of that anger once more, but could it really be directed towards your conversation with Chilton? It seemed so clear to you that your husband surpassed the former in every way possible: intelligence and compassion, hell, down to the formal attire he adorned himself with daily. There was no way he would feel threatened by another man so unruly.

"Likewise." You said, tilting your glass up to the ceiling in acknowledgement of his kind and respectable words.

"Once more to reiterate, MY wife and I spent a long time on this meal so I hope you all enjoy it." He smiled a forced grin and directed his gaze towards Chilton. "And nothing on the menu for tonight is vegetarian."

...

The night was filled with more of the usual countless bantering between everyone in the room, trying to appeal more and more to everyone else. You were swept into what seemed like every conversation in the house and all of this sociability was starting to grow exhausting. The meal was phenomenal, to say the least, but did little to calm your worries with your husband's current expression of intolerance and dismay. You wanted nothing more than to head upstairs to your shared bedroom and to sort things out with him; to maybe end the night with a passionate kiss and to then retire to bed, finally. That desire, however, seemed like miles away because of the ongoing event that you were starting to despise more with every passing minute.

Not to mention, your dress was starting to get extremely uncomfortable, as if your skin were melting into the seams of the fabric.

As if on cue to make the night worse, Dr. Chilton was making his way towards you, undoubtedly much more drunk this time. He was stumbling over his own loafers and the floorboards were not his friend at the moment. He was making a fool of himself and you wanted so badly to just disappear.

Just then, the floorboard by the fireplace where you were sitting popped up in front of him. Everything from then went in slow-motion, the wood, the stumbling of Chilton's feet and the slow advancement towards the fire. Seeing how this would play out, you wanted to yell "Stop!" but you were frozen. Just as you had predicted, he had a horrid fall towards the open flame, his cufflinks connecting with the place stones and his right arm breaking the fall. His hand wasn't lucky enough to miss the fire, his scream instantly echoing throughout the room.

"Dr. Chilton!" Hannibal yelled, already to his feet with the pitcher of water from the charcuterie table. It was insane that his reflexes allowed him to respond instantaneously. Almost as if he had prepared for the doctor's fall. Springing the water onto Chilton, the fire was put out almost as quickly as it had started.

"Are you okay?" You asked the doctor, leaning down to his level on the floor, holding his now hurt hand.

"B-b-bandages." He was able to muster out.

The closer look you got to his hand, the closer you could see the wound. The flames didn't consume his flesh for very long, although there was now a coating of red on his skin alongside a few open gashes. Looking to your husband for help, you instead saw him standing above you, a scowl on his lips. He looked angrier than he'd ever before and the sight of it scared you. Had he been angry that the party was ruined? That one of his guests were hurt?

Chilton was then led to the kitchen where his wounds were properly addressed and tended to. The aid kit that had collected dust on the top shelf of the medicine cabinet had finally been put to use, and, upon further inspection, it had been decided for the doctor to call for an ambulance for a more professional treatment.

He left. Everyone followed suit. It was now only you and your husband.

"I'm sorry that had to happen the way it did." You said, reaching out to touch his shoulder and soothe him in my way you could. "Would you like me to help you clean up?"

He mumbled something under his breath before he made his way up the elongated glass stairs. It was unbelievably peculiar for him to retire to bed this early, especially before cleaning up from a party.

"Is something wrong?" You asked, voice coming out as nothing more than a feeble whisper. He stopped in his tracks, his blazer now resting atop his free arm opposite to the one holding the railing. His tie was loosened and from where you were standing, you couldn't see his face all that clearly.

He finally spoke up.

"What are your intentions with Chilton?" He asked.

You stopped in your initial tracks to follow your husband up the stairs. Was he accusing you of courtship? And with the doctor of all people?

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, (Y/N)."

Your heart broke for a moment, there was no way he really thought that after years of marriage, after what you had come to learn about him and his... capabilities...that you would choose another man, albeit in front of his own eyes?

"I have no intentions with Chilton, Hanni. Not as an acquaintance, not as a friend, not as a lover." You continued to follow him up the stairs and to your shared bedroom where he placed the blazer and tie on the bedside table rather than hang it up as he usually did. He undid his cufflinks and unbuttoned the top his neckline.

"I only want you, Hannibal. You know that."

He pursed his lips and finally, from where he leant against the bed, looked up at you standing in the doorframe. Your expression was a worried one, not of someone who had underlying intentions. Hannibal knew what you wanted, knew who you wanted, but Chilton had gotten the better of him tonight. And besides, tormenting the two of you to remind both of you who you belong to was a much more satisfying game to play.

"Alright." Hannibal said, accepting your validation with his thick, Danish accent. "Show me."

"I- what?" You asked, being taken aback completely by surprise. His eyes were dark with thoughts you had grown to be all too familiar with from him. Despite clearly understanding his interpretation of the words, you still stood frozen at the door, waiting. There was something about this that wasn't going to be as sweet as the usual slow and sensual intimacy you'd had with your husband and you knew this fact.

Just then, as if taking your hesitance as permission, he stands and walks over to you, the height difference ever so apparent now that you were face to face. His gelled hair was now starting to come undone, as was yours, as he held your gaze. His hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear and then trailed to your neck, your collarbone, your breast. He then allowed his hand to go further, down to your waist and then pulled you into him, holding you there as gently but firm as one could be. He was watching your face as he did so, never breaking eye contact even once.

Your breath hitched in your throat. A growing warmth developed in your midsection as your husband had you entranced with his every move. He was enjoying this, enjoying you, enjoying the situation he put you in. He had turned on his more sadistic side and it was becoming evident with the way he progressed down your body, replacing his hands with kisses and moving towards your thighs then back up, as if with haste, towards your mouth. You felt as though you were going to faint right then and there.

He suddenly stops his kisses and then goes to finish unbuttoning his shirt. His wide frame was revealed with every unfastened button popping off, slowly but surely. Every inch of his skin had been crafted to the likes of the gods, it was as if he were one of them himself. No imperfections in his skin as far as the eye could see. He was beautiful. He was the divine definition of beauty itself.

He swiftly moved his hands to your throat, fingers following suit as he held you there, against the bedroom wall, a juxtaposition to his masterfully divine beauty of feigned innocence. His breath was hot but not unpleasant as he whispered into the nape of your neck:

"You belong to me."

And that was all it took for you to fold entirely, becoming a puppet to his every command, desires of the flesh being the only thing on both your minds. You needed him and he needed you to need him. He wanted a full surrender, a full understanding that he was the only man you'd ever be able to fulfill these lustrous fantasies with.

"Do you understand?" He asked, not giving you a second to think any further before he moved you from the wall and to the bed, where he towered over you.

"Y-yes." You said, waiting to see what he would do next.

"Good. Now take it."

Confused, you looked up at him but he had already had other plans, flipping you into your stomach and forcing himself inside you, under your dress. The instant burn that you felt was replaced by immediate satisfaction as you saw stars. Through this position you could feel him inside you, hot and intense, pushing deeper and deeper until he bottomed out. He dug into you until he was all you could feel, hear, taste, see. He was owning every inch of your skin and forcing you to feel it.

And you loved it.

"Who do you belong to?" He asked, anger laced in his voice.

"You." You tried your best to get out with the intense feeling between your thighs but it was next to impossible.

"What was that?" He asked once more, forcing you to say it louder.

Just as you were about to respond, he picks you up and turns you around to face him, taking in his expression. You were on your knees looking up at him, tears in your eyes at the intensity of what had just happened. Your dress was definitely ruined by this point but you couldn't care less.

"You." You said, waiting for him to say something, anything at all. He placed his finger on your lips and smiled down at you while he toyed with them. He then put himself inside of your mouth, your jaws stretching to be able to take him.

"Good." He said, quickening his original pace as he sighed with content. You allowed him to finish before the two of you fell onto the bed in a tangle of limbs and bedsheets.

He was holding you in his arms now, making sure you were alright as he kissed the top of your head and face, looking at the marks he'd left on your skin. He'd make sure those were more visible the next time someone tried to intrude on your guys' company. Especially on a pity invite.

He'd also make sure not to let Chilton off with a warning next time, making sure to purposely set his entire body on fire, not just his hand.

But you were asleep soundly in his arms, full of him and he had won.

...

A/N : Hello! This is my first time writing smut kinda so I hope this is up to par with some other fanfic writers. I really hope this fulfills your request! Lmk if anyone has any other requests, my ask box is open! 🫶

Why is no one talking about the scene in volume one where Eddie literally dies in the upside down for like 2 minutes before being brought back to life by Steve’s mystical tears like in Tangled. And then they made out

This is so good!! 💛🦐

Theatrics

Jay Gatsby x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: drinking, men coming onto the reader

Author’s Note: Thank you so much for requesting for Gatsby! No one ever requests for him so this was very fun to do. I hope you enjoy love!

Requested: by anon, Hi I’m new and I just recently got super into the great Gatsby I was hoping you could please do a Jay Gatsby (fanfic maybe) (2013 film) about him and his wife maybe where Jay hosts a party and someone tries flirting with the wife in front of Gatsby he doesn’t know they are married but Jay just kinda reacts if really appreciate it I have trouble finding Jay Gatsby 2013 stories so I’d love seeing it and I saw your previous stories and such you did on him your a fantastic writer!! (Maybe he was just smiles for a little knowing it was ridiculous than as it was clear he wasn’t going to be got more and more mad like he did at Tom during the hotel scene Oof-) (it so could be Tom and he gets really mad like bro you already had Daisy now you want my wife nah haha)

Summary: the request

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

(not my gif)

The party was about to start. You loved it when Jay threw parties. You knew that people would come to gossip and everyone in West Egg enjoyed a good Gatsby party. Maybe you just liked being the center of attention. Maybe you liked it when Jay was.

Whatever the reason was, you were pleased to find everything in place for your final preparations. People would start filling in soon in droves. You passed each other waiters carefully checking all of the plates they were holding. They made quick small talk as you passed, making sure everything was alright.

You heard a loud clap and everyone stopped moving.

Your eyes all went up to the staircase where Jay was standing, a grand smile on his face.

“My dear?!” he called.

“Yes?” you called back to him. He met your eyes from the distance, his smile widening.

“Open up the doors!”

You nodded and turned around to the waiters, gesturing for each of them to get the doors. You opened up the main one and people were already waiting.

You stood by the door as they came in, saying hello to those you knew and eavesdropping on those you didn’t. Before you knew it the room was completely filled to the brim with people. Drinks and food were being handed out. You had lost Jay to the crowd which was expected. You often found each other near the end of the night anyway.

“Y/N?” a man called. You turned, your lips upturned in a rehearsed smile.

“Nick! Hello dear, how are you? I thought you weren’t going to be able to make it,” you said, rushing over to your neighbor.

“I was able to afterall. Do you know where Gatsby is? Jay, I mean,” he said sheepishly. You shook your head.

“Sorry, I don’t. I’m sure he’s bound to turn up somewhere, sloshing some sort of drink around.” He nodded in agreement. “Try to enjoy yourself. There’s plenty of food if you want. Perhaps you can even find a nice person to go home with.” He shook his head laughing.

“I think I’ll have to find the food.” You nodded and patted him on the back.

“Then I will see you later. Have fun!” You walked past him further into the crowd. You loved these parties. You loved that barely anyone there knew that you lived there. Often people would whisper about Mr and Mrs Gatsby, the infamous party throwers and how people rarely had ever met the two of you.

You preferred to remain an idea.

You grabbed a champagne glass from one of the waiters and sat down in one of the free spots on the couches. You happened to be right next to a man you had never met before. You didn’t spare him more than a glance but you could feel his gaze on you as you took a drink of your champagne.

“Do you frequent these parties?” he asked you. You looked over at him and gave him the ‘who me?’ look before answering.

“No, can’t say that I do,” you said. You liked your identity as an idea, why not keep it that way? Plus, you had to have a little fun at these parties if you wanted to keep them going.

“You’re gorgeous, I think I would remember you,” he said, leaning against the couch. You smiled politely.

“Thank you.”

“Isn’t this house beautiful? I hear the couple that lives here is even more so. I mean, not nearly as beautiful as you though.” You held back a scoff.

“Yes it’s a wonderful house.”

“So what’s your name? Did you come with someone?”

“Actually yes, I did.”

“Oh well you don’t have to leave with them,” he said leaning into you. His breath stunk of alcohol. You stood up slowly.

“Thank you but I’m truly alright,” you told him as kindly as you could muster. He stood up too. You were trying to figure out how you were going to get out of this hole you had dug yourself when you felt a hand on the small of your back. You turned swiftly to find Jay standing beside you. “There you are,” you said happily.

“Who’s this?” he asked stiffly. The man extended his hand.

“Daniel.” Jay didn’t shake it and Daniel let his hand drop awkwardly. “You are?”

“Jay Gatsby. This, old chap, is my wife you were speaking with.” You could feel his light tension but didn't imagine that he would get into too much of a fight.

“Oh!” Daniel said, suddenly very embarrassed. “My apologies, I didn't know.” You gave him a curt nod.

“Clearly,” Jay said. “I was about to get something from the kitchen if you would like to join me,” he said to you. You nodded pleasantly.

“Lead the way darling.”

The two of you left the man in the dust as you weaved through the crowd to the bustling kitchen. Waiters came and went but it was big enough to where you were able to get a moment of peace there. The guests greatly outnumbered the waiters.

“Nick was looking for you,” you said.

“Everyone is looking for me dear,” he said, leaning against the wall. “We’re the Gatsbys.” You nodded slowly, looking at him.

“I was about to tell him that you know.”

“Oh I know. But I wanted to make sure you got lost in the crowd before he could find you again.”

“After your clear intimidation, I don’t think he will go looking again,” you promised, grabbing his hand. You kissed the back of his hand gently and he brought his other hand to his cheek.

“I am known for my theatrics.”

“You don’t have to tell me that darling.”

Hello my Panko Shrimps!

I'm sorry to all of you who are here for other fanfictions, it might take a while since I'm on a bit of a Stranger Things kick!

Seriously though, I am a writing machine this week. I need to read more of Dune before I start on part four of that, but people have been asking and they shall receive.

I love you all and I hope you're having a wonderful day/night wherever you are. Send me asks if there's any ideas you come up with or if you just want to say hi!!

💛🦐