#Hannibal au? I guess???

[cubikzoa]

I am 97% sure that Hannibal Lecter owns the boba shop I just visited and I am a bit concerned

[velvet-games]

more hannibal au things based on my and @spoondrifts comments on this post hehe

I think I've figured the basics out:

vox is a pop psychiatrist that's saying dumb shit about the new orleans ripper on TV

alastor has a true crime podcast and he invites vox to talk about the ripper as a joke (and plans to kill him)

alastor assumes vox is a dumbass, but the pop psychiatrist shtick is really just for views; vox says some genuinely insightful things about alastor after the show ends

it's reckless, but alastor can't help loving the feeling of being seen, properly admired for his work, so he invites vox back again

hannibal-style psychoanalysis time! alastor and vox talk about various strange murders on the podcast while subtextually talking about their relationship, deeper convos + wine/fancy food (people) ensue after the show

blah blah blah vox knows something is special about alastor, eventually figures it out and admires his shameless enjoyment of violence, blows up his comfy pop psych life to be with him blah blah blah alastor feels so lonely with his secret and finally finds someone who not only understands but is willing to join him blah blah blah it's a metaphor for queerness or something

they kill a guy and make out covered in blood before falling off a cliff together <3 the end.

[sweetlytwilight]

Brazilian Will Graham

[quillkiller]

bellareg marriage au outtakes

because i can’t stop thinking about them…..

x x

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

you know i was able to hold myself down quite calmly until you reminded me the website is updating, and now i'm struggling with myself it feels like i put myself in a straight jacket of sorts. BWAH

(i say thing jokingly, BUT I AM THERE WITH YOU I FEEL PHYSICALLY ILL FROM THE EXCITEMENT IM JUST. AUGH) god save us all for when it drops

im so normal.... im so sane.... auahhhhhahh

we're going to collectively lose our absolute marbles ouagh. actual image of us all rn:

[socvinc]

I bring a curse upon these mortal plains. Homestuck au Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham.

[jadevalentine-writes]

Hannibal Fic WIP - Mystery Neighbor AU

Riding the high of completing Wild Hunt, I'm here to thrust another WIP upon ye. Behold, my first Hannibal fic, and despair!

Tagging the muses: @subtlybrilliant, @tindragon09, @prommethium

---

Hannibal noticed something was off the moment he pulled into his driveway. Out of caution, he remained in the Bentley, engine idling, as he studied the exterior of his home in the waning summer light. 

The front doors were closed and the windows he could see looked intact. The back of the townhouse was obscured by the eight foot wooden privacy fence but he didn’t notice any signs of disruption from his point of view. Of course his security system would have alerted him to any unwanted entry, but Hannibal Lecter was nothing if not pragmatic. Any criminal worth their salt could easily disable an alarm, even one as expensive as his. 

Hannibal sighed and turned to his right, looking instead to the long empty townhouse next to his own. A moment’s reprieve was his goal, a negative to his own home’s exterior to make any differences more apparent. 

Then he saw it. 

A for sale sign swung gently in the warm breeze. 

Hannibal smiled and turned off the car. 

The quote “Netherfield Park was let at last” came to mind, though the townhouse to his right held none of the grandeur of the fictitious estate. Hannibal also doubted that a wealthy man in want of a wife would find his way to this particular Baltimore neighborhood anytime soon. And there certainly would not be any grande balls, to his chagrin. 

Hannibal chided his caution as he approached the front door. Although he rarely interacted with his neighbors, the prospect of a new one was still exciting. Perhaps they would have a taste for art and music, like he did, and he would see them at gallery openings and operas, nodding to each other over champagne and rocks glasses but never speaking. Maybe they would appreciate fine dining as he did and he could try new dishes out on them if he was feeling adventurous. 

Or perhaps they would be new to their wealth and rude, and they would feature in a dish themselves.

***

The next evening, Hannibal returned home with dinner on his mind. 

There was a liver he should really use before it was past its prime and he was debating on how to prepare it.  Marinating was best, and it did not bother him to eat late. He was walking towards the door, mentally going through his stock of wine that would pair well with the main course when he heard a creak that made him pause. 

Hannibal angled his head towards the door, listening intently for breathing on the other side, when again his gaze landed on the sign in the yard next door. 

Sale Pending the attachment underneath swayed. 

Well, that was fast. 

Hannibal smirked as he let himself into the foyer. Soon, he would have a new neighbor and a new source of entertainment or irritation, at least for a little while.

***

Saturday brought with it slumber and sunshine. 

And multiple dogs barking. 

The last drove Hannibal from the warmth of his bed out of academic curiosity. He rarely heard dogs in his neighborhood, let alone so close to his house. The dogs of the Baltimore elite were small, to be seen, not heard, and toted around in designer bags.

These dogs sounded larger and multiple. 

Hannibal crossed the hall to the guest bedroom which was adjacent to his driveway and looked out. 

His neighbor had arrived, in four-legged, frantic glory. 

[potatowithahat]

A Gift

A hannigram fic

Hannibal decided to get will a small gift for valintines

A Gift- nothing more, nothing less

This was too far. Hannibal had gone too far this time.

        “February 14th, 2014, 8:05 P.M. Will Graham speaking on behalf of the Federal Bureau of investigation. Start tape. Body was found at Sugarloaf Vineyard outside of Winchester, Maryland”

        Jack Crawford gestured for Will to come forward.

        “Another victim of the Chesapeake ripper?” Jack asked, gesturing to the body lying in the makeshift bed of roses Set deep within the thousand rows of grapes.

        The body was that of a young man. He had brown, curly hair that moved ever so slightly in the brease of the Vineyard, swaying as if to a gentle melody.

His hair had been cut short to emulate Will’s, most likely post mortem if the ringlets encircling his head had anything to say of it. There was a crown of thorns on his head, The spines digging into that line Will knew all too well.

        He reached up to touch the almost invisible scar on his own forehead.

        “Most likely” Will said, lifting the tarp to examine the rest of the body.

        He made a mental note to remind the interns not to disturb his crime scene.

        Not that he could certainly see why they had decided to cover it up.

The scene was… gruesome, to say the least. The man was splayed open, much like that of an autopsy cadaver, his guts scooped out and rearranged into a.. Scene?

        His pancreas was laid out like a twisted dinner table in the hollow center of the man. His third and fourth ribs had been carved and propped up to look like tiny people, plated made out of the lungs alveoli set out in front of them. In the center of the ‘table’ lies another bone figure, this time in the shape of a small girl, her ‘Head’ lying on one of the plates. The rest of the organs were laid around like grotesque party decorations. His small intestine was draped over the open carcass like party streamers, swaying in the breeze and making a sickening, squelching noise as it brushed against the other viscera. There were small dove feathers tied together with the man's vocal cords to replace the missing ribs, splattered with the blood dripping out of the surrounding muscles.

        The man's body had been meticulously dissected and rearranged into a macabre display. It was… a work of art, really. Each piece was delicately cut and placed with such precision that it had to have taken hours to cultivate. It was a gift. A gift hand-made and crafted specifically for him.

        “It’s disgusting” Jack chimed in from beside him, snapping Will out of his stupor.

        “...It's ostentatious” Will mumbles as one of the assistants camera flashes, forever immortalizing the scene.

        Hannibal would expect him to come home with a copy of that photo. He knew it.

        “The killer… He's showing off. Trying to impress someone” Will knew he had to tread lightly here.

        “Makes sense to leave it on Valentines then” Beverly chimes in as she leans forward to get some sort of sample

        “Trying to impress someone I'd do it today too. Only if they were another killer though" Jack gives Will a look.

        Will had to have great reticency to stop himself from saying something too revealing then

        “I’m sure” He mumbled, looking at the body once more

        “Hearts missing” Will looks around the group “Anyone find it?”

The silence after his question was practicaly deffining

        Will knew what he'd be having for dinner then.

        Will let out a sigh “How’d he die?”

Beverly looked up from where she was swabbing “Poison” she nodded to the man's face “Staining around the mouth. Classic silver poisoning”

        She stands up fully and points to his neck “There's evidence of strangulation too, but it's innocuous. His windpipe wasn’t crushed, so there was no damage other then the bruising”

        “Someones like Will then” Price chuckled and elbows Will in the side

        “What i do in my own home is none of your concern” Will frowns and walks around to the other side of the corpse “ and you three should know best that me and Hannibal don’t do that stuff” he repudiated “not all gay people are like that”

        Price snorts “I call bullshit. You can’t deny it forever”

        Jack shot Price a look “We’re not here to debate personal lives Jimmy. This is a death investigation, not brunch”

        There's a soft murmuring from the rest of the groop

        “That's what I thought” Jack looks up at Beverly “How long has he been out here?”

        “No longer then a day” beverly pokes at the man’s cheek “Though he’s been preserved somehow”

        Will frowns at that “How was he out here so long?”

        Beverly looks around “my guess is the vines obscured the body. And the smell was masked by the grape blossoms.

        Of course it was. His husband always knew what he was doing. Will looks around ��He's smart” he steps back from the body as he feels a buzz in his pocket “He knows what he’s doing. Most likely another chesapeake ripper case”

        Will turns away from the groop, much to the chagrin of Jack

         Will sighs as he puts his phone to his ear “Yes hanni?”

        He can practically hear the smile on Hannibals face, his strange accent thicker than ever “Did you like my Gift, ma colombe?”

        Why was this his life?

 “I'll see you at home hannibal” Will lets out a long sigh

“Oh good” Hannibal says quickly “I’m making Shepards pie. Picked up some nice pigs hearts from the butcher earlier”

“Im sure you did" Will sighs

Thank you so much for reading!!!

I am one hundred percent greatfull for every single person who takes the time to read the things I write!

This was actually written for an English assignment! So if some of the wording seems a bit off thats why.

I am also always open for any fic idea's/ requests!!! I absolutely adore getting them and write them as quickly as possible

As always if you enjoyed i have plenty more here on my tumblr and bacon over on my Ao3!

[superlohozavr]

"Not the gods have guided your hand. Only one".

inspired by the moment from one hannigram au fic, but i made them girls (that are remotely look like them) and it kinda don't make sense to me anymore. idk felt like i should tell y'all this IF YOU EVEN CARE!! :^)

[sleepy-stitches]

my brain is so evil. why do i have no energy to clean my room. why does it all go to writing weird fucked up yuri. like why am i sitting here enraptured heart and soul by a piece of writing that was meant to be a fragment at best but i am discovering has three entire parts to it. why is that where we are at. i need to clean my fucking room

[a-pigeons-soliloquy]

One more thing. You know the Burger King Whopper Whopper song? That song but it says Wobster instead of whopper.

-mha

...well I sure didn't until now, but I gave it a listen and now am proud to present to you:

The Wobster Wobster Song (feel free to sing along, kids!)

Wobster, Wobster, Wobster, Wobster

Creepy, furry, nightmare Wobster

Steer clear of this bloodstained trotter

He'll eat your brain

Liver, spleen, intestine, or fat

Doesn't matter, he will eat that

So make sure to avoid the Wobster

Or you'll end up his prey

Watch out, he's coming your way

Too late now, you can't get away

You fool!

[esaari]

if you only love me back

[annaofaza]

a hartwin hannibal au

For @mappplethorpe: I owed you this a long, long time ago, and I’m sorry. I found this fully written in my tumblr drafts, of all places. Forgive me for keeping you waiting <3

One of the interesting parts of therapy is picking apart the brain.

A lot of his colleagues express fascination about this understanding. This understanding is a hidden creature, elusive and shy like a deer, and it takes a skilled hunter to coax it into relaxation and pull the trigger. It’s almost like watching tasteless dramas: picking apart each and every encounter the characters have with one another, listening for the actors’ and writers’ commentary, learning to lean forward when the violin music begins.

Harry likes to give off the appearance of being philanthropic; he finds himself spouting off phrases that involve understanding and helping others, but purposively neglects the aspects that draw him to this field. It’s like cutting open flesh to reveal the bright blood and ivory bones and delicate veins and squirming muscles underneath, except in some cases, more delicate. A mind cannot easily be coaxed open with a simple tool and a steady hand; a mind must relax and be receptive to change, be it of its own device or with prodding.

He likes challenges because he always succeeds, and despite what other psychiatrists may think, he’s the only one who can play the long game. When he was a child, he’d wait for hours upon hours in the woods that surrounded his home, waiting for ducks or geese in a pond to come and waddle over to him, nosing his hair and pecking at his skin. But his favorite were the butterflies, fragile wings flitting towards and away from him until they sensed that he was not a danger.  

And much like his hobby, Harry enjoys snuffing the elusive out eventually and hanging them up on his walls, a testament to why he lives.

He'll continue here, though London is a miserable city. It’s polluted, crowded, and despite the international British reputation of politeness and chivalry, people are rude, always in a hurry, and foul-tempered. If not for Roxanne’s intriguing observations about what she hoped would be his next patient, Harry would have never considered coming back to this place.

From anecdotes and rumors and the Internet, Harry begins profiling Gary—who, for some reason, prefers “Eggsy”—Unwin: talented but prone to acting rashly, intelligent but averse to interacting with many people, good-hearted but with a history of violence, and most interestingly, the way he thinks. Unwin, in one article, talks about how the evidence explains the crime scene to me, but it appears so much more than that. He seems to make leaps that somehow connect, and it’s only when the evidence is trotted out in full that it makes sense.

Harry doesn’t believe in psychics or fortune-tellers or such nonsense, and if Eggsy is peddling the rumors of him somehow being able to step into the perpetrator’s shoes, Harry would consider carving him up. He detests liars.

But he has the perfect excuse to judge for himself. All it takes is a whisper to a man who’s tired of laying low, and Harry will hunt again.

+++

Shaking off the droplets of his umbrella before entering the building, Harry waits to be greeted. Luckily, it's a short wait, with Agent Alastair Morton, haggard but friendly, who offers him a cup of tea, sits him down and engages him in polite small talk so Harry has time to sip his tea. He then reviews what he’d like from Harry: to look over several scenes of missing persons, who are also missing their organs, and to also look after one of their agents, per his niece’s concerned plea.

“Ah, here he is,” Morton finally murmurs, and they both turn their heads towards the opening door.

In he steps.

Eggsy Unwin, despite his preference for hideously-colored jackets and ratty jeans, is stunning. A bruise blooms high on his cheek, dark circles sit huffily underneath eyes that are too old to suit his youthful appearance, and scrapes and more bruises decorate his knuckles. Immediately, Harry senses brief surprise, suspicion, then…almost resentment emitting from the young man when he looks at Harry, gaze travelling up and down his polished oxfords and bespoke suit and tortoiseshell glasses.

He’d have to thank Roxanne for bringing this man to his attention.

Harry sits up in his seat, offering Eggsy a polite nod, and to his credit, Eggsy nods back, before asking, “Who is this, Alastair?”

Harry raises his eyebrows briefly at the familiarity, but Morton waves his hand and offers Eggsy a seat. Eggsy obeys, eyes darting towards Harry, then back to his boss.

“This is Dr. Harold Hart, a leading psychiatrist,” Morton says. “He’s going to help us with profiling this case.”

Eggsy nods again, looking a bit more relaxed. “We could use his help, yeah.”

His accent is nothing like Roxanne’s or Morton’s; Harry catches the accented words, the slight drop of consonants and swallowing of vowels.

“Where are you from, Eggsy?” Harry asks.

“Rowley Way—the Alexandra Road Estate,” Eggsy says, his voice already defensive. He’s truthful, proud, ready to fight. “You?”

“Italy,” Harry replies. “Then here and there.”

“You travel a lot?”

“It’s good to be cultured.”

Eggsy’s lips turn down. “Cultured. Is that another way of saying that you can afford it?”

“Eggsy—” Morton begins, but Harry smoothly cuts in: “It’s all right. Say what you like.”

“I’m only saying that some people can’t afford to travel just to get worldly experiences, and they’re not better than people who haven’t left London. So, yeah,” Eggsy says. “I may not come from… Oxbridge or somethin’, but I know how to work.”

“Tell me, Eggsy,” Harry says, prodding, “You want to work twice as hard to get half of what your other colleagues get. You respect those who have to work to get what they want, and you want to put yourself high enough to succeed, but not high enough to betray where you’re from.  But yet,” he continues, “I sense that you deliberately hold yourself back. I wonder why that is.”

“Don’t you fucking psycho-analyze me,” Eggsy snarls, immediately shoving back his chair with a loud squeal. “Is this what you’ve called me in for, Alastair? To have some posh doctor poke around and find my faults?” Abruptly standing up, Eggsy nods stiffly at them, accent now very much like Morton’s: polished and cultured, although with a bit of an affection. “Excuse me. I remembered I had a prior engagement.”

He slams the door when he leaves.

Morton watches him go with a stricken look. "I apologize, Dr. Hart, he—" 

"Had every right to act that way," Harry smoothly cut in. "He's used to people dismissing him, either because of his background or his youth...or both, and what makes it worse is examining the man like a specimen." He paused. "What Eggsy has is pure empathy. It’s a rather… interesting gift, to not only be able to guess the point of view of others, but to also inhabit them.” He then leans forward. “This cannibal… I think I can help Eggsy find out who he is.”

+++

Soon, Harry gets to see Eggsy in action, hands stuffed in the pockets of another jacket, cuffs worn. It’s black, with white stripes down the arm, and well-loved. He’s refused an umbrella, so rain soaks into the fabric and darkens his hair. Morton’s standing behind him, cameras clicking, documenting the crime scene, every cut, every missing organ of this picked-apart girl. 

The Ripper, they’re already calling this killer. Quite unoriginal, really.

Eggsy wordlessly stares at the blonde curls, and for a moment, his jaw works and his eyes flutter briefly, visibly struggling. But he straightens up, closes his eyes, and says, “He wants to—to own them. To prove that he’s stronger. To swallow them whole.”

He tilts his head up, letting the rain fall on his face.

“And that’s all?” Morton asks.

Eggsy nods. “I know this one.”

Harry waits. He can see the answer in Eggsy’s face: fear, confusion, and hatred, pure hatred that surges into action, that’s tempered, that can be released with the right pressure. The moment. Their moment.

“What do you mean?” Morton demands.

“Because,” Eggsy says shortly, “it’s my stepdad’s work.”

+++

“You can’t pull me off! I’m—”

“Too close to this case,” Morton argues for the umpteenth time, slamming his hand down on his desk.

“I’m not goin’ to screw this up because he’s my stepdad!” Eggsy shouts back. “I can do my job, Alastair, I can do this, I know him, don’t—”

“Perhaps Eggsy may stay on,” Harry cuts in.

They both whip around to face him, both appropriately startled.

“Eggsy can help us with his experience, his closeness. He knows how his stepfather ticks and how to reel him in. And of course we’ll put Eggsy’s mother and sister in protective custody so no one needs to get hurt,” Harry says mildly.

Morton frowns, then gives a hard nod. “Very well. I’ll make the arrangements. Both of you wait here. I’m going to make the calls.”

He ushers them both out, and as soon as the door shuts, Eggsy immediately turns to him. “You defended me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“It was the sensible course.”

“Really?” Eggsy’s tone is sarcastic. “Morton swallowed it when you said it, but from me? A chav? Morton’s not like the last boss, but he has his prejudices. And if we were born with silver spoons up our arses, we'd do just as well as you," Eggsy jerks his head towards Harry's pinstriped suit. "If not better." 

Normally, such an outburst would have Harry smile, thank him for his time, later catch him by surprise on a deserted road, and then having a veritable feast by himself. But something about him drew the eye. It wasn't merely rudeness; the man was trying to make him care. 

Though, bless him, he'd stopped caring long ago. 

"You're right about the snobs," Harry says. "But there, too, are exceptions." 

Eggsy eyes him suspiciously. "Like you?" 

“Come to dinner after Baker's arrested,” Harry says genially. “I’ll make martinis. Consider it an…apology for ambushing you during our first meeting. I did not mean to cause offense, but—no, it doesn’t matter my intentions. I insulted you, and I’m sorry.”

Eggsy blinks, almost owlishly. It’s clear he’s used to apologizing, but not the other way around. "Well,” he finally says, “I admit not a lot of snobs would invite me over for martinis and supper, so...thanks. But to be honest, I don't find you that interesting.”

"Oh, you will." Harry smiles. “And I find you interesting: a young man with potential.”

[gatsby-system-folks]

Au where Murdoc runs away as a kid and ends up at the Pots' house.

[mosslingg-sideblog]

Will but he's a witch that works for the FBI and frequently needs human blood for his spells

I took inspo from @reapersun i love their design of witch will <3

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hello my love could I please request Thor with “Vampires AU” please for your 6k celebration 💗🫶🏼

.⋆｡Blood Bag｡⋆.

Thor x plus size reader

You need a job and the ancient and powerful vampire on the edge of town needs blood, of course nothing could go wrong

Warnings: Vampire!AU, virgin!reader, lots of blood talk, age-gap (obvi), brief mentions of vamp!Loki and a different reader insert, flirting WC: 1.5k

6k Follower Bingo

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea, you thought as you looked up at the huge wrought iron gates that separated the old estate from the real world. The job listing had been simple; ‘Blood donations for vamp wanted. Virgin preferred. Guaranteed $5000 per feed.’ At first, you disregarded it, letting your gaze travel to the smattering of other postings on the site. But that number tugged at your mind well into the night, practically haunting your dreams until, in an act of temporary madness, you sprang up at three in the morning and filled out the application, sending it in before you could second guess yourself.

By the time you awoke several hours later, you had a nice fat contract sitting in your inbox and a request for a clean physical from your prospective employer. You hesitated to accept until you saw the upfront money you would receive before your first donation, it would easily cover your rent for the next two months.

So here you were, a paper with your clean bill of health in one hand and an overnight bag in the other, staring up at the biggest house you had ever seen in real life, knowing that by this time tomorrow, you would be a few quarts lighter. The gates creaked as they swung open for you and suddenly, you wondered if this was actually the beginning of some horror movie starring you as the gullible first victim.

Yet you stepped forwards anyway, following the long trail of your shadow up the drive. The gravel crunching under your feet quickly grounded you, it was well-known that vamps could literally smell fear and it would do you no good to sour your blood before your first meeting. 

Only a few windows were illuminated as the sun dipped below the horizon, urging you to move faster and get in the house before night truly fell even if what was inside the manor could bring more danger than anything that roamed the grounds under the cover of darkness. 

“You’re early.” Golden eyes gazed down at you from the now open front door. 

“Jesus! Oh shit, sorry I should not have said that. I-“ The man smiled and stepped back from the entryway, gesturing for you to come in.

You stumbled into the huge foyer, the tension locking up your joints slowly loosening as the warmth of the home seeped into your body. “Do not fret, many of the stories you have been told are false. We are not harmed by any mere name so there is nothing to apologise for. Now, may I take your things? I will file away your physical in a lock box in the Master’s office. A room has already been prepared for your stay. I do apologise if the bedding is not to your liking, I fear it has been many centuries since anyone in this house has felt the need for sheets and pillows.”

The man, who you could now carefully observe in the soft light of the chandelier above you both, took your things from you before you could fully digest what he said. “How many people live here?” He danced at you with a soft smile, his lips pressed together so as to not reveal the deadly fangs that all of his kind possessed.

“Only four. We do have several maids that come in every few weeks but they don’t reside on the property. You will only be feeding one person, don’t worry. The Master’s younger brother lives in the West Wing along with his wife who provides the blood he needs.”

“And your Master?” The man’s golden eyes sparkled with something akin to affection as you walked alongside him, your footsteps echoing through the otherwise silent halls.

“You may call him Thor, he is a kind man. It was only at my suggestion that you were brought here, vampires can only live off of animal blood for so long before they need fresh human blood. The Master has spent the last 50 years refusing to harm a human in order to fulfil his baser instinct,” The grand staircase led you to a long hall of doors with intranet tapestries between them, “He has grown weak, he needs to properly feed. And now that humans have accepted vampires as a natural part of society, he was far more open to the idea than before.”

He stopped in front of the second to last door, gracefully pulling out a key to allow you entry. “Here is your room. I’ve left some toiletries and snacks out for you, please eat before and after the feeding but if you forget, I am sure the Master will remind you. If you need anything else, you can ring that bell,” he gestured to the pull cord in the corner of the room, “Or simply call my name and I will come.”

You nodded but as he turned to leave, you spat out, “Sorry, I didn’t ask your name.”

“Heimdall, miss.” The door clicked shut, leaving you alone once more. 

Indeed there were snacks on the desk below the call bell, although it looked more like they were bought by an 8 year old who was just let loose in a candy shop with their parent’s credit card than anything else. But you supposed that ancient vampires didn’t really know how to food shop for humans. You picked out a packet of Twizzlers as you wandered further in, taking in the ornate bedroom that looked like it was pulled directly out of Pride and Prejudice. An ensuite connected to the room revealed a huge clawfoot tub (that you were shamelessly fantasising about using after meeting the man of the hour) and a large vanity with some fancy soaps by the sink.

“I hope you are pleased with your room?” A deep voice rumbled from somewhere behind you.

You whipped around in a panic only to be met with the sight of the most handsome man you had seen in your life. He stood well over six feet tall but the bulging muscles of his arms and legs made him look even bigger. His blond hair was cropped short, immediately drawing your gaze to the eyepatch over his right eye, though you quickly looked away, not wanting to seem rude to the man. He tutted and gently guided you back to face him with a hooked finger under your soft chin.

“You are more beautiful than I thought you would be.” You faltered, and his blue eye shone.

“Oh um thank you.” The floorboards creaked under his weight as he stepped closer, letting his touch trail down from your jaw, stopping briefly on your neck before travelling down to your collarbone, his large thumb fitting perfectly in the divot of your throat. Your pulse grew stronger as you caught a flat of his fangs. 

“You’re frightened, aren’t you little one?”

“No.” His plump lips curled up in a prideful smirk.

“Good girl.” Your chest seized. “Now, I believe we need to discuss your limits before you provide me with a meal.” Thor released his hold upon you but your skin still burned with his touch, urging you to chase the feeling once more yet you remained glued to the spot. 

He turned to look at the pile of sweets that were left for you. “I wonder how sweet these will make you.” He muttered almost to himself.

“Do you want me to shower before you feed?” He hummed. 

“I would prefer you not, strong scents tend to sour the blood.” 

“And, do you um do you want to drink directly from me?” That earned you a deep rumbling groan from the man, his eyelid fluttering. 

He seemed to lose himself for just a moment before his broad chest inflated and he faced you fully once more. “Only if you allow me to. If not, Heimdall has already prepared an IV.” Bashfully, you clasped your hands together.

“I’m scared of needles so I think directly would be fine.” He chuckled and gestured towards the huge bed in the centre of the room that had far too many pillows on it.

“Then shall we get started?” Your shoes skittered along the hardwood floor as you kicked them off before shedding your oversized sweater, revealing the very low-cut top you had picked out for today. Thor’s gaze burned into you as he hungrily traced your curves. “I seem to find it hard to believe that you are a virgin. You are ethereal, little one.”

Your lips parted but the only thing that escaped them was a squeak of surprise. “Oh I liked that sound, I think I need you to make it more often.” You ducked your head and climbed onto the mattress, Thor following closely behind. He knocked off a majority of the pillows, leaving only a couple on the left side of the bed. You kneeled next to him, your knees barely brushing his hip.

“Come closer, I cannot feed when you are so far away.” His hands grabbed your wide hips and pulled you onto his lap without so much as a breath of exertion. Your soft legs parted, allowing for his body to slip between them as he sat back upon the headboard, a dangerously pleased expression colouring his features. “There we go. Now, we stop whenever you feel uncomfortable.”

Your hands fell to his expansive shoulders, giving the muscles a soft squeeze. “Yes sir.” You answered in a daze.

Using his right hand, Thor tilted your head, exposing the delicate vein along your jugular. “Good girl.”

Marvel Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Join my taglist!

All works

@im-a-slut-for-fluff @alexxavicry @ravenwings73 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @silverfire475 @psychadelichues @mvyalx @faefanatic @evansqueen54 @anamiad00msday @th3sloth @princess76179 @Lanielagenev @luvvvjada @Lucypaulette @midnight-shadow-va @mooniequeen @slutfor-fictionalmen @km-ffluv @black-rose-29 @minedofmoria @relatednative

Marvel

@andreasworlsboring101 @harleycao @annhells @cruelladejill @lokiandbuckysdoll @pretty-npeach @cakesandtom @beautyb1ade @queer_poncho @everything-is-awesomesauce @bitchy-bi-trash @hc-geralt-23 @wisteriia222 @certifiedhunter @wtfdudesblog @looking1016