#Hannibal Lecter drabble

[bobbiereynolds]

Necromancy (Hannibal Lecter Oneshot)

Character/s: Hannibal, Will mention

Word Count: 1,314

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: Ahhh okay truthfully I still feel a little shaky about writing Hannibal in character, but I got this idea and couldn't stop myself from writing lol. I plan on watching more within the next few days so I can write him better!! I love this fic though, just like the others, and I'm so happy I get to share!! Thank you for letting me share!!! Feedback is always appreciated!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤

WRITING EVENT 🔪🩸

I don’t feel anything. Your voice is stable, flat, made of concrete. It falls heavy to the floor, breaking apart in sharp, bumpy pieces. You imagine it cracking open though there is nothing of interest inside. How boring. Nothing? He questions, adjusting his gaze. Yes, you think, but do not say. Yes. Yes. Yes. Even talking, like this, feels like too much effort. You haven’t been looking at him. Meeting his eyes means something you’re not yet ready to face. Instead you sit, spine straight, hands fumbling. Cracking each knuckle, each finger, over and over until they stop popping. Even then you don’t stop. Pointer. Middle. Ring. Pinky. Rinse and repeat. The pattern, the routine, offers a comfort you can’t explain. No doubt he is watching, taking note, though it would be unlike himself to bring it up. At least, in an obvious way. Direct. It isn’t nothing. I think it is an overwhelming grief. You’ve been abandoned by a paternal figure. Left to face gore and carnage without protection, physical and psychological. He raises an eyebrow, as if to ask your thoughts. You look away, dropping your hands in your lap where they might clutch together, nails to palms, in an attempt to feel something. What does Jack have to do with this? As if to say go on, think deeper, Hannibal leans back in his chair, his arms open. He doesn’t, you think stubbornly, childishly. This wasn’t on him. This was on the unsub. This was on you. 

Phantom stitches seep into your neck. They missed the jugular. Barely. Have you been having any nightmares? No. Yes, your mind spits back. You stand, unable to sit any longer, wandering around the office space. Yes. They’re theatrical. Beautiful, even, if you weren’t the one bleeding out. Your hands are slippery with red, unable to grasp your neck, the wound, to prevent hemorrhaging. Your words come out gurgled. Wet. You’re begging for your life. Now it feels pathetic. Embarrassing. Your co-workers are a witness to your desperation. Will covered in it. Splattered. You see now that his glasses, the lenses, are smeared with it, too. His hands, unwavering. He’s talking to you, trying to calm you down, but you are inconsolable. Tears run down your cheeks. You don’t want to die. More true, you don’t want to become another one of their victims. You are like this forever. Together. Panicked and scared, Will your only observer. Only he will know your final moments. Black spots seep into your vision. You want to tell him this, ask him if this is a sign of dying, but you can’t. Your body is cold and your lips, your tongue, are too heavy. There are paramedics. Flashing lights. Will left in the pool of blood as you’re lifted on a stretcher. Gloved hands with pristine white gauze press into you, your throat. Hannibal by your side. He appeared suddenly, behind him Jack, your friends, all of them wearing worry, fear, over their expressions. The unsub got away. You close your eyes and relive these moments. Relive the way their knife, serrated, tries to slice through you. It’s duller than they thought. They have to work at it. You try to fight them off, you do, but they’re stronger. 

Do you think you’re ready to go back into the field? Instinctively, your hand comes up, brushing the scar around your. Like a pearl necklace. The skin is shiny, thick and chewy. Stop it. Do you? You ask. It isn’t up to me. You find the statue of a buck, black and sleek, the material cold under your fingertips. You follow the arch of its neck, the proudness of its antlers, the shyness of its face. He is wrong and you both know this. Your sessions started in the hospital. Medically induced. You were out of it for a few days. When you came to, they sat on either side of you. Will looked exhausted. The circles under his eyes are deep and bruise-like. Even Hannibal, always put together, let his tie hang loose. As if he were hypnotic, Will follows his orders, under his spell: go home, change, get some sleep. He squeezes your hand before leaving, promising he’ll be back as soon as possible. He began talking to you through everything they knew. Who the unsub was, why they went after you, where they’re headed next. Later, you’d need him to repeat himself. The words floated above you, milky and warm. The pain medications were strong, abundant through your veins. When you’re a little stronger, more aware, he begins to assess you. 

Weeks you spent in that room, the whole place sterile and unfamiliar. Eventually you were allowed to bathe, to dress, to eat by yourself. Hannibal split his time between you and the rest of the team, coming in after visiting hours, his voice quiet and neutral when he asks you questions. Are you in any pain? Do you remember what happened? Could you make a positive identification? His presence a fixture in that place, like the gossip of the nurses in the hall or the silver bedpans that mock you. He never complained. He never let the long days work interfere with his time with you. Gentle, his mannerisms soft. Helping you up the first time you got out of that bed. Advocating for you when you felt unheard, unseen. Lulling you out of your panic when the nightmares start. You don’t talk about them. You still haven’t. They’re none of his business. Jack orders mandatory therapy when you’re released. Rest, he said, and for the love of God, talk to him. All you wanted was to go back to work. You were fine. But it is, you mumble with frustration. You don’t think I’m ready and that’s why I can’t go back. You’ve got me on desk duty! You apologize for the outburst, but he shrugs it off. So the lectures aren’t fulfilling? You stare him down, an attitude in your voice you haven’t recognized since adolescence. What do you think? You collect paperwork. You organize pictures for the presentations. You help Will rehearse for his classes. That is all you’re allowed. Any talk of the unsub that attacked you is forbidden. Hannibal thought some distance between you and the case might do you some good. 

I don’t feel anything, you reiterate. Not about being attacked, not about the person who attacked me, none of it. I’ve moved on. But Hannibal knows better. You’ve become fixated on catching them, hunting them, making them hut the way you have been hurt. A flick switched in your brain. Perhaps it was the begging, the pleading, the humiliation you feel for acting a certain way in front of your peers, equally as skilled, equally as detached. Perhaps it's wanting what you can’t have. You stole the case file from Will, unsuspecting, and made copies. Got rid of any evidence. You stare at their picture, their face, imagining what you will do to them when you’re alone together. Falling asleep with their M.O. memorized. You don’t know that he knows, that he understands. This wrath inside you, seeking justice. You’ve become what you study, getting in the minds of unsubs, speaking to the dead, putting the puzzle together. Necromancers, they would have called you, said you worked magic. You and Will, your shared abilities. Things changed. Shifted. You were the victim this time. It was personal. You can’t sit back and let them do all the work. This is your case, your unsub. It would be reckless of him to let you go back to work. Negligent, even. There��s no telling what you’re capable of in the state you’re in. It could end bloody. It could end in death, as all things usually do. It could end with your knife in their neck. Let me talk to Jack.

[prettykittycastle]

Another One

DIRTY DRABBLE

(Reader is gender-neutral and AFAB.)

“Let Will have a taste, dear,” Hannibal whispered in your ear, holding you down as Will continued to suck on your clit, hungrily. “How do they taste?”

“Mmm. Perfect.”

Lowering his head, he ran the tip of his tongue around your entrance before inserting it in, licking up your juices.

Moaning, you felt tears come to your eyes as Will began fucking you with his tongue, and before you could make your hopeless plea to stop, you suddenly felt the psychiatrist’s fingers rubbing against your clit, pushing you to cum on the other man’s tongue.

“Good…Now give us another one.”

[berrylovecrime]

hannigram drabble // nsfw

been thinking about Hannibal being so overwhelmed with excitement during their first time that it scares Will. had to blab about it

Will is so soft during their first kiss thinking they’re about to make love. But the second Hannibal realizes he’s being led towards the bedroom, he turns completely feral. Everything Will tries in order to calm Hannibal down only turns him on more.

Hannibal’s breathless moans sound more like maniacal laughter to Will the closer they get to bed. A triumphant Hannibal lands on him with his full weight—groping at him, bringing their clothed bulges together sooner and rougher than Will intended for their first time. In between tasting every inch of skin he can reach, Hannibal mutters to himself about Will being, “Mine. Finally mine.”

If Will tries to slow him down, Hannibal growls and opens his mouth wider, grinds into him harder. He barks out commands, though Will isn’t sure if that’s because he’s actually the one in charge or if he’s just a brat. “Give it to me, it’s mine,” and, “Stay there for me Will, I need to feel you.”

Will tries to appease him, but each time he pets Hannibal back he’s met with the most pitiful, slutty whining he’s ever heard and the threat of “S-stop, I’m going to cum.” It’s several moments—and several painful hickies—later before the courage builds in Will to roll Hannibal over. The older struggles at first, then greedily melts into the mattress with his legs and arms spread.

He continues with his demands. “Take my shirt off. Take your shirt off.”

It’s difficult for Will to do, what with Hannibal’s mouth resuming its exploration of body being slowly exposed. But eventually the clothing is discarded and Hannibal is pulling him into a kiss with a strength that nearly sends Will into fight or flight. He finally gathers enough senses to speak besides moaning the poor thing’s name. “Hannibal, you need to slow down,” his voice deeper, threatening. He presses a hand to Hannibal’s throat as he leans down to kiss his forehead. “Relax,” Will whispers.

The man beneath him is only somewhat obedient, all whining and wiggling against Will’s lips trailing further down his face, his neck, his chest.

It’s when Will makes it to a particular spot on his stomach that Hannibal had not had the pleasure of tasting yet on Will that his crying finally breaks. It wasn’t fair that Will got to have that part of the body first.

So he flips them back over and pins him by straddling his legs. His hands force Will to lie back so his tongue can drool all over that same spot. Will does attempt to sit up, argue with him. Hannibal just makes direct eye contact and sinks his teeth in. Will’s gasp turns into a moan, collapsing back onto the bed. When Hannibal doesn’t pull away when expected to, Will tugs his hair. Hannibal’s bite grows deeper, more territorial. Blood spills out, but his lips are already wrapped around the wound to suck.

“What is wrong with you,” Will rasps to the ceiling, feeling his belt being violently jerked open. It isn’t until Hannibal releases that he’s able to process the pain, gasping repeatedly.

“Such pathetic noises,” Hannibal’s mockery shocks him out of his burning. “And yet…” Teasing lips press into him through his boxers, then the whole side of Hannibal’s face. Will isn’t sure what he means until they both feel the next rhythmic throb of his cock. Will whimpers and Hannibal gives a pleased hum.

Will is dead weight while Hannibal finishes pulling his pants down, helping him out of his shoes and socks. It’s done with such force that the younger man only notices his boxers had gone with them when Hannibal’s tongue laps at his tip. Will’s sounds are choked off as he struggles to resettle on the bed. Hannibal can’t even use his hands to properly crawl back up or hold Will’s swinging cock still. He just collapses, already sucking down the taste of precum.

The only thing Will can feel besides the warm, wet suction is the bed rocking with the movements of Hannibal’s hips. He grinds, still dressed in his nice slacks, wantonly into the mattress.

Will does his best to warn him that they both will not make it long if he doesn’t let up, but Hannibal might as well be drugged. His tasting grows more desperate by the second, unable to choose between deep-throating the thick length or licking down to his balls. When he manages to pull away between kisses, he rambles about how big it is. “Please, you’re so delicious, Will.”

And how can Will argue with that, or the teeth that scrape against him each time he pulls Hannibal’s hair for sucking too hard?

Eventually, Hannibal’s attention draws further south, and he’s squeezing Will’s thighs open aggressively so he can slobber more on his balls. He fails to fit them both in his mouth, but gives it several attempts anyways. “Han—they’re full for ya, you can’t—you can’t do that or I’m gonna…” Will’s panting picks up quicker than he’d been anticipating.

Hannibal only growls in warning and sucks harder, moves lower. That heat on the soft skin just below where his seam ends sends Will reeling. Each tiny little kitten lick going lower threatens to drive him mad. “You can’t… you can’t…,” but Will can’t even speak.

“I can and I will,” Hannibal whines and readjusts his hips so his own aching cock can hump more freely. He uses the momentum to jerk Will’s hips ups, legs spread. Hannibal leaks in his pants at the sight of Will’s cheeks parting enough to expose his hole.

Will doesn’t have enough time to gasp before Hannibal’s tongue returns to the same spot it left off, this time wetter and greedier. It stretches towards Will’s ring. Will throbs wildly, moaning at the knowledge that Hannibal could feel it full well. His ringing ears barely hear the praise for his taste amidst the pointed tongue running laps around the edge of his hole.

Hannibal’s thrusts against the mattress falter. The scent in his nose is more divine than he had imagined it to be. The taste has his balls drawing up tight. He seeks out more friction on the head of his cock but the smear of precum in his underwear prevents it, so he rolls his hips harder.

But then he flattens his tongue back out, this time covering Will’s hole, and Hannibal is cumming hard. He can’t help himself now, face burrowing to suck in the taste with each spurt into his pants.

Will realizes what’s happening and groans, spilling over too. His hips buck up to meet Hannibal’s mouth, who lets him ride it out but doesn’t wait to recover from his own orgasm so he can finish catching the hot ropes on his tongue. Will lets him do whatever he wants, doesn’t even try to fight the over-sensitive feeling of being thoroughly cleaned up.

Hannibal swallows every bit of it, breath heaving wherever he goes. Will’s skin is sucked and licked from his abs back down to his hole just to make sure Hannibal gets it all. Will speaks incoherently but keeps himself open.

It was the hardest an orgasm had ever been ripped from him. He imagines Hannibal could say the same given the way the spent man is trying to readjust his trousers without removing his mouth from Will’s body. Once they’re both somewhat settled with Hannibal’s cheek resting on his thigh so he can continue pressing kisses, Will runs his hand through the graying hair and sighs. He decides—assumes incorrectly—that next time they’ll be able to take things slow the right way.

[miszumono]

will graham has a voice that pours like smooth whiskey—low, worn at the edges with a southern drawl—and a quiet talent for playing the acoustic guitar. though it's usually reserved for himself, or when the storm rattled the windows and his dogs anxiously curled in close by his feet. and on summer evenings whilst he sat along the edge of the river, the quiet rush of the stream filling his ears with his fishing gear laid out next to him. but after the fall, whilst him and hannibal are in hiding, will finds an old, dust-covered guitar sitting in the middle of an empty room in their safe house. hannibal, caught in the slow burn of pain from dwindling medicine, struggles to rest. and all will can think to do is to sing quietly in that deep, aged leather undertone and play guitar until hannibal slips off into a slumber each night

[yandereworlds]

NEW YANDERE BOTS!

Hey guys, so I'm here with another new batch of my most recent yandere bots! You already know the drill, feel free to check them out and show your support! And as always, Janitorai is an 18+ site, so minors, do not interact.

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DC VILLAINS BOT

SIMON GHOST RILEY BOT (PLATONIC)

AVENGERS BOT

HANNIBAL BOT

SULLY FAMILY BOT (PLATONIC)

[arabellavernierwrites]

patched up. will graham.

summary : after accidentally slicing your hand open in the kitchen , will takes care of you.

word count : 463

warnings : mention of knives , mention of blood , mention of injury (cut from knife) , brief swearing , mentions of pain

a/n : hello everyone !!! thank you so much for how kind and supportive you all are. the fact that anyone reads my writing is such an honor and i’m so appreciative of all of you. i wanted to make something a little short today , an idea that came to me this morning. i adore will graham and would love to write for him more , so if you have any requests , please send them in !!! have an amazing wonderful incredible day , love you guys !!!

dinnertime had rolled around once again.

mid-evening, the last remaining golden glow of the sun before it tucked itself in.

the beginning of the ending of another day.

you and will were in the kitchen.

a soft hum of music circled and spun its way through the air, filling the empty space between you two.

you were chopping vegetables, will was stationed at the stove, carefully stirring the stew.

it was rare for you two to be assuming these roles while cooking.

will was almost always assigned to the chopping. he wasn’t known for his cooking skills.

the vegetables on your cutting board fought against you.

your knife was dangerously dull and you knew that. you had been meaning to take them in to get them sharpened for weeks, but the shop was far and you hadn’t had the time in your schedule.

“how’s it going over here?” will asked, stepping beside you, wrapping a hand around your waist.

you looked up at his smiling face, “good”.

whatever solanaceous veggie you were cutting had slipped out of your grip. the blade of the knife fell, slicing your palm.

“shit,” you dropped it, an angry puddle of blood weeping from your slashed skin.

“here,” will grasped your wrist hurriedly, guiding your hand under the faucet as he flicked it on, “are you okay?”

you nodded, the pain was uncomfortable but the vulnerability was worse.

“i’m fine, it doesn’t even hurt,” you lied.

will studied human behavior for a living, he knew you were fibbing.

he placed a soft kiss on the side of your head, “we’ll clean this and then get you patched up, okay?”

“okay,” you tried to smile, wanting to pull away from him and handle it all yourself.

once the blood stopped spilling from your torn skin, will dried it off, pulling you into a chair at the kitchen table.

he sat beside you, pulling you closer so your knees were pressed against the inside of his thighs.

“does it still hurt?” he asked, smearing ointment across your wound.

you dropped your head, “yes”.

he set small sheets of gauze on your palm, gently pressing them down. you winced at the pressure.

“i’m sorry,” he brought your knuckles to his lips, a tender kiss deepening his apology.

his movements were thoughtful and slow, different from how he was understood to be by most people.

will wrapped the elastic roll around your hand, holding all of his work in place.

he taped it up, mindful of your pain, but keeping the cloth secure, “done”.

“thank you,” you placed your good hand on his hip, patting it lightly.

“of course,” he smiled, his big, round eyes pulling you in.

you leaned forward, a gentle, appreciative kiss for the boy you loved the most.

[gnawing-suspicion]

tw short period pain Hannigram drabble to cope with my own:

imagining a younger Hannibal Lecter curled up in bed with his back to Will’s chest, in agony on his heating pad, pleading with Will to stop teasing him. Will heard somewhere that orgasms help relieve cramps. Hannibal knows that’ll only make it worse for him, but Will won’t let it go. Doesn’t care about Hannibal’s protests that he’s a goddamn doctor and knows what he’s talking about. Will just keeps playing with Hanni’s poor cunt through his soft sleep pants, shushing him that he’s only trying to help, he’s here to make it better.

It’s making a mess but Hannibal is in too much pain to fight him off. He doesn’t want to ruin his clothes or the sheets and it’s going to hurt so much worse after but Will’s determined he knows best. He keeps going, murmuring sweet nothings, until Hannibal is begging and kicking out his feet, trying to get away but helpless to the building pleasure. He whines as he comes, cursing under his breath, flushed with endorphins and bittersweet rage. He gets a few seconds of relief before the cramps come raging back twice as hard. I told you so falls on deaf ears as per usual.

Will pets his head and runs him a bath with all the trimmings as Hannibal groans about it from the other room. He happily drives across Baltimore to get the most expensive ice cream in the state while Hannibal soaks with a glass of wine and plots his revenge

[b-bndi]

“Will is my friend.” This “Will I’m your friend.” That. We get it Hannibal. This is your first time carrying for another person and it’s so heavy that the only possible explanation you can think of is friendship because no one’s ever shown you the slightest morsel of love yet you find yourself caring about the way this unstable man thinks of you. A feeling so foreign for you that that’s what you think friendship is like even though you have the sneaking suspicion that it’s something more; willing to break the very thing you’ve found yourself needing to breathe in an attempt to understand it.

[notesapp-unreleased]

Strip Poker - a Hannigram drabble

Will has always been able to read or, perhaps, feel his way past any poker face. That, coupled with his time as a cop in New Orleans, and finding creative ways to help Beau Graham keep food on the table, has lent Will Graham a distinct advantage in navigating the cards tables.

Perhaps it is this (and an Old Fashioned) that find Will inexplicably agreeing to strip poker at the annual BAU holiday party.

He folds early on into the first round, taking the opportunity to shed his tweed suit jacket - it’s stuffy and the whiskey from the open bar is warming him from the inside out.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter, inexplicably, is sitting at the table. Will watches him, swirling inadequate wine and looking all too delighted to have been roped into strip-poker by consequence of attending a holiday party with his not-patient. (Will insisted that he shouldn’t feel the need to join the absurd game; he could mingle or even leave and Will would get a taxi. Hannibal told him it would be rude to decline.)

Beverly (eternally wise) opts to be the dealer and maintain her dignity. By the time Zeller is down to his briefs, he accepts his defeat and Jimmy offers him another drink as consolation.

Unsurprisingly, Hannibal is good at poker. Is there anything he isn’t good at? Will muses, missing his tie, belt, both shoes, and his left sock. Will, however, has spent enough time analyzing Hannibal’s micro-expressions to spare himself from the same indignities Brian Zeller is recovering from with an alarming number of shots.

Dr. Hannibal Lecter is not more skilled at poker than Will. No. The only reason Will is wearing significantly less clothing than Hannibal is that Hannibal wears so many fucking clothes.

Will grits his teeth and examines his cards as Beverly places the flop. He is wearing his undershirt and slacks. Hannibal is sitting across from him, flush high on his cheeks from several glasses of wine, and to an unpracticed eye, appears to be fully dressed. Thus far, Hannibal has divested himself of his pocket square, his tie, his suit jacket, his watch, two leather brogues, and the cuff links from his right sleeve.

Jimmy Price and Brian Zeller have returned, looking rather flushed and disheveled, Will notes, to bear witness.

Will is in his boxers. Hannibal is in the process of removing his last sock garter. Will is fuming. He wants to launch over the table and rip that stupid silk shirt off of Hannibal’s torso. Huh. Where did That come from?

Beverly is placing the river and Will Graham glares mournfully at his pile of shed clothing.

“I raise you 500.”

Hannibal’s eyes briefly cast downward, to his cards and the garishly colored chips they’ve been playing with. His golden eyes hold a predatory glint. Will steels himself and prepares to don his birthday suit. Hannibal, uncharacteristically, chooses to take mercy on Will.

“Alas, I’m afraid I must fold.” Hannibal’s face pinches theatrically as he sighs. His cards are placed neatly on the table in front of him, face down.

“That’s it folks! Graham is keeping his pants tonight!!” Beverly announces. Something like disappointment flashes in Hannibal’s eyes. Surely regret at throwing the game - nothing more. Off comes the silk shirt, one mother of pearl button at a time.

Warmth pools in Will’s gut. Embarrassment, probably. And perhaps his fourth (?) drink of the evening. His skin prickles with gooseflesh as he collects his winnings (the privilege of putting his clothes back on). He glances up. Hannibal is still staring at him. Will is suddenly distinctly aware that his mouth is dry as sandpaper and shirt buttons are a touch too challenging for whiskey-addled senses.

When Will nearly keels over trying to shove his shoes back on Hannibal takes mercy on him for the second time that evening. He gestures for Will to sit and sinks to one knee. Gingerly, he places Will’s worn dress shoe on his foot. Like Cinderella, Will’s brain supplies unhelpfully. “Perhaps we should get you home,” Hannibal says, his low timbre cutting through Will’s musings on the Brothers Grimm and the tips of his feet staying intact in this version of the fairy tale.

“Take me home then.” Will quips, then immediately regrets his choice of words. Looking down reminds him that Hannibal is on his knees in front of him and Will hasn’t bothered to properly zip up his pants yet. He thinks he hears someone wolf whistle. Probably Zeller.

The attention doesn’t seem to bother the doctor. Hannibal just smiles a private, toothy grin. For some killers biting may be a fighting pattern, as much as sexual behavior. Will shakes his head, attempting to dispel the thought. Definitely too much whiskey for one night.

[sykosomatic]

brain juice has been absorbed!!! how about ftm reader is ovulating, and is just BEGGING to be bred by will and hannibal? his poor pussy is just leaking, and his own fingers arent enough to make him feel good :(

his two lovers take turns breeding him all day, makin sure they pump him full of cum. the poor boy is all overstimulated and ruined by their thick cocks<3

obivously they give him so much aftercare, jus drowning their pretty little boyfriend in priase

-🚄

yesyesyesyes!!! this is such a fun request, i hope you have half as much fun reading it as i did writing it lol... here we go!!!

ovulating ftm!reader x will graham and hannibal lecter!

cw: ftm reader, ovulation mention, possible dysphoria, ftm reader gets his breasts fondled/reader is pre- top surgery, double penetration, no condom/cum inside/anal and vaginal creampies, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praise kink, anal and vaginal fingering, squirting, multiple orgasms, threesome and use of words: cock, t-cock, clit, pussy, cunt, hole, slit, folds… etc etc… and aftercare of course!

you'd been miserably horny all morning, waking up with your pussy already drooling. both of your lovers were busy with work, so that left you in hannibal's sprawling house all alone. you'd tried your fingers all morning; one, two, and three… but nothing worked. you could tell that something was going on; you were only this drippy when you were ovulating. if only will and hannibal were home; but you had to wait a few more hours. so fingering it was. you couldn't remember where you'd put your sex toys when you'd moved into hannibal's house with him. will was thinking about moving in too; he was there enough. he just wanted to make sure there was enough room for his dogs, and a suitable place for all of his fishing gear.

desperate for release, you texted hannibal with one hand, knowing that he only had a couple of appointments today… he'd most likely be home before will. you asked him when he'd be home and he told you what you'd expected; a couple hours.

so you were forced to finger your slick, throbbing pussy all by yourself. you were whiny and frustrated, two fingers in your ass and two in your pussy when hannibal arrived home from his last appointment. he chuckled at you, looking at your position with amusement. as you noticed him, you felt a warmth wash over your skin, making you even more needy.

"so, this is why you needed me so bad," hannibal said with a sly grin, watching you as you slowly continued. you were face-down with one arm beneath you reaching up to finger your pussy, the other arm over your back and reaching to finger your ass. hannibal approached you as you whined out your response, starting to undo his belt and zipper. he pulled you closer to him by your hips; you continued fingering yourself as he dry-humped your bare ass with his clothed cock. you could feel it getting harder as he began grinding against you. "good boy, keep touching yourself for me," hannibal praised, sounding proud of his little whore. "you're so needy today, my love," he purred at you. "i'm not sure if i'll be enough to satisfy you… but then again, i'm sure my needy pet won't be able to wait for will, would he?"

you whimpered, fingering yourself harder. it really wasn't enough, it wouldn't be enough until you had two cocks inside you filling you to the brim with cum. "i need your cock," you whined out, your brain turned to mush in your needy, dick-drunk stupor.

hannibal chuckled, starting to pull his cock out of his underwear. when you pulled your fingers away to make room for him, he made sure you left the ones in your ass. in lieu of a butt plug, you assumed. he pressed the head of his cock against your drooling pussy, slowly pushing it in. his cock was thick, stretching wider than the two fingers you'd had in, but slipping in with ease since you'd worked yourself open already. you groaned out deeply, your free hand gripping the sheets beneath you as he sunk himself into you. "oh, god…" you murmured. his cock was always a treat; it was long, with a nice girth. it always filled you up so deeply. will's cock was shorter, but had a little more girth. the perfect combination of their cocks was hannibal in your pussy and will in your ass; that always made you lose your mind. but for now, you'd have to make do with your fingers instead of will.

hannibal held himself inside you for a moment, holding your hips with one hand while the other reached up and fondled one of your breasts, pinching and teasing at your nipple. "how do you feel now, my darling?" hannibal asked you, watching your blissed-out expression.

"so, so good," you managed to whimper, steadily working up to moving your fingers in your ass again. you stopped once hannibal started moving his hips, your knees starting to get weak and your arm getting tired. you held it in place whule hannibal started to rock his hips into you, thrusting in a way that made your breasts bounce. your face went warm; typically this was very embarrassing for you, but your lovers always made you feel perfect and confident.

"let's get you more comfortable, then," hannibal said, replacing your fingers with his and letting you get into a more comfortable position, fucking into you nice and slow while his fingers massaged inside your ass. you moaned in satisfaction, letting more muscles relax as he fucked into you lovingly. "you're doing so well, look at you take my cock so deep," hannibal purred at you, groping your ass with his free hand. he slowly began to increase his speed and force as you got needier. he pulled you closer and sheathed himself deep inside you; so deep, you thought you could feel him in your stomach. he added another finger into your ass and started fingering you roughly.

"oh!… o-oh, fuck, that's good." you whined out, arms folded on the bed in front of you and your face buried against them. the force of him fingering you made your body lurch forward with every thrust. you grunted and groaned out as he finger-fucked your ass; it made your pussy throb and clench around his cock. you could feel yourself inching toward a climax, your pussy was dripping down your inner thighs and they were starting to tremble."so, so good," you repeated, starting to drool on your arm. hannibal could tell you were getting closer; he pulled his cock out of your pussy and slipped it into your ass, sheathing it in and making you almost cry. he felt so good, and he knew perfectly how to fuck you. it was insane.

hannibal fucked your ass and reached around to your clit, swirling his finger around it. your t-cock was swollen and sensitive, and his touch was able to send you over the edge. you whined out as he thrusted one last rough time inside your ass, spilling his cum deep inside you. that last thrust made you cum hard, squirting buckets all over your inner thighs and soaking the sheets beneath you. "yes, yes, oh fuck, yes!" you gasped out as your legs shook with the force of your orgasm.

hannibal let you ride it out before he pulled his cock out of your ass slowly, rubbing your sides and easing you down onto the bed in a comfortable position. he praised and petted on you as you relaxed and came down from your high. "you did so well, dear," he told you as he led you into the bathroom to clean you off.

hannibal got undressed after he set you in the hot water he'd drawn for you, climbing into the large tub with you and settling you onto his lap. it had been barely fifteen minutes since you'd cum and you already felt needy again; truly, your sex drive was wildly high right now. thankfully, this typically amused hannibal, and he had a rather small refractory period as well. this wasn't the first time you'd proposed a day full of fucking, and surely wouldn't be the last. after hannibal massaged your sore muscles and got you cleaned up a bit, you began grinding your pussy down against his cock in the water. it felt so good just brushing between your slit.

"already ready for round two?" he chuckled, leaning in to pull your nipple into his mouth, playing with it between his teeth. you groaned, nodding, your hands exploring his chest and teasing his nipples in return. "so impatient… can't even let will join in for our second go-around?" he teased, slurping on your breasts and starting to leave little love marks.

you reached down and slid hannibal's cock back up into your pussy, slowly but surely. your eager hole took him in easily. you sat firmly down on his lap, his cock balls-deep inside you. "fuck, that's good," you groaned, wiggling your hips to allow your pussy to re-adjust. and as soon as it did, hannibal's hands held your hips tight and started to bounce you on his cock. it made you feel weightless when he did this, made you feel so confident when he stared hungrily at your breasts or even leaned in and licked or sucked on them. hannibal was such a good lover, along with will, whose presence you longed for. you were so needy; soon you'd need them both to even have a chance at getting off.

hannibal rode you on his cock for a good little while and sucked on your nipples until you came on his cock again, throwing your head back and moaning out as you held the sides of the bathtub to stabilize yourself. hannibal held you firmly as you rode out your highs together, filling you up a second time as your pussy clenched around his cock. being filled up again made you groan; you always loved the feeling of your lovers filling you to the brim with their cum. you leaned forward and let him hold you against his chest for a bit before the two of you actually got properly cleaned up and got out of the tub.

"i'll be out in a minute, my dear, i think i hear my phone ringing," hannibal said to you as he kissed your forehead, slipping on some pajama pants as he went into the bedroom to answer his phone.

you heard keys in the front door; you were too excited to put anything on because you knew it was will.

you basically attacked him with a hug, making him chuckle. "quite the outfit choice," he commented playfully, looking you up and down. you brought his lips to yours in a deep, needy kiss. your sexual stamina had already refilled, and you wanted him so badly.

"we just got out of the bath," you told him, starting to pull his coat off of him, breathless, kissing him roughly. he kept chuckling at you.

"you're so needy today," he teased, playfully kissing you back as he held you against him. "let me at least get the door closed, dear," he said, you begrudgingly allowing him to do so.

you wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him, his hands going to grope your ass with his rugged hands. you started tugging his clothes off of him again as he led you into the dining room, lifting you up onto the table and spreading your legs. you were so excited when your lovers knew exactly what you wanted, when they just got straight into it. there was a specific deliciousness to waiting for it, to the nice and slow passion… but god, what you wanted right now was to be plowed hard and fast, over and over and over.

will kept kissing you hard as he dropped his pants and you took his cock eagerly out of his underwear. he groaned at the feeling of your hand on his length, his hands going up to grope at your sides and your chest. you gave him a nice, slow handjob as two of his fingers slipped into your already-wet cunt. he groaned out at how wet you were for him, grinning warmly against your lips. "you're so good for me, always ready to take me, aren't you?" he growled into you ear, nipping at your earlobe playfully.

"yes, will, i need you so bad," you whined at him. "i need you to fill me up," you told him as you heard hannibal's slow footsteps behind you. he walked around the table, giving will a deep kiss as will fingered you. you watched them kiss, whining. the sight of them touching each other always turned you on and made you jealous in equal amounts. hannibal whispered something in will's ear, standing behind him and starting to rub his sides and stroke will's cock. this allowed you to lay back and relax, letting will stick a third finger in and start to play with your t-cock. it was still sensitive, and made your legs start to tremble. "oh, right there!" you said, laying back and putting your feet up on the table to give will better access to you. you laid there in bliss, eyes falling closed as will worked his fingers up into you, curling them up and hitting that special spot he was so good at hitting. before long, you were squirting on his fingers, eyes shooting open to reveal that hannibal was fucking will's ass, and hard. will was some kind of super hero to be getting fucked like that and still able to make you squirt so hard. "oh, fuck.. that's hot," you giggled, blissed out from your orgasm. will grabbed your hips and pulled you flush against his lap, sliding his cock up into your pussy.

"yes, right there, don't stop," you heard will whisper to hannibal. will's hips moved with the force of hannibal's thrusts, making him thrust into you. he held you close against him, keeping himself inside you as he was fucked into. soon you were overstimulated to the point that you came on his cock, the force of your orgasm milking his cum into your pussy, and hannibal's into will's asshole. the three of you stood there panting for a bit, kissing and massaging each other until you retired into the bedroom for another round. at your begging, of course.

"c'mon, just one more time?" you whined at the two of them; they shared a little smirk and helped you get into your favorite position. hannibal beneath you, his cock sliding up into your waiting pussy, and will behind you. will's fingers worked your asshole back open before he slid his cock in. it was so perfect, the combination of their cocks in your holes. you sat there for a second as your holes adjusted to their girth, and when you gave the nod, they started moving. you moaned near constantly as will and hannibal's cocks worked in and out of you. after the day you'd had being filled up, it was almost to intense for you, making you see stars as they groped and kissed on yo, and each other. they took turns in speed and intensity, and will came first, filling your ass to the brim. his cum spilled out of you and dripped down your legs when he pulled his cock out.

"your ass looks so good like that," will said, as hannibal thrusted roughly up into you, hard and fast, the sound of your wet, gushy pussy echoing through the room. "you're so, so good at taking two cocks at once," will told you as he slid his cock back inside you; it squelched as he used his own cum as lube. you felt yourself cum as he slid his cock up to the hilt and slapped your ass just hard enough to leave a mark.

your holes clenched up and made hannibal cum deep into your cunt. both of your lovers held you close as they finished pumping you full of cum, the three of you moaning in pleasure and almost collapsing in a pile as waves of exhaustion washed over you. hannibal and will managed to help you back to the other bathroom, drawing a bath in the bigger tub that the three of you could soak in and relax. hannibal was the first to recover and brought back some water and chocolates for everyone to tide you all over until dinner.

[prettykittycastle]

Fulfill Your Wish

DIRTY DRABBLE

(Gender-neutral and AFAB reader)

Tightening his grip around your throat, Hannibal tried his hardest to control the urge to bury himself even deeper into you. Your wanton moans were becoming too much for him.

“Fuck yes,” you moaned over and over, gripping the bed sheets. “Please cum in me! I want your cum!”

He chanced a glance down between your bodies and just the sight of your cream covering his cock made the man lose control and fulfill your wish, burying every inch into you before cumming. Pulling out, he smirked at the white milky mess between your bodies and his cock hardened again.

[berrylovecrime]

hannigram drabble // nsfw

Hannibal’s such a brat that Will often struggles to top him. He gets texts all day long demanding he sneak in the bathroom to send a nude, and he just complies because he’s scared to go home to that meltdown.

One day, shortly after doing just that, Hannibal calls crying. He didn’t want a picture, he wants a video, with a cumshot, with sound. Will leaves the room again trying to soothe him. “Shh no don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s okay I’m going, I’m going.”

But he’s taken aback at this level of tantrum. He knows he’s going to have to get over his fear of training Hannibal before it really gets out of hand.

Hannibal continues whining through heaving breaths about how badly he needs to hear Will’s moans. Will glances at the other empty stalls and quickly locks himself in. “You know I’m at work, I can’t be too—” but he’s cut off by a sob.

“Oka—Jesus, Hannibal. Fine,” but Hannibal doesn’t like that tone, and he’s completely alone at the house with no one to take care of his aching cock. He mumbles something almost incoherent into the phone. “No, I’m not being mean to you, honey, I’m… Fuck.” Will pinches the bridge of his nose and looks down at his own bulge, growing harder with each pitiful sound in his ear.

A thought flashes through his mind, the briefest vision of attempting to tame his poor brat. There would undoubtedly be pain—for the both of them once Hannibal inevitably lashes out—and manipulative, needy tears. He sighs slowly, deciding he would indulge Hannibal one last time before he gets home and puts him on all fours for his own good. “Alright,” he says surely. “Video call me.”

[miszumono]

Hannibal perspective

I am running my fingers through his hair. We are alone, in his living room plastered with fishing poles and unfinished blueprints for antique boat motors left half-dreamed. On his couch covered in dog toys, a bottle of Budweiser drained to the last drop, an opened book and a strangely tuned guitar—like him. Beautiful and broken in a way I would die to understand. Composed in a key I have spent years trying to transcribe with my teeth.

I am grown—older, cultured, many times reborn—and I am touching his hair. It is softer than I expected, but just right for a man like him. Soft as rose petals.

It smells like cedar and bergamot with a faint hint of Marlboro Reds. He’s laced with the whisper of smoke and spine and paperbacks, the quiet desperation of boy-deodorant; of a man trying too hard to be forgettable.

His cologne clings—cheap and stubborn—something he bought once at a gas station and used until it etched itself into his skin and became his second name. Not expensive, not impressive. Yet on him it is holy. On him, it is mythic and sacred. It is the incense I burn in private.

His hair falls in my hands like it’s leaving me already and he is playing his old CDs—scratched, withered—something southern and sepia-toned, warped by sun even though the trees outside are skeletal and red. He’s loose-limbed and singing along.

When my fingertips graze the edge of his throat, I feel him vibrate—I could play him.

I could ruin him with one single note.

And he would still sing.

I have now seen heaven. And it is not made of light or purity or salvation.

It is made of this—of skin and sound and a man, unaware he has become divine in the eyes of something dangerous.

I touch him like he’s a relic, like my hands are the first to desecrate him. There is something blooming in the pit of my stomach.

Something thorned and carnivorous. A beast with petals made of teeth. It opens its mouth and names itself desire, disgustingly sweet—decay dressed up in perfume.

I know God.

I have seen the world from his vantage. And I am still brought low by this. By him.

This feeling is something that will cost me. It has already demanded blood.

I have danced with investigators, moved like smoke through rooms where truth is wrapped in velvet and unwelcome. And yet—this moment is plastered with the most danger I will ever allow myself.

Don’t you see? It is cruel to know God. To love something that is already marked for ruin. If his beautiful albeit calloused hands poured me poison in a glass, I’d drink it slow, thank him for it, because he tilted my head back to ease the swallow. And kiss the rim.

Not to taste the venom,

But to know where his hands have been.

There's a part of him that still leans towards the rain-streaked window, trying to remember who he was before the world demanded he be useful. I want to press my palm to his mouth where his breath fogs the glass and whisper that he doesn't have to be anything.

Just this. Unraveled, raw—specially for me.

I will build my altar here—on his lips, on his collarbone, on the tongue my fingertips press.

But this moment is finite, and he's the poison I never learnt to spit out.

[bloodstainedlamb]

An introspective scene remix/rewrite of Will and Hannibal's "breakup" at the end of Digestivo.

[deerabigailhobbs]

Snow white Hannibal AU

Abigail as Snow White, who's been staying with her guardian, the evil King Hannibal, for half of her 18 years of life now. He's become obsessed with her, though not in a doting way, in a jealous way. He sees how the brave Huntsman Will looks at her, eyes full of fatherly adoration as he gives her the finest furs and pelts from his last trip. She doesn't even seem to notice his presence half the time, the ungrateful girl.

He goes to his trusted mirror, eyes piercing the glass as he asks: "Who does he love most of all?" And in the reflection is no longer the cold gaze of himself, but blue doe eyes of the young girl outside.

He won't stand for it. Something must be done about the girl.

And so one evening, he fetches for his dear Will, whose eyes are dark and bagged. He must be having those nightmares again.

Hannibal tells Will his plans for him. "I want you to take young Abigail out into the woods. I want you to take your best knife and slit her throat. All I need as evidence is her heart."

As expected, Will's tried expression is now one of fear and confusion. His hands shake as pleads to Hannibal not to make him do this. She's innocent, he yells. I refuse, I won't!

But Hannibal merely looks down on the sobbing man, and sends him off with nothing more to say. He will do it. He may love Abigail more, but he is devoted to Hannibal. Will is not a knight, there is no oath he is to abide by, just pure and utter devotion. Love. A love that will only grow stronger once Abigail is dealt with.

It is quite a shame, really. That she must die. She's kind to the townsfolk, has excellent manners, is always humming a sweet tune around the gardens. But she just had to take Will away from him. Hannibal cannot forgive her for that

And so, one cloudy afternoon, Will takes Abigail out into the woods. "To pick some flowers for the king" he says, handing Abigail a basket. And as Abigail chooses the flowers, humming a delightful tune, Will takes his knife from his belt, grip firm but sweaty.

But before he has a chance to swing the weapon, Abigail looks up, screaming as she knocks over the basket and tramples all over the flowers. She's met with a wide eyed, teary Will, who lowers his knife in disgust. Abigail isn't sure what to do, feet planted to the floor

His lip quivers for a few moments before he finally speaks, voice croaky.

"I can't do it..." He whispers. "Hannibal wants me to, but I just can't..."

Abigail is still frozen, but her mouth begins to move. "The King?" She asks. "The King wants me dead?"

Will looks up at her, eyes dark in confirmation. He walks closer to Abigail, who's feet finally begin to move. But he grabs her arm before she can get any further, placing the knife in her hand.

"Run." He says. "Run deep into the woods. Don't look back. Don't return. Don't ever let him see you."

Abigail looks down at her palm, at the sharp knife glinting back at her. It appears Will had accidentally snagged her in his grip, as her hand starts to bleed slightly.

Her daze is snapped out of when she feels the huntsman's hands reach her shoulders. "Do you hear me Abigail?" He's yelling now. "Run! Run now if you want to live!" He shoves her back so hard she falls to the ground. "Go!"

Finally, her body snaps, and she's moving quicker than she ever has before. Grabbing the knife and lifting herself off the ground, she runs. She runs like a girl possessed. Possessed by a need to survive. All the while her mind is racing with thoughts. What did I do? Why Hannibal? What have I done to warrant death?

She runs until her legs can't carry her anymore, dropping to the ground in exhaustion. Her lungs are on fire. Her brain is on fire. And before she knows it her tears are stinging her cheeks. She's too tired to go any further. She's not even sure where she's going. Maybe it's to a place worse than death. Just the thought of that alone makes Abigail sob even harder.

Through the cries and gasps of air, she hears a rustling in the background, and her head shoots up. Could the huntsman be back to finish what he started? Well, if he was, she wasn't going down without a fight. Swiftly, she grabs her knife, pointing it in the direction of the sound.

But there is no huntsman, only a small, grey bunny rabbit. It's eyes looking up at her with confusion. Abigail sighs in relief, a smile painting her face for the first time in what feels like days. She bends down, stretching her hand out towards the animal.

"Don't worry." She whispers. "I won't hurt you. I promise."

The rabbit hops forward, sniffing her hand before nuzzling its face into it. But before Abigail has time to thank it for its trust, more rustling can be heard.

More rabbits, a few raccoons, birds swooping down to the ground. A couple of squirrels come out from the trees to greet the girl, their bushy tails brushing up against her cold skin.

"Why, hello all." She smiles through the tears, standing up to pet the birds still hovering in the air. Her attention is soon diverted to the tallest creature among them, a ravishing deer. Abigail walks over to it, carrassing its soft neck.

"Can you take me somewhere safe?" She asks. It's quite foolish, really. To ask an animal for help, as it would understand her. But to her surprise, the deer rears it's head, antlers pointing west.

Abigail pats it's neck again, thanking it and walking to, what she hoped was, safety. Although she would not be alone. Small and large animals alike were behind her, following the girl deeper and deeper into the forest.

[hunterssm00n]

Find You

One month after the events of SOTL but before Hannibal (2001): Clarice Starling is an FBI agent on the hunt for one Doctor Hannibal Lecter, and she reflects on their strange connection. | Hannibal Lecter/Clarice Starling |

also on my ao3: here

*cw mild language*

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hunterssm00n © All rights reserved by me. I do not allow this work to be used or adapted in any way without my permission.

I look for you in the center of the sun / I took a pill but it didn't help me numb / I see your face even when my eyes are shut / But I never really know just where to find you...

"You're dancing circles around me You're fucking crazy Oh oh, you're crazy for me Oh oh, you're crazy for me..." ~ 'Cruel World' - Lana Del Rey

X.x

"Starling. Starling. Starling. A bird with strong wings and feet, capable of flying great distances. Often bears a dark complexion with a vague, metallic sheen coating it's feathers... as if it were dipped in oil. Wouldn't you agree, Clarice?"

"Well, of that I'm not sure, sir. I don't think I've ever seen one; none that I would be able to identify, at least."

"An interesting creature - most phylum cordata usually are. Are you at all interested in the study of species?"

"Sure, I guess, but not of the animal variety, Doctor Lecter."

"Ahh, because there are different species of human, right you are. Is that why you chose to become a figure of law enforcement, Clarice? To study the sea of moral defecation around you, and to try to cleanse the world of it?"

"Mm, when you say it like that, it sounds more like you're describing a scientist, to me. Or maybe a doctor."

"But we are all scientists to our own right, aren't we, Clarice? And doctors are really just glorified scientists, schooled to understand the inner workings of something and to try to find medically accurate compensation where there is a lack. Officers of the law do this as well, but not in the biological sense - more so in the social sense. They weed out those cancerous forms that attempt to spread evil unto the world; cut them out with the steel scalpel of To protect and serve. This requires some science, Clarice. You have done your own studying of the world."

"I have. We all have, sir."

"Sir. Doctor Lecter. So polite. Society lacks manners, nowadays. It's only gonna get worse from here."

"Not a very positive outlook for the future."

"I have hopes, but not high ones for society. Can you really blame me, Clarice? What with people like Buffalo Bill wreaking havoc in different parts of this cruel world?"

"With all do respect, Doctor, one could look at your actions and say the same."

"Mmm, clever girl. Too clever. You don't agree to fight violence with violence? Survival of the fittest? You'd likely lay your body down to form a bridge for those less fortunate, Clarice, and they would end up collapsing you to climb their 'lil selves on up that laddah."

"But you can't fight fire with fire, either, sir. There has to be some sort of balance."

"And if they're not willing to compromise, Clarice? If they are not as sympathetic as you, then what?"

"I guess I'll have to cross that bridge when I come to it."

"Starling. Birds are quite impressive creatures, aren't they? The starling itself isn't widely known, but it is a clever little creature indeed. Strong little wings, sturdy feet with which to stand. It also has the ability to mimic the sounds of other animals that it hears - sometimes even the vocal sounds of humans."

"This is very interesting, Doctor Lecter, but I'd really like to get back on topic."

"Does it sound like I'm describing you, Clarice? Do you repeat the things you hear from higher-ups in the department? Has Jack Crawford made you his puppet?"

"What do you think, Doctor? You've studied me at every meeting. Do my words sound like they've been scripted? Do they sound like they would ever come out of Jack Crawford's mouth?"

"No, Agent Starling, they do not. You are indeed a creature all your own."

"So if I am a Starling, sir, what are you?"

"That depends on you, Clarice. I am either the cage keeper, or the one who opens the door and sets you free. The choice is yours."

X.x

"Clarice?"

Her face hurt; felt like it was being mushed against a hard surface. The voice broke through the darkness she had fallen into, and now she was slowly coming back to the world of consciousness, very slowly.

"Clarice,"

She groaned with the effort of opening her eyes; her head felt as heavy as a bowling ball on her thin neck as she tried to raise it. When her eyes fluttered and focused, she noticed the light brown of the smooth top of her desk to the right of her vision. Lifting her head more, she realized it had been resting on the black and white mug shot of Hannibal Lecter in an old newspaper. She'd actually fallen asleep while working. All throughout school she hadn't even done that.

"Jesus," Came a female voice from behind her - probably Ardelia wondering where the hell her partner had been.

Clarice lifted her head all the way up off the desk, wisps from her ponytail sticking to the side of her face that had been covering the newspaper. She absently wiped a hand across her cheek, wondering if it would come away with gray smudges from the newspaper that were probably printed onto her face. Being so close to Doctor Lecter's mugshot on the paper, she noticed that the two dimensionality of the black and white photo did nothing to diminish his stare. It was as if he was staring into the soul of whomever was holding the paper - like he was staring into her soul once again.

Clarice turned around in her chair to face the woman whom she roomed with, Ardelia. Ardelia had graduated the academy shortly after Clarice had, and until they could each afford their own stable homes, they decided to share an apartment to help build their individual savings. They knew each other well - they'd survived the academy as roommates and knew they could live with one another (and only wanted to kill each other on rare occasions). They were now best friends, and knew almost everything about each other, so Ardelia was probably not surprised that even on their day off, Clarice was still working.

The other woman would have only been surprised if it was any other case she was working on.

"Girl, you look rough," Ardelia commented, not unkindly. Rather than suggest food or rest (or a therapist), she knew Clarice well enough to know that those questions would not phase her. Instead she asked: "Any leads?" Clarice appreciated her for everything she said - she knew the other woman was only looking out for her.

"Um," Clarice looked down at the small drool stain slowly seeping into the paper right next to Doctor Lecter's mug shot. "Not yet, today." She rose from the chair and stretched, groaning as her neck cracked from being at the odd angle when her face rested against the desk. How long had she been like that? "Any idea what time it is?" Apparently she'd removed her watch at some point too. God, she was never this disoriented.

"A little after twelve," Ardelia had checked her own watch, peering around Clarice at the desktop. She, herself, was all dressed up - dressy casual in nice black pants and a sweeping flowery top. Clarice had known she had a date this morning - brunch at a little diner in town with another agent that had graduated from the academy.

"How'd it go this morning?" She'd been out with this guy a few times, and Clarice could sense a brewing romance.

"Great," Ardelia replied, picking up the newspaper that lay flat on the desktop, "We're gonna catch a movie later tonight too." She moved the paper closer to her eyes, then brought it back down almost as soon. "He's one hell of a creep, huh?"

Clarice nodded, remembering back to the first time she had met him; the way he calmly stood in the middle of the cell, staring through the glass like he'd been expecting someone. The way his eyes lit up when they settled on hers - like he'd been expecting her.

Ardelia gave an exaggerated shudder and set the paper back down on the desk. "How do you not have nightmares?"

Clarice glanced at the photo, shrugging non-committedly, "I guess I'm just used to it now."

The truth was, she did have nightmares - she just didn't believe that he was the source. Most of the time it was the death of her father; the lambs screaming in terror as they were lead to the slaughter. It didn't happen every night, but enough that she had become used to waking up in the middle of the night, the blankets drenched with her sweat and tears rolling down her cheeks.

The only one she'd ever told about that was Hannibal Lecter. He was the only person in her life who'd ever thought to ask such dark questions.

What she also hadn't told Ardelia was that she did dream of him. Every single night. Not all of them were nightmares, though he somehow wound up in those as well. Sometimes it was simply her walking down the long stretch of concrete in the basement of the asylum; past the jeering, howling inmates in their cells. Some of the cells had lambs in them - some of the inmates were holding little lambs, and that was why they were screaming. Clarice knew he was at the end of the hallway; she just had to walk past this chaos to get to him. Finally, as always, he was waiting there, much like he had been the very first time she'd seen him, except he was much closer to the glass this time. He was awaiting her arrival, and she was anticipating the sight of him. He would smile salaciously at her, and raise a hand to the glass, pressing his palm against it. Stepping closer to the glass, she would raise her own hand and mirror his movement, placing it over his as though there was no glass between them. They would stay like that for three seconds, looking each other right in the eye. He would smile, and she would feel her lips begin to do the same. And then she would wake up.

At the moment, that dream was the most recurring in her mind. She couldn't remember what she had just dreamt about when she'd been asleep a few moments ago, but she would bet her life he had been in it.

She had to find him.

She had to find out why he occupied her every waking thought.

"Christ, I'd never sleep again if I had to be the one to talk to him. You've got nerves of steel." Ardelia commented, kicking off her shoes. "I'm gonna jump in the shower real quick. Do you wanna come to the movie later on too? We could grab one of the other guys to come, keep you company." The woman winked at her, and Clarice rolled her eyes with a smile.

"No thanks, I'm actually gonna go out myself; run some errands, exercise a bit."

"Oh great!" Ardelia looked relieved that her friend was actually leaving the apartment for a reason other than work. Clarice felt bad that she worried her so, but she couldn't stop what she was doing. It had become a mania. She had to catch this man.

Clarice padded into her bedroom to get dressed - she wanted to put her most comfortable workout clothes on. She didn't tell Ardelia that she was still hoping to find something to point her in the right direction. She had searched high and low, found a few things along the way but nothing very significant. She couldn't let him disappear anymore than he already had.

She stripped off her clothing - just an FBI t-shirt and a pair of matching sweatpants she used for pajamas. She was pulling a long sleeved shirt over her head when she saw it - something out of the ordinary. It lay on the top of her comforter, a folded up piece of paper. It wasn't white printer paper, but a cream colored thick paper, like something artists used. Clarice swallowed hard, moving across the carpeted floor to her bed. There is no way... Or was there? There was only one person that she knew of that would leave a note for her with that kind of paper. Artists parchment.

"You sonofabitch," she whispered, reaching out and gently grasping the paper as though she feared it would crumble between her fingers. Her hand trembled slightly as she brought it up off the comforter, but not out of fear. She would never admit the emotions that stirred within her - not in a thousand years. Not even to herself. Slowly she opened the two flaps so that the page was expanded to its fullest extent. It was only folded in half once, and when she opened it she could see why. There was a graphite drawing of a woman holding a baby lamb. The amount of shading and detail that was on the page, which wasn't bigger than 8x5 inches, was incredibly impressive. Not that she was surprised. The artist once told her that his memory had been all he had during his imprisonment. She knew he had an incredible eye for memorization and detail.

What did startle her a little was that the woman in the picture was her. The likeness couldn't have been more accurate - it was like she was looking into a mirror. It momentarily stunned her as she stared into her own eyes, her own arms cradling the tiny lamb to her chest. In the drawing she had what looked to be a cloak wrapped around both of them, leaving her shoulders bare but modestly covering every other part of her.

The second clear thought was that the person who had so carefully placed the note on her bed had to have snuck in sometime within the past two hours, because that was about how long she'd been asleep for. The person who had snuck in had to have meticulously calculated when she would be alone in the apartment - was he trying to time it so that she would be asleep? Had he thought he could catch her while she'd been awake? A million different questions ran through her mind, all at once, leaving her breathless.

The third thing she noticed, the most telling feature of all, was the short inscription on the bottom left side of the page, written in thin black ink.

"Liberty for wolves is death to the lambs."

~H.L.

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AN: I do not own the SOTL/Hannibal franchise or any of its characters. I also do not own the song ‘Cruel World’ by Lana Del Rey, or the song ‘Find You’ by Nick Jonas. The above photos are from Pinterest, and attached are the links to the original images.