atrocityobsession

[atrocityobsession]

Happy Belated Birthday to my wife, Hannibal!

Yesterday, I made a heart shaped white chiffon cake with vanilla buttercream, rosemary, and pomegranate frosting. I topped it with pomegranate, more rosemary, and chocolate antlers to celebrate him! The inside features a cherry compote center that is only visible when you cut into it. ft. my new hannibal shirt. kisses.

౨ৎ ౨ৎ ౨ৎ

New fic up sometime soon.

[atrocityobsession]

Palatal Porcine

Hannibal x M!Reader (can be read as GN tbh, very few gendered terms.)

cw: dead dove, do not eat. Cannibalism, manipulation, murder, catcalling, implied age gap...

no smut, proof read 1x.

His grip around your waist tightened inexorably. A muscle in his jaw ticked as he noticed the man ogling you a few seats down in the dim theater. Hannibal could hardly concentrate on the music; the swell of the orchestra might as well have been the discordant hum of frayed wires. Of course, you seemed utterly oblivious to the crude leers of the man, your eyes fixated on the spectacle upon the stage before you.  

You could feel Hannibal stiffen next to you, though his mask of reverence never slipped, his facial features remaining stoic and his posture flawless. You turned slightly to peer at him, unable to discern what had gotten him so on edge. But your attention was quickly recaptivated by the opera singer as the aria began. However, unbeknownst to you, the unknown man’s eyes never left yours, tracing the lines of your jaw, the contours of your face, dark and hungry– a brazen lack of subtlety. Undoubtedly, he was aiming for your attention, willing you, telepathically urging you to glance over and meet his dark eyes. Hannibal’s acute awareness of the situation never faltered, even as he forced himself to train his eyes upon the stage. 

When the opera ended, and after the waves of applause had subsided, Hannibal tried to steer you out of the opera hall as fast as possible, brushing off the familiar niceties of acquaintances also in the audience. You took notice of this; Hannibal was behaving uncharacteristically, shedding his usual restraint and commitment to civility as he bluntly pulled you through the crowd without so much as a second glance. But the man had other intentions for you, beelining to intercept where you were walking with Hannibal, stepping out before you. Hannibal steeled himself, attempting to pull you along, past him and out the doors, but halted when the prowler shot his arm out, preventing any recourse and effectively creating a barrier between you and Hannibal.  

“Ciao, bellissimo,” the man purred, his voice oily and deep, his breath hot on your cheek. You flinched at the closeness, instinctively stepping back and, in the process, unwittingly distancing yourself further from Hannibal.

“You’re as pretty as a dream,” the man cooed at you, his hand reaching up to stroke your arm through the fabric of your suit. “I would much rather stare at you all day than anything up on that stage.”

Your face flushed a cherry red, and you began to sputter, glancing up at Hannibal for aid, your eyes wide as saucers. As Hannibal opened his mouth to speak, the man quickly cut him off. The air was permeated by the scent of cheap cologne and stale smoke, and the sour cloud made Hannibal’s nose wrinkle in distaste. 

“Darling, you are simply beautiful, I must say, I’m quite enamored. Why don’t you ditch the old geezer and come with me? I’m certain I could make it worth your while,” The man said, licking his lips before he picked up your limp hand, kissing your knuckles. He left behind a smear of saliva. A wave of revulsion and panic flooded your senses, and you struggled to come up with a response besides a feeble attempt to tug your hand out from his grasp. The man simply chuckled and held you tighter, your knuckles turning white under his harsh hold. Hannibal’s hand shot out, a bruising grip on the man’s shoulder, forcing him back. 

“The gentleman is not interested,” Hannibal interjected, his voice steady but dripping with malice. “It would serve you well to kindly remove yourself.” He said with a predatory smile in an attempt to maintain his manners among his peers. The man sighed, a sleazy smile plastered on his lips. He rolled his eyes at Hannibal, shouldering off the older man’s hand. 

“Ah, but he can speak for himself, can’t he?” the question was directed to Hannibal, but his eyes were still fixated on you, raking you up and down, and again, he licked his lips.

“Surely, someone as exquisite as yourself would want to experience the passions of a real man, yes?” This question was directed at you. Your mouth opened and closed fast as you searched for words, your mouth suddenly dry.

Hannibal exhaled sharply at the comment. Hannibal’s demeanor was that of barely veiled rage, condensing the urge to rip the man apart with his teeth into a mere shove. The man laughed as he was forced back, releasing your hand in the process. 

Hannibal took the opening, slinging his arm around your waist and quickly guiding you out of the opera hall. His free hand reached around to grab the hand the man had offended with his touch, and Hannibal began to rub small circles into your hand soothingly. He leaned down, whispering into your ear. “Pay him no mind,” his voice low and smooth as velvet. His eyes flickered back, side-eyeing the man who stood behind you. “Swine such as him is quite clearly beneath your notice.”

The man chose this moment to wolf whistle, calling out to you. “I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go!” He called out. Hannibal urged you on faster, committing the man's face to his memory. Transgressions of this caliber hardly ever went unpunished, especially not one as egregious as the execrable display that had occurred tonight— and Hannibal would see to it personally that justice would be served.

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Days passed, and you had long since forgotten the encounter at the opera house. You were a little more focused on the fact that Hannibal’s presence in your life over the past few weeks had been noticeably sparse. He had a habit of, every so often, disappearing from your life like this, but despite knowing this, you couldn’t shake the feeling this time; something else was up.

Hannibal finally reached out after one long week, with it, an invitation for dinner at his house. This was a common occurrence, as he absolutely adored cooking dinner for you. You accepted happily, relieved that he had finally made space in his busy schedule to see you. You arrived at the Lecter household fifteen minutes before eight. You knew Hannibal valued manners, and punctuality was one of the most important. In no time, you were situated at his dining room table. Soft piano filled the room, with the occasional clatter of cutlery in the background emanating from the kitchen. Transcendental Etude No. 6 in G minor. One of your favorites.

Hannibal didn’t make you wait long, setting down a covered platter before your seat. He halted, hovering over your sitting form before placing a small kiss on the top of your head. You smiled and let out a pleased exhale. Well, he was certainly feeling affectionate today. You waited for him to take his seat–the head of the table– before you moved to uncover the platter, staring down at the dish. It was foreign to you, as most of his dishes were. Hannibal took great pride in delineating each aspect of every meal he prepared, his words scrupulous. This evening was no different– as you began to take in the dish before, he started to speak with magniloquence almost immediately. 

“Today, I’ve prepared a treat especially for you, my little lamb. Langue de Porc. A French delicacy. Pork tongue. Prior to the time of you or I, langue de porc was considered a delicacy, reserved for the aristocracy and the upper echelons of society. It was a symbol of status, of refinement. A way to demonstrate one's sophistication and worldliness, often in elaborate presentations or terrines,” Hannibal explained as he began to cut into his own dish. You just stared down at the platter, your stomach inexplicably churning. For some unknown reason, you were a mix of anxiety, and as Hannibal spoke, with each word, your sense of unease grew stronger. “The meat itself was said to be infused with certain properties. Properties that served to heighten the senses.” 

You squirmed in your seat, hesitantly picking up your fork and knife. You cracked a smile, though your eyes were swimming with trepidation. Hannibal’s tone was darker, his demeanor clouded with something sinister. He watched with a sly smirk as you cut off a piece of the peculiarly shaped meat. You chewed slowly, savoring the taste. It was unique, with a mild and fatty flavor that melted into your mouth. Hannibal watched you, focusing on the way your jaw worked around the bite as if he were counting each time your mandible contracted.

Only when he watched your Adam’s apple bob, the indication that you had swallowed, did Hannibal relax, offering you a triumphant smile. You cracked a smile in an attempt to lighten the tension. “Kind of small for a pig,” You remarked. It was your lame attempt at small talk. 

Hannibal’s smile begins to stretch unnaturally at the corners. What had started as a harmless quirk of his lips had begun to transform into something sinister, his teeth bared in a grin more reminiscent of a predator; the warmth had drained away from his features, leaving behind a chilling sense of malice. 

Surely you had imagined it, right? The way his eyes seemed to glint with a predatory sharpness, dark and unyielding. The shadows that seemed to deepen around his features– his cheekbones sharpening, his lips curled up almost unnaturally. And then he began to speak, his voice slithering through the air. It was carried on an unnatural calm as if he reveled in the discomfort he was causing. Each syllable seemed to hang in the air. You dropped your fork onto the dining table, suddenly sick with the implication of his words.

“Ah, yes. An astute observation. When measured from the oropharynx, a typical length for a hog is roughly thirteen centimeters.” Hannibal casually began to cut off another tongue piece, savoring it. “This particular type of swine, however, usually measures around eight and a half centimeters.” His eyes were dark pools of onyx. Your breathing increased, knowing his following words. Willing them not to be said. 

Hannibal leaned forward so that his face was a hand’s breadth away. Your head was swimming. “Yes, my little lamb. This particular pig had a foul mouth and a tongue better suited for a butcher’s block than a human mouth.” 

As the words settled into the dimly lit dining room, your vision began to swim, your chest heaving. Undoubtedly, Hannibal had spent the days you had been apart hunting down the foul-mouthed man from the opera, slaughtering the offending profligate and, as some sick and twisted form of recompense, serving his tongue up to you on a salver--his mind diseased with perverted justice.

Hannibal cooed at you, trailing the back of his hand down your face, his fingers catching under your chin as he guided you to look up at him. 

“Oh, mon amour,” He crooned, his hand cool against your skin that was feverish with anxiety. “You look positively green. Is this idea of such delights too much for your delicate constitution?” 

Hannibal released your chin, tutting in disappointment. “Here I thought you might be a little more appreciative to my gift.” Hannibal resumed eating, his eyes never leaving yours. “A dish with a garnish of retribution. Don’t be afraid…” His voice trails lower as he lifts his own fork, a piece of the tongue skewered on the edge, putting it against your lips. The meat easily slides past your plump lips, landing on your tongue. Under his unyielding gaze, you find it impossible to deny him.

“There we go,” He says softly. “Can you hear the sound of your mind breaking when you deny yourself?” The meat settled like a brick in your stomach. “Surrender to the hunger,” he insisted, his breath ghosting over your cheek as he leaned in closer. 

You mechanically picked up your fork, slicing off a piece of the fatty pink meat, and bringing it to your mouth with much chagrin. And you realized… As you bit down and soft flesh gave way with a telltale wet squelch, your teeth coated in a greasy sheen, that this was your indoctrination. That this is what a soul’s slaughter could look like and that Hannibal was going to drag you down with him too, a substitute god for when you longed for devotion. The slimy texture lingered in your mouth, refusing to be swallowed easily. It was as if the dish itself had no intention of being forgotten, clinging to you in a way that made your stomach churn. You had become exactly what he had wanted you to be as you fell into disgrace.

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thanks so much for reading. I had this idea swirling in the noggin for about a year now and finally decided to write it. It still isn't as fleshed out as I had hoped, but alas... hopefully, I get the fervor to write more. I swear something possessed me so I finished this entire thing in about two hours 。°(°.◜ᯅ◝°)°。

[atrocityobsession]

i need to queen out with another goth about my hannibal playlist.

[atrocityobsession]

went to the local pharmacy to buy six different lipstick shades for this painting. Told the cashier it was for my wife. I didn’t lie, exactly.

[atrocityobsession]

I painted my wife for his birthday! Happy birthday Mads Mikkelsen☺️🎀

[atrocityobsession]

Expulsion from Eden

Hannibal x M! Reader

Content Warning: smut, light bdsm, restraints, biting, religious iconary, blasphemy, blood. not proof read.

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Your chest heaved, and you pulled on your restraints. They were bound tightly; after all, Hannibal knew what he was doing. The blindfold restricted your sight, and Hannibal prowled your prone form like a predator. Tiny breaths escaped your parted pink lips. Your Adam's apple bobbed with each nervous swallow tantalizingly. A light touch brushed against your throat, the fingers warm.

“They say Adam’s apple is where the forbidden fruit got lodged into Adam’s throat after he disobeyed God,” Hannibal purrs softly, his voice seeming to come from all around you. A whimper catches in your throat. 

“And in the dark gardens, I find yours ripe for harvest,” Hannibal’s hand tightens around your throat. Hannibal licked a strip up your throat, lingering a little too long on the front of your neck. Your cock jumped, and your back arched up. Hannibal tutted, placing a hand on the middle of your chest, forcing you back flush against the bed. The silk sheets were cool against your back, but every touch felt like torture. 

You swallowed again, suppressing a small moan. Hannibal could see your heartbeat through your neck, the artery pulsing, a siren song to his deepest desires. He ran a hand down your midsection again, his hand stopping on your length. He gave it a few strokes, watching with a raptorial smile as your back arched again, hips jutting forward, and your neck deliciously exposed.

“Sing for me, lamb. Tell me your deepest desires, and let me weave them into a symphony of sin,” Hannibal straddled your waist as your hips bucked, seeking something, anything, a silent plea for whatever touches he would be so gracious to give to you. 

A broken plea fled from your lips for more, the delicate swell of your throat exposed to Hannibal. The thin skin was peppered with the supple blues of fragile blood vessels. Hannibal leaned down to kiss you, starting at your sternum and moving up to your lips. His teeth caught your bottom lip, pulling. He was anything but gentle, and he savored the way your blood tasted in his mouth, the way you cried out in pain, the sweat that dripped from your brow. 

“In this temple of flesh, the only prayers I hear are your screams of ecstasy, and I am more than happy to make you worship at my altar.”

Taking his chance, the column of your neck poised as a succulent offering, Hannibal bites your neck right where your thyroid cartilage protrudes. Gentler than a butchering but rougher than a kiss, in a lewd communion in which your blood is his wine. In an act of blasphemous worship, his name escapes your lips over and over again as your only prayer.

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this was inspired by a series of text messages I had with a friend where I asked if they had ever seen a guy with an Adam's apple that you'd really want to bite in a less than a murderous way but more than a hickey. they didn't get it.

[atrocityobsession]

Perverse Manticulation

Hannibal x GN!Reader 😊 obvi an au.

Content warning: stalking, injury, arrests. No smut, not proofread.

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It had been two years since his arrest. You had long since moved many towns away from Baltimore. Immediately after his arrest, you subsequently dropped out of medical school and instead began to pursue a degree in literature. You had also quit your internship at the FBI’s Medical Examiner’s office in favor of the quaint little bookshop run by the sweetest couple you had ever met. You only worked part-time, the payout from the trial being enough to cover any expenses for the next few years. Everyone was humiliated. How could they have let a notorious serial killer be right under their noses, let alone allow him to kidnap not one but two FBI agents? It was a massive scandal. It’d all be over in six more months, and you’d be allowed to leave the state as the criminal investigation was finalized. 

You hummed as you unlocked your apartment. It was small, one bedroom, but you didn’t need anything fancy. After all, you weren’t the one with expensive tastes. You flicked on a lamp near the doorway, slightly illuminating the narrow hallway. It was a little after nine pm. Small taps resounded on the window as the rain grew heavier, and you slipped off your muddy boots. Lightning lashed ominously through the open window. Had you forgotten to close the curtains?

You rushed to shut them, acutely aware that anyone passing by (though, with this rain, maybe not) could see right through into your apartment. You move to put on the kettle. It was the perfect night for a movie and some hot tea. You put the kettle to boil, then pad to your bedroom, not bothering to flick on the light to change into some comfortable clothes, humming to yourself all the while. Lightning strikes again, and you were too busy rushing to get the kettle to notice the figure in your room. As you poured your tea, a voice broke through the silence. 

“Pomegrante this time? Or have your tastes changed?” 

Your blood runs ice cold, and your hand slips, the teacup falling and shattering on the floor. You begin to tremble as you slowly turn toward the source of the voice.

“Well, don’t act so surprised,” he says softly.

He stood, intentionally blocking the way to your front door. His presence commanded your attention, and you felt yourself regressing, his very existence undoing years of therapy. Your heart thudded wildly in your chest, and the world spun around you. You fell to your knees, cutting yourself on the scattered china strewn across your kitchen floor. Hannibal stepped towards you.

“Oh, my little lamb,” He spoke softly, running his hand through your hair. “You must have been so lost without me.”

His tone dripped with false sincerity. You were shaking so violently that the shards of the teacup jingled against the tile. Your mouth had dried up. You were at a loss for words and afraid that if you even opened your mouth to say something, anything, you’d hurl. 

Hannibal tsked disapprovingly at your pathetic form on your knees beneath him. 

“Where did your manners go, lamb? This isn’t any way to greet a guest, especially not me.”

You couldn’t even meet his eyes. Tears began to slip from between your lashes. Hannibal stopped stroking your hair to lift your chin to face him. His predatory red eyes met yours; it felt like he could see through you. 

Your mouth opened and closed rapidly, searching for words that weren’t there. Hannibal swiped a tear away from your cheek with this thumb, a smug smirk playing on his lips. Finally, you stuttered out a question, your voice shaking and cracking.

“How.. how did you find me?” Your voice was barely above a whisper.

“Oh, brangusis, I’ll always find you. No matter where you go, I’ll always be there with you.”

From anyone else, the words would be comforting. It was a crushing revelation. 

“Why are you here?” Your voice hoarse.

 Hannibal tutted. “Now, now.. Is that anyway to speak to me?” His fingers tightened around your jaw, causing you to wince in pain. At your slight whimper, Hannibal’s grip loosened. He exhaled deeply. “Lamb, I would never leave you,” He leans down so that your noses nearly touch, mere inches away from your face. “I know you need me.”

He stands, extending a hand to help you off your knees. You take it with a shaky hand. Blood drips from your damaged knees, but you don’t even notice a sting, too enraptured by the man before you. 

“Come now, mažasis,” Hannibal leads you towards the door of your apartment. Only when you’re a foot away do you tug away, reigning in your thoughts. 

“Go with you where?” You ask, your brow furrowed in confusion, wolfsbane fear in your eyes. Hannibal quirks and eyebrow at you, clearly not expecting this amount of pushback. 

“Home,” He states simply as if it were obvious. His eyes daring you to challenge him. You sucked in a breath. 

“My home is here now,” You curse inwardly. The words that were meant to sound brave came out shaky. At this, Hannibal smiles cruelly. 

“No, lamb. This is not your home,” His words come out soft and slow, his voice a deep timbre.. “Your home is with me.” The words come out like a threat. Once again he approaches you, tugging you into a tight embrace, leaning his face down to be in your neck. He’s so tall that you have to stand on your tiptoes just to adjust to his hold. He begins to murmur in your ear.

“Oh, my little love, this isn’t what you want. Don’t fret, precious, I’m here. I know you ache for me, crave what I give you, the things i’ve shown you. I fear you need much more than what a life like this can offer you. We have been too far apart, and nothing can undo how I’ve changed you. You’re made of my rib bone.”

Hannibal strokes your hair as the words sit heavy in your heart. The two of you remain like this momentarily, stuck in time as the rain strikes down hard. Eventually, he breaks apart, once again extending his hand for you to take. 

You take it.

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thanks so much for reading.. i've been sitting on this idea for awhile now, so I decided to make my first fic post. (◞ ⸝⸝ ◟ ) ♡

oh and if anything is super inaccurate just let it slide, i haven't done a rewatch in a year.

[atrocityobsession]

how do people post their smut writings in here without getting a winsey bit embarrassed? like i have so much and i physically cannot hit the post button.