#Hannibal lecter oneshot

[coryosbaby]

You fog up my brain, you make me insane… Hannibal Lecter x fem! Reader

Synopsis: examining your shared obsession

content warning . 18+, MDNI oral fixations, codependency, heavy biting kink, mentions of cannibalism. Blood, teeth, and body worship

୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

Hannibal opens his mouth for her whenever she asks. Nimble, soft padded fingertips touch the tip of his tongue and move even further. Over his teeth, the expanse of his gums. She rubs her tongue over her own canines in retaliation. The urge to bite into him is so incredibly chastising.

She almost does it, a few times. When his throat is close, she leaves a few marks. Her teeth sink into him and leave a clear indent, though she vows never to reveal muscle, blood, or bone. Her hands run through his hair, and she douses her own in his shampoo when she’s in the shower. His nails are clipped short; she bites hers clear down to the nub. He tells her to kiss him, and she does— teeth biting his lip, tongue roaming that mouth she loves oh so much. Close to drawing blood, but not quite.

Until he tells her to. One mindless, rainy night, her body is sprawled out on top of his, thighs on either side of his hips. The ribbon in her hair is the only thing you could consider covering her. And him, the rings adorning his fingers. His bare chest is enticing, and she leaves sweet lipstick prints along the skin. He soothes her heated neck with his hand, proving coolness and relief. She runs her blunt nails through the hair peppering his chest.

“I want to crawl inside your skin and never leave.” She mumbles, her face nuzzling him.

He doesn’t find this to be scary, or vile. He feels exactly the same way, and nods along. He trails a finger up her hip and back down again.

“I would let you,” and then, as his nose moves up to nuzzle her own, “you’re special.”

Her lashes flutter and she sighs in content. His arms wrap around her back and he pulls her down to his lips. When he kisses her, it’s on the cheeks, forehead, and nose.

“My special girl.”

A small smile, pouty lips kissing him right back. She grabs his much larger hand into her own, presses his wrist to her lips and feels the heartbeat underneath the skin.

He licks his lips and guides her hand to his torso, settling right above his navel.

“Bite me here,” he murmurs, and she lets out a tiny squeak.

“What?”

“Here. Bite me here, I want to feel your teeth.”

She can never deny him, and she would never dare question him. She moves lower so her head is face to face with his waist. Her teeth scrape against his flesh, tasting sweat and skin.

Hannibal. She tastes Hannibal.

She bites, hard. The older man below her lets out a groan, feeling her break the skin and draw red rivulets of blood, finally.

She’s no vampire, of course. But his blood fills something in her— a completion. A promise.

When she pulls away, her teeth are red. The large indentation on his skin makes her rut down against his thigh. Her fingers slip against the wound as she adjusts— a happy little accident. She presses them into his mouth and feels the soft expanse of his tongue and his teeth. He stares up at her as he sucks them. He releases them from his mouth with a lewd pop, inhaling through his teeth. She tilts her head, almost in awe of him.

“You’re beautiful.” she says timidly.

He smiles softly.

“And you’re perfect, you know,” he replies. “Anyone would be a fool not to worship you, darling.”

Heat creeps up her neck, and when the man reaches up to tug the pink ribbon out of her hair, she whines.

“It took me forever to do my hair like this!” she exclaims.

“Mmm..” Hannibal replies, and looks at her hair, as if examining. “I already ruined it when I was fucking you, don’t you think?”

She flushes. The man below her begins wrapping the ribbon around her head. Her brows furrow, but not before they’re raising as he slips the ribbon into her mouth and gags her with it.

“Need to muzzle you good, don’t I? Since you love biting me so much.”

He watches the way her drool begins soaking through the fabric. Seeing her distraught face, he coos, “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, sweet girl. But you need to be controlled, disciplined,” and then, “You know I only want what’s best for you.”

She whimpers, hips grinding down onto his crotch. He’s hard now, leaking and ready to slip inside her, and that he does. Spreading her cheeks apart, his tip probes her already filled hole. He had fucked her an hour before, filled her to the brim with his seed, and now he intends to do it again.

He sheathes inside in one go. Her eyes roll back, clit throbbing as he flattens his feet on the bed and thrusts up. Her body falls forward, causing him to bury his face into her collarbone, and he grunts against her. She feels something sharp against her shoulder— teeth.

He bites down, hard. She lets out a yell, feeling him sink into her skin. He has surely drawn blood, because when he pulls away his lips are stained red.

“See?” He asks her, licking his lips. “Now we match, lover. It’s perfect, isn’t it?”

Tears fall down her cheeks, and she nods. It is perfect.

It’s even more perfect when Hannibal uses the strength of his hips to turn the girl onto her back. She lets out a mewl, and with his cock still in her, Hannibal grabs her roughly by her thighs as he’s on his knees. Her back arches as he pulls her legs over his own, fucking her down onto his thick length. He grabs the soft expanse of her waist, grunting as he watches her tits jiggle with every thrust.

“That’s it,” he breathes, as she squirms underneath him. “Such an obedient girl for me.”

She doesn’t know where to put her hands, so with her most basic instinct she presses them on top of Hannibal’s own. He grabs them, holding them against her skin and cooing.

“I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

These words comfort her, bring a relief to her fuzzy brain, and she needs him closer. Closer, closer, closer.

She pulls his hands towards her, signaling for him to move. He moves forward, pressing himself against her body.

“I don’t want to crush you,” he says, and she bites her lip.

“I do.”

He does anything she asks, really. He puts all of his weight on her, lets her nails rake down his back and draw blood. She sinks her teeth into him more, rubs the blood on her lips and kisses him. He licks into her mouth and when he pulls away it’s so he can spit onto her tongue. She swallows it greedily, her heels pressing into his hips as he pounds her mercilessly. One hand moves to her clit, rubbing it deftly between his fingers, and his other hand goes to her throat, which he lightly squeezes.

“Look at you,” he praises, watching her lidded eyes. “So pretty and pliant for me. So beautiful.”

“Hanni—“ she starts, but it’s cut off as her orgasm rapidly approaches. “I’m gonna cum—“

“Cum for me,” Hannibal growls. “Cum for me, gorgeous. Fucking soak me.”

That’s all the command she needs. She seizes up, whimpers loudly as she reaches her peak, her eyes rolling back as she cries out his name. Hannibal watches with a small smile, but not before the clenching of her orgasming cunt has his mouth falling open as he gives two final, harsh thrusts. He spills into her with his teeth on her neck, fucks his cum into her, warm and wet.

She milks him for all he has. Her cunt takes his spend greedily, spilling over the rim of her hole and onto the sheets. Hannibal stays inside for a moment to catch his breath, deciding to collapse onto her. Not that she minds; he isn’t that heavy, and she likes the weight of him. He buries his face in her neck and sighs, absolutely spent.

“My darling girl.” he murmurs, as if in a trance. She hums a timid reply, her fingers curling into his graying locks. He kisses her on the jugular. She kisses him on the forehead. He means everything to her.

“My darling boy.” She replies. He chuckles, lifting his head and kissing her on the mouth again. She bites his bottom lip teasingly and worries the skin in between her teeth. It draws more blood, and she licks it up with her tongue.

When Hannibal pulls away, his cock slips out of her. She feels his cum dripping out of her entrance, but she ignores it. Instead, she opts for curling up on his chest again, her leg slung over his hip and her hand rubbing over the bite mark she had given him. He grabs her wrist, slipping her index finger into his mouth and suckling. She runs the pad of it over his teeth, a little crooked but absolutely perfect to her.

When she falls asleep, fingers in his mouth, she’s never been more satiated.

:: @mysticpenguincreation @nightmare-niko @iheartinkonpaper @claireyberryy @becauseseaotters @emmalandry @princesstiti14 @aerangi @kaithoughs @jamespotterismydaddy

[detectivehannibal]

The Noise and the Silence

Hannibal Lecter x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Depression. Grief. Emotional distress. Angst.

A/N: After a long hiatus, I am back with Hannibal content. I’m trying something a little different. An angsty fic with no specific plot point so that *hopefully* it is a bit more applicable to the reader. I really would like some feedback to see how this was for you! 

Word Count: 2.8k

“I feel confused....amongst other things.”

The pounding in your ears hadn’t stopped for weeks. The constant, repeated thud of your heartbeat playing in your head had been relentless. It was a loud drum, and if you sat unoccupied for too long, you would catch yourself beginning to count each thump. Oddly enough, there was another sound that seemed to be in competition with the steady booming of every rush of blood to your head. 

It was the loudest of sounds, and a noise that you did not welcome with open arms. It was a silence so loud that it was close to painful. The ring of utter nothingness was beating away at your mind space to the point of near insanity. It seemed that had been your world for the last several weeks. It was either boisterous chatter, or complete emptiness.

To be honest, you weren’t quite sure which one you preferred. 

Today was a silence day. The moment that your eyes had opened from your night of restless sleep, you knew what kind of day it was going to be. The silence days were different from the loud days. The silence days were slower, and they were much hazier than the loud. Silence days meant you were on constant autopilot. Everything that you did was purely muscle memory and basic functions that your brain had signaled every day of your entire life. There were no out of the ordinary or special tasks to switch up your day to day life. Silence days meant existing, but just barely.

The few words that you spoke on these kinds of days were hardly even comprehended by your own self, and what little conversation you were able to hold with others was forgotten just as quickly as it was had. It was lost to the fog that clouded your consciousness, and drowned by the sea of anguish that flooded your veins. 

Loud days were different. Your awareness level was a tad clearer. There was some variety in these kinds of days. This meant getting up early and spending the entirety of the day running errands and completing a list of missions to check off your to do list. Loud days meant pushing yourself as far as your physical energy would allow. The “go go go” attitude kept you on your feet without rest. As long as you were busy and occupied, then it was a loud day. It usually ended with you crashing at the end of the day with hardly feeling accomplished in any way.

Your world had become so quiet, yet so roaring. Your life was categorized as feeling nothing and feeling everything -- and it was a lottery system as to which one you were going to get. 

This wasn’t you.

You had become distant from yourself, you were a shell of yourself. The person that stood before your loved ones was merely an imposter. A stranger had infiltrated your body and was maneuvering it like a puppet. They had all reached out to you, offering their love and services to assist you in whatever you needed. Some of them had been shocked when you pushed them away, while others were unsurprised. You didn’t want the help. You refused it, in fact. So, there wasn’t much else they could do outside of leaving their offer on the table free for you to take. 

Hannibal was the only one that you had welcomed to stay, but even then the invitation was hardly obvious. There was a battle between the noise and the silence, and you were caught in the middle of this tug-of-war. You had been drained of emotional and mental energy long ago. At this point, the opposing sides were fighting over a ghost of a human. Hannibal had watched you crumble and fall apart in the last several weeks. There was very little spirit and soul to be sought after at this point. At the end of the day, the winner would really have a whole bunch of nothing. 

That was what Hannibal was most afraid of. 

Hannibal wouldn’t admit it to anyone but himself, but he was worried. He was terrified that you were close to having nothing left to cling onto. He feared that you would have nothing to build yourself back up with. Once you were completely chipped away, there was no coming back -- and that would be the end.

Hannibal didn’t worry about much of anything. He was as cool, calm, and collected as a person could possibly be. It made sense considering the kinds of habits that he was into. If he were to get nervous or any kind of variation of it, then he would slip up....and slipping up meant getting caught. 

But this was a different kind of situation. You were a part of his life that was disconnected from the more sinister parts. You were the light that shined over the darkness, so in a way, he felt like he had a right to be concerned. He knew that you needed time and space. He had given you as much of it as he possibly could’ve without seeming as if he wasn’t there for you. 

In the beginning, he had been there for every initial breakdown, meltdown, and sob fest that you erupted into. Looking back on it, that had been the easy part. He had comforted you as a lover, and guided you through the emotional storm as a man of psychiatry. He stayed up many sleepless nights with you when you couldn’t settle down enough to fall asleep. He soothed every sense of panic and anxiety with ease. 

He had not once taken the curt words and the lack of any kind of affection personally. The distraction of your heart was clear to him, and he knew that your reluctance to offer him any kind of attention was not intentional. 

He wanted to do nothing more than support you through this process. He was there for you at every step of the initial impact, and after a while, he thought that you were getting better. 

He observed you carefully, never once letting himself get too comfortable. The intense emotions ceased, and you began to somewhat return to a day-to-day routine. Suddenly, you weren’t reacting or talking about it at all. Your demeanor had completely shut off from the life that you had around you. It was as if your brain had stopped processing the incident completely. 

And that was when he knew that you were actually getting worse.

Hannibal partially blamed himself for your deteriorating state. He was a licensed professional who dealt with this sort of mental fragility every single day. He knew the signs, and he could identify them in his sleep. He found himself wondering if there was something that he could’ve done differently. Was there something that he could’ve said that he didn’t already? Had he not utilized enough of his attentiveness and patience? All kinds of questions had crossed his mind, and none of them had been answered.

He knew that dwelling on what he could’ve done then would only get in the way of what he could do now. He had to do something now, or else he feared he’d lose you completely.

****

It was a bitterly cold February night in Baltimore, Maryland. It had been an abnormally frosty winter, which was alarming considering that the winters in Maryland were already very wintery. Despite the frigid temperature, it hadn’t deterred you from taking yourself to the back deck of your and Hannibal’s home to sit in the open air. The house had been your safe zone for all these weeks that had gone by, but now it was beginning to feel more like a nest of misery that you had created for yourself. 

The porch was cold underneath you from where you sat on the top step. In all honesty, you had hardly even noticed it. A little chill wasn’t going to rattle you enough to matter. 

Your attention was focused on the inky black canvas painted above you. It was dotted and speckled with glittery stars from one end of the horizon to the other. It was the clearest night that you could imagine. There wasn’t a single flaw or imperfection to taint the night sky that you were so infatuated with. In any other time or circumstance, you’d find joy in this scene in front of you. 

But not now. 

You weren’t sure what you were looking for in that black ocean rolling over you. There weren’t any answers to your questions bouncing around up there. In reality though, you really only had one real question. Over the course of your life, you felt as if you had never gotten a good answer to the age-old question of “why?”. It’s the simplest, yet most complex question in the universe of human language. It seemed rare that anyone ever had a satisfying answer for it. 

You hadn’t gotten any real answers or resolutions yet, and tonight was proving to be no different. Just another silence day had come to a fateful end. Nothing had changed. Everything was the exact same.

You exhaled a long breath -- the kind that sank your shoulders to their lowest physical point. The rush of air that escaped from the depths of your lungs was transformed into a white condensed cloud that dispersed into the environment just as fast as it had formed. Sometimes you wished that would happen to you. Exist for a moment, and then vanish into nothing. Nothing lost, and nothing earned.

Your head lowered behind your knees that were bunched against your chest. Just your eyes and the top of your head were visible from the bundle of a shell that you had made for yourself. Your lashes fluttered each time you blinked, and every time that your vision returned upon reopening your eyes, you were met with the same starry sky.

There was a brief commotion from the door behind you that connected to the house. The sliding glass door rolled open, and a figure stepped out onto the porch before returning it shut. The footsteps of this person approached from behind, and they were familiar to your ears that were now cut with sound again. You knew those heavy, slow footfalls anywhere.

An immediate rush of warmth and security flooded your senses when a blanket was wrapped around you securely, covering any exposed skin on your body from the harsh wintery cold around you.

“Darling, it’s freezing tonight,” Hannibal remarked, his accent thick as he spoke. “I would hate for you to fall ill.” 

An extra layer of warmth was added when Hannibal joined you in sitting on the top step. His body heat was much more than yours as his radiated to you through the thickness of the blanket. It was greatly appreciated, because you hadn’t realized how cold you had actually become. 

“I’m okay.” You returned without offering any more of a ticket to a real conversation.

Hannibal didn’t mind the quiet. He had always said that a huge part of successful therapy is being able to sit in silence to allow a patient to sit with their feelings. Silence allowed time for self-reading and understanding, which Hannibal was all for. However, he didn’t like this silence. This silence wasn’t the good kind. 

His feet were planted on the second step rather than the first. His lanky legs would be too crammed if they were bunched up at his own chest. His hands were clasped together in the open space between his knees, his forearms resting on his thighs as he scanned over the back of his estate. 

The garden and backyard always looked so depressing during the winter months. In its own way, it was beautiful -- but he much preferred enjoying the grounds during the spring and summer. His vision didn’t remain on the landscape long, however. His sight eventually diverted to you, which was what he was more interested in.

He saw the way the stars twinkling above reflected off of the glassy sheen over your ears. Those very same stars above were the ones that he often described as being trapped behind your eyes with the way that they stunned him when he looked into them. It hurt his heart to know that it had been far too long since he had seen those dancing stars in your eyes. He missed that.

He missed you. He wanted you back.

“I’m aware that reminding you of this isn’t necessary....but wishing on a star won’t change what happened.” Hannibal’s words broke the still beats that had passed and disappeared into the past. 

His voice wasn’t cruel or unsympathetic. Just the opposite actually. He knew where you were right now, and what you were feeling. 

“I know.” You answered, the hurt dripping off of your words.

The desperation for relief to be delivered to your heart was unlike anything you had ever experienced in your life. It was a pressure in your chest that damn near made it impossible to focus or feel anything else. It was so beyond uncomfortable. It was inescapable no matter what you did to try to get away from it. It had seeped through you and over you to the point where you weren’t even sure who you were anymore. 

How were you supposed to live like that?

“No one in your life, including myself, expects anything from you right now,” He went on once he got the sense that you were warming up to talking. “No one expects you to be okay. It’s a vanilla statement, but it’s alright if you’re not okay.”

He knew that you weren’t okay. Everybody knew. Hannibal never wanted to tell you (or anyone for that matter) what they were. He wanted them to figure it out, and for them to come to the realization on their own. 

Because that’s where real, fruitful healing came from. 

“I feel confused....amongst other things.” You confessed.

He felt a spark of hope. This was good. This was progress.

“Understandable. You’re navigating a rather bewildering path.” He encouraged you to keep talking.

He wanted you to get better. He wanted to see you thrive and be the happiest that you could ever be. This was the first time in the weeks that had passed that you sounded like you wanted that too.

“I just....I just don’t know what to do.” You answered with full transparency, a crack sneaking into your sentence as you turned to look at him.

Tears had formed and come forth in your eyes. It hurt him to see it, but in a way it was a relief because he knew that you were feeling something.

“You don’t have to know. It’s more than acceptable to take each day minute by minute,” Hannibal shifted closer, taking a bit of an initiative to wrap his arm around you and pull you into him. “But this? When you keep it to yourself, it only makes it worse and pulls you down with it.”

He was right. You knew it. You weren’t going to get better by not dealing with it at all. Moving on without attempting to patch the wound would only come back to haunt you later. You wanted to do this right. You needed to do this right. 

“I feel too far gone. I don’t know if I can ever feel okay again.” You admitted, double lines of tears streaming your face as they left a stinging chill on your cheeks.

“You can. You absolutely can,” He encouraged, even a little bit desperately. “I can refer you to someone. Someone who can professionally help you.”

That statement brought a sound out of you that Hannibal had been longing for so dearly. As weak as it was, hearing you laugh brought a firework of joy exploding into his chest.

“Are you saying that you no longer wish to psychoanalyze me?” You joked, and he returned a smile. 

“I want to be here for you in whatever way you wish. Just say the word and consider it done.” He said.

Your first request actually surprised him a bit. He had expected you to play shy and turn down his offer or even ask for more advice. Instead, you asked for something much sweeter and much needed.

“Kiss me?” 

And kiss you he did. It was the most uplifting, comforting kiss that he’d ever given you. It spoke a thousand words and pumped him full of more hope with each passing second. You were going to be okay. You’d be happy once again and you’d be stronger than you ever were. He’d be back to throwing flour on you when he cooked meals and chasing after you around the house dripping wet and naked after you stole his towel from the bathroom counter.

Life was going to return to the way it was. He was going to be able to love the  woman that he loved so dearly even harder now. You were going to come back to him. He had all the patience in the world waiting for that. 

Because you were worth everything.

[voxmortuus]

Yooo! Lol I’m here to make a small request maybe just to see how you think Hannibal would handle a situation lol like literally just a Drabble would be fine 🫶🏼

Alright, what would he say if his S/O (male pref) asked him “Would you still love me if I was a worm?” Bonus points if his S/O asks stupid questions like this all the time so he’s used to it, LMAO poor Hannibal

►PAIRING: Hannibal X Male!Reader ►UNIVERSE: Hannibal ►WORDS: 1.6k ►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above. ►TRIGGER WARNINGS: No warnings | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list. ►NOTE: Hannibal and Hannibal Character requests are closed. All other requests are open. Sorry if this isn't what you expected, or had envisioned yourself, I apologize. But I hope you enjoyed my vision. ►DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa

"No. I gotta know! If I was a worm, would you still love me?" you ask.

Shaking his head with a chuckle he thinks a moment. "But what if I was a bird, I'd eat the worm."

"That's not the question nor a valid answer."

"Oh but it is, what if I was the bird that ate the worm."

"You're no fun." you pout a moment.

He chuckles and he watches you a moment. Putting some thought into it he tilts his head. "Well I'd make sure you'd have a nice little compost pile... only the best foods."

"That's better. So, how do you think you'd handle me if I was a puddle of putty?" you ask.

He tilts his head and shakes it again with a slight chuckle. "Where are these questions coming from?" he asked you.

With a rather proud smile. "They came from my brain place. Now. Back to the putty question."

[murderhusbands4life]

Hannibal Lecter X Autistic Child Reader

first request!

request: Can u do like austitic child reader with Hannibal 

summary: Hannibal latest patient is a child filled with trauma over their elder brothers death and Hannibal cares for them like his own.

Third person pov...

Mrs L/N and her 7 year old arrive outside Dr Hannibal Lecter's office, Y/Ns new physiatrist. A little over a month ago Y/Ns elder brother died, the 7 year old witnessed it since then the child had been filled with terror and hadn't slept well since.

Said child was grumpily standing next to their Mum staring down at their shoes swaying back and forth. "Do I have too" they pout, this makes Y/Ns mum sigh, she kneels and holds her Childs shoulder making the kid flinch not liking touch.

"Sorry honey, but you know what the school says you have to stick with the same therapist for at least a week before going back to school" explains the kids Mum, the child sighs. "Okayy, lets do it" they say making the women smile at them.

The building itself was beautiful with a sense of historical back ground, it was tall and didn't look like a physiatrists office, nervously Y/N follows their mother inside the building, Mrs L/N had heard from her close friend Jack Crawford about an amazing physiatrist and decided to make an appointment for her child.

Soon they came to a door which was Dr Lecter's office, Mrs L/N knocks on the door, looking down at her nervous child of course the child was nervous, Y/N doesn't like change and this is a huge change for them, then the door opens and man stands there.

He was tall around 6tf, he had ash grey hair, brown eyes, he had sharp cheekbones and an obviously fake smile on his face, to Y/N he looked about 40 maybe mid 40s. he was wearing a dark red pinstripe suit and dark brown shoes.

He looks at the mother and child in front of him wondering who they were. "hello, you must be Dr Lecter, Im Y/M/N L/N and this is Y/N we have an appointment" says the H/C woman, Hannibal eyes widened a fraction before returning to normal. "ah yes my apologies, I had forgotten please come in" he says and stands to the right holding the door open.

He had a slight accent, possibly eastern European, Y/N wracks their brain trying to place it but couldn't think, they shall have to ask the man later.

But Y/Ns mum shakes her head at the invitation. "I'm already late for work, I'll leave Y/N with you" she says before turning her back and kneeling next to her child, Hannibal watches as the child's eyes wonder not looking at their mother.

"Y/N love, I'll be back to pick you up later okay, my shift at the clinic will finish at 5 okay see you then, be good and respectful to Dr Lecter now" she says to the child kissing their forehead and walking away throwing a wave goodbye behind her.

The hallway was filled with silence as the Dr and Child stand. "Please come in Y/N" he says to the silent child. Y/N nervously enters the pristine office, the child gasps at how large the room was, bright E/C eyes marvel at its beauty.

Dr Lecter lips turn up at the emotionless child gasping at his office, he then walks over to the child and begins taking their coat, this makes the child look at him before smiling in thanks. "Thank you, sir," Hannibal hears a mumble.

"of course, now if you would please take a seat we will begin" he says motioning to one of the chairs he uses for his patents, though it had been a while since he had such a young one in his office.

"now then we shall begin, I am Hannibal Lecter and I will be your physiatrist" he says smiling at the small child sitting in the overly large chair, said child was still looking around the room drinking in all the details and books.

"Im Y/N L/N, sir im 7 years old" comes a tiny voice, Hannibal smiles slightly, they were getting somewhere at least he got their name. "hello Y/N do you know why you are here?" he asks the child, Y/N stopped looking around and instead looked at their shoes.

"because I don't sleep and Mummy's worried about me" comes the quiet voice, Hannibal was barely able to hear. He crosses his legs and continues to write in his notebook, brown eyes look over the child sitting opposite him, their movements skittish like a scared bunny.

"And why is that Y/N?" he asks gently coaxing the child to speak more, minutes pass before the child speaks. "Because brother died and I still dream off him though not nice dreams, I miss him" whispers the child tears gathering in the corner of their big E/C eyes.

Already seeing this happening Hannibal hands, the 7 tear old some tissues he keeps on his desk, tiny hand grab the white tissue and wipes their tears and blows their nose. "t-thank y-you s-sir" comes a tearful voice.

Hannibal smiles gently at the child reassuring them. "of course, child" he says as their session moves on.

Over Y/Ns next few appointments with Hannibal they began to get more comfortable with him and always enjoyed coming to his office, once he noticed how their eyes wondered toward his many books on the second level, the expression of surprise will forever make him happy as he told the child they could read his collection.

Said child bounds over to the many books and carefully grabs a couple, he had learnt that Y/N was autistic and had a love for books they loved reading anything, the two become ever closer their sessions became something less formal.

Hannibal had never felt this close to a child before, but he enjoyed their sessions together and was delighted to be able to help such a sweet innocent child go through their trauma.

The end!

Hope you liked this first oneshot for this new book. Sorry for the spelling and grammar mistakes in this.

Requests are open!

Word count: 1065

[vampiresautopsy]

‘Sex Therapy’

(Cw// smut)

"Now, Will," Hannibal clicks his pen before fixing his gaze to his patient "How has been your sex life been of late?"

Will shifts awkwardly in his seat, his eyes darting all over the room for exits. "I thought we were here to delve into my mind, not my bedroom."

"The mind and the bedroom are often intertwined. It's in these moments of vulnerability that we truly reveal our deepest desires and fears. So, indulge me. Have you been finding any...connections?"

"It's been rather....vacant." Will runs a hand back through his curls, allowing the light to cast over his eyes. Uncomfortable, and targeted straight at the floor.

"By choice, or by the impairment of your job?" A question that caused Will's eyes to rise back to Hannibal's. "It could be a powerful remedy for the toll your work takes on your psyche."

"I don't have have the capacity to love a partner, not right now." Will adverts his eyes back down, allowing the curls to fall once more.

Hannibal leans back, steepling his fingers. "One can indulge in physical intimacy without being ensnared in the labyrinth of love. A symphony isn't always a love song; rather just a harmonious arrangement of notes. Have you considered looking for partners to play these melodies with?"

Will crossed his arms, a barrier against the vulnerability he felt in that moment. Several seconds of silence pass, the sound of Hannibal's grandfather clock filling in the unspoken words.

"A fuck buddy?" Will finally murmured out, a subtle smirk playing on his lips, eyebrows raised.

"If that's what you choose, there's many online websites-"

"I'm not sleeping with random strangers, Dr. Lecter." Will abruptly cut off Hannibal, now making stern eye contact.

"Well," Hannibal slowly introduces his words, warning Will of his rudeness. "On the other hand, I am willing to try sex therapy with you, if you believe you will benefit."

Will gawks slightly, leaning forward. "You mean, me and you? Having sex?"

Hannibal nods as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world. A psychiatrist having sex with his patient. 

"I don't know...I've never done anything with a guy..." Will begins to trail off, picking at his finger nails, a nervous habit that betrayed his attempts to appear collected.

As Hannibal stands up, Will holds his breath. The reality of the moment eludes his comprehension, and, more astonishingly, he finds himself fully reveling in it.

Will could feel his dick hardening as he gazes down at his psychiatrist, who is now on his knees before him. Hannibal places a hand on Will's thigh with enough pressure to elicit a gasp.

"Is this alright, Will?" The older man asks, sure to gather Will's full consent.

He nods vigorously, tongue swiping between his lips, mentally cursing at himself for going for the tighter jeans in his collection today.

Hannibal's face takes on an amused grin as he begins to work on Will's belt, deliberately savoring each moment. Will's dick twitches with every brush of Hannibal's hand over the fabric.

Will shifts his hips slightly forward, giving Hannibal better access. "Please, Hannibal." he mumbles as his head tilts back slightly, still sure to keep his eyes on the doctor.

Hannibal finally releases Will into his hand, giving him soft strokes. He takes his thumb over the slit, smearing the precum that was beginning to leak. He lifts the thumb to his lips, taking in a taste of Will.

In the brief second Will took to close his eyes, Hannibal's lips was already around his dick.

Hannibal takes the time to move his tongue around Will's tip as his mouth takes in all of Will's length.

Will clenches a fistful of Hannibal's hair, swaying his hips into  his mouth. His eyes shut, savoring the subtle sound of Hannibal's suppressed gagging. Incoherent utterances spill from his lips, the sheer ecstasy of Hannibal's mouth around him causing his cognitive to fail.

Hannibal reaches down to rub himself off, his moans vibrating down Will's dick, drool piling slightly at his lips.

Every nerve seemed to ignite with an electric fervor in Will, the once laxed boy now full-throttle face-fucking his psychiatrist. Hannibal lets go of himself to grip onto Will's thighs for stability, feeling the involuntary tears prick his eyes.

"Fuck, this is so good," Will groans out, oblivious to his noise volume. He grips Hannibal's hair tighter, pushing his dick down his throat rapidly as he nears his end. "I'm gonna come, Hannibal."

As the culmination of sensations built within him, Hannibal uncontrollably sobbing on his dick, a shudder coursed through his body. His warm seed leaking down the back of Hannibal's throat before a quick swallow.

Hannibal licks Will clean as he plants small kisses on his tip, each one causing another jolt in Will's muscles.

Will sulks back in the chair, recovering from his euphoria. A 'thank you' dances around his mind, but never quite comes out.

Hannibal brushes his knees as stands, taking his handkerchief to dry his eyes. "So?"

Will gives a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent affirmation that spoke volumes.

[yokichikun]

Hannibal x virgin reader who's anxious about intimacy! 💝

Heyo! Haru here! Thank you so much for the request! I hope you’ll like it because it’s been a while since I wrote something serious!

Content warning: sexual content.

I used the neutral gender for this fanfic to make everyone more comfortable.

Love u, have a good reading.

You and Hannibal were dating for a few weeks now, it’s almost been a month.

It was a cold winter night and you were eating dinner at his place. You were a bit nervous, it wasn’t the first time you two eaten together, but you knew this time was different. You didn’t knew why, but you had this sensation it wasn’t only a sensation, you could feel something into the air, something warm like an embrace, but more intimate.

You where sitting next to Hannibal not watching him while you two eat. You were holding your glass wine trying not to loose yourself into your thoughts.

Obviously your lover did notice your tense expression, so he took your hand and caress it smiling.

“What’s the matter my love? What is infesting that sweet mind of yours?”

Your mind jumped a little forcing yourself to look into his eyes with a nervous look.

You didn’t know how to respond, your face became all red from the realization of what was happening.

“W-what? Oh, it’s nothing Hannibal. Don’t worry, I’m just a bit stressed by work, that’s all.”

Your nervous voice immediately gave him a signal that something was wrong. He got up smiling and got behind you putting his hands onto your shoulders and starting to massage. You immediately tensed up more as his hands cuddled your shoulders trying to calm you down.

“It looks like there’s more than just work. Want to talk about it? You know I’m here to listen and help you. That’s what partners are for”

You couldn’t hold it anymore. It’s been a while since you started thinking about your future sexual life. You were still a virgin, you never found the right person to loose yourself with. You were a bit scared and anxious, what if you didn’t do the right things? What if you didn’t like it but he does? What if… what if… your mind was full of those questions. He was experienced. He. Not you. You didn’t knew enough to make him satisfied.

“What if I’m not good enough?”

“I’m sorry love? Not good enough for what?”

“What if… I’m not good enough… in the bedroom..?”

Hannibal smiled making you turn around to face him and then took your face by the cheeks.

“Is this what is filling that mind of yours with thoughts? Oh my sweet creature. There is no good enough or not good enough into the intimacy spectrum. There’s only the discovery with your partner. You have must felt so scared and embarrassed to tell me, I get that. But let me tell you that I’m never going to force anything this big on you, I’m going to accompany you every little step into this intimate dance that will be our bed life.”

You just looked at him in silence. Like always he understood everything with just a few words.

You got up for the chair and kissed him slowly. You were telling him thank you using your lips, or at least you where trying, but it seemed like he understood.

“Could we… try tonight? I mean… if you want to”

Hannibal smiled caressing your cheek.

“Oh my lover, you don’t have to ask, I’m going to do whatever you say to make you feel comfortable”

You hold him tight kissing him again. That night was going to be a long night spent by exploring each others intimacy.

[aristialamoniques]

𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕺𝖇𝖘𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓

𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠

Hannibal Lector, the enigmatic forensic psychiatrist and notorious serial killer, harbored a secret obsession that burned with an intensity that chilled to the bone. His unwavering gaze, piercing maroon eyes, and lips curved in a sinister smile, betrayed his fascination with a specific individual: the enigmatic [Y/N].

Their paths had crossed at a psychiatric hospital, where Hannibal cunningly studied [Y/N's] vulnerability and frailties. Intrigued by her resilience and the shadows that lingered in her eyes, he became ensnared, consumed by a desire to possess her.

Hannibal's love was not pure or selfless. It was an obsessive infatuation, a twisted desire to claim [Y/N] for his own, regardless of her feelings. His every thought and action was driven by his fixation on her.

As [Y/N's] life became entwined with Hannibal's, she sensed an unsettling presence lurking in the shadows. Unnoticed glances, mysteriously opened doors, and the eerie silence that enveloped her sent shivers down her spine.

One fateful night, as [Y/N] returned home from work, she found a note on her doorstep scrawled in Hannibal's elegant handwriting. A chilling invitation to dinner, promising an unforgettable evening filled with tantalizing culinary delights and intellectual discussions.

Unable to resist the allure of Hannibal's charismatic nature, [Y/N] accepted. As the clock struck seven, she found herself seated at Hannibal's lavish dining table, unaware of the fate that awaited her.

With each course, Hannibal's obsession became more apparent. His intense gaze never left [Y/N's] face, as if he could devour her with his eyes. The pleasantries he whispered turned into possessive declarations, and the air grew heavy with his desperation.

As the evening reached its climax, Hannibal's mask of civility shattered. He revealed his true intentions, confessing his unyielding love for [Y/N] and his willingness to eliminate any obstacles that stood in his way.

Terror flooded [Y/N's] veins as she realized the true nature of Hannibal's obsession. She fled his mansion, desperate to escape the suffocating grasp of a madman.

Hannibal pursued her relentlessly, his possessiveness fueled by rejection. Anyone who dared to approach [Y/N] faced the wrath of his deadly cunning. Friends, family, and even potential lovers vanished without a trace, leaving [Y/N] utterly isolated and vulnerable.

As Hannibal's obsession grew, so did his methods. He manipulated events to isolate [Y/N] from society, ensuring that she had nowhere to turn. Fear gnawed at her mind, as she became trapped in a twisted game of cat and mouse.

Time seemed to lose all meaning as the hunt intensified. [Y/N] clung to hope, desperately seeking a way to escape Hannibal's clutches. But the more she resisted, the more determined he became to claim her as his own.

In the end, a bloody confrontation ensued, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Hannibal's obsession had consumed him, driving him to the brink of madness and beyond. And as [Y/N] emerged from the darkness, forever scarred by Hannibal's twisted love, she learned a chilling truth: the human heart is capable of harboring the most sinister of desires.

[suchawrathfullamb]

More Hannigram Prompts

I can't stop.

Phantom of the Opera AU: the whole concept of Will being Hannibal's mask or the opposite is yum

Old Western, Cowboys AU: idk I just need them in cowboy outfits

Jack and Alana trick Hannibal into thinking he indirectly killed Will by sending Dolarhyde to his location (could even be real and they make him look at Will's dead body, like a one shot? I just need his reaction)

Old circus AU: I don't know honestly I go a lot for aesthetics purely but could be Will looking for a job in the Lecter Circus as the psychic and idk what else look I just really enjoy vintage circus creepy aesthetics

Mortal man/Deity AU: pls, why haven't I found divine aus yet?

101 Dalmatians inspired? Hannibal is Cruella but in a dystopian world where it's normal to wear human skin instead of pup fur cause I can excuse the cannibalism but not puppy violence!!

Season 1 Will actually clocks Hannibal early on and decides to fuck around, so he's never hypnotized because he switches the substance without Hannibal knowing; he fakes reactions to freak Hannibal out or something idk but dark comedy vibes, and he's in love but also like oh you think you evil? I'm more vibes

Fics where we explore their diagnosis, specially Will's switch, for example. Would love to see them in an established relationship but the story focuses on Hannibal dealing with Will's switching, or Will dealing with Hannibal's mind palace tumbling down and ptsd.

[cherryskyies]

Could you maybe write something for Hannibal Lector having a s/o that isn’t used to being taken care of? Like maybe the way he cooks for them or spoils them and they’re just not used to it? How would Hannibal act?

You’re writing is amazing btw!

Less than perfect

I feel like I got a bit carried away here gn BUT thank you <33 mwah there will be some headcanons at the end!! navigation || masterlist

He noticed, it was hard not to, considering his field of work — it is what drew him to you, he supposes. Hannibal had the urge to wrap you in his arms, pull you close, and whisper sweet nothings into your ear while you slept the moment he saw you. A being as precious as you, his little lamb, deserved all the love and he could see you were being starved of it. 

Hannibal decided, somewhere along the way, that you were now his. 

It felt similar to rehabilitating an animal that had never seen the outside world; you were so curious, watching him with wide eyes, hiding your face at every compliment and pet name — you were perfect for him, an open canvas to create whatever his heart desired. 

The morning it really clicked with you, that Hannibal meant every word he said, was in the middle of October: He had been invited to a halloween party and was allowed a plus one, which automatically meant you. You didn’t understand the costumes when he first presented the idea, but still you agreed, thankful for the extra warmth the wool provided. 

Small, black sheep ears glued to a headband sat upon your head, an expensive silk collar adorned your neck with the words “Little lamb,” engraved on the metal charm. Hannibal stood next to you in a shepherd's gown, smiling down at you whilst speaking softly, “I’ve raised you so well, my lamb.” He ushered you forward, looking off to the side. “Go on, go mingle while I take care of some business.”

Similar to a shepherd and his flock, Hannibal took care of the big bad wolf that had been giving you problems at work — no one would notice him missing and maybe if he was careful with his seasoning, the meat wouldn't be as tainted. 

Dinner that night was wonderful, “Thank you, Han. I wish I could cook this good.” You comment, laughing at the end. “I can do the dishes?” Hannibal eyed you, satisfied that you’d ask permission from him — so obedient, so perfect. 

“Of course, and I’m sure you can cook just as well,” he starts, trailing behind you with the rest of the empty dishes. “But if not, you still make a beautiful lamb.”

Your face is hot, heat creeping up your neck and reaching the tips of your ears. “Ah no, but thank you.” 

Hannibal is displeased with your response, turning to look at you as confusion settles into his features. “My lamb, you can’t possibly believe you are anything less than perfect?” and while it may have sounded rhetorical, he expects a reply — displeased once again when you shake your head softly. 

He falls silent, watching you with calculating eyes, racking his brain for ways to make you see how beautiful you are — “Can I kiss you, my lamb?”

You’re caught off guard, half expecting him to say it was a prank and move on, but when he doesn’t, you smile — if the little cottontail glued to your pants was real, it would be wagging fifty miles an hour. “You wanna kiss..me?” You clarify, pointing your thumb to your chest and when he nods, you laugh in disbelief. “Then kiss me.”

Hannibal can’t help but wonder if all of you tasted this sweet; if your meat would be as heavenly as your lips – but he’d never eat his little lamb.

To hannibal, you are a lamb at the slaughter, calling out to him for help and he can’t help but to spoil your cute little face — you’re his lamb after all, right?

Hannibal just... seems like he would absolutely adore the fact he is the first to love you like you deserve, to be the first to lovingly caress your cheek in the morning, make you breakfast in bed with cute little love notes on the side.

However, Hannibal is also absolutely livid at all your past lovers and family for not giving you the gift of kindness that you more than deserved.

[whipitgod]

I Panicked

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham

oneshot - wc: 2.3k

summary: post fall hannigram, fits in the same universe as ‘pushed in’ but its not necessary to read that to understand this one. Hannibal gets a bit introspective as he thinks about how his life turned out, Will just really wants Hannibal to stop stabbing him

warnings: canon typical violence though non-graphic (will gets lightly stabbed), somewhat crack-ish as per usual, and a decent helping of some tooth rotting domesticity

a/n: YOU GUYS ARE ALL SO AMAZING!!! thank you for all the love on the destiel fic! this was fun to write because I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while so it was good to finally flesh it out, i hope you all enjoy it!! if you like this remember to leave a like/reblog! maybe even follow me :D! Happy reading!!

!!!!REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!

All things considered, Hannibal had never expected his life to turn out like this; he had been, for lack of better phrasing, well and truly domesticated. They had settled into a small home in rural Argentina after pulling themselves out of the raging water Will had thrown them into, the nearest town no less than 30 minutes away; which Hannibal had initially taken issue with before seeing how at peace the younger man had been in the countryside.

Will had flourished in the new environment much to Hannibal's delight, the ex-profilers joy making it hard for Hannibal to be upset about their living situation. The home is nothing like how his home in Baltimore had been, the one they reside in now was single story and unassuming. White in color and surrounded by trees with a lake a couple hundred yards back behind the house, the home reminded him more of how Will's home had been in Wolf Trap. Hannibal found it difficult to complain about the home when it was shared with the younger man, whenever he felt the need to his mind would supply him with memories of Will walking through the back door after spending all day down by the lake fishing, the dog Hannibal had got him when they had first arrived at the home following close behind him.

Hannibal really had never pictured his life ever being anything like this, the concept of finding a shelter and choosing a dog for someone would have made him laugh a decade ago. He reasons that he had never had anyone to do it for before, because when they had arrived in Argentina almost three years ago Hannibal had barely batted an eye while he made quick work of locating a shelter about an hour away from the home to find a dog for Will.

Despite all this he still has his moments, he reminds himself sometimes that nobody is perfect; everyone has moments of weakness and lapses in judgment. Hannibal tries his best to maintain his composure and not let himself do anything too impulsive but sometimes the flood of emotions he gets in the face of the domesticity he and will now shared got the better of him; he had never been good at reacting rationally and it was apparent in how he tended to handle his emotions.

His most recent lapse in judgment had surprised even him, even now a week later he’s still a little unclear on why he had reacted to the emotions he shared with Will the way he did. He really had no reason to do what he did but Hannibal had never been a very reasonable man despite how much he tried to claim he was.

2 Weeks Ago

“Jesus Christ Hannibal, why did you stab me!?” Will’s hand presses against the wound made by the small paring knife Hannibal had been using to prepare dinner.

Hannibal, to his credit, feels at least slightly bad about the turn of events and responds with a flustered, “I'm not sure, I panicked,” the cannibal reaches to move Will's hand so he can inspect the wound, “my sincerest apologies Will.”

Will lets out a disbelieving sound akin to a laugh, “Panicked about what!” His tone is sharp, and he lets out a hiss as Hannibal prods at the wound, “We were just talking about our plans for tomorrow!”

Hannibal freezes momentarily at the words; why had he stabbed Will? The man honestly isn't quite sure, he supposes it might have something to do with the domesticity of the situation and the overwhelming rush of emotions he got whilst listening to Will talk about their plans like they were an old married couple.

“I believe I had meant to kiss you,” Hannibal meets Will's eyes briefly as he says this, “again, I sincerely apologize.”

Will just sighs at this, “It’s fine Hannibal, just help me stitch this up,” he shakes his head muttering a frustrated, “I can’t believe you stabbed me.”

“Of course, dear.” The older man pulls his hands away from where he had them still pressed against the wound, turning slightly to turn the stove off; Hannibal can’t believe he stabbed him either. Will begins walking towards their bathroom, hand clutched to his side and his gait a little uneven betraying the pain he was in; Hannibal really isn’t sure how he was going to make up for this one. The cannibal trails behind him, instructing him to remove his shirt once they had reached the somewhat small room.

“You’re unbelievable,” the words leave Will with a surprising amount of fondness, “Remind me to stop standing so close to you while you make dinner.”

Hannibal lets out a light chuckle at this, shaking his head slightly, “I will try and refrain from stabbing you going forward,” He inspects the wound on Will's lower stomach, sighing softly, “You don’t need stitches dear, but let me clean and bandage it.”

“Little victories,” it’s said with a teasing smile, “and I've heard that before Hannibal, it feels a bit hollow when you keep stabbing me.”

The older man huffs an affronted sound at this, lips curling down a bit, “I haven’t stabbed you in four months.”

“It’s fun that you keep track,” Will spots the guilty look gracing the cannibals features and sighs, he reaches up and places a hand on the man's cheek feeling the slight stubble there, “I know emotions aren’t easy for you, and for what it’s worth I'm proud of you.”

Hannibal scoffs quietly at this, shaking the man's hand off, “Don’t patronize me Will.”

“I'm not,” urged Will, “I really am proud of how well you’ve adapted to our life here; I know it wasn't easy for you.”

The cannibal offers him a small smile at this before patting the bandage that now adorned Will’s abdomen, “Good as new.”

Present day

Hannibal shakes his head at the memory, all things considered, Will had gotten over the man's slip up with a surprising ease; Of course nothing is ever truly easy with Will. The ex-profiler had a tendency to hold onto things to use them as leverage, bringing up Hannibal's misdeeds whenever the couple would argue. The most recent incident had been used to strong arm Hannibal into a fishing trip, the younger man lamenting how Hannibal never partook in the activities that he enjoyed; saying that the cannibal owed it to him to join him on the fishing trip after the older man had stabbed him.

Hannibal had decided not to argue, having learned that with Will he had to pick his battles carefully. The fallout of the cannibal denying him would be worse than a day sat on a boat under the hot sun; at least that's what he had thought up until he had seen the life jacket Will was insistent on having him wear. He thinks back on the argument the life jacket had caused with a huff of retroactive annoyance.

1 Week Ago

“Good lord, what is that?” Hannibal chokes out whilst looking at the neon orange life jacket that Will is holding out for him.

“You’ve never seen a life jacket?” Will's tone is sarcastic as he waves the life jacket in front of the cannibal's face; the older man staring at it like he’s trying to set it on fire with his mind.

“Of course I've seen a life jacket William, don't be ridiculous,” Hannibal waves a hand in its direction, “but why in god's name is it that color?”

“In case emergency search and rescue has to find your body in the lake.” The younger man says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world and Hannibal finds the statement a bit unsettling.

His brows furrowed as he finished processing what Will had said, “Do you plan on me ending up dead in the lake?”

“Depends,” Will shoves the life jacket to Hannibal's chest and the older man lets it fall to the floor without sparing it a glance, “are you gonna be this irritating all day?”

“Very funny dear.”

“I’m not laughing.”

Will, deciding the conversation is over, turns away from Hannibal to finish organizing his tackle box and assorted fishing gear, not sparing another glance to the man even when he starts grumbling quietly to himself; Will only picks up on some of it, not really paying attention.

“We’ll see who ends up in the lake,” there's rustling behind will and the sound of the life jacket being picked up off the floor, “could call it payback for the dress shoes I lost in the ocean.”

Will looks over his shoulder at the man and sends him an annoyed glare, effectively silencing the cannibal.

Present day

Hannibal hated that life jacket; he hated that Will hadn’t worn one as well even more. The fishing trip wasn’t all that bad, though he’d never admit that to the other man; he had complained too much to then turn around and say that he had had a good time. He had found fishing to be rather peaceful, the calm waves rocking the boat accompanied by a comfortable silence, well partial silence. Once Hannibal had stopped complaining there was a comfortable silence, and even though he would never admit it to Will, he knew that he had complained for quite a while.

Hannibal startles slightly at the sound of the back door banging open and the thud Will’s boots made as he entered their home, he hears the paws of the dog following shortly after, the dog never far behind will.

“Honey I’m home!”

Another thing Hannibal would never admit to was how much he enjoyed when Will would enter the house like that, finding a lot of pleasure in hearing Will call the place they resided ‘home’, the phrase always implying that it was their home; a space that they shared. The younger man enters the kitchen, setting the fish he had caught during his trip on the small island, before shifting his eyes to where Hannibal sat and sending the man a smile, eyes crinkling in the corners with the force of it.

“How was your trip dear?” Hannibal stands walking over to where Will is standing at the island starting the process of cleaning the fish. His hands reach out landing on the counter each side of Will’s waist as he peers over the man's shoulder at the fish in front of them, “By the looks of it, it went well.”

Will cranes his neck to look briefly at the man, eyes softening before he leans in and steals a chaste kiss; Their affection had become startlingly domestic compared to how it was when they had first arrived. They had behaved like touch starved teenagers for the first couple months, every kiss turning into something more. The two, now a few years into living with each other, expressed more casual intimacy than Hannibal had ever thought he was capable of. Quick kisses in greeting, or the gentle kisses Will would press to his cheek before he would rush out the door becoming a part of their routine; Hannibal frequently pressing kisses to the top of Will’s head when he would walk behind where the man was sitting, inhaling deeply as he does, taking in the smell of their shared shampoo.

The memories as well as the current position they’re in is horrifically domestic and Hannibal kind of wants to stab him again, though he stamps the thought down as quickly as it comes. Emotions swirl inside of him and he’s unable to pinpoint all of them though he’s able to pick out happiness fairly easily, the emotion had become commonplace after their years of living together; Hannibal had never thought it would be possible to feel as deeply as he does now.

“It was good,” Wills hands now working with a skill that had taken decades to acquire as he guts and cleans the fish in front of him, “how was your day? Do anything fun?”

Hannibal pauses for a moment considering, “It was good, though rather uneventful.”

Will let out a curious noise urging Hannibal to continue, “Oh yeah? Why's that?”

“The day somewhat slipped away from me; I haven’t even begun preparing for dinner.”

Will snorts at this, “Oh no, how will we ever survive,” his tone is teasing, and he laughs a bit as the words leave him, “we’ll starve before you manage to get dinner together.”

“I know, what a horrible twist of fate,” Hannibal presses a kiss to the side of Will’s head before continuing, “we managed to elude the FBI’s grasp for years only to succumb to hunger.”

Will’s shoulders shake with silent laughter before he sets the knife in his hand down, wiping the fish viscera off of his hands before turning in Hannibal’s arms, the man having yet to move them from the island, keeping Will caged. Will doesn’t attempt to touch the man, very familiar with his obsession with cleanliness, instead he leans his head forwards and rests it against Hannibal’s chest. The man's hands move from the counter then landing on the small of Will’s back, fingers toying with the waistband on the back of the younger man's pants.

Will heaves a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension releases from his body now that he’s wrapped in the other man's arms. They stay like this for a few minutes, Hannibal rocking slightly, a soothing gesture that makes Will’s shoulders slump even further.

The ex-profiler starts to laugh, the sound vibrating against Hannibal's chest prompting the cannibal to pull Will back slightly to look at his face, “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I'm great,” more laughter leaves him, “I was just thinking about stabbing you.”

“Excuse me?!”

[in-his-image]

𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐍𝐈𝐁𝐀𝐋 𝐋𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

→ AMBUSH

upon missing a therapy session with dr. hannibal lecter, you’re invited for dinner at his house to make up for lost time.

→ more coming soon…

[dropofbittersea]

The heart monitor connected to Hannibal makes a sudden, unrhythmical beep the moment Will enters through the door.

"You must forgive me for my bluntness, but are we in a romantic relationship?" Hannibal asks and Will isn't exactly sure how to answer that. He can't technically say no, but honestly, bloody courtship may be a more proper name for it.

——

While Hannibal suffers from a case of amnesia, Will puts a stop to the honey-trap plan to take care of him.

[voxmortuus]

I'm sorry the Hanniheads have been so rude to you. Ironic considering what he dies to the rude lollol. Take your time. There's no rush :)

This is sooooo not self indulgent lmao i was wondering about a yandere Hannibal waking up and his darling is totally gone. Her shoes are still there, all her stuff. He searches every where for her and finally finds her outside, having sleep walked all the way to the edge of the woods.

I sleep walk, I once woke up stirring an empty pot on the stove. Thank God my mom heard the commotion. I was around 12 at the time, now I'm 27 and it's calmed down a lot. I still laugh in my sleep from time to time, bonus points if you could perhaps include the reader laughing in her sleep?

►PAIRING: Yandere!Hannibal X F!Reader ►UNIVERSE: Hannibal ►WORDS: 650 ►SUMMARY/PROMPT: See Above. ►TRIGGER WARNINGS: Panicked Hannibal | Possessive Hannibal | Worried Hannibal | Sleepwalking Reader | Sleep Laughing Reader | Some fluff | Hannibal Watching You Sleep | I may be missing some, but you get a general idea, so please proceed with caution if there is anything in there that is overly triggering please let me know politely and I will make sure it is added to the list. ►NOTE: Thank you for understanding. It has not been a fun experience, some aren't so bad and I appreciate them and others, well, they make me not want to write for the Hannifans. You know what's funny, is my wife and I were talking about that just the other day! Sleep walking can be terrifying! At least you were safe! Anywho, I hope this meets your request and finds you well. Sorry it took so long, it's been a crazy past few weeks! I hope this finds you well and safe. ►IMAGE CREDIT: I found this gif here. It is not mine nor do I claim any ownership. This gif does not belong to me. I found it on an outside source. ►DIVIDER CREDIT: @nyxvuxoa ►My Master Masterlist | Hannibal Masterlist

A void, an empty void. He could feel it, the bed felt cold, like it had been emptied for a long while. Hannibal shoots up looking over to see your side of the bed is empty, and cold.

"Where did you go?" He asked aloud, but low and behold no answer. His brow furrowed. "Y/N!? WHERE ARE YOU?!" He called out, but nothing still.

He looks around the bedroom, and all over the upstairs, you've got to be somewhere. He kept repeating in his head. He didn't like that you weren't here, his heart raced, he panicked a bit, and felt this obsessive need to find you. Where could you have gone, you couldn't have gone far. Calling your phone didn't help, you turned it off, but why? Why did you turn it off tonight? That was slightly unlike you.

Hanibal's brow furrows again, finding your phone on the bathroom sink. He leaves it there before he heads down the stairs. Looking around and sees your things are still here, your bag, your shoes, and the front door wide open. Where did you go?

He feels this deeper panic, did you get taken? Did you run away and leave everything here? He started to worry even more, feeling this deeper need to find you. He steps out of the front door and calls for you, but you do not respond. His jaw clenches and he starts to look around outside, walking the property until he looks in the grass and sees footprints, and he follows them.

The ground was wet from the dew, your feet were covered in blades of grass, some dirt specks, your night shirt hung off your body, swaying in the wind as the bottom of it brushed against your legs. You stood there, just staring into the black void of the woods. What were you looking at? What was it you were seeing? What was calling you? You just stood there, watching, swaying slightly, not aware of the chill of the summer night.

Upon following your footprints Hannibal find you, he knows waking you can be a problematic situation, so he guides you back inside. Blinking a few times, you look over at him and tilt your head.

"Were they not calling you, my Love?" you ask.

Hannibal shakes his head. "No, my Darling, they were not, I'm not as special as you are. Come now, back in bed." He states softly.

"Do you think they'll call for you one day?" You ask.

He smiles and shakes his head. "No, my Darling, I do not." He states softly as he gets you back into bed and covers you up.

The moment your head hits that pillow you're back asleep, but afraid you'll wander off again, he takes a seat in the chair in the corner of the bedroom and watches you. Like hell you're going to leave him. The idea of that happening angered him, but he wasn't going to take it out on you. He just truly didn't like the idea, it made him sick and aggressive and overly possessive.

Watching you, he pays close attention to your motions, maybe he can find a way to fix this, you didn't do it often, but when you did, it scared him each time. It was this little bubble in his chest that grew and grew each time he woke up and you weren't there. You scared him, you scared him deeply, and he didn't like that.

With a small moment of silence, he thought he heard you giggle, so he listened a little closer. Sure enough, you were giggling. A soft tilt of his head, and soft chuckle escaped his lips.

"How adorable." He spoke softly, shaking his head he let out a breath and leaned back in his chair and sat there watching you, making sure you weren't going to leave his side again.

[the-rad-pineapple]

a love to die for (hannigram fic)

Hannibal contracts Hanahaki Disease in season one due to his feelings for Will. Believing no one can love a monster like himself, he tries to hide it. He’s resigned himself to death since he can see no other outcome. But Will can.

Or: Hannibal gets Hanahaki Disease and freaks out (he doesn’t think he’s freaking out).

ao3

words: 7.6k

Of course it's roses, Hannibal thinks to himself. They're regal and timeless. Beautiful, yet they can draw blood if one isn't careful enough. They're ironic and showy. They're a lot like him in many ways.

No other flower is so universally known as a symbol for romantic affection than the red rose. This is the flower people think of when they think of romance. When they want it to be obvious it's romance. If Hannibal was anyone else, he might think it fitting. Amusing, even. But Hannibal isn't anyone else. He isn't anything normal or commonplace—his first real inconsistency with the rose. And, since Hannibal is anything but regular, he never thought this would happen to him. He never thought it was possible that this could happen to him. The irony.

There's blood in his immaculate bathroom sink that perfectly matches the shade of the wet rose petals beside it. His doctor's mind took over the second he saw the red liquid dotting his sink, and his only thought was: It's far too soon for blood. And then he saw the rose with its small stem and knew it had to be the sizable thorns on the plant causing all the blood. His doctor's mind continues to work, despite the impossibility of this disease existing within Hannibal, and it reminds him that roses are one of the deadlier strains of the disease due to their thorns.

The disease. Hanahaki Disease.

It's an extremely rare condition. Hannibal had only seen it twice in his time as a surgeon. Since he primarily worked in the ER, Hannibal never operated on a patient with Hanahaki Disease himself, but he sat in on a couple operations. It's an extremely delicate and unpredictable surgery. Only one of the two patients Hannibal had seen survived. Survival rates decrease as age increases, and Hannibal wouldn't call himself young. His survival rate is well below thirty percent if he were to have the surgery to remove the roses in his lungs now. But he's getting ahead of himself. The disease is hardly anything alarming now. He can overcome this. This is simply another obstacle he'll surpass.

Hannibal pointedly does not give more thought on the topic. He does not bother asking how or when or who; it will be over soon enough. It's the lie he gets away with for a little over a week before he wakes up choking on petals.

Hannibal wakes up and finds his body in complete panic. He's covered in sweat so thick his hair is sticking to his forehead. He can hear himself desperately trying to suck in more air in loud, useless gulps. His adrenaline roars in his ears and sends unnecessary strength to the fingers he has fisted in his silk sheets. He breathes in another ragged breath, but his throat clogs completely. He's racing towards the bathroom before he's made the decision to move. He is not in control of himself. The panic worsens and turns his blood to ice. He is afraid. He is out of control and afraid. Two things he swore he'd never be again.

Hannibal forces himself to vomit into the toilet. It takes him three tries before the petals fall and he can breathe again. All he does for a few minutes is breathe and slowly regain control of himself. Once his mind has left its panicked state, he notices the blood and red petals that fill the toilet. They swirl together in the water, their matching colors oddly picturesque. Hannibal immediately flushes them away with a shaking hand before he can find them beautiful. He fears it might be too late.

Hannibal catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and is struck paralyzed. He almost doesn't recognize himself. His hair is in utter disarray, dried tears he hadn't felt cling to his cheeks, and his face is flushed nearly the same color as the roses. Blood lines his lips.

Afraid and out of control.

He's denied it, until now. The cause of his disease. But Hannibal knows. The answer isn't as far away as he thought he put it, but he knows who's at fault. It's a shame, really. Hannibal had had plans for Will. He'd had plans for himself involving Will, such as Will becoming the scapegoat for his crimes. But he'll be able to find a replacement soon enough. For now, he must deal with Will Graham.

~~~~

Their lives are intertwined enough that Hannibal knows Will's schedule. Or, rather, since Will's schedule is so unpredictable, Hannibal knows the rare moments when Will is at home. Like he is now. Sleeping innocently in the bed he thought putting in the main living room of his house was a sensible place for. Will's dogs know Hannibal, so all he received upon his entrance was a few curious looks. He can feel a few of the dogs still staring at him, but they've become accustomed to his presence at Will's bedside enough that they don't react.

Hannibal looms over Will in front of the window, so the moonlight illuminates Will's sleeping form. He looks young and at ease in a way he never is when he's awake. Dark curls are splayed against his white pillow, and his lips are slightly parted. His face is relaxed and soft. Youthful. Will's somehow tangled himself in his various sheets and blankets, and they're woven around his body. They hardly cover him, and his shirt has ridden up to show off a delicious stripe of skin all along the side nearest Hannibal. Will's skin looks porcelain white and fragile in the pale moonlight. Hannibal is close enough he can touch. So he does.

Hannibal places the fingertips of his right hand delicately on Will's bare side. His skin is hot but soft. Hannibal needs more, but he withdraws despite his desires. A quiet, helpless sound—nearly a whimper—escapes Will's lips, and he tosses his head to face Hannibal. Hannibal holds his breath and remains completely still.

Will continues to sleep, now with his angelic face pointed towards Hannibal. And, oh, what he'd do to kiss that face. Hannibal is certain Will's never been kissed gently. How he yearns to be the first one to give him that gentleness. He'd ruin the boy for anyone else. He'd claim him through softness, reliability, and loyalty. Will would never willingly be with anyone else after the way Hannibal would take care of him.

Hannibal's lungs suddenly catch, and he has to fight off a coughing fit by holding his breath for a moment and breathing shallowly afterwards. He swallows and blinks back reactionary tears once he's regained control. It's a brutal reminder of what he's come here to do.

Hannibal had considered one of his kitchen knives or his favorite scalpel for this, but in the end, he decided to use his hands. The nature of his disease requires him to kill Will as intimately as possible.

With the practiced, smooth movements akin to a big cat, Hannibal gets onto the bed, his knees resting on either side of Will's torso. He doesn't touch Will, not yet. For now he hovers, just above the sleeping man, and watches.

Hannibal can feel Will's body heat between his legs. His right leg nearly touches Will's bare side, and Hannibal can't help himself as he ghosts his fingers down Will's skin once more. His touch is reverent. Worshipful. He wants to sink his claws into the flawless skin and claim. But his immaculate self-control wins again, and he pulls his hand away. Will makes another one of those almost-whimpers. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, and a worried crinkle forms between his brow.

"Shhh, Will," Hannibal finds himself whispering, and, as if by magic, Will's face clears again into soft tranquility.

There is nothing and there will be nothing as beautiful as this creature beneath Hannibal right now.

Hannibal delicately brushes an unruly curl off Will's forehead. He's so beautiful it hurts. The tip of Hannibal's finger softly runs down Will's forehead, down his cheek, over his chewed lip, and down to his neck. He's so vulnerable. So open like this. So unaware. Nearly innocent. His right hand covers Will's throat—barely any pressure is applied—but it's enough for Hannibal to feel Will's soft, warm skin. His steady pulse. It beats in time to the peaceful rise and fall of his chest between Hannibal's legs.

It's the most intimate moment in the entirety of Hannibal's life.

~~~~

It is a bit jarring, finding himself unable to kill Will. Even more so that he couldn't do it to save his own life. It's against everything he is. What's even worse is he wouldn't even know why he's acting this way if he wasn't suffocating on rose petals. He had no idea he could even feel like this. It should be exciting and novel. Instead, it's stupidly terrifying.

But Hannibal refuses to be governed by fear and failure, so he presses on. Besides, how long can this truly last? His feelings for Will can't be anything but a temporary fascination. He's even willing to admit he's obsessed. Infatuated. He won't lie and say he hasn't thought about Will in his bed. Perhaps he simply needs to be fulfilled sexually, and his obsession with Will Graham will fade back into morbid curiosity.

But…even after nearly a week of flirtation and a night in bed with Alana Bloom, his feelings for Will haven't faded. It almost seems like the opposite has occurred. Guilt and shame are two emotions Hannibal hardly ever feels now; they're something he left in his youth. Or so he thought. After his night with Alana, Hannibal feels dirty and wrong. Unbalanced. Guilty. His edges are rough and uneven, and he struggles to stretch his person-suit around his new ill-fitting shape. It's absolutely horrible.

It also doesn't help that the disease has progressed. He nearly had to stop during intercourse with Alana to catch his breath. It's utterly embarrassing. Embarrassment is another emotion he thought he'd left behind.

He tries to purge Will from his mind and thoughts, but it only seems to cause him to think of Will even more. He tries locking Will away in the depths of his mind palace like he does with all unpleasant and unwanted thoughts and desires. It doesn't work. Will always manages to escape, and Hannibal has no idea how. His mind often conjures up the image of Will asleep and beautiful and completely at peace on the night Hannibal had intended to kill him. He can't help but marvel at such beauty, even just the memory of it. It's torture, but Hannnibal can't seem to help himself, and his thoughts always drift back to Will. He's struggling, and for the first time in his life, Hannibal isn't quite sure what to do about it.

He's with Will now in one of their not-quite-therapy-but-just-conversation sessions. Hannibal used to derive such joy from these sessions, but now it's become a constant battle to reign in his feelings and keep himself from coughing. The last person Hannibal ever wants to know about his predicament is Will.

"So," Will says from his seat across from Hannibal, "you and Alana."

Neither of them had told anyone. Of course his clever boy had figured it out. …Hannibal really needs to stop internally calling Will his. Things like that are why he's choking on roses.

With a practiced nonchalance, Hannibal replies, "Does it surprise you?"

"No," is the immediate response, then a beat later, "Yes."

"Why? Alana and I have known each other for years. We enjoy similar hobbies and topics of conversation. It only makes sense we are compatible on a physical level as well."

"I know, I just…" Will trails off. He shrugs his shoulders in a jerky movement. "I don't know. It's none of my business anyway."

Will clearly has thoughts on the matter, but he's shutting himself away. Hannibal won't have it. In a softer tone, Hannibal says, "It's alright, Will. We are friends, are we not? Surely, we can speak about our personal lives together."

"Yeah, I guess. I…" He hesitates again. He shifts and refuses to meet Hannibal's eyes. "It feels…sudden to me. Out of the blue."

"Out of the blue," Hannibal echoes.

"Yeah. Random."

It was. It was nothing more than a response to how he feels about Will. There's no point in denying it. "And that bothers you?" Hannibal questions.

Will doesn't answer. His eyes wander the room, snagging on different pieces of decor. Hannibal thinks he won't answer, but then his eyes suddenly catch Hannibal's, and Hannibal knows no detail will go unnoticed. What is his boy planning? Hannibal is helpless as a dangerous thrill runs up his spine. One of the many, many things Hannibal enjoys about Will is his unpredictability.

Gazes locked, Will asks, "Did you enjoy it?"

Hannibal contains his pleasant surprise under his mask of neutrality. He wants to see if he can push Will further. He wants to see if he can get Will to ask him outright.

"Enjoy what?" asks Hannibal.

"Sex with Alana."

Hannibal is thrown back into the sensation of being buried deep within her, suffocatingly close to her, as he struggles to breathe past blood-red rose petals climbing up his throat. The thorns scratch and tear at his throat as he tries to keep a steady rhythm. It all tasted like blood, which should have made things more erotic for him since he's always secretly enjoyed a bit of roughness in sex, but all it did was remind him of his inadequacies. He remembers being grateful for how well he can craft a mask and keep wearing it. He remembers struggling to bring her pleasure, something he's never had trouble doing before, because he couldn't catch his breath like some sort of inattentive, lazy lover. He never reached completion himself. He had to fake it, which was another first for him.

Oh, how far he's fallen for Will.

"Damn," Will says quietly, jolting Hannibal back to the present, "that bad?"

Hannibal didn't think he'd given anything away, but of course Will noticed. His brilliant boy.

Hannibal replies, "Mediocracy isn't bad."

Will raises his eyebrows in disbelief, but there's a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Did you just call Alana mediocre in bed?"

"You seem to be enjoying this quite a bit."

Will immediately blushes a pretty pink and looks down. "You're just so…I don't know. Untouchable. It almost doesn't seem real that you'd sleep with someone."

"I am human, Will."

Will looks up again at that. He smiles something soft and lovely. A smile that Hannibal has only seen directed at himself. He cherishes it every time he sees it.

But that smile is deadly, and Hannibal is reminded of it when a familiar twinge tickles his throat. His chest feels heavy. Full. Like it's a tangled mess. Hannibal logically knows it can't be that bad yet, but he feels as if his lungs are weighed down. He easily slips on a mask of neutrality to hide his discomfort, but he thinks Will notices because he stops smiling and begins talking about the case Jack's thrown him into.

~~~~

Will has a fever. Hannibal can smell its sickly sweetness on him. He can feel the heat of it when he's near him. Will speaks of vivid nightmares and constant headaches. It's encephalitis. It must be. It's early in its stages. If Hannibal thought he'd see the result of it, he'd let it fester within Will for longer. See what it would do to a mind so reluctant to accept its own darkness. But Hannibal doesn't think he has the time.

The Hanahaki Disease has worsened. He coughs often and has been able to play it off as a cold, but it's coming up on two weeks of his so-called cold, and patients and colleagues alike have asked if he should see a doctor since his cold is hanging on for so long. All of his handkerchiefs come away bloody. The rose thorns have all but shredded his throat, and it's becoming too painful to eat sometimes. He'll begin losing weight if he hasn't already.

He can deny it no further. He cannot fight it any longer.

Hannibal is completely, unconditionally, and eternally in love with Will.

The irony of his demise makes him want to howl and bite and claw in frustration. He has become undone from something as cruel and simple as love. It is pathetic. But it is also inevitable. His time left is exponentially decreasing. Anything he's ever wanted to do, he'll have to do within the upcoming months. He wants to visit Florence one more time, and his heart aches because he doesn't know if he will be healthy enough to make the trip once he's tied up his affairs in Baltimore. Hannibal has no doubts that he won't see the next year. It is all ending for him. He only has a few hunts left in him, but he's only planning on one more. A tribute to Will.

His love.

His undoing.

His impossibility.

It's probably wise this hunt is his last. Hannibal struggles up the stairs of his own home and has been attacked by unexpected coughing fits more and more recently. It was completely humiliating when he could hardly get back in control of himself after a coughing fit during one of Franklyn's sessions that Franklyn decided to end it early for the sake of Hannibal's own health. Franklyn may be desperate and a bit obtuse, but Hannibal won't forget this politeness.

Hannibal wants to make a bouquet of his roses and place them in his design for Will, but they're covered in his blood and saliva, and Hannibal would prefer his last months to be as a free man. He'll just have to make do with the ones he bought to mirror his own.

It's night now. Dark. Hushed and sleepy. It's the world he belongs in. His hunt is tonight. Hannibal had sent Will off to the hospital with Alana that morning to Dr. Sutcliff. Hannibal had told Sutcliff to search for encephalitis, and Sutcliff promised he would. Alana had been texting him updates. Will's receiving the treatment he needs. However, getting Will to a hospital today was not a completely selfless decision. Will is likely to be in the hospital for a few days, allowing Hannibal to leave his design behind for lesser minds to sift through. Hannibal is afraid Will would deconstruct his design too quickly. That he'll see Hannibal in the design too soon. Ideally, Will is going to put it together once Hannibal is on his deathbed. By then, he will look ill and helpless, and he's counting on that to be the reason Will is kind to him in the little time he has left before he dies. He hopes Will is going to refuse to lock him up for his remaining days. He believes he can pull it off, but Will is unpredictable—his actions entirely his own—despite Hannibal's manipulations. Hannibal loves him for it.

It was difficult to find a pig that resembles Will for many reasons. The first and most obvious being Will is unique. There is no one like him. He is a star amongst the inky blackness of space while all other people are moons. It's impossible to copy perfection, so Hannibal doesn't try. He merely finds someone who has similar physical traits as Will. A head full of dark curls (this one's is a lighter brown than Will's) with a beard, blue eyes (the shade is all wrong on the one Hannibal found), and a slender yet strong build (it's not quite the same, too much meat in certain areas, but it's close). Hardly perfect. A poor substitute. But it will be clear to Will who it's supposed to be, and that's all that matters.

Hannibal found the man in West Virginia. He's a factory worker with no family and even less friends. Hannibal comes for him on Friday, knowing he won't be missed until Monday. Hannibal waits until the man is home and a few drinks in before slipping in through the door of his apartment, the lock easily picked. Hannibal is quick and quiet, and the man hardly knew what was happening by the time Hannibal had reached him and had his hands around his neck. He'd come from behind and snapped his neck while he was still in his recliner, a trashy reality tv show continuing to play.

Apparently, a simple snap of the neck is too much exertion now, and Hannibal's lungs catch, sending him into a coughing fit while he still stands behind the recliner housing the corpse. He had the mind to bring disposable face masks like the ones he used to wear as a surgeon in case a coughing fit occurred, and he'd have to prevent himself from spewing his DNA all over a crime scene. He's thankful for his foresight now as he tucks away the bloody mask and pulls on a fresh one. Hannibal refuses to get sloppy now, even if it's his last kill. They will not find any trace of his DNA here.

Transporting the body is another matter entirely. Hannibal should be able to wrap it in something and simply carry it out the door, down the stairs, and into his car, but he doesn't have the stamina now with the disease running rampant in his lungs. He'd debated and thought and remade his design a dozen times or more, but he'd come to the realistic conclusion that it won't be to his liking. What he wants and what he's physically able to do are two separate realities.

Hannibal shoves the body by the shoulders, and it falls to the floor. The thump isn't as loud as he thought it'd be, and his fear of nosy neighbors decreases somewhat. The action nearly sends him into another coughing fit, but he holds his breath for a few moments before breathing shallowly again. If only part of his lungs get air, they catch on the roses less, preventing him from feeling like he has to cough as badly. He's nearly mastered shallow breathing.

Once he can breathe smoothly and his adrenaline has somewhat faded, Hannibal rounds the recliner, bends down and grasps the corpse by the ankles, and drags it across the floor into the hallway. He'd looked up the floor plans for this apartment complex before his hunt, and drags the body towards the bedroom. His lungs catch. They catch again, and his breath hitches. He slowly stands and breathes shallowly for another few moments before bending down and dragging the corpse into the bedroom.

Hannibal has to take a second break to regulate his breathing before he lifts the corpse onto the bed, but the action is enough to cause him to begin coughing again. Thorns catch and tear his throat. His eyes fill with reactionary tears. He wonders about the state of his lungs. His throat and mouth are raw and bleeding. The taste of blood never leaves his mouth.

Once he finally ceases coughing, he wraps the blood and spit and plant residue in his mask and tucks it away next to the other one. He pulls out another fresh mask along with his scalpel. It's time for the next part in his design.

It's a surgery he's performed more times post-mortem than when he was an actual surgeon. It takes time, but it isn't too physically taxing, so he removes the lungs almost like he normally does. He only has one coughing fit during the surgery.

Hannibal brings the removed lungs to the ice chest he brought and left on the kitchen counter. He then returns to the bedroom to arrange the corpse and double-check he's left no evidence. It goes as expected, and Hannibal leaves the apartment as smoothly and quietly as a ghost.

Hannibal's energy is fading him, so he has to store the lungs and get some sleep before he can finish his design. After his nap and a small meal (it's become too painful to eat full meals), Hannibal takes his purchased bouquet of red roses and brings them to where he'd stored the lungs in his hidden basement. It takes him over two hours to weave the flowers into the lungs, but when he's finished, he's satisfied with the outcome. He wishes he had the strength to display this within the body, but he doesn't, and he won't allow himself to dwell on things he cannot achieve anymore.

It's nearly morning now, so Hannibal stores his flowered lungs and goes about his day as usual. He returns Franklyn's favor of politeness from earlier by referring him to another psychiatrist he believes will actually help him, ensuring Franklyn will have at least one stable aspect in his life once Hannibal is gone. Will is still in the hospital, and Hannibal is not risking stepping foot in any medical facility in case someone happens to correctly diagnose him. There is less light in his life without seeing Will, but it's a sacrifice he has to make.

It's odd living his life with an air of finality when no one else is.

Long after night falls, he drives down to a small state park near Wolf Trap and lays the lungs on an elevated group of rocks off the side of a busy trail. Hannibal takes a moment to relish in his design as he always does. The lungs rest unassumingly on the dark rocks. The roses are much darker than the light pink meat. Their thorny vines are woven in the soft flesh, and the plant really does look mightier than the lungs. It's no surprise Hannibal feels as horribly as he does. The moonlight illuminates his work beautifully, but Hannibal knows it will look better in the light of day. He closes his eyes and indulges in the small fantasy of Will seeing his creation and grinning in that rare but stunning way Hannibal has only seen him do three times. He allows the image to hang in his mind for a moment more before he makes his escape.

Hannibal has a spare car and many counterfeit license plates he switches on his spare car often. He typically uses this car for his….extracurricular activities. It's not one he'd like to drive. It's used, and the vents always rattle whenever the AC is on, but it serves its purpose, and for that Hannibal appreciates it. He parked the car at the nearest gas station to the trail. The place is rundown and rotting. Hannibal wouldn't even attempt to buy gas from this place, but there isn't a security camera in sight, and the clerk attending the store looks like he's seen enough to know not to ask questions and play dumb if questioned.

Hannibal gets into his spare car and begins his drive back to the property he stores it at. The night still feels young, and the dark sky feels like a protective blanket. His soul feels as if it's singing as he enjoys the serenity of the night and the satisfaction of a completed hunt. There is no doubt in his mind that this is his purpose.

Hannibal is only about ten minutes into his peaceful drive when his phone rings. He intends to let it ring and go to voicemail as an alibi to prove he was asleep, but when he glances at it and sees Will's name flashing on the screen, he doesn't hesitate to answer it. He won't deny the sense of worry that zips through him at wondering what Will could be calling about at this hour.

"Hello, Will."

"You sound awfully awake for," there's a slight pause, "3:43am."

It's been far too long since Hannibal has heard Will's voice, and he suddenly misses him even more. He hasn't seen Will since before he was admitted to the hospital for his encephalitis. Hannibal's heart feels like an aching hole in his chest.

Hannibal replies, "As do you." He hates how audible the smile in his voice is. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I am, actually. I've been asleep most of the time, but I woke up around midnight and couldn't go back to sleep. I, uh…I didn't think you'd pick up."

"I'll always answer for you, Will."

There's a ghost of an embarrassed chuckle on the other line. "And, uh, same for you too. I'll always pick up if you need me."

It shouldn't make Hannibal as elated as he feels. "Thank you." It's far too sincere for what Will told him.

"Are you…" Will falls silent.

"Am I what?"

"Are you okay?"

The question surprises him so thoroughly he blinks blankly at the road for a couple seconds. "Yes, of course I am. Why do you ask?"

"You just seem…off lately."

No one else has even noticed a thing outside his "cold". He isn't sure how to feel about Will knowing he isn't completely alright and then asking him about it out of a place of concern. It's a strange and unfamiliar sensation—being cared for and noticed like this—but it's utterly addicting. His heart flutters in his chest. He must know what Will sees, so he asks,

"How so?"

"Well…you know I feel like the thing with Alana was totally random." Will hesitates but eventually continues, "And you haven't come to see me." He says it quietly. Almost shyly. As if he thinks Hannibal might suddenly dislike him. "And I heard you referred a patient."

Hannibal can't explain to Will the reason for sleeping with Alana and avoiding him without revealing everything, so he deflects by smoothly answering, "Franklyn was far too invested in his relationship with me that it took away from his therapy."

Will doesn't speak for a few moments. "Do you still have that cold?"

Hannibal isn't sure what conclusions Will is making. He isn't sure if he's giving away anything when he speaks. Hannibal has no idea what Will could possibly be thinking. He never has to worry about this with anyone else. It's equally exciting and nerve-wracking. It's self-destructive to want Will's attention like this, but Hannibal doesn't have a lot left to lose. So he answers,

"Yes."

"Have you had a doctor check you out?"

"I am a doctor."

Will laughs something soft and quiet. "Yeah, smartass, I know you're a doctor, but maybe you should have a second opinion. Get whatever diagnosis you've given yourself a peer review. And don't deny that you haven't diagnosed yourself, because I know you."

Hannibal chuckles, feeling a bit like a chided spouse, and thinks it's nice to have someone truly wish for him to be alright. His heart completely belongs to Will. "Very well. Shall I come see you after my doctor's appointment then?" It's a lie. He won't see another doctor. He shouldn't visit Will either, but he's afraid if Will pleads for him to come, then he will.

Softly, "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Then it's set. I will see you soon."

There's a pause, and Hannibal thinks Will hangs up, but then Will says, "I miss you."

Hannibal isn't quite sure how to reply. He isn't sure how to say he misses Will too, but he also misses Will every second they're not together, so he feels a bit off-put. It feels as if his heart is in his hand, and Will might notice Hannibal is offering it to him if he says the wrong thing.

Will hangs up as he hesitates.

~~~~

Hannibal's health takes a turn for the worse. Even if he wanted to visit Will, it's impossible now. Hannibal has a terrible fever and feels as if his lungs rattle with each inhale and exhale. It's as if he can feel the thorny vines squeezing his lungs. He can no longer sleep through the night. Breathing has become a laborious and painful process. He hardly leaves his room, and leaving the house is out of the question. Hannibal caught a look of himself in the bathroom mirror earlier that day, and he looks like the dead. Pale with sunken, dull eyes. The only difference between Hannibal and a corpse is the sweat on his brow from his fever and the heaving breaths he takes that move his entire chest.

His lips are chapped and bloody. The thorns have torn up the inside of his mouth and throat, and when he forces himself to eat, he can only manage a few bites. He supposes he's alright with dying when he can't even enjoy the last meals he's taking the time to prepare for himself.

Hannibal begins to finalize any loose ends he has, generally through letters to colleagues and referrals for his favorite patients. He surprises himself when he writes a letter to Chiyoh.

He can't realistically see everything off that he needs to, and that's just as well. He will continue to live as peacefully and routinely as he can. He tries to get dressed into something more casual than anything he's worn in public in a very long time to see Will, but he has a horrible coughing fit as he's trying to change shirts and lays down to soothe his body and ends up falling asleep for a couple hours instead. Three days pass in this terrible agony, and Hannibal hates himself for wishing for death sooner. It feels like giving up, and he's never been one to lie down and take it.

Both Hannibal's cell phone and home phone have been ringing nearly incessantly. People have noticed his absence, and he's managed to play it off as his "cold" turning out to be bronchitis. It's something he needs to stay home for, and it's something respiratory-related, so the coughing and bedrest are explained. He tells everyone he'll be back soon, but it's a lie. He's gotten a few visitors at his door that he's turned away by ignoring them and saying he was at the doctor or asleep when they came by.

He has a visitor now. The doorbell rings, but Hannibal doesn't move from his lounged position on his couch in front of the fireplace. He's unshaven, and his hair falls over his forehead and tickles his eyelids. He's wearing a button-down with most of the buttons undone and his most comfortable slacks. His body can't choose between feeling ice cold or melting hot. He's attempting to enjoy one of his few remaining favorite wine bottles, but it's difficult when each swallow is painful and tainted with the taste of his own blood.

The doorbell rings again, and Hannibal ignores it. He's done this a few times now and learned people don't continue ringing the doorbell or knocking on the door after about ten minutes. He easily waits out every person who wants to visit.

This visitor is persistent, however, and the doorbell rings again and not even half a minute later there's knocking. Hannibal sighs in annoyance, but his lungs seize, and he coughs something raw and wheezing. His abdomen is sore from all of his coughing, and his body has begun to become too exhausted to keep up longer bouts of coughing. His horrid, wheezing hacks die off quickly—not due to any improvement—but due to his body's inability to continue coughing. The knocking stops. And then,

"Hannibal! It's me! Open up. I know you're in there."

Will.

Like one of Will's well-trained strays, Hannibal is unquestioningly pushing himself out of his chair and walking towards the door. He pauses as he enters the foyer directly in front of the hallway leading to the door. He looks awful. Will is going to be repulsed. He can't be seen like this. Especially not by Will.

This is the last time you'll ever see him.

Will bangs on the door. "Hannibal! Open the door, or I'm coming in!"

That doesn't leave him with much of a choice, so Hannibal braces himself for Will's reaction to his appearance before unsteadily making his way to the door and opening it just enough, so he can peek out and see the object of his suffering.

The daylight is brighter than Hannibal is anticipating, so he blindly blinks into the sunlight, unable to see much of Will. Will is immediately pushing against the door, and Hannibal is about to shove it closed when one of Will's hands lands on his chest and pushes him backwards along with the door. Hannibal stumbles a few steps back, Will's hand still pressed against him, and he hears the door close shut as he's still blinking to adjust his vision. Will's hand is pressed firmly in the center of his chest, and Hannibal's shirt is unbuttoned enough that the majority of Will's palm touches his skin.

Will is frozen in place with his hand remaining on Hannibal, and he is a vision to behold. He's breathing a bit heavily, and his cheeks are tainted a light pink. His curls are wild and untamed just as he is. He is handsome and rugged, yet he possesses a beauty Hannibal is never quite prepared for. Will's eyes are glued to Hannibal's face, and obvious surprise and concern splash across his features. Their gazes are locked like this for several moments. Hannibal finds himself stuck in place, unwilling to break this moment, yet unsure whether he should. The only sound is Hannibal's ragged breathing. It somehow sounds worse like this, louder in the absence of everything else.

Will blinks. He stares at his hand on Hannibal's chest, and Hannibal feels Will's fingers twitch before he's pulling his hand back and shoving them both in the front pockets of his jeans. Will flicks his eyes to something behind Hannibal.

He says, "You look terrible." Will's gaze continues to flitter about, and his shoulders are tense. Hannibal is definitely feeling ill, because Will almost seems…guilty. And that makes no sense. How is Hannibal reading him all wrong?

"Your kind words are always touching," Hannibal retorts.

Will grabs the front of Hannibal's shirt with both hands, impossibly quick, and shoves him against the wall. Hannibal's lungs protest, and he has to take a few deep, steady breaths to prevent coughing all over Will. They're close enough Hannibal feels Will's warm breath fan across his face. A few centimeters closer, and Hannibal could kiss him. One of Will's hands comes to cup his face, and Hannibal's brain completely shuts off. All Hannibal knows in this moment is the steady puff of Will's breath, the warmth of his palm on his cheek, and the intensity of his gaze. Will's eyes are tumultuous—an ocean in a storm—unsure, yet swelling with anger. Will's thumb moves to Hannibal's lower lip and gently pulls it down. Hannibal's heart skips, and his breath hitches. Will's eyes flick down to his lip. Something angry and hurt lights Will's eyes and then he's moving away. The air is cold in Will's sudden vacancy of Hannibal's space.

"Will?" His voice sounds rough and shaken. Weak.

Will's back is facing him, and he slowly turns as he shakes his head. When he's finally facing Hannibal, it's with the startling realization that he's blinking back tears.

"I trusted you, Hannibal." He scoffs then runs his hands through his hair and fists his fingers in his curls and tugs.

"Will," Hannibal says gently and reaches out to soothe him. His brain feels as if it's spinning. He can't catch up with what's going on inside Will's beautiful mind.

"Don't," Will spits. Commands. The glare Will gives him makes Hannibal's heart stop.

Hannibal blinks. "Will, I'm not certain as to what's going on."

Will runs a hand over his face. Swallows. He refuses to meet Hannibal's eyes. "Your lip." Blue eyes lock with Hannibal's for a split second. "It's torn from the thorns."

It takes Hannibal far too long to process Will's words. And then it hits him like a bucket of ice water.

Will knows.

Will continues, "Jack got them to let me out of the hospital early to see the lungs." He fixes Hannibal with a steely, firm look as he adds, "And to see the body."

"I see," Hannibal replies. "Have you come to arrest me? Kill me?"

Will flicks a quick, cold look over Hannibal. "What would be the point?"

A delicious thrill strikes through Hannibal at Will's apathy. His darkness. "Will—"

Will puts a hand up and interrupts, "I just came here to see if I was right." He sounds disappointed and betrayed when he quietly adds, "Guess I was." He holds Hannibal's gaze for a moment more before rushing out the door. It slams behind him, and the sound reverberates through Hannibal's house like a church bell during a funeral.

~~~~

It's as if Will's straightforward rejection is the final nail in the coffin. Hannibal had taken a shower after Will left. He found himself failing to stifle back sobs. It only exasperated his lungs, so he ended up crying and choking in the shower like some weak little thing left outside to die. It's exactly how he felt. But crying was cathartic, and a strange tranquility fell over him after his shower.

He falls into a restless sleep, and when he wakes up, he knows he barely has any time left. His mind feels hazy and sluggish, as if he's high or drunk or some strange combination of both. His hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, and he can't be bothered to wipe it off. Everything outside of the immediate feel of his silk sheets on his naked skin feels far away and dull. It feels as if the world is shrinking since his perception of it becomes smaller and smaller with each passing minute. All his existence becomes is feverishly tossing and turning in bed, each breath he takes rattling his entire body. He's dehydrated, and his dry mouth is filled with the metallic tang of his own blood.

His only solace is the final indulgence he's allowed himself. One of Will's shirts. It's a plain white t-shirt he'd stolen the night he went to kill Will and failed. It still smells of him, and Hannibal buries his face into it now, painfully taking in deep breaths to fill himself with Will's scent. It's pathetic, but the last thing he wants to know of this world is Will, even if he only gets one small, stolen piece of him.

Hannibal is drifting in that odd space between dreaming and waking, and he can't trust his senses to tell him what's truly happening. He thinks he hears a distant banging, and another sound that reminds him of Will's voice. He knows it must be because of the way he's pressing his face into Will's shirt. Everything is tainted with Will now. Then he hears something rhythmic. It becomes louder. It sounds quite a lot like someone is running up his stairs. Hannibal doesn't have the energy to move nor care. His eyes remain closed, and his face remains buried in Will's shirt.

"Hannibal! Hannibal!"

Well, now he certainly must be dreaming if he hears Will calling his name.

"Hanni–"

The world stills momentarily.

A breathless, desperate, "Oh my god. No. No, no, no. Hannibal."

It feels as if the Earth is shifting. It might also simply be the mattress dipping beside him.

"Hannibal. Hannibal! Oh, god."

Something warm and solid pulls his face away from Will's shirt. A low whine of protest escapes Hannibal, but it's all he can muster.

A soft, euphoric sound, then, "You're alive!" A breathless laugh. "You're alive."

Hannibal can distinctively feel two warm, firm hands tilt his face upwards. The movement is a tad too sudden, and his breath is tangled with the thorny flowers lining his throat, and he chokes. Then he's being moved. Laid down on his back. Head tilted to be completely straight. The air flows through him easier. He wants Will's shirt back.

"Hannibal. Hannibal, look at me. Please." The hands are on his face again, delicately caressing his cheeks. "Please," the voice that sounds too much like Will's begs.

The only warning Hannibal receives is a puff of warm air against his face before soft, plush lips press gently against his. They don't stop. They kiss him desperately, incessantly, but they remain gentle. Always so, so gentle. It's a shame Hannibal doesn't have the energy to kiss back.

"H-Hannibal, please. I…fuck." More kisses. "Please, please. I…I love you too, okay? Do you hear me? I love you too. I love you too."

The kisses are everywhere now. They ghost across his nose, his cheekbones, his eyebrows. Those gentle lips kiss every inch of his face. The warm hands brush his hair from his forehead and more kisses are placed there. He's held so reverently. So cherished. When he feels warm salty tears drip onto his face, he can only compare it to a baptism, because something powerful has shifted. Something miraculous has occurred. The tears he is being gifted with are transforming him; he is reborn. Hannibal's chest still rattles when he intakes a deeper breath, and his eyes reluctantly flutter open.

Will is above him. Tears run down his face, and fear and desperation are uncontrollable fires in his eyes. Hannibal has never been looked at like this before. So deeply. So cared for.

So loved.

Something in his airway shifts. Perhaps nothing but a petal falling, or perhaps something else he's unwilling to name because he thinks a little hope will truly be the end of him, but he can breathe a little better now. It's the slightest bit less painful when he inhales to murmur,

"Will."

[murderhusbands4life]

Okay so I've been meaning to do this for ever but here we are decided to make this so I can start writing oneshots for Hannigram!

So you can request ideas, I will only be doing Hannibal x child / teen readers no Romance only platonic oneshots.

[diamantar]

PEDIDOS ABIERTOS: HANNIBAL

REGLAS

Un pedido por mensaje y, obviamente, deben decir con quién o quienes lo quieren.

Es obligatorio entregarme una situación o sinopsis, así es más fácil y rápido escribirlo.

Pueden darme nombre y cualquier otro tipo de característica que deseen para su protagonista, las personalizaciones son aceptadas.

Deben votar, como mínimo, el apartado donde publico lo que pidieron. En caso contrario, se les prohíbe solicitar algo más en cualquier futura tanda.

CONTENIDO

En género y temática acepto todo: fluff, angst, poliamor, A/B/O, vampiros, etc.

Después de tantos años de escribir estoy ligeramente exhausta de redactar smut y puede que no adentre demasiado si piden aquello, aunque dependerá de la inspiración del momento.

Escribo HanniGram, pero debe ser en relación con el protagonista de su creación, no escribo ships por sí solos.

No sé cuánto dure esta etapa con HANNIBAL, pero al menos espero expandir la comunidad en español, ¡los espero! ♡