#frederick chilton one shot

[ihavemanyhusbands]

High Risk

PART ONE: STAR PATIENT

Mini-series masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Nurse!Fem!Reader

WC: 3.5k words

Series Summary: You, a nurse at Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, are assigned to the newest inmate -- none other than the Chesapeake Ripper, otherwise known as Hannibal Lecter. He is nothing short of charming, but the dangerous mysteries that lurk beneath are equally alluring. So much so that you can barely resist the urge to uncover them all.

Warnings: MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY, canon typical violence (mentions and some descriptions), slight canon divergence (here frederick is still director of the hospital), corruption, manipulation all around, eventual smut, secret affair(ish?), sort of power imbalance, ongoing murder investigation (the red dragon), cursing, not-so-slow burn, hannibal being hannibal pretty much, aaand that’s all I can think of but lmk if something should be added!

—————

“A woman being never at a loss…. The devil always sticks by them.” — Lord Byron

———-

Much like the Minotaur’s labyrinth, Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane was designed never to let one escape. At least, that’s how you viewed it, even if you were a worker and not a prisoner there. 

Still, you weren’t sure that was any better.

The place’s immaculate cleanliness was almost unnerving, but it was fitting. The walls were a glaring white, and the floors were always polished until they shone. The hallways were meant to confuse those who hadn’t actively tried to memorize them, every corner seeming the same.

Your uniform had to be impeccable too, lest you made the place look bad. It was absurd how much laundry you had to do, and how much time you had to spend on your appearance. All for it to go to waste whenever things got messy with rowdier inmates. 

But despite it all, there was a certain allure to the place that made you want to return each day. Something morbid, almost sinister, like a secret waiting to be uncovered. It was irresistible, and it would be until you found it out.

Doctor Chilton had just given you the rundown about the new inmate, stressing the importance of following protocol when dealing with him. He’d handed you his file to look over and on the very first page, there was a picture of the man they called the Chesapeake Ripper — Hannibal Lecter. 

You were taken aback for a moment, not expecting him to look like that. Luckily, the Doctor did not seem to notice your reaction, and you quickly made sure your expression was neutral once more.

Despite having worked there for a few years, witnessing all sorts of things, you were a little rattled by the way he spoke about him. Especially after mentioning he didn’t want to lose any more nurses, alluding to the incident with a former inmate, Doctor Gideon.

As it turned out, Hannibal was also a doctor, and you couldn’t help but shudder at the prospect of some macabre pattern forming. 

Of course, none of the other nurses wanted to be assigned to him, but Doctor Chilton trusted you to handle things well. You did what was asked of you and never caused any trouble. Truthfully, it wasn’t because you were particularly driven, but you wanted to fly under the radar and take it day by day.

And yet, it had still led you there, despite your efforts. 

You took the elevator down from the top floor, reading the file as you went. It was noted that the risk of him being violent was quite high, but he had thus far been cooperative with the staff. In fact, he had even turned himself in to the police, which was a detail that stood out to you. 

Considering his numerous horrific crimes, along with Doctor Chilton’s psychological assessment of him, he did not seem like a man who would let himself be apprehended so easily. It would gnaw at you, but you weren’t sure if you’d get the answers you suddenly seeked.

You left the file at your station to finish reading later, trying your best to ignore the looks of fear and pity some of the other nurses shot your way. Hopefully none of them would try to give you shallow words of affirmation, knowing you’d be the subject of gossip for the next week or so.

The maximum security cells were on the basement floor, but you stopped by the kitchen first to get his meal tray. You steeled your nerves as you passed through the extensive clearance, continuing down the hallway until you reached the very last cell, which was behind a set of double doors.

Was the light dimmer there, or were you imagining things? You could see shadows lurking in the corners of the room, an ominous feeling curling in your stomach. A cool gust from one of the AC vents made you shiver, but otherwise, you willed yourself to stay composed.

Finally, you dared to look into the actual cell. It was much nicer than most of the other cells, equipped with two bookshelves, a large mahogany desk, and some elaborate sketches that were taped on the walls. Perhaps part of a bargain struck with Doctor Chilton based on his cooperation with the authorities. 

Then again, he was the new star patient, so that probably earned him a few more privileges. Despite those small luxuries though, you knew it’d be hard for him to forget that he was incarcerated.

Hannibal himself was lying down on his cot, reading, but he sat up as soon as you entered. He was even more handsome in person, almost rakish, and you allowed yourself the smallest pause to continue looking at him. 

He had a fine nose, dark eyes, and an aristocratic air to him. Not to mention, a full, obscene mouth that was surely meant to cast impure thoughts. 

Somehow, you had to admit that even his slate gray jumpsuit fit him quite well. If he truly was the Devil, then word of his burning, unholy beauty was not a lie.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted with a smile that you were sure had charmed many in the past.

“Good afternoon. Stay where you are, please,” you said firmly but politely, returning the smile just slightly. “I’ve brought lunch.”

He obeyed, hands resting on his knees. Slowly, tentatively, you made your way to the slot in the glass where you could deposit the tray. 

“Please don’t retrieve it until I’m gone, and let a guard know when you’re done so they can collect it.”

He nodded, smile still in place. “Thank you.”

You began to retreat, feeling his gaze fixed on your back. It wasn’t until your hand was on the door knob that you realized your heart was racing. Adrenaline was dancing beneath your skin like little bolts of electricity, but at least your breathing was even. 

What was it that had affected you so deeply? Was it the thrill of looking into the eyes of pure evil? 

No, that was far too simple, and therefore what you had expected… but that wasn’t all you’d been able to see. It was hard to decipher just at first glance, but you hadn’t been brave enough to hold eye contact for long. And you certainly weren’t any braver when you returned to deliver his supper later that evening.

He was still all smiles and charming obedience, but you noticed his eyes wandered a lot more. It might have been a little amusing, if you weren’t so nervous. If anything, to have his attention was both intimidating and bewitching.

It made you want to say something more, but you weren’t sure what. Still, you knew better than to engage too much outside of protocol.

Or at least you thought you did. 

--------------------

Moonlight slipping through the foliage, anointing the darkened world in silver. A deer silently drank from a stream, unaware the hunter had spotted it. Head bent, throat long. It would be an easy shot, arrow cleanly piercing the jugular. 

It ran, but it did not get very far.  Its wide, ink-black eyes were looking up at the beautiful face of the moon, silhouetting the hunter. Its weakening heart leapt at the sight.

The last thing it saw was his knife.

---------------------

You woke up with a start, panting and confused. Sleep slid off you slowly, like a veil uncovering your eyes. Your hand unconsciously went to your throat, but unsurprisingly, you found no arrow’s fletching.

Two weeks had passed with nothing especially of note. You had read the entirety of Hannibal’s file, the details of his brutality leaking out into your life beyond Baltimore State Hospital.

It was hard to peel off all the misery embedded in its walls, especially being exposed to it daily. It was easier to compartmentalize instead, letting your mind go blank at the end of the day. But the dreams were an inevitable torment, nonsensical and intensely vivid.

You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes and sighing into the silence of your small bedroom. You stared into the middle distance for a few minutes, mentally preparing to start your day. 

In the time that had passed, you had exchanged a few more words with Hannibal that were not part of protocol. He had asked your name, his tone kept carefully casual, and you thought it only fair to tell him. 

After that, he had ventured to ask more innocuous questions about yourself, perhaps trying to test the limits of your interactions. You had answered most of them truthfully but vaguely, worried about him psychoanalyzing you.

Something told you he'd also know if you were lying, so you figured it’d be mostly useless to try. But you were entitled to your secrets, too, and you preferred keeping your cards close to your chest.

Yet you were also aware that it would not deter him, but unbeknownst to him, you were just as headstrong. 

Later, after having slipped on your mask of cool indifference and clocking into work, you brought down his breakfast. You found him at his desk, sketching. He glanced up without moving his head, pencil still moving.

“Good morning,” he greeted. “Is it nice out today?”

“Depends on what you consider ‘nice’,” you said mildly, making slow work of depositing his meal tray. “It’s been intermittently raining since last night, and I don’t think it will stop any time soon.”

“Not bad at all,” he said, his tone ever so slightly wistful. “I do quite enjoy rain. I hope you didn’t forget your umbrella.” 

Strangely, you couldn’t help but feel a little sympathy for him. The sudden loss of freedom was an unbearable thought to you, and you didn’t really wish it on anyone. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t deserve to be in the position he was in.

He noticed you hovering but not saying anything. Finally, his pencil halted and he looked up at you, leaning forward slightly. His assessing gaze pinned you in place, but your body was tense and ready to flee.

“You sound tired. Did you sleep poorly?” He asked.

You blinked in surprise, the question snapping you back to the present. Lowering your gaze, you inclined your head.

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” you said politely. “I should get going, I’ll be back in an hour.”

He pursed his lips in what seemed like irritation, but he didn’t press you. Instead, he stopped you once more by changing the subject. 

“Before I try to talk to Frederick about it, there’s something I’d like to ask you,” Hannibal said.

You looked at him with apprehensive curiosity. “I cannot promise you anything, but you may ask me.”

“I would like to draw you, if you’d model for me,” he said. “Simple stuff, all of it appropriate. I promise. I’m just in dire need of a muse.”

“What makes you think he will say yes to such a request?” You asked, not yet processing everything in your state of shock. 

He smirked. “He needs my help with certain things, so it’s only fair I get something in return.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “And… Why the interest in me, specifically?”

“It would be a sin not to immortalize features like yours.”

Heat crawled up to your face and your arms tightened against your torso, but you kept a mostly neutral expression on your face. You weren’t sure if he was being serious or just toying with you to unnerve you, but you had a feeling it was a mixture of both.

You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of a bigger reaction, but it was likely he could still tell he’d rattled you. The worst part was that deep inside, you also took his interest as a compliment, but there was no way you would let that show.

“I’ll give it some thought,” you said slowly, unsure why you were even considering it. “Pending Doctor Chilton’s approval, of course.”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

With that, you left, floating down the corridor as if detached from your body. The whole situation had a feeling of unreality to it, and you kept expecting to wake up once again.

As you got to the nurse’s station, another nurse told you that Doctor Chilton had summoned you to his office. You blinked at her in surprise. Impossible… Had Hannibal really been so fast?

Next thing you knew, you were knocking on the door to his office, turning the knob when you heard him grant you access.

“There you are,” Doctor Chilton said, one hand resting on his cane. “Close the door behind you and take a seat, will you?”

You dipped your chin in compliance and mechanically followed instructions. For what seemed like an eternity, he said nothing, studying you instead. You shifted slightly in your seat, instinctively returning the favor if only because you didn’t want to be the one to look away.

He himself had been a victim of Hannibal’s more than once, and his body bore all of the evidence. Still, the Doctor had an undeniable obsession, using any and every opportunity to brag about Hannibal’s capture.

Clearly, the impact had been more than skin deep. No one ever dared to outwardly gossip about it, but it was well-known regardless.

It wasn’t often that you dealt with him directly, and you were being painfully reminded of why you preferred it that way. 

“Did…” you began, but he interrupted.

“I watched it all through the cameras. He knew I would be when he asked you that.” He leaned forward on the desk, hands clasped. “Wise choice not to give in just yet.”

You couldn’t help but balk at this. “I beg your pardon?”

He raised an eyebrow. “It must have been a tempting offer, to be the Devil’s muse. I would not blame you if you were at least a little flattered.”

Your eyes, just like your resolve, were like steel. “Why have you called me here, if I may ask?”

His smug, easy grin faded as he let out a long sigh, his patience wavering for a moment. 

“Hannibal is right about my needing him, though I am not the only one who does. The reason why is classified, as you can imagine, so I cannot tell you much,” he said, keeping his tone bored as if he couldn’t be bothered to explain it to you. “What I’m trying to understand now is why he wants you in return.”

“I’m just as confused, trust me.”

“From what I have observed, you don’t speak much, even if he has tried. I wonder if the challenge interests him…” he drifted off thoughtfully for a moment. “Though I suppose he’s always liked to surround himself with pretty things, too.” 

You stiffened, taken aback by the strange compliment. “And so you are expecting me to say yes?”

“I’m not expecting, no, but I’m sure you’ve gathered that this goes beyond Baltimore State. Of course, should you choose to assist us, you would not only be generously compensated, but I would be immensely grateful, as well.”

You thought about it for a moment. The additional income would definitely be helpful, but you had to admit you were also growing more and more curious about the whole thing. What else did you have going on, otherwise? 

Still, you had to try and cover all your bases first. You couldn’t make it too easy for him, after all.

You slightly tilted your head to the side.“Grateful… so you could call it a favor, then?”

He raised both eyebrows. “A favor?”

“Yes, Doctor. He’s a highly dangerous patient and you are asking me to spend longer periods of time – I’m presuming alone – with him. The safety of all staff should be your top priority, right?” you said pointedly, crossing your arms over your chest. “What use is money if no one’s alive to collect it?”

His green eyes narrowed as he seemed to weigh his options. Your face remained implacable, though there was also a challenging shade in your features that he did not miss. Otherwise, he could not get a very good read on you, and that suddenly intrigued him. Perhaps you’d be more useful than he’d originally thought.

“Right… You make a good point,” he finally conceded. “Well, I am a man of honor, after all. Anything you might need, you can always ask.” 

You smiled as genially as you could. “How gracious of you, Doctor Chilton. Thank you.”

His false smile was more like a sneer. “Of course. You don’t have to give your final answer now, but…”

“I accept,” you said, cutting him off. “I am honored by the opportunity.”

—-----------------------------------------------------

“How close are you able to get to the glass?”

“Up to ten paces away,” you said, taking your cardigan off and draping it over the back of the chair you’d brought. “Should be close enough, no?”

“Not nearly,” Hannibal said with a small, flirtatious smile that you did not return. 

Still, he could see a flicker of amusement cross your face, softening you infinitesimally. It only made him ache all the more to see you up close. He felt a sudden thrill that warmed his extremities — a feeling he recognized but had not felt for some time.

“Doctor Chilton has given us two hours, so I’d advise you to use the time wisely,” you said, slightly lifting an eyebrow and setting your hands on your hips. “How would you like to start?” 

“Just as you are, at your most natural,” he said, picking up his pencil. “Let’s see…”

It was strange at first, to have him stare so intently at you. You, who were seldom cowed by anything, could still barely keep eye contact with him. As an excuse, you offered your profile, turning your body to face the wall. 

He complimented the elegant swoop of your neck and you rewarded him with a demure glance and soft words of gratitude. His grip on the pencil tightened, his heartbeat spiking. You caught the way he shifted slightly in his chair, swallowing hard. 

Despite your icy exterior, you felt a thrill at the effect you seemed to have on him. 

You hadn’t been instructed to do anything but show up, but you knew instinctively that it would take more than that to keep Doctor Chilton’s favor… and Hannibal’s interest. Luckily, you were well versed in the art of slow seduction – giving just enough, but then withdrawing in equal measure.

Not to mention, it felt safer to do so on the other side of the glass.

Once or twice, he gave you brief instructions on how to pose your arms or which way to angle your head. You fell into a sort of meditative state, the reality of the whole situation slipping away from you, as well as the passage of time. 

When your watch’s timer went off, he seemed to snap back into focus at the same time as you. You looked up, startled at the sight of all the sheets of paper strewn about the desk. You noticed his hands were stained with graphite as he set his pencil down.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you took a step closer if only to try to get a glimpse. There was an almost frantic quality to the sketches, as if he was worried he might not be able to trace all the lines he wanted to in time. You weren’t able to gather many details from that angle, but you did not doubt his talent. Something about those hands…

“Productive first day,” you said, lightly teasing him to distract yourself from other thoughts passing through your mind.

A smile and the faintest dip of his chin. “I have not been so inspired in a while.”

“You flatter me too much. I’m sure it wasn’t just due to me,” you said, looking behind him at his bookshelf. “What are you currently reading?”

He seemed momentarily surprised at your interest, glancing over his shoulder and slightly raising his eyebrows. 

“Byron, actually.” He chuckled as he saw your reaction to the poet’s name. “The irony of it is not lost on me, trust me.”

You looked away. “You’re finding beauty where you can. I understand.”

“I always have, in my own way,” he said. “I have a feeling you might relate.”

“In places like this, there is no other choice,” you said, noncommittal. “Not if you want to survive it.”

“The great object of life is sensation,” he quoted. “To feel that we exist, even though in pain.”

You let out a short exhale as you slipped your cardigan back on. How curious that he would be a romantic, but you supposed, in a way, it made sense. 

Free of being a so called muse for the day, you withdrew back into yourself. He’d gotten the barest glimpse of another side of you — softer, more open — and that had to be enough for the time being. 

Had to leave him wanting more, after all.

“I will see you bright and early tomorrow, Hannibal. Get some rest.”

------

[s-i-ll-y-w-i-ll-y]

Dr. Malpractice

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Summary: Dr. Frederick Chilton had always hated you and you hated him. Mutual feelings make the world go ‘round. During one visit to see Will Graham, those feelings change.

Tw: mention of murders, Frederick being a snarky bitch-

~~~~~~~~~~~

Agent Crawford’s car came to a halt outside the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the BSHCI for short. Three people emerged from the car; Dr. Alana Bloom, Special Agent Jack Crawford and Dr. Y/n L/n.

The building loomed over the three as they made their way up the steps, heading to the large dark doors ahead of them. Dr. Bloom was first to enter the building, holding the door open for the other two. The three of you signed in at the front desk and got your visitor passes before heading further into the hospital.

Your gaze shifted from picture to picture of all staff and administrators from when it opened to now, eyeing the picture of the most recent administrator, Dr. Frederick Chilton.

Alana chuckled and looked into your eyes, “Don’t start on him yet, that’s just a picture.” With that, you continued to walk with the duo, listening as they spoke about Will Graham- or the Chesapeake Ripper.

It didn’t matter to you, you were just here to annoy Chilton. You knew he dreaded it when you came here, “A waste of breath.” Is what he would say after every argument no matter what the subject was. Once it was how to spell ‘colour’-

Color

Colour.

You were firm on that answer.

Eventually, You, Agent Crawford and Dr. Bloom arrived outside Dr. Chilton’s office where he patiently stood waiting for you to arrive. A quick eye roll and a blunt smile told you his mood for today and it certainly wasn’t a good one. He ushered the three of you into his office, his cane tapping on the hard wooden floor as he wandered over to his desk, admiring his own awards and diplomas on the way.

God, he was vain.

But that goes without saying. A man who peacocked around with expensive suits, fancy cars and flaunted their own accomplishments was obviously, even slightly, narcissistic.

“So,” he began, a smug smirk planted on his face as he sat down. “May I ask why you’re here today, Agent Crawford?”

Agent Crawford gave a small smile as he folded his jacket over his arm. “We were hoping to speak with Will, if that’s alright with you.”

Chilton crossed his legs and hummed, as if in thought despite having made up his mind on what to say next. “I suppose so…although, could you do something for me?”

“Of course, what do you need done?”

“Will has been…less than compliant in his therapy. I was hoping you could fix that.”

“You just want him to open up for another book, don’t you?” You interjected, glaring at the man.

“Agent, unless I have his permission, I am not allowed to publish anything to do with him.” He smugly retorted, his hand perched on his cane.

You scowled at him, away to say something until Alana cut you off. She started to speak back and forth him, Jack joining in at times, but you stayed quiet. Silently seething as he had a smart response to everything. From time to time, you caught him glancing at you, his green eyes analysing you from head to toe. He looked as if he was trying to sum up your whole life in one train of thought.

“I guess you can go talk to him. Please do try to get him to open up, I’d love to explore his mind.”

“You’d love to exploit him…”

For that, you got a jab to the ribs with Alana’s elbow.

You could feel Dr. Chilton’s eyes bore a hole into the back of your skull.

“Agent L/N, would you like to stay behind? I would love some company and three people could overwhelm poor Mister Graham.”

“I’d rather wait in the car.”

“You’ll wait here, Agent.” Crawford stated, glaring at you. It took a moment before you nodded and agreed to stay in the office with Dr. Chilton. Alana shot you a look of sympathy before leaving with Agent Crawford.

As the door closed behind the two, you and Chilton stayed in silence. You refused to sit with him and even out your differences. Silence sat heavy in the atmosphere, clinging to each corner and crevice, making the air feel thicker.

Suddenly, he cleared his throat, making you look over to him. Your eyes darted over him, analysing him just as he did to you earlier. “What, Doctor?” You asked spitefully.

He paused, refusing to look away from your eyes before glancing down at his work. “Why must you insist on being a thorn in my side, Y/N?”

A dark scowl appeared on your face, “Agent Y/N.” You corrected.

He chuckled and stood up to walk around his large desk and head over to his bookshelf, tracing the tip of his fingers over it, coating them in a thin layer of dust. “Yes, yes, Agent Y/N L/N.”

“Why are you speaking like a Disney villain?”

Dr. Chilton scoffed and looked over his shoulder at you. “Excuse me?”

“You sound like a Disney villain.”

“I heard you, why? What makes you think that?”

You paused, letting your eyes clearly wander up and down him. “If I say, you’ll kick me out.”

“If I wanted to, I would have by now.”

You shrugged and stepped closer, looking at the books on the shelf. All were old literature, psychology, psychiatry, books on psychopaths and sociopaths. “Im surprised your books aren’t up here, Doctor.” You mumbled, earning a hearty chuckle from him.

“Im not so self obsessed.” His eyes glossed over to you who unaware of his staring.

Frederick knew he wouldn’t get along with you since the first conversation he had with you. Well, conversation is a loose term. It was more or less an argument. He was set on Abel Gideon being the Chesapeake Ripped whilst you and Dr. Bloom were adamant he wasn’t. In his mind, he made compelling argument as to why he was right, while you gave snide comments on how he was wrong.

After that, whenever he saw you walk up the steps to the Hospital from his cameras, he’d groan, maybe roll his eyes at a push. But he had to be civil. He dreaded hearing your voice from down the hall, slowly making its way to his office. He dreaded opening his office door and seeing you alongside whoever accompanied you.

But there was something so familiar about you. Maybe your clothes or your deodorant was the same as someone he used to know, maybe an old nanny or teacher, but it was comforting.

So, as the weeks turned into months and months into years, he grew more fond of you. Less with the argumentative side of things and more with that nostalgic feeling you brought with yourself.

Your head whipped over, catching his gaze. “Sure, sure…”

“I am not, Agent.” He snappily remarked, now pointing a finger at you. As you glared back at him, he retracted his finger and placed his hand on his cane, his fingers tapping rhythmically as a thick silence set between you.

Then he said something, something that shocked you and himself.

“Why do you hate me so..?” The somber whisper left his throat, his voice cracking slightly. His body shifted to face you, all his weight resting on his cane.

Your eyes widened slightly at his accusation-…

No.

His statement.

It was obvious to everyone that you didn’t like him. He was pompous and flaunted all he could have. Frederick descended from rich and was clearly used to people praising him for everything. But not you. You worked hard to get where you were today. He hadn’t.

“I hate you because you’re…well, you.” Your gaze met his, catching the pathetic and sorrowful look in his eyes. “You’re cocky, arrogant and not scared to flaunt what you have. You’re confident and you really shouldn’t be. You’re smart and you waste it on a stupid books and petty arguments.”

Dr. Chilton scoffed softly and stepped slightly closer, the warmth of his body radiating towards you. “Are you trying to flatter me or put me down?”

A small, sweet smile appeared on your face as you moved to face him. “Can’t it be both?”

Frederick chuckled and looked over your face, tracing every inch as if trying to memorise it. Something about your smile made him feel good. Something about it gave him the courage to lean in and kiss you.

~

Fanfics have not been great recently 😍😍

Anyways, hope you’ve enjoyed the fluffiness.

Saturday 7/9/2024

14:49

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[defectivevillain]

this broken design, ch 10

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader

summary: “Dr. Lecter?” You blink a few times, convinced that you’re dreaming. The man’s gleaming eyes and concerned expression seem a bit too realistic to be conjured by your sleeping mind, though. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him look worried. You quickly decide that you don’t like it.

“Hannibal, please,” the doctor responds nonchalantly. You stare at him in utter confusion. Just what is happening right now? You thought you were dreaming, but this feels a bit too vivid. “What are you doing out here?”

read the story from the beginning here. [this won’t make sense otherwise.]

ao3 version here

You fire one, two, three, nine shots. There’s a roaring noise in your ears. Amidst all the chaos, however, you can still sense Garret Jacob Hobbs staring at you with a sickening smirk on his face. 

“See?” The man asks, as the light fades from his eyes and his body slumps against the cabinets. You’re too rattled to notice the sound of footsteps getting closer until there’s a hand on your shoulder. Dr. Lecter and you lock eyes and, even in the swirling mess of emotions running through your mind, there is overwhelming clarity.  

…… 

How did Hannibal get your business card? You swallow past the trepidation building in your core and stare down at his rolodex in disbelief.  A choked laugh escapes your lips. You let your guard down. You had foolishly hoped that maybe, just maybe, things would be different. You let your guard down and, now, your name rests amidst the names of current and future Ripper victims.  

“Is everything alright?” Hannibal walks in as you’re looking at his rolodex and you quickly turn around, trying to shield it from his view. You’re not sure what expression is on your face, but it must be suitably harrowed, because his face twists in concern— mock concern, your mind supplies. “You look rather shaken.” 

“Yes, of course,” you answer. 

…… 

“Building a collection?” You can’t help but ask, after the quiet begins to grow painful. The compulsion to voice the thought was itching at your skin. Hannibal finishes setting Chilton’s business card in his rolodex, before turning back to level you with a complex look. You try your best to manifest an expression of innocent curiosity.  

“Something of the sort,” Hannibal agrees, after an uncomfortably long halt in conversation. 

A day has passed, yet you’re still unable to sort out your thoughts. Memories flicker before your eyes. You can’t stop thinking about the events of the past month or two—and how chaotic your life has grown to be. Abel Gideon, Frederick Chilton, Freddie Lounds, Hannibal himself… These figures are all fluttering about in your mind, taking precedence over anything and everything else. 

You feel unsettlingly vulnerable. Your psyche feels… weaker, as if it’s slowly corroding and disintegrating before your very eyes. Your mental defenses aren’t as strong as you remember them to be, and the monsters you thought you had banished are returning. One person in particular is wreaking havoc on every moment of your waking life. In some ways, this person is like your shadow. He is always present, yet he doesn’t choose to make himself known unless your thoughts are clear and unfortified. 

Garret Jacob Hobbs stares at you from across your dining table. You grow accustomed to being in his company for meals. The bullet holes you gave him tear through his skin and spill blackened blood. The man’s eyes are glassy, yet his gaze is piercing in an unsettling manner. Hobbs didn’t entirely die that night—he lives on in your memory, preying on your fragile psyche. You blink and rub your eyes roughly, trying to rid yourself of the image of your victim. The killer simply smiles at you, his teeth dirtied and dangerously sharp. For a moment, you swear his eyes flash in the dim lighting of the room. When you make a movement, he mimics it. Your mirror image. He is the darkest of your shadows, the loudest of the skeletons clattering in your closet. You find yourself losing your appetite more frequently, and those changes are reflecting on your face—in the form of dark circles under your eyes and an unusually gaunt pull to your cheekbones. 

Time is a fickle thing. You’re starting to lose the concept of it entirely. The light and the darkness seem to morph together. You can’t define the passage of time anymore. There is only… after. You’re stuck in an unfeeling void, and it stretches far past your eyes. You throw yourself into work in an attempt to fill that void. You catch criminals, solve cases, but you can’t rid yourself of this cloying, desolate hopelessness. 

You leave for work, witness horrible, gruesome things that stick in your thoughts long after you return home for the day. You rest and these horrors follow you into your nightmares. You dream of rivers of blood, fields of undiscovered graves, mountains of corpses. You wake to rub your hands raw with scalding hot soap and water, but the dirt of the bloody sins you’ve seen never quite comes off.  

You’re broken from your seemingly unending trance when you return home from work one afternoon. You’re locking the front door, shedding your jacket and moving to your kitchen when you see something on your table—the same table that had been spotless when you left the house. You frown and walk closer. There’s a TattleCrime article resting innocently in the center of the table. You find yourself reaching out to interact with the newspaper before you can contemplate the consequences. The headline immediately jumps out at you in boldface text. 

TattleCrime

Criminally Insane

By Freddie Lounds

[Picture 1: A fuzzy picture of you exiting the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. It is blurred and the branch of a tree can be seen in the top right corner of the photograph. Dr. Lecter is hidden behind you—obstructed by the rather large entrance door of the building.  

Picture 2: A picture of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. The photograph is angled upward to make the building appear taller. The gaunt and grim building sticks out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of the bright blue sky and fluffy clouds. The entire exterior of the hospital is pictured.] 

Resident killer Abel Gideon found himself being taken to the interrogation room in BSHC1 just yesterday morning. The very same agent whose office housed the corpse of Franklyn Froideveaux, alongside accomplished medical professional Dr. Hannibal Lecter, met with Gideon to discuss the resurgence of the Chesapeake Ripper. Gideon did not provide a statement elaborating on the presence of the federal agent and the psychiatrist he met with. Currently, public opinion is split between fervent beliefs of Abel Gideon as the Chesapeake Ripper and rampant denial of Gideon’s ability to commit the recent murders, since he has been incarcerated for several months. The stability of the federal agent—the same one to track down Garret Jacob Hobbs—is still in question. Despite the questionable mental sanity of the aforementioned agent and the division of public opinion, one thing is clear: the Federal Bureau of Investigation is desperate for information on the Chesapeake Ripper.

Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane's Head Administrator, Frederick Chilton, did not respond to TattleCrime’s request for comment. 

For inquiries, reach out to generalinquiry@tattlecrime.org. 

If you have more information surrounding the killer widely known as the Chesapeake Ripper or the criminal profiler mentioned above, reach out to freddie@tattlecrime.org.

You place the article back down on your table, feeling vaguely unsettled. Freddie Lounds has written far worse about you—the defamation is nothing new. However, something feels off. Your hands shake with anticipation and your heart’s beat creates a haunting rhythm in your ears. You look down at the article once more. You know you should be concerned with who left it here, but your attention has been ensnared by the pictures. There’s something off about them, but you can’t discern what it is. You stare. What are you missing? What do these pictures tell you? 

You brush your teeth and get ready for sleep. An hour later, you’re reclined in bed and staring up at the ceiling restlessly. Sleep is eluding you once again. Hobbs is lingering by your bedside, tauntingly ripping you from slumber whenever you try to approach it. 

That Tattle Crime article refuses to depart from your thoughts. There isn’t any justification for why it’s dominating your headspace with such vigor. You’ve read many of Freddie’s articles before. Why is this one different? What sets it apart?

You’re not getting any closer to sleep. You push the covers off and get to your feet, walking in the dark to your dining room. You turn the lights on and sit down at the table, considering the article again. You feel as if you’re on the crux of a realization—perhaps even a piece of evidence. But what on earth could it be? There’s nothing significant about the article itself, and the pictures are rather unassuming. The photograph of you isn’t very flattering, but thankfully it’s pretty blurry. You have to wonder how Lounds took that picture. She must’ve been hidden behind the bushes across the street. The thought is rather disquieting. You force yourself to move your attention to the second picture. 

This picture is stranger than the first one. It’s disquieting and you can’t quite figure out why. The doom and gloom of the BSHCI building looks even more dramatic pictured here than it does in-person. You squint to look at the smaller details of it. The sky is clear with a few clouds. There’s a time stamp on the bottom corner, dating this picture to be taken mere hours after your visit to Gideon that same day. That’s a little strange, but you suppose it makes sense. There are only windows on the first floor of the building, and they all have their curtains drawn aside to let natural light in. At least, all of them except one. You frown and count across the row; the window with drawn curtains is the third room on the right. You think back to the layout of the building. The third room on the right from the entryway…. It takes you several moments to remember the inside of the building. You close your eyes and try to visualize it. 

The pieces of this particular puzzle finally begin to fit together. You’re suddenly assaulted with an overwhelming combination of dread, hopelessness, and guilt. You run back to your bedroom and grab your phone from the nightstand, dialing the desired number with practiced precision. 

Ring. No answer yet. You wait, your anxiety only solidifying as time drags on. Ring. Maybe you won’t be getting a response after all. Ring. Just as you’re about to groan in frustration, the ringtone ends and there’s someone on the other end. 

“Crawford.” Jack announces, not sounding the least bit surprised to be evidently roused awake by a phone call. You suppose that he’s grown accustomed to late-night calls about murder cases. 

“It’s me, Jack.” You respond. You can’t get another word out before he’s interrupting. 

“What did you find?” Of course that’s his question. You wonder (not for the first time) what you did to deserve Jack’s faith in you. The moment you said your name, he pivoted to asking you about evidence. Thankfully, you do have some evidence for him—but he isn’t going to like it. 

“Did you see Lounds’ TattleCrime article?” You ask. 

“You know I don’t read that garbage,” Jack says with a slight scoff to his voice. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. You have to cut him some slack, ultimately. You’re reaching out to him past midnight and he responded to your summons within three rings of his ringtone.

“Did you see it?” You ask again. 

“Yes,” he begrudgingly admits. TattleCrime is far from a trustworthy news source, but Freddie Lounds is almost always the first one to release any information about events. In this case, of course, an event never occurred—it’s merely speculation from the journalist. “What about it?”

“Did you notice anything unusual about the second picture in the article—the one of the BSHCI building?”

“Just tell me what you found, Agent.” Jack responds bluntly. 

“Right,” you sigh resignedly. Jack doesn’t like to be led on in such a manner—it’s better to just rip the bandage off here. “Pull up the article on your phone.” You pause for a few moments to give your boss the time to find the article. Jack lets out an affirmative grunt and you continue. “Look at the second photo. The hospital is in the foreground. I want you to look at the third window from the right on the first floor.” You pinch the bridge of your nose. Jack is going to be furious. You’re rather furious at yourself for not noticing the discrepancy in the picture until now. “That’s Chilton’s office.”

“I’m not following.” Jack says. 

“When we went into the office, the windows were open,” you continue. “From the two meetings I’ve had with Chilton, I’ve deduced that he keeps his curtains drawn open to let the light in when he’s in office.”

“I’m failing to see how this is relevant,” Jack says with a slightly aggravated edge in his voice. 

“Patience, Jack,” you snap, before taking a breath to regain your composure. “See the timestamp on the bottom corner of this picture? It reads 1:42 p.m., on the same day that Hannibal and I visited. We saw Chilton, which meant he was working that day. Assuming that the man follows some sort of normal working schedule…”

“The curtains should’ve been drawn open,” Jack finishes for you. The line goes silent as he evidently takes a closer look at the picture. You take the opportunity to do the same and run your finger along the place where the third window—Chilton’s office window—sits. In the photograph, the curtains are closed. “I’ll have some agents head over to the hospital now. Someone will try calling Chilton, too.” But he won’t be there to answer lingers uncomfortably in the air. 

“Thanks, Jack,” you respond. Jack gives no inclination that he’s heard you. He says your name a few moments later and you nearly bristle at the sudden cold tone to Jack’s voice. 

“What is it?” You ask apprehensively. 

“Have you seen this?” Jack asks. “‘Murderer Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement, Kills Three.’”

“What?” You choke out. Those words promptly rip up any fragile sense of stability and safety you developed today. “No, that can’t be.” You take your phone away from your ear and put Jack on speaker, before going to your browser and searching TattleCrime. The website pops up and when you click on it, the page buffers for several seconds. Your heart is thundering in your chest. There’s a tense silence between Jack and you. Finally, the page loads and you immediately see what he’s talking about. There’s a small box reading: Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement. When you tap the box, it sends you further down the page until you’re looking at an entire article. 

TattleCrime

Murderer Abel Gideon Escapes Confinement, Kills Three

By Uriah Larksen

At approximately 6:56 pm, convicted killer Abel Gideon escaped his prison transport vehicle. Gideon had previously been institutionalized in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, following his conviction of first-degree murder regarding the deaths of his wife and her family. 

The three officers assigned as escorts were killed in the ensuing conflict. Gideon fled in the transport vehicle, which hasn’t been seen since. 

For inquiries, reach out to generalinquiry@tattlecrime.org.

If you have more information surrounding recent sightings of Abel Gideon, reach out to uriah@tattlecrime.org.

You’re not quite sure how long you sit there in silence, reading over the same words over and over again. Abel Gideon escaped. Abel Gideon escaped. Abel Gideon- You take a deep breath, your chest feeling tight. 

“Jack…” You finally manage to say. Your voice sounds slightly raspy and broken. Jack seems to be feeling the same; his side of the call has been silent for several minutes. You both know what Gideon’s escape means. Abel Gideon is dangerous. It’s not out of the question to think that he’ll be focusing on vengeance once he escapes. Gideon’s escape and Chilton’s disappearance must be connected. 

“Did Gideon hold contempt for Chilton?” Jack asks. You both already know the answer. 

“Probably,” you acquiesce. It takes a few moments for you to organize your thoughts into a somewhat comprehensible list. You rub at your temple, trying to soothe your impending headache. “Chilton manipulated him, made him think he was the Ripper. I’m sure he holds contempt for all the mental health professionals he’s interacted with.”

“All of them,” Jack repeats, a note of something indiscernible in his voice. “Agent.” You stiffen. The weight of that statement comes crashing down on you.  Jack doesn’t need to elaborate—he does anyway. “Dr. Bloom is in danger. The same goes for anyone else that interacted with Gideon in a similar manner.” 

“Jack…” You break off, suddenly overwhelmed. 

“I’ll send a team down to Alana’s house and transport her to a safehouse,” Jack says, answering the questions you haven’t uttered yet. He sounds perfectly calm and collected. You can’t exactly find that same steely composure. Despite the events of the last few weeks, you can’t help but feel concerned for Alana. You’ve been stuck with a rather polarizing opinion of her recently. Yet, the more you think about Alana, the more you begin to remember all the good times you’ve shared with her and everything she’s done for you. Alana was a great psychiatrist, friend... Things may not be exactly the same between you anymore, but you still care about her enough to fear for her safety. “She’ll be alright.” Jack asserts, dragging you out of your thoughts. 

Typically, Jack’s reassurance is enough for you. Right now, it isn’t. “Jack, you’re in Quantico,” you frown, rubbing at your eyes and fighting off your exhaustion. You feel extremely restless, so you get up from your seat and begin to pace around the room. “There’s no way the team you send will make it in time.” 

“It’s the best we can do,” Jack responds diplomatically. You recognize that sending a task force is indeed the best protection Jack can provide. However, that’s not the best you can do—you can do better. Your silence must be telling, because Jack immediately switches tunes. “Don’t go to Alana’s house.” You remain quiet, knowing that you’ll incriminate yourself otherwise and feed Jack’s suspicions. 

“Agent,” Jack breaks off, his tone assertive and demanding. Despite the authoritative nature of his voice, you can sense an underlying concern coating his words. Surely he isn’t worried for you—that feels out of the question. “Promise me you won’t go to her house.”

“I promise,” you respond without hesitation. There's no response for one, two, three seconds. 

“Alright,” Jack then says warily. The TattleCrime article on the table burns a hole in the corner of your vision. Abel Gideon has escaped. Alana is in danger. Hell, you could even be in danger. You take a deep breath. “Keep in touch.”

Your goodbye goes unheard as Jack hangs up the call. You lean back in your chair and inhale slowly. That promise slipped from your lips without hesitation. One fatal recognition is lingering on your skin: 

You’re a liar. 

Jack places too much trust in you, you think to yourself. Right now, you’re betraying his trust—and you may never get it back. For a second, you contemplate your next course of action. You don’t have to go to Alana. You could stay here. The thought sickens you—remaining complicit in Alana’s potential murder. Sure, you’re not on the best of terms with Alana right now, but she was a good friend, psychiatrist—hell, girlfriend —in the past. If something were to happen to her, you’d never forgive yourself. 

You get to your feet, grabbing your jacket and car keys. 

The drive is monotonous and uneventful. You’ve been simmering in your own dread since your phone call with Jack; the unsavory emotions only make the ride pass faster. Before you can back out, you’re parked down the street from Alana’s residence. It’s dark outside now, with no source of light except for the pale moonlight. 

Alana’s house sits in the darkness. Her outside lights aren’t on just yet. You can see light peeking through one of the shutters on the side of the house, indicating that she’s home. You bite your lip and take another few steps forward, trying your best to avoid anything on the ground that could make a sound when you step on it. The night air is brisk and cold; your exhales leave your lips in small puffs of vapor.

You don’t know how much time you spend lurking on the outskirts of Alana’s residence, watching in the shadows. You eventually come to the conclusion that Alana is fine. You know you should go to the doorstep and tell her that you stopped by, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. Instead, for an immeasurable time, you remain a silent shadow outside her window. You split your time between checking on Alana and looking for Gideon over your shoulder. The night air is still biting, but you find warmth in the knowledge that Alana is safe. 

“You’re rather predictable, aren’t you?” A familiar voice whispers in your ear. Your momentum careens forward and you feel a gun pointed at the back of your head. You turn around, only to find your shadow staring back at you. 

“Hobbs,” you choke out. The man’s expression is blurry and it morphs into a cruel smirk. His gun is pressed against your temple. You raise your hands in the air, which only deepens the maniacal grin on his face. His lips are falling away to reveal pointed teeth and, when a beam of moonlight glimmers against his face, black blood trickles down his incisors. 

Garret Jacob Hobbs can’t be alive—he’s dead. You know that; yet, when you stare at the figure in front of you, all you can see is the murderer— your victim —’s face. His eerie blue-green eyes are piercing through the darkness, latching onto you with fervent madness. The hand that holds the gun to your forehead is steady. His breaths are calm and measured, an antithesis to the shaking, shivering mess of limbs you left him to be.  

You stay locked in an unspoken stalemate for an immeasurable amount of time. You’re forced to inhabit the uncomfortable quiet with harsh breaths. Your assailant got the jump on you; you curse yourself for being so focused on Alana that you neglected your own surroundings. Vaguely, you wonder if this was a trap set for you. You can’t ponder the thought long, because, with lightning speed, the man pulls back and connects the butt of the gun to your skull. Suddenly, your sight swims and you fall to the ground. You try to push yourself up—your arm reaching for the dagger you have concealed on your form—but the swift kick to your ribs robs you of breath. Your assailant kicks your prone form one more time, twisting you so that your back now meets the ground. He stares down at you with an incomprehensible mix of glee, satisfaction, and something…darker. 

Your vision spirals and fades around the edges as the man mercilessly drags you behind him. You desperately try to fight the overwhelming  vertigo tugging at your core, but it doesn’t quite work. Your assailant lets out a cackling laugh and continues to drag you along as if you weigh nothing at all. You stare up at the moon, glittering in the pitch-black night sky. The pain is nearly unbearable. Your assailant doesn’t have any qualms about dragging you haphazardly, letting your form be jostled by the rocky ground. Something hot trickles down your face. You’re not sure if it’s blood or tears. Your eyes are burning and, before long, the curtain closes and you’re falling into unconsciousness.

next chapter

taglist [comment if you'd like to be added]: @its-ares

[cannibalgenders]

Imagine they announce a Hannibal spinoff, everyone is excited to see Mads and Hugh again maybe Clarice possibly Jack

When it comes out is a 4 hour long legal battle for the copyright over "Hannibal the Cannibal" between Freddie Lounds and Frederick Chilton the case is called Freddie v. Freddie there's not even visible murder just legal jargon

You laugh but this is actually my ideal spin-off. I hope it’s edited and directed with the sort of gritty, realistic drama as The People vs OJ Simpson and it’s a miniseries with hour long episodes detailing the intricate petty ways in which both of them have attempted to monetize their horrific experiences,

I hope their are recreations of each side of the story, everything they’re both lying about, by the original actors, but acting wildly out of character because it’s CLEARLY Bullshit that Freddie/Chilton are making up to strengthen their case.

I’d start talking to my patent attorney dad again just to screen this with him in one torturous marathon.

We get to the end. Tense silence falls on both of us. My father is tied up and I occasionally remove the duct tape from his mouth so he can explain a legal issue. Type face texts scrawls along the bottom of the screen. “Havana Cuba- 2023’. It changes to a rather meta shot of two people watching the court case on a couch. Will and Hannibal’s hands brush as they both reach for the bowl. Inside, we see a single uncooked lip.

End.

[willgrahamsbecoming]

why chilton?

AAALRIGHT im going to assume you're coming from my confession thing (chilton is the most reasonable character) so i'll answer that first.

(coming back up here after writing a bit, this is long and spoiler-y so i'm adding a read more. @ vic youre already up to season 3 just wait ok)

also a disclaimer: i'm writing all of this from memory while freezing in the wind at the bus stop. errors may follow

chilton may be a dumbass when it comes to his own actions BUT everyone is tbh so thats kinda just the baseline

however! he was one of the only people to believe will. he saw the evidence (albeit the little of it there was, since hannibal left very little) that pointed to hannibal, and he was able to put aside his positive associations and think critically about it

jack and alana both let their personal connection to hannibal cloud their judgement until it was too late. which is understandable! i love both of them as well. but out of those three people we see regularly interacting with hannibal personally, having dinner as friends (or more!), frederick is the only one who was willing to consider that hannibal was the ripper

of course beverly did as well, but she wasnt close with hannibal, and breaking into his house without telling anyone where she was going unfortunately docks some reasonable points. sorry bev </3

(and bedelia. but she didnt really try to do much about it except send smoke signals in the form of wine and truffles. i can understand that though. go get your europe holiday girl)

he was also the only one to see hannibal and will's fucked up relationship in season 3 ("with those two [disembowelling] is tantamount to flirtation" in aperitivo).

and now for more general 'why he's my favourite' stuff!

i really love his character arc - it's almost circular, and hes still recognisable as the frederick chilton we meet in entrée by the time the number of the beast is 666 rolls around, but he's taken his experiences in and grown as a person, imo. still confident, still egotistical, but still Changed.

and the fact that he's still the same by the end is really meaningful! because we all know that this man is a human punching bag - he went through so much over the course of the show, but he got back up every time. he's an incredibly strong person for that (and probably a little - or very - stubborn!), and it's very admirable. he held his head up and he faced abel gideon after he vivisected him (he stood right in front of him! the man who had broken out of restraints more than once!), he sat and ate with hannibal (more than once, we can assume) after he'd attacked him in his home and left three mutilated corpses for him and left him pretty much for dead

(im sure jack wouldve shot him if he hadnt surrendered and been someone familiar, and he wouldve likely been tried and if found guilty, executed much like hannibal should have been without frederick and alana saving his ass)

of course, this insistence on standing his ground led to his unfortunate fate in s3e12, but it's not his fault he didnt forsee a third attempt on his life. his strength is admirable nonetheless

i'd dock reasonable points for 'trusting will graham' but everyone did. that's another baseline. (aside from bedelia, i suppose. but her first impression of him was hannibal's pathetic little rambles in hannibal-mandated therapy)

also he's a funny little guy and has some of the best lines in the show. and he's played by raúl esparza who did so INCREDIBLY like holy shit

okay i think im out of stuff to say and i'm nearly at my stop thanks 4 reading

[thegreatestjournalistofalltime]

La Morte Non Mi Troverà (closed to @sqeeebus )

"I can help you get work. Outside the force, if you want me to. I know people in private security," she had said. "Guarantee you, it pays better. Right now, future you is thanking me."

Then Stammets shot the cop. His blood sprayed on her face. The shock didn't last long. She had her bearings back by the time Jack Crawford had arrived, and she was able to tell him everything…

Her legs had trembled as she walked up the steps of the observatory, after receiving an anonymous tip. The last time she had been there, Freddie was an unwilling participant in an impromptu surgery performed on Dr. Frederick Chilton. With that memory at the forefront, and the ominous nature of how she received the information, she drew her gun from her handbag. Her legs still trembled. She pressed forward…

Freddie Lounds is an old friend, it seems, of fear and danger. At this point, it is difficult to say whether it follows her, or if Freddie is the pursuer. However, in this moment, as Freddie finds herself looking at the corkboard she has set up in her hotel room in San Gimignano, there is no mistake that she is the hunter. Acting on a lead—a longshot, truly—that Will Graham was hiding out in this small town in Siena, Tuscany, she had flown all the way to Italy to try to track him down herself.

Freddie is no fool, of course. Despite the situations she had gotten herself into in the past. The only reason she is here is because of an interesting bit of information she uncovered about Mr. Graham and his little hideaway… He is here alone. No sign of Hannibal Lecter anywhere. As she pins another note to her corkboard, she wonders to herself if Graham has been able to portray himself as some kind foreigner, looking to start fresh. Or, maybe, a bachelor on vacation? Regardless of the story he was selling, it did not matter.

Freddie was going to find him. She was going to expose him. She was going to make sure that everyone knew who and what he was, and that he would finally see justice. One way or another.

During the course of her investigation, she learned that he had a few places he liked to visit in particular. One such place was an art museum. As she makes her way through the rooms of that very museum, looking at the faces of the patrons instead of the art on display, she can't help but think about Will Graham leisurely strolling through these halls, admiring paintings.

It's a thought that makes her seethe.

She is, mercifully, broken from this thought when she catches a glimpse of a man with curly, brown hair. He stands in front of a particular painting. Freddie cautiously steps closer to him. Closer. She comes to a halt behind him.

"It's good to see you again, Mr. Graham," she says, hoping that it's him.

[freddiethewriterlounds]

Have you any gossip about Dr Frederick Chilton?

EXCLUSIVE: DR. FREDRICK CHILTON ALLEGEDLY SPYING ON HIS PATIENTS?! IS HE SANE OR INSANE FOR DOING SO?

In today's day and age, privacy is one of the most sought-after commodities in our world. However, I've heard talks about Dr. Fredrick Chilton bugging his facility and listening in on his patients. They have no privacy whatsoever and he uses said information for his research papers without their consent. It is quite baffling to hear this since he is a doctor himself and I am sure, some of his patients suffer from severe anxiety and not knowing that they are being recorded may break them. Dr. Chilton has also been accused of psychic driving and was shot by Miriam Lass. I wonder how it made him feel to experience excruciating pain for something he didn't do. I honestly do not know whether this is genius or Dr. Chilton is unknowingly singing a death wish. I do have to commend him for his tactics. It's one of the most effective methods I've seen yet. If he permits me, I would like to also do an interview with him.

Til next time, my crimies!

@psychprofchilton

[len-scrive]

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Hannibal TV

Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

Characters: Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Frederick Chilton, Bedelia Du Maurier, Jack Crawford, personaggi originali

Tags: Post TWOTL, vita insieme, Hannibal è Hannibal, Dark Will, sangue, violenza, crescita sentimenti, evoluzione

Lingua: Italiano

Sommario: Will e Hannibal sono rinchiusi in un istituto di massima sicurezza, sotto la supervisione del dottor Chilton.

Questo è il racconto di come sono finiti lì dentro e di cosa è successo dopo la notte in cui il Drago è stato sconfitto.

 Capitolo 1

“Dottor Chilton, mi lasci solo dire che non ritengo questa un’idea saggia.”

“Sta contestando la mia autorità?” Chilton si appoggiò sul suo bastone, spostando il peso dalla gamba più malandata. “Mi creda, in quanto a saggezza ormai ne ho per le altre tre vite, quelle che…mi sono rimaste.”

“Non sono due individui da sottovalutare.”

“E lo sta dicendo a me?” sbottò Chilton indicando tutto se stesso, tutto il suo corpo.

Il suo interlocutore si quietò, respirando a fondo un paio di volte.

“Non è stata data loro la pena capitale,” disse poi il giovane uomo come a voler sottintendere qualcosa e Chilton sapeva a cosa voleva alludere.

 Continua a leggere su AO3

 000

 Quanto tempo! Come sono felice di poter finalmente condividere questa storia, nata la bellezza di due anni fa.

Penso di aver già detto che non condivido mai qualcosa se prima non sono assolutamente certǝ che abbia una conclusione e così ho atteso e atteso che la conclusione di questa storia arrivasse da sé.

Ne sono successe tante nel frattempo e questo povero racconto è stato parcheggiato in un angolo della mia mente più e più volte, ma era venuto il momento di farlo uscire del tutto e fargli avere il suo spazietto su AO3.

Eccolo. Vi terrà compagnia, se lo vorrete, per qualche mese e spero la lettura vi sarà gradita.

Io nel frattempo mi butterò sugli altri nove, dieci racconti tutti inseriti in un file denominato one-shot anche se poi i racconti dentro hanno dai due ai cinque capitoli ciascuno. A casa mia one-shot ha un curioso significato parallelo, evidentemente.

Questa storia Dentro è un’altra, l’ennesima, versione del post TWOTL. Chi ha letto Evolvere sa che quella è per eccellenza la mia visione del futuro di Hannibal e Will, ma se ne possono creare all’infinito e a volte mi capita di partorirne di nuove.

I capisaldi fondamentali di come io vedo Hannibal e Will rimangono, ma si poggiano su basi leggermente diverse e su dinamiche un po’ più complesse. Sempre colpa di Will, sempre colpa sua, ormai si sa.  XD

Penso di aver parlato abbastanza, l’appuntamento è ogni domenica tra mezzogiorno e l’una.

Grazie a tutti e buona lettura.

Len

Per problemi di spam ho dovuto chiudere la mia pagina AO3 ai soli iscritti. Bisogna avere un account per leggere, ma a parte quello nulla di diverso.

Devo dire che preferisco l’idea che solo chi è registrato ha accesso alle mie storie. 

E per chi di voi volesse venire a trovarmi sul mio canale YouTube Len Irusu colgo l’occasione per ricordare che sono sempre lì a condividere gameplay (in inglese) e a commentarli (in italiano) o a parlare dei fatti miei mentre provoco, più o meno involontariamente, il trapasso di svariati personaggi.

Al momento tra le altre cose è in corso il gameplay di The Last of Us part II e… Oh boy… Il massacro di anima e cuore. Ma da appassionatǝ di Hannibal sono abituatǝ, devo dire.

[iobsessoverfictionalmen]

The Taste of Revenge (6)

Warnings: canon typical violence, cursing, mentions of non-consensual drugging, descriptions of character death, mentions and descriptions of jail, car crashes, descriptions of drowning, lying, manipulation, guns, yandere themes, mafia AU, mafia Rafael Barba (trust me, he needs the warning), spoilers for Hannibal, references to Leverage, past Frederick Chilton/Rafael Barba, NSFW moments and angst.

Chapter 6

You shot out of the room before Doctor Chilton could stop you.  Between remaining in the conference room with him and confronting Barba, you would take your chances with confronting Barba.  At least with that option, you would have the physical support of your teammates.

The second that you stepped out of the hallway, you were aware of Barba’s eyes on you.  From this distance, you could see that his posture was casual and relaxed.  He was surrounded by some NCIS agents that you recognised and standing between you and Barba was your team with Gibbs at the front.

You had a sudden flash of déjà vu at the sight of your boss blocking Barba from walking over to you.

Steeling yourself, you walked over to stand with your team and as you walked over to them, you could feel the presence of Director Vance close to you.  Being cooped up in a federal prison didn’t appear to have had any long-term effects on Barba; he looked exactly as you remembered him which caused you to wonder how long he had been in the prison for.  If you had to guess, you would say it wasn’t for very long. 

“So much for justice.”  You thought waspishly.

“Now would be a good time to share any information that you know.  You’re not in the most welcoming of places.”

“The last time that we interacted Agent Gibbs, you threw me across the room.  I’m not particularly inclined to share anything with you.”

The subtle emphasis that Barba put on the word ‘you’ did not go unnoticed by any of your team.

“No way.”  Torres was the first to speak up.  His voice was loud and could be heard over your other teammates' protests.  Tim clenched his fist around the handle of his gun, “Whenever you and (Name) have interacted, she’s been exposed to dangerous situations.”

“I pulled her out of the river!”  Barba growled.  

The impact of Barba’s words was instantaneous.  The air thrummed with electricity and the tempers in the room began to approach a boiling point underneath their initial reactions of surprise and anger.

“She wouldn’t have needed you to pull her out of the water if you hadn’t given the signal to begin the car chase.”  Gibbs snapped back, disregarding the reactions from his team.

“All the more reason to keep you away from her.”  Tim agreed.

“I bet you would like nothing more than to draw your weapon and fire it at me, Tim.”  Barba stated bitingly, “Fortunately for the both of us, you can’t do that.”

“I think you mean ‘fortunately for you’.” Tim corrected cuttingly.  “I doubt anyone would judge me too harshly.”

“I’m unarmed and I have information that can help.  I just have one condition that needs to be met and you refuse to grant me that concession.  If your feelings clouded your judgement and I was injured as a result; those factors would be revealed in a court of law,” Barba crossed his arms and shook his head.  “Who do you think the courts would side with?”

Bishop turned her body halfway around to face you, “Tell me that you’re not considering this.”

You looked Barba directly in the eyes, “Are you going to be completely honest this time?”

“Yes.”  The word left Barba’s lips barely a second after you finished your question.

“You have five minutes.”

“We won’t need that long.”

Wondering about Barba’s statement, you led him to an interrogation room and after he had passed the threshold of the door, you closed it with a snap behind him.  The mafia boss cast a disgruntled eye around the room.

“You really should invest in an interior decorator for your interrogation rooms.”

You glared across the table at him, “We don’t bring people in here for comfort or style.”

“Evidently.”  The mafia boss crossed his legs on the surface of the table and leaned back in his chair.

Minutes passed in silence and your frustration mounted as Barba refused to divulge any of the information that he had promised.  “Are you just going to sit there and look pretty?”  You demanded impatiently.

Barba smiled at you indulgently, “I think I’m a few steps above ‘pretty’ though it’s nice to hear that you find me attractive.”

“I never said that” you replied, rolling your eyes.

You could tell that Barba didn’t believe you but he let the matter drop instead choosing to reach into his pocket and place a recorder on the table between the both of you.

“What are you doing?”

“In ten seconds, I’m going to give you all the information that I promised.  I suggest you press the record button any moment now.”

“This man is infuriating!”

Grudgingly, you followed his instructions and when the light appeared to indicate that the machine was recording, Barba began to talk.  After the first few words, you realised that he wasn’t speaking in English but Spanish.  You reached forwards, intending to pause the recording and demand that Barba reveal what he knew in English however, he warned you nonverbally not to press the button.

In order to avoid Barba’s gaze, you focused on the recorder and watched as the seconds became minutes.  When the time hit the four minutes and thirty seconds mark, Barba stopped speaking.  You waited for a few moments just in case he would reveal any further information but when it became apparent that he wouldn’t, you turned off the recorder.

“What was the point of that?”  You exclaimed.

Barba shrugged, “You wanted the information.  I gave it to you.  I fail to see the problem.”

“You know I don’t speak Spanish.”

“No, you don’t, do you?  That means you will need to keep me around and ensure my safety.  Every day, I will teach you Spanish until you can decode my message.”

“What’s to stop me from finding someone to help me translate it?”  You questioned while your mind considered how Barba was going to teach you Spanish daily.  He couldn’t stay at the NCIS base; he wouldn’t be safe.  He would be uncooperative if you sent him back to prison and even though you had a small number of safe houses around the state and a few in others, you were reluctant to reveal their locations to Barba.

Barba set a small black device on the table next to the recorder.  It was similar to the one that Abby had used to shut down her machines remotely.  “If I learn that you have asked another person for help instead of me, I will press the button here,” Rafael pointed to it, “and the recorder will delete the file.  I’m sure that with Abby and Tim’s help, you could retrieve the information but it might be too late when you do.”

You snatched the recorder off the table and slid it into your pocket.  Without sparing a glance at the undoubtedly smug mafia boss behind you, you opened the door and exited the room.  Back in the bullpen, Doctor Chilton had joined the NCIS agents on the floor but he stood apart from them as if he knew that he didn’t belong with them.  You found it odd that he wasn’t standing with the Interpol agents considering that their boss was the one who requested his services in the first place.

“What did he tell you?” Ziva interrogated as soon as she caught a glimpse of you.

“He revealed everything.”

“I didn’t expect him to be so cooperative.”  Tony commented.

“In Spanish.”  You added.

“There it is.”

“You don’t speak Spanish.”  Tim argued, “How does that help us?”

“Excellent deductive work Sherlock.  Maybe you should write a book series.”

You raised your voice, “Barba said that he plans on teaching me Spanish daily until I can understand enough to decode the message.  He has a device like Abby’s that can remotely erase the file if I ask anyone besides him for help in decoding it.”

“What do you mean daily?” Tim uttered, ���He’s not staying here.  We already have his doppelgänger in limbo.”

You looked up at your partner and waited for him to connect the dots.  “This case is getting worse by the minute,” Tim complained.  “I don’t like it.”

“Everyone here knows that he wouldn’t be safe on base and he wouldn’t be cooperative at all.  If he was returned to prison, he’d definitely be uncooperative and there are some places that I would prefer to stay away from, for security reasons.”

“Speaking of Barba, where is he?”

You shrugged, “Walked past him to leave the interrogation room.  I haven’t seen him since then.”

“Look up,” Tony instructed humourlessly.

Following the special agent’s instruction, you turned and looked up at the stairs that led to the MTAC room.  Barba stood on the lowest step with his arm resting on the railing and Gibbs and Director Vance stood several steps higher wearing nearly identical scowls.

“It’s settled then.”  Director Vance announced.

“Leon!”

Director Vance focused on you, “Rafael Barba will be released into your custody.  During this time, I expect you to decode the message he had you record.”

“Yes, Director.”  You conceded.  You couldn’t do anything else but agree to Barba’s terms.

Then the other part of Tim’s sentence sunk in and you pivoted to face your teammate, “What did you mean earlier when you said, ‘we already have his doppelgänger in limbo?’  What happened when I was with Barba?”

“Today must be a day for manipulation.”  Your partner answered unhappily, “Sterling has cancelled Chilton’s accommodation and now he has nowhere to stay because he can’t get a flight out.”

“I just know that I am going to regret this.”  You thought as sympathy and outrage welled up inside of you.  You knew that Sterling could be mean and ambitious when he was focused on a goal but this was downright horrible of the man.

“Doctor Chilton?  There is a spare room in my house if you would lik-”

“I don’t need your charity.”  The doctor spat, cutting you off and turning away.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten, “It’s not charity.  It’s an offer and before you get any ideas, it’s not done out of pity either.”

“Thank you.”  The doctor breathed in a whisper, still facing away from you.  You were struck with the realisation the reason behind his façade was because he didn’t experience kindness from others very often.

[nerdynikki94]

There are too many reasons for why Hannibal is such a captivating series: the artistic visuals, sound design, phenomenal acting, dialogue, character development, beautifully executed split season arcs, etc.

I could literally spend like 3 hours just praising the storytelling of the cinematography and sound design in Hannibal S3b (don't even get me started on the painfully purposeful dialogue - word choice is so thorough and deliberate, especially regarding Will). This arc is truly masterful in the way it conveys intention, intimacy, and barriers, not just in relation to Hannibal with Will, but all the characters.

In S3E8, we are instantly introduced to the way Hannibal exists within his memory palace. We first see him interact with Alana, sitting with a glass of wine in his old office. It's important to note that she's first shown there, before we transition to reality, the transparent partition separating the space between them. He brings people into that room in his memory palace to retain that old sense of composure and control.

Also, notice the way we see Hannibal interact with Frederick. There is no place in his memory palace for Chilton. In this entire arc, these two are always shown in cuts of untouched reality. Hannibal doesn't respect or hold any esteem for him. He talks to Chilton without investment, and thus, he is not worthy of the honor of Hannibal's confidence. His control in this instance is cold and completely removed.

That shifts entirely in the last scene of that episode when Will goes to see him. The music changes, a haunting few notes, incredibly reminiscent to some opening notes blended in Love Crime. We see him strut straight into Hannibal's foyer, the Norman Chapel in Palermo; Will knows where to find Hannibal; it's just as much his memory palace, as it is Hannibal's.

Will is the only one to do this throughout S3b. All other characters shown in Hannibal's memory palace, are simply there at the start of the scene, they never walk into it. Hannibal has to be the one to extend the invitation, but not with Will. For him, Hannibal has an open door policy.

In S3E9, we continue their meeting. Hannibal & Will's angles are so specific in this scene, but also, throughout this setting. When they talk between the partition, you are often seeing the other's reflection in each one shot. They are equals, both of them caged and free in their own personal ways. Their presences are fused together, fractured reflections of one another. The distance isn't absolute, because they are still so close, as if no time has passed.

Then, later, we see Alana going through Hannibal's cell. It's intentional that the camera shows her milling about in a way where we can see the holes in the glass between them, at first. We are meant to be aware of the wall ever between them, until Alana steps closer. In threatening him, showing Hannibal the true power of her position, she gets to safely encroach on his space. Suddenly, the glass wall is gone. And then, when she steps away, the angle changes so we can yet again be reminded that the wall is still there, it always was, but the threat was real. It's the closest thing we see to Hannibal being rattled by his captivity.

Then, we see Jack visit Hannibal. Hannibal's reflection is seen in most of Jack's one shots, but his face is always obscured. He's a dark looming shadow, always lingering over Jack's shoulder like a threat. (Hannibal will manifest as a reflection in this way for Alana and Frederick as well throughout this arc; just like her and Will say, as if everybody feels like he walks out with them.)

Jack's reflection is shown only once in Hannibal's shots during this meeting. When Hannibal is telling Jack that Bella once said his face was all scars, if you knew how to look, we can just barely make out a reflection of half of Jack's face beside Hannibal. I find this brief moment to be really interesting in re-watches, once you ruminate on the notion that is introduced later in S3E12.

In this story, Hannibal is the Devil, and Jack is God. So, we see God's gnarled half-reflection beside the smug devil, a reminder that in more than one way, Jack too, is responsible for Hannibal's actions. More than once in this series, we see God's lapse of judgment allow the devil to get away. Hannibal is Jack's greatest regret, proof of just how blind he can be.

Briefly, jumping ahead on that point. (The God, Devil, the Lamb & the Great Red Dragon speech is also so important as well. A scene where we see Jack's reflection in Hannibal's shots, a forced distance, expression removed, saying with certainty that he'll be standing at the end. Then, Hannibal approaches, asking him if his conscience is clear, and his reflection lands on Jack, but doesn't meld. Jack's face is not overtaken, instead it overtakes what we see, as Jack says his conscience is as clear as Hannibal's. God has made his own choices. He may be blinded, but he's never truly influenced.) AAAGGGHH! Visual Poetry!

Even in S3E10, when Dolarhyde calls Hannibal. We see Dolarhyde physically enter his old office. There's a sense of counterfeit there, Dolarhyde's desperation to be seen by Hannibal. Yet, Hannibal allows him into that room of his memory palace, not as an equal, but as a patient.

Later in that episode, we get one of the best shots in the season, which occurs when we see Hannibal & Will talking about TGRD and the question of his sanity, Will takes a step forward and this is where we see his reflection meld into Hannibal. The contrast is there, but so is the connection. Just like Jack says to Chiyoh in S3E7: Hannibal & Will are identically different. They have changed each other.

I could keep going. This show is fucking ridiculous. It's so incredibly well-made, thoughtful and fucking efficient. Yes, there's loads of flowery language and overcomplicated arguments, but that all really falls into Bryan's stylistic choices: Pretentious Art Film. But in the same vein, that is how it's able to convey so much, even when doing so little; it's efficient because, even in silence, there is so much storytelling being done.

[hannibutts]

HANNIBAL SPOILERS S01E05

So…. Did he kill Beverley?

Boo Freddie Lounds

Oh no. She tells Jack “she’s one of yours” 😭😭

Did Hannibal turn her into a mummy? WHAT THE FUCK. HE SLICED HER??? WHAT THE FUCK MAN??

How would you even do that? Like does he have a massive deli slicer in his house? And she’d have to be frozen or something to keep everything in place. Why am I even thinking about this? Stupid show.

Rara in the credits 😃

Awww Jack, Price and Zeller breaking down is devastating.

Oh see through Hannibal mask on Will, wait, do those mask actually exist for transit? I think I always thought it was stylised for silence of the lambs.

So I looked it up and those mask aren’t used - it was just a stylistic choice for a muzzle for the movie.

Oh gross he did actually freeze her and then jigsaw’d her.

Welp another person for Will to feel guilty about. And another person Hannibal will eat… oh wait he probably already did at the beginning of the episode when he fed jack. Bleh.

Will calling Chilton Frederick is so funny, but Chilty is being so soft with him. His babygirlness is dialed down to a 2/10 but he still gets his smirks in, especially when Will is offering him glory.

Wait, is Gideon still alive? I thought Will shot him outside of Alana’s house?

Hannibal you crazy kidney eating bitch.

Oh Gideon’s alive

So they both know Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper but they can’t say.

BabyGirl mildly threatening Hannibal and Hannibal hating to have to stoop to Chilton’s level whom he thinks is so beneath him.

Everybody insulting Chilton because they know he’s listening 😂 poor babygirl.

Boo Freddie Lounds

Wait, so this orderly dude killed the bailiff and the judge? Wait not the judge.

Oh shiiiiit Will asked him to kill Hannibal and Gideon heard.

Does Alana know, is that why she rocked up? But how would she know? Is she still talking to Gideon? All fair questions from Chilty about how everyone bows down to her even though she’s kinda a shit dr. Ooh low blow from Alana about Babygirls guts. And then She asks to speak to Gideon like if they hadn’t spoken since before Gideon escaped so maybe she doesn’t know Will asked the orderly dude to kill Hannibal.

Ooooh I see she really was just there because Will talked to Freddie Lounds (booooo) but I’m guessing Gideon has told Alana now about what he heard.

Mads is very… athletically built. Like damn. Ha, there’s something about this orderly getting in the pool just to show off that he can beat Hannibal at swimming. Oop… just tranq’d Hannibal right in the back. Ok then. This dude doesn’t fuck around… does he… does have watermelon tattoos??

WHAT THE FUCK? THIS GUY WENT FROM ZERO TO HANGING CRUCIFIXION SO FAST

Mads is so freaking broad shouldered Jesus Christ. These shots of his bod are not accidental.

Sometimes the build up in these episodes are great and at the end the killer just turns themselves in or like in this ep it’s just pop. Oop grab hanny END.

Alrighty.

[ihavemanyhusbands]

High Risk

PART TWO: SILVER TONGUED DEVIL

Also on AO3

Part One // Mini-Series Masterlist

Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Nurse!Fem!Reader

WC: 3.1k words

Chapter Summary: In order to form a deeper connection with Hannibal, hoping to keep him complacent, Doctor Chilton allows you to have dinner with him…. Mostly unsupervised.

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, slight canon divergence (frederick is still head of baltimore state hospital), manipulation all around, some jealousy, corruption, smut, handjob, kinda audio voyeurism but not really?, also kinda exhibitionistic but not really??, some alcohol consumption, aaaand thats all i can think of rn but lmk if i missed anything!

————-

You waited outside of the double doors with a guard, patiently carrying Hannibal’s meal tray. He had a visitor, a mutual acquaintance of Doctor Chilton’s, and they were not to be disturbed.

You couldn’t understand why you had to be standing there, but you figured it was a power move on Doctor Chilton’s part. Reminding you of your place. 

Your eyes flicked up to the security camera in the corner, suspecting he was watching more than one of them at a time. More than half an hour had passed, the silence stretching on infinitely. The guard had briefly tried to engage you in small talk, but he had quickly realized it was pointless. You already knew what sort of questions he would ask if he felt like he had any leeway, and you were not in the mood for it.

Already there were rumors speculating the sort of favors Hannibal was asking of you. You’d felt the gazes on you, caught the murmurs behind your back. You couldn’t deny that the more animal part of you, the one that had no such regard for personal safety, hadn’t thought about him that way. 

A few times, he had slipped a folded piece of paper for you to find when you retrieved his meal trays. Always sketches of you, symbolic renditions meant to convey messages. His attention to detail was astounding. Almost… devoted, in a way. 

Every time you posed for him, you found yourself enjoying his focus more and more. The thrill of it all was narcotic, but you only hated that it had brought other people’s attention to you. 

The doors suddenly opened and a tall, well dressed woman stepped out. She was strikingly beautiful, with icy blue eyes and neatly styled dark hair. Her lips were painted ruby, which further accentuated her features in an elegant but almost severe way.

Doctor Alana Bloom was her name. You’d heard of her from both Doctor Chilton and Hannibal, but you hadn’t had the pleasure of meeting her in person until then.

“My, you’re a looker,” she said, inspecting you as if you were an insect under a microscope. “No wonder.”

You only smiled politely, internally seething. She could see right through you, smiling in return.

“He’ll charm the pants off you if you’re not careful.”

With that, she walked away, heels clicking down the hallway. The guard next to you let out a huff and you shot a glare in his direction.

He pushed off the wall and followed her, while you turned the other way and slipped into Hannibal’s cell room.

“Sorry, it might be a little cold,” you said as a greeting, making your way over to the slot. 

“You were waiting for me?” He asked.

“I was told to wait until you were done, yes.”

He noticed you were avoiding looking at him, though the displeasure itself wasn’t directed at him. He smiled a little to himself with satisfaction.

“Doctor Bloom is an old colleague of mine, but our history goes a little further than that,” he said. “A futile affair, that was.”

“No rekindling the flame then?” You asked before you could stop yourself. 

Of course that wasn’t what the visit was about, you knew as much. But you were still bristling from her words, and the smugness in them.

“No,” Hannibal said. “I’m afraid we are mutually uninterested, though we have some business left over.”

You hummed in thought, composing yourself. “I apologize for asking, it’s none of my business.”

“You may ask me whatever you want. I won’t mind telling you.”

You tilted your head to the side, where another camera was perched up in the corner. 

“We don’t have such liberties,” you said pointedly. “Though who knows? Maybe there’s an argument for our case.”

With that, a small, coquettish grin and a glance in his direction. Hannibal sat up straighter, licking his lips.  He glanced up at the camera, also well aware that Frederick was listening.

If anything, the two of you had been enjoying toying with him in any small way you could. It drove him crazy, but he mostly seethed in silence, knowing he was equally matched in this game.

“Perhaps dinner might be a good place to start,” he said.

“Oh yes, I would like that very much,” you said, exaggerating a wistful sigh. “But we shall see.”

————————————

“You know, you’re getting a little bold with all these requests,” Doctor Chilton said, arms crossed over his chest. 

“I know you have your methods of trying to get information out of him — or at least you think so,” you said, unbothered. “I mean, he has been much more forthcoming because of me, hasn’t he? I have my methods, too.”

He let out a sardonic chuckle. “Clearly. Others seem to think so, too, no?”

You didn’t give in to his goading, changing the subject instead. “Much luck with Doctor Bloom?”

“Some, actually,” he said, his sneer faltering. “But that shouldn’t really concern you. You’re still his favorite little doll to play with.”

And you mine, you thought to yourself, containing a grin.

“I’m aware,” you said instead, raising an eyebrow. “So it’s not too unreasonable to have dinner with him, especially with the glass still separating us.”

“Oh, but you’d be so much more useful if you were up close and personal. I could put you in one of the interrogation rooms and keep him handcuffed... But the problem is, he asked for total privacy. No cameras and no audio recordings,” he countered. “I cannot possibly do both. You know that’s not how it works.”

You pretended to think about it for a moment, but you already knew what the obvious answer was.

“No cameras, then,” you said. “I would say that’s fair, no? You might not care for the video footage, anyway, not without sound.”

He narrowed his eyes but nodded in assent, knowing it was the best he would get. The ghost of a self-satisfied smile was on your lips, pleasure at getting what you wanted dancing in your eyes. 

As long as the rest of the team was getting the information they needed, by whatever means necessary, he supposed he couldn’t grouse too much. Regardless, that didn’t make him any less annoyed at being backed into a corner.

“You get an hour and a half tops,” he said with finality. “Work your magic. And wear something nice, why don’t you?”

————————————

The table had already been set for you when you arrived. A mediocre attempt at something romantic, with a few little tea lights and a half-dead flower in a plastic cup. You supposed the guards couldn’t be bothered with such nonsense, but it was also more mockery on Frederick’s part. 

But at that very moment, you couldn’t care less. In fact, you found yourself… excited for the night's events. 

It was nice not to wear your uniform for once, your nicest black dress in its place. It was nothing too special, but you only wore it on certain occasions, such as dates.

And while this may be the macabre version of a date, it was a date nonetheless.

You’d styled your hair differently, put on a little make up and even wore perfume, which you were rarely able to do. It was liberating in a way, as if granting you permission to step out of bounds a little more. You wouldn’t waste such an opportunity.

Your heels clicked softly on the linoleum floor as you slowly paced the room, anxiously waiting. You glanced down at your watch, and right as it hit eight o’clock, the door opened. Hannibal was led in by a guard, his hands cuffed in front of him. He smiled at the sight of you, his eyes roaming up and down to better appreciate you. 

Your heart immediately started racing, both from nerves and giddiness. You focused solely on him as he was led to the table, the situation becoming less surreal by the second. Despite the fact that he was in his usual jumpsuit, you could tell he had meticulously groomed himself as best as he could. 

Another guard came in to place two trays on the table, but the food wasn’t from the cafeteria. Apparently, Hannibal had been allowed to cook a two-course meal, dessert included. There was even some wine, but you had to settle for plastic cups instead of glasses. Not that either of you seemed to mind, too busy sizing each other up. 

It felt strange, not seeing him through a thick panel of glass, but it was even stranger to sit right across from him. You only had to reach out your arm and you’d be able to touch him… if it wasn’t forbidden, of course.

“I’m surprised Doctor Chilton did not join us for dinner,” he said as the guard cuffed him to the table.

“He’ll be here in spirit,” you said, briefly nodding at the two guards before they stepped out of the room. “But I think it’s better this way, don’t you agree?”

“Much better,” he agreed, pausing a moment until the door finally shut. “You look beautiful, by the way… And you smell good enough to eat. Just as I thought you would.”

You grinned at his dark sense of humor, suppressing a shudder as you crossed your legs and leaned back. “Well, flattery will get you anywhere.”

“And wine?”

He grabbed the already uncorked bottle of wine and raised his eyebrows. You nodded and he poured for both of you. 

“We shall see,” you said, taking the cup from him and holding his gaze.

“Well, a toast to our very gracious host,” he said, raising his cup. “For making all this happen.”

You tapped your cup against his with a soft cheers before taking a sip. He proceeded to give you a detailed explanation of what you would be eating, nearly putting you in a trance. His voice had a hypnotic quality to it, managing to soothe your nerves. Without really noticing, the two of you were leaning forward, the conversation taking on an almost intimate quality – even if the subject matter was anything but. 

Before he touched his food, he encouraged you to try first. He watched you eat, his amber eyes lingering on your lips as you licked them. You had never tasted anything so complex or refined, but knowing it was put together by him made it even more of a delicacy. You let out a pleasured hum, barely holding back from getting another bite.

“My compliments to the chef,” you said, taking another sip of wine instead. “It’s almost enough to convince me to eat anything you cook.”

He chuckled. “Oh, if we were not within these four walls, I would have made a whole feast just for you. I’m sure Frederick has told you of my dinner parties.”

“But then it’s likely we wouldn’t have met outside these walls,” you said, not wanting to talk about Doctor Chilton. “Unless, of course, you frequent this sort of place.”

“I am not unfamiliar, I will give you that,” he said. “But our meeting has been the only good thing about this whole situation, and for that, I am grateful.”

You put a hand on your chest, teasingly pretending to be touched. “How sweet, are you going to quote more Byron for me next?”

He laughed, finally digging into his food. Conversation flowed with surprising ease as you continued to eat. Perhaps it was partly due to the wine, but it also helped that you were eager to listen to his thoughts on things. You were well aware of his intelligence, and it was stimulating to finally talk to someone that had so many layers to uncover.

By the time you got to dessert, he was bold enough to spoon feed you the first bite, awaiting your reaction. The taste was just as amazing, but you were more interested in the gesture. The way he was gazing at you with ardor, kindling your insides – A hunger of a different kind. 

“Tell me something,” he said, clearing his throat. “If it weren’t for Frederick, would you have accepted an invitation to dine with me?”

“Depends, if you’d played your cards right, but that doesn’t necessarily mean it would’ve been possible.” You tilted your head to one side slightly. “But you’re much too valuable, are you not? They have to keep you happy.”

“You certainly have.” 

You let out a huff of amusement, propping your elbow on the table and resting your chin on your hand. Briefly, you thought again of all the rumors circulating about the two of you. This time, though, it didn’t really seem to matter all that much anymore. They’ll keep talking anyway, so why not just do whatever the hell I want?

You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Do you always manage to get what you want?” 

He shrugged as if he couldn’t help it, making you chuckle. “What’s your secret, hmm? How do you do it?”

“You aren’t able to come any closer, are you?”

“Of course not, Hannibal.” You pretended to scoff. “We’ve got to keep our hands to ourselves, too.”

There was a devilish grin on your face as you slowly got up from your seat. You slipped your shoes off and brought a finger to your lips to indicate silence. It was titillating, truth be told, to be straddling the fine line between reckless abandon and caution. Especially when you were clearly leaning more towards one side.

“Pity,” he said, watching your every move, smile mirroring your own. “I would have liked to whisper it in your ear.”

You slid onto the chair next to him and he turned his body to face you. You looked down at his jumpsuit, locating the zipper, before looking back into his eyes. He slightly dipped his chin in assent, and you reached a hand up to his chest.

“Tell me something else, then,” you said, dragging it down slowly so as not to make much noise. 

“Like what?” he asked, holding his breath as more and more of his body was revealed. 

His blood was quickly flowing south, the consequences of this becoming apparent as the zipper reached the end of the line. Your mouth fell open in both surprise and eagerness, exhaling a shuddery breath. He kept his hands off as you carefully eased his erection out of his underwear, fingertips brushing the velvety underside.  

“Anything at all,” you said, trying to keep your voice even. “You’re a romantic, aren’t you? I want to hear your ideas on love.”

You stood up and slid your panties down your legs without lifting your dress too much. You watched him swallow hard as you sat back down, letting the fabric fall on his lap.

“For the mess,” you whispered in his ear, your body pressed close to his. “And a little souvenir for you to keep after.”

He nodded, spine straightening as you planted a kiss just beneath his earlobe. You held his gaze as you spat in the palm of your hand and reached down to curl your fingers around his shaft. His hips immediately bucked into your grip, and you heard him suck in a breath.

“Love, hmm?” He cleared his throat. “You want to know what makes me tick?”

“Absolutely,” you purred, hand moving up and down slowly, wrist flicking slightly when you reached the tip. “Though I may already have a few ideas...”

As much as you wanted to tease him, elongating his pleasure, you didn’t have much time to spare. Your faces were close together, but you fought off the urge to kiss him. His breathing became more labored as your hand continued its rhythmic movements, the heady scent of you – and of your arousal – enveloping him.

He’d had his fantasies about you on many late nights, but your actual touch was another thing entirely, better than what he could have imagined. And knowing he was affecting you in the same way… the chain of his handcuff rattled against the table a little as he strained, trying his hardest not to touch you back. He would want you to be loud, anyway, and that was not an option there.

“W-well, I certainly like to be surprised,” he said haltingly. “And I admire boldness. But to love in itself is a bold a-action, wouldn’t you agree?

“I wouldn’t know much about that,” you said, slicking his pre-cum around the head of his cock with your thumb. “But I do know how to be a lover.”

The light graze of your teeth on his earlobe made his body jerk, his cock pulsing in your hand. You picked up the pace, his chest heaving as his hips almost involuntarily rocked to meet each stroke. Your lips moved to his jaw and down to his neck, and you listened to him babble about something else, trying to fill in the silence. 

Your attention was on his body’s reactions and you could tell he was dangerously close to the edge.  You silently warned him not to stop talking as his cock began to twitch, and you had only seconds before you quickly had to cover your hand with your discarded panties. He bit his bottom lip as he spilled all over the fabric, little noises of pleasure stuck in his throat, one hand gripping your arm. 

You smiled against his skin, lavishing his neck with some more attention as he faintly sighed your name. And when he was done riding out his high, you turned his face towards you and planted a small kiss on his lips as if to reward him. 

He was panting, still lost in the dizzying aftershocks of his orgasm, but you helped clean him up some and zipped his jumpsuit back up, your panties still hidden within. You glanced down at your watch, seeing you only had twenty minutes left. 

You slipped back to your side of the table as if nothing was amiss, but the devious glint in your eyes was undeniable. He was lost and he knew it, already wanting – no, needing – more. So much more. Luckily, it was as you had said; He’d always been good at getting what he wanted.

“I’ve had a really good time tonight, Hannibal,” you sighed contentedly, already aware you would be carrying this with you for the rest of the night. “You sure are good company.”

“As are you,” he said, his voice calmer, though something was lurking underneath. “Perhaps… we might arrange for it to happen soon.”

A thrill danced over your skin at the prospect of it. “Perhaps. Only if you’re on your best behavior.”

------

[adarafaelbarba]

Frederick Chilton One Shots

💕 = VDay Bingo | 🌶 = Holiday Bingo | 🔥 = Kink Bingo | 🐭 = Disney Bingo | 🎭 = Musical Bingo | 🌹 = WiPs request

Let me Watch (NSFW) 🔥

My Little Pet (NSFW) 🔥

A New Feeling (NSFW) 🔥

Masquerade (NSFW) 🔥

Candy Cane 🌶

Little White Lie 🌶

🖼 Moodboards 🖼

Sweeney Todd 🎭

[hypermanga]

Catch those feelings

~{This fic takes place before anything happens to this poor creature}~

The rain poured mercilessly in Baltimore, and as you looked from the hospital's window, you immediately knew it was not going to stop anytime soon.

“Just my luck" You cursed yourself for forgetting your umbrella at home, as now it was clear that you would be soaking wet by the time you got back at your place.

Closing your bag, you ditched the nurse clothes and started to make your way to the main entrance, not noticing the director's door opening slowly.

As per usual, Frederick had stayed after his shift had ended just finishing some paper work, just to keep his mind occupied from everything else.

 Although he tried to shrug it off, it pained him that most of the employees hated him, or so he thought.

But he was Frederick Chilton, and his pride wouldn’t let him show any kind of pain,hiding all his emotions in a smug smile, which erradiated nothing but confidence in himself.

 Involved in his own thoughts, he didn’t see you passing by, and just noticed that somebody was still there when he saw the main door lingering open before closing with a thud.

Picking his umbrella, as he had been more aware of the weather than our dear protagonist, he headed to the entrance, the sound of the rain getting louder with every step he took.

You didn’t dare. You didn’t dare going back to your home with this deluge, you didn’t care if you had to stay for a while, better safe than sorry. That was until “(Y/N)? What are you doing still here?”Turning around, you saw no other than your boss.

 “Oh...Dr.Chilton...”Suddenly, you ran out of words. This was the typical effect he had on you, the price on having a huge crush on him.It was kept a secret, as most of your colleagues found him annoying and a narcissist, but you knew better : he'd been kind to you since day one, just as you'd been to him, although sometimes it was difficult to break his shell.

"I was just on my way out...It's just that...Rain is awful, isn't it?" You tried to laugh to ease some tension, all the while blushing and looking everywhere but his eyes.

Why does he have to be so handsome?

As he looked at her petite form, he couldn't help but blush. It had been like a gift the casual encounter, and even in the strong rain, she was as perfect as ever: her rosy cheeks from standing in the cold, her hair messy under her little beanie...She was just too beautiful "Please, call me Frederick" He offered her a smile, and it warmed him that she responded with a smile of her own.

Why did she have to be so pretty?

"So...Do you know when this is going to stop?" You crossed your arms as you looked at the distance "I don't know, really...Do you want me to walk you home?"

Had he been too daring? Had he sounded too desperate?

"That'd be very nice, although I don't want to be nuisance""You could never be" His answer had rolled off his mouth before he'd even think about it "I mean if you don't want to I can understand" "No, no, it would be perfect...At least I'll not get wet and I'll have company on the way back, a win-win really"You tried to remain polite and have composure, but you were squealing inside. Getting under his umbrella, both of you started to descend the stairs.

She had said yes! A miracle! Perhaps he had a opportunity with you...Although being that beautiful she must have someone already...

After a while of a comfortable silence, only being broken when you gave him directions to which he responded with a smile, he turned to you"I can't help but wonder...Why hasn't your boyfriend come pick you up?"

Your eyes shot up at that.

"Well...He is a unicorn" "What? But they don't exist" "Exactly" Laughing along with you, he felt relief "Then, I have to say if anytime you need somebody to accompany you home, I'll be glad to be the one" He looked  down at you sheepishly "Thank you so much" You were by now red as a tomato, how could anyone hate such a loving person, it was beyond your understanding.

It was like the line that separated you professionaly had faded, and you were just chatting with the best friend you had a crush on. You just talked about nothing and everything, how was your work and if you were comfortable in your workspace, which passions he had...The two of you oblivious to what the other felt, as each of you thought the other was way out of your league.

"This is...Uh...A pretty street" You'd been walking for a while now, and the rain didn't seem as strong as before, when you realised you were already at the beginning of your street "Yeah...It is" You chuckled sadly, as you knew the opportunity was coming to an end.

"Again, thank you so much for accompanying me home" Fidgeting with your fingers, you grabbed your keys and started to ascend the stairs to your little loft "Wait! Let me accompany you to your door" With that, he walked up to you again. He felt stupid, trying so hard to have as much time as possible with her, as if he was at high school again.

You smiled at him"It's fi-" Your foot collided with a large and slippery puddle, making you yelp rather loudly "Shit!" Trying to grab into something, you closed your eyes "I've got you"

Reopening them, you found that you were not on the floor, but again under the umbrella, dry, except for the few raindrops from when you left. And a pair of green eyes worriedly looking at you "Are...Are you alright?" "..." You blinked a few times "(Y/N)?" "..."

You felt like you were in one of those romcoms, the walk under the rain, the perfectly-timed slip, and the man catching her just in time.

"Oh my..."Clinging onto his arms for dear life, you straightened yourself "This is uh..." Frederick started "Yeah...This is something" You continued, not daring to look at his eyes.

"God, I'm just too clumsy and stupid for my own good" Facepalming yourself, you tried to break from his grip "(Y/N)..." "No, no, it's fine, I must look like a fool right now"

As if the rain caught on your mood, it restarted falling with greater force "You are not, and this can happen to anyone" "Nah, it just happens to me, in the worst of times"

This was starting to be overbearing, and your heart pounded with as much force as the rain. "Why would you say that?" "Because...Because..." "Is it because you're afraid I'll fire you, because if-" "No...It's not"

You felt like this was the time. You'd at least try, if it didn't work...Well bye Baltimore.

"Then why?" "Well, you can fire me after this..." "But didn't you say it-"

Tiptoeing, you grabbed his cheeks and kissed him with all your passion.

This was it, you were kissing him, and he could not believe it. His hand let go from the umbrella, which rolled at their feet. As he came back to senses, he put his hands on your waist, kissing you back with equal passion.

The rain now had you under his roof, but neither of you cared, as everything was forgotten the minute your lips met eachother.

Parting to get some air, you looked at eachother's eyes "Frederick...I have wanted to do this for a long time" "Me too, darling, me too...Although now we're wet" "I don't really mind, do you" "Never as long as I'm in your arms"Smiling at his corny antics, you kissed him again, not caring about anything else in the world.

Just about you and him, under the rain, feeling nothing but happiness and love for eachother.

That was all that mattered right now.

MASTERLIST

@raulism @rauleesparzaa @rauliskafan @justraulesparza @lilbabychilton @thranduilsperkybutt

[my-wickedone]

Proposal / Dr. Chilton

REQUEST: 4 , 10 and 12 for chilton please or pick one of them, thanks by @mrschiltoncat

A/N: Thanks to @writing-journeyx for helping me judge this :D 

4. Proposal  10. “I’m yours.”  12. “You’re the most beautiful person in the world to me.”

Warnings: Emotions, mentions of self pity, kissing

He took a quick glance at the watch. It was too early but too late at the same time. He couldn’t wait to have you back in his arms and kiss you but at the same time he was frantic. Frantic that what he planed wasn’t perfect - it could never be good enough for you - and frantic because it might go wrong in the end.

His clammy hands were shaking as he placed another candle on the table. Were the candles enough? - Could there ever be enough candles?

He dropped the lighter and it fell onto his foot. Freddy jumped and screeched at the pain, which nearly made him fall over.

Shoes. He thought about it while gritting his teeth. He forgot to put on shoes, otherwise who ever wore shoes inside his own living room?

Outside, a car door slammed and he froze in shock. It wasn’t ready. His planned scenario wasn’t perfect by now. He quickly kicked the lighter under the table and jumped towards the door. He slipped on his fancy shoes just before you stood in front of the entrance.

With a swift motion he pulled it open and immediately forgot what he had prepared to say.

You looked so stunning, as you were just standing in front of him with a short black dress and the expensive coat he once bought you. To him, you looked perfect in just everything, though he preferred you in his own clothes or the ones he got you. It was like a small hint that you were with someone, because you couldn’t afford these brands with your badly paid job. It was like he had claimed you.

“H… hello Darling“, he greeted you and you gave him a quick peck on the lips.

“Hey love“, you said and stepped in.

You felt immediately confused about the atmosphere. It was dark, warm flickering light came out of the living room. Romantic, classic music was playing in the background. You looked Freddy up and down and your eyes rested a little longer on his feet.

He looked down himself and noticed that his shoes were still untied. Suddenly his collar felt a little tight.

“Why are you wearing shoes? Are we going out?“, you asked with a small giggle.

“E…eh“, Freddy tried to find the words. “No, we’re not.“

You frowned and smiled at him uncertainly. “Why then?“, you asked and he felt like fainting. This was not going as planned. He just pointed at the living room and you took the lead.

The moment you saw what he did, you stood still. “Oh my god, Freddy!“, you said in awe and pressed a hand to cover your open mouth.

The large room was filled with big candles, roses were beautifully draped between them. On the table were two glasses and a very expensive bottle of champagne.

Frederick rounded you and stepped into the beautiful arrangement. He matched it perfectly with his deep blue suit, his cane and neatly combed hair.

He took everything he had and pulled himself together. “D…darling, my love“, he started with an already festive voice and you felt your knees getting weak.

Now the moment came which he was most afraid of, getting down on one knee. He didn’t want to fall and he felt so pathetic with his cane. You deserved someone better, someone who could kneel down like a healthy young man. But he could also hear your voice inside his head, that told him you loved him how he was. He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

So he leaned onto his cane and slowly wiggled down. His whole body was shaking and he could see your hands were as well.

“I’ve never met someone like you. Before, I didn’t even know I could love someone as much as I do love you, my darling“, he continued and felt his words get stuck in his throat. He tried to clear it, but it took its time. He heard all the words he planned inside his head, he had them on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t form them. So he took a deep breath after what felt like forever and just said: “I’m yours. And… I’d do anything to make you mine.“

He pulled out the little box from his pocket and opened it with shaking hands. He presented you the big diamond ring that had cost him a fortune. Only the best for you.

“You’re the most beautiful person in the world to me“, he added. And then he finally asked what he meant to for the last months. „Will you marry me?“

Your hands were shaking like crazy. “Oh, Freddy!“, you said with a weak voice and felt like the luckiest person alive. You dreamed about this since your second date, when you started to fall for this man.

You stepped closer so you could take the ring out of the box. You held it between your shaking, cold fingers and slowly slid it onto your ring finger. “Of course I do“, you said quietly but for Freddy it was as loud, as if you’d screamed it. You would become his wive. His. He couldn’t believe it and so a tear was forming in the edge of his eye, that was slowly rolling down his cheek while he got up. It landed on your back as you embraced each other tightly. He was so lucky.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Dr. Chilton Hates Camping [NSFW]

K!nktober 2020 Kink Bingo!: Blowjobs

For @thatesqcrush’s kink bingo!

Because for some reason this picture always makes me think Frederick is packing to go camping, and he would look exactly this miserable if he was. 

1,671 words

Feathery tops of pine trees swayed blue-green in a gentle northern breeze off the lake, the late summer air buzzing with a chorus of insects and birds. Golden light cast a hazy glow over your backcountry campsite as the sun began to sink in the sky. It was beautiful and serene. Perfect, even.

For the number of fancy galas and boring dinners Dr. Chilton dragged you to, it seemed only fair that he tolerate going camping. 

“Gah! Die, you blood-sucking fiend!” Chilton shrieked, and a smacking sound echoed off the lake. He grunted. Heavy, annoyed footfalls paced across the camp.

That was your first mistake—thinking Dr. Frederick Chilton shared your notion of “fairness” or the ability to tolerate things with fewer than five stars. All day since backpacking to the primitive campsite he complained there were rocks in his shoes. He was tired. His bag was too heavy. 

A small fire crackled in the center of a bare clearing in the trees near the lake shore. You dropped a larger log onto the tinder as the flames grew hungry enough to bear it, and excitedly rifled through a stuff sack for the makings of s'mores you’d packed.

There was a hissing noise behind you, and you choked on the bitter chemical air, covering your mouth as Chilton’s nuclear cloud of bug spray wafted over to you.

“Can you not spray that upwind of me, please?” you coughed.

He glared at you miserably and swatted another mosquito.

“This is not a fair trade. The things I bring us to are enjoyable. They are civilized, and... indoors!” Swat! “It is freezing, and—and damp, and these damned bugs want to drain me like a phlebotomist in training!” Swat!

“Sit by the fire,” you suggested. “It’s warm and dry, and the smoke repels bugs.”

“It does a better job repelling my lungs.” He stood taller and temperamentally fussed with the buttons of his wool peacoat (because why would he have worn sensible technical gear when he could look stylish). “If you need me... I shall be inside! Waiting until tomorrow when we can leave!” He turned on his heel and stormed into the small, orange tent, and gave his best effort at slamming the nylon zip-up door.

You speared a fat marshmallow onto the end of a stick and sat by the fire, making a s’more while grumbling to yourself about what a baby he was being. This could have been a nice trip if he wasn’t so—ugh!

By the time you finished the crunchy melty treat, you felt much better. It got your blood sugar up, anyway. Sighing, you followed him into the tent.

Chilton had his reading glasses on and was squinting at the glowing screen of his phone as he held it in the air trying to get service… which clearly was not working. You were way off the grid.

The tent flat unzipping caught his attention, and he gave you such a pathetic look as you ducked inside. His always-perfect hair was droopy where it usually stuck up and fluffed up where it was usually slicked down.

“It is damp and cold in here too,” he whined. “And the floor! The floor is lumpy. How will I sleep?”

Your heart softened at the sight of him. He was just so adorable it made your cheeks burn. Crawling onto the sleeping bag he was sitting on, you reached out and gingerly plucked a twig from his hair.

His eyes widened in mortification, and he quickly patted down his head for any other horrible bits of nature that might have latched onto him. “This is not my idea of fun,” he said.

“Well, I’m happy that you tried it for me. Really, I’m impressed you actually came.”

His eyes darted down to your lips, suddenly aware of how close you were sitting, and one cheek twitched briefly into almost a smile. “You wanted to do this,” he said gently. Of course he was going to come.

You leaned forward to close the distance and kissed him. His eyes shut and he moaned softly into your mouth, his frazzled, exhausted, itchy body locking onto you as source of comfort like a heat-seeking missile.

“You taste like chocolate,” he murmured, lips breaking away just far enough to breathe your air, his forehead pressed against yours.

“Have you ever had s’mores?”

“Of course I have,” he answered, a little offended at the implication. He was not so sheltered and elitist to have never roasted a marshmallow. “Not since I was a child…”

“I can make you one. Or if you come out, we can sit by the fire and make them together.”

He thought about it. You had straddled onto his lap, and your body heat was all the more enticing against the annoyingly wet air and cold floor. He was feeling a little less awful about the whole situation.

“But first…” you purred, hand running down the front of his shirt, continuing lower, “I was wondering how I could thank you. Since you’re doing this for me… maybe I can do something for you?”

He inhaled sharply, Adam's apple bobbing as your hand reached the front of his pants, searching between his legs. His eyes, as blue-green as the pines, fixated onto yours, but then rapidly blinked and darted around his surroundings.

“You want to do that outdoors?”

“We’re inside a tent.”

And yet he could hear squirrels chittering as if they were right inside the tent with them. The thin nylon was hardly a barrier at all, and it all felt a bit shockingly exhibitionist. But then, no one was around for miles apart from birds and squirrels who could see or hear you. The devilish idea stirred him that he could fuck you right out in the open if he wanted, like two wild animals rutting in the woods.

Exhaling a deep, breathy growl, he grabbed your face and pulled you back into a burning, fiery kiss. You grinned as he broke it, eyes still burning into you as he pushed you down to his belt.

He leaned back on his elbows, taking the passive role and letting you unbuckle his pants and slip his cock out of his underwear. He drew a sharp, quick breath in through his teeth as your tongue made contact with the tip of his head, and let it out long and easy and shuddering as the wet warmth of your mouth engulfed him. You nursed his semi-soft cock, enjoying being able to hold all of him in your mouth at once so easily, sucking and teasing it, feeling his arousal grow—his pulse getting stronger, throbbing under your tongue as his cock lengthened.

When he finally reached his full, exquisite hardness, he was too big to take in his entirety without choking. You pumped his shaft with your hand, bobbing in his lap as he let out helpless little whimpers, stroking your hair tenderly. He was always vocal in bed, but especially when he was feeling needy. He really needed to be comforted now, and you relished every shiver and moan of pleasure that told you you were doing a good job.

His fingers spasmed reflexively, pulling your hair as you took him deeper, opening your throat until you couldn’t breathe. Your eyes watered with the effort, but it turned you on feeling how much he loved it. You wanted to please Frederick so much he’d remember this trip fondly for a long time. You worked him with everything you had, twisting your hand around his shaft as you pumped it, flicking your tongue over the underside of his cock, stroking his balls, and hollowing your cheeks as you sucked him into oblivion, listening to his gasps of pleasure grow louder as he came completely undone.

His eyes squeezed closed and he threw his head back. You felt his abdominal muscles tense and twitch, and at last he could not hold his hips still and passive, and they began to jerk up into your mouth, pulsing at a rapid and shallow pace. You matched his tempo, bobbing faster on his cock, and within three shallow thrusts he shook and came with a forceful whimpering cry of your name. His hips kept pulsing and twitching as hot, salty cum flooded your tongue.

He fell back on the sleeping bag, panting. You held him in your mouth until you were sure you had licked him clean, then buttoned him back up.

He watched you lick your swollen, shiny lips with satisfaction, admiring your beauty and your skill at making him feel… amazing. It still surprised him sometimes when he stopped to think about it—that you had chosen him. Out of anyone in the world, he was the one lucky enough to have you. It really was incredible.

“I begin to understand how my primitive ancestors got by,” he hummed.

You laid yourself next to him and he happily made room for you to curl up under his arm, wriggling as you settled beside him. He was so warm, like a furnace. Funny and charming. Overdressed. Wickedly smart. God, you loved him. The woods were the last place he should be, you laughed to yourself at your own foolishness in dragging him there. He was not at all the masculine adventure type. There was no hidden rugged side deep down waiting to spring out. But it made you want to take care of him all the more. Your stuffy, helpless, whiny, suit-wearing, scotch-sipping Frederick, who braved the wilderness just to please you.

You kissed him again, warm and tender in his arms. He smiled, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Come on,” you sat up and crawled to the front of the tent, beckoning him. “Douse yourself in bug spray, and lets sit by the fire, stuff ourselves with s’mores, and watch the sun set over the mountains.”

“I suppose...” he considered it, eyes narrowed cautiously, “it does not sound that horrible.”